#cause nobody else but us as writers/readers know the real truth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

poychachi · 3 years

Text

How to Write About PTSD

@writinghaven on instagram [source: https://lisahallwilson.com/how-to-write-about-ptsd-in-deep-point-of-view/]

PTSD is featured in many fictional works, primarily as a source of internal conflict for a character. However, many writers simply research symptoms and run with it. There is so much more to PTSD than flashbacks that can add emotional layers, depth, and connection to readers, as well as increase the accuracy of the representation. Here are some important things to remember/consider when writing about PTSD!

What do writers get wrong about PTSD?

Giving characters a traumatic past and an ongoing condition that hinders their ability to move on is great for character arc if you can pull it off. Otherwise it can come off sounding trite or melodramatic. The character struggling with PTSD is facing overwhelming odds, and any character who stands up to a bully of any kind (even when it’s a mental illness) is someone readers will cheer for.

Do more research than just symptoms. Flashbacks seem to be the most appealing aspect of writing a character with PTSD, but actual recurring flashbacks are a symptom of very severe PTSD which is absolutely debilitating in every way. Try talking to someone who struggles with this. Read blogs written by those who live with or struggle with this, or have a loved one who struggle with this. Know that the symptoms don’t encompass the whole struggle but are simply the tip of the iceberg.

What else is there to PTSD other than flashbacks?

Yes, flashbacks can happen with PTSD, but here’s the truth about flashbacks – not everyone has them frequently or even at all. Most writers love the idea of using flashbacks, I’ll admit they’re fun to play with, but where writers often miss the mark with PTSD are all the OTHER symptoms that are debilitating and soul-crushing. Far more common are triggers which require more subtlety and art to really convey how devastating they can be.

PTSD is a filing problem – basically. Where most brains are able to process and appropriate file away a traumatic memory, for whatever reason – a particular memory or file gets left out and never gets filed away (processed). It’s kept front and center for easy access essentially rewiring the brain.

When triggered, (a smell, a place, a feeling, a person, etc.), the inner-most part of the brain (the amygdala – stay with me) sounds off like a fire alarm. When that fire alarm goes off, the rest of your brain diverts all power/energy to that alarm center. So, once the fire alarm goes off, you’re incapable of “thinking” your way out of a situation. Instead, you’ll instinctively react in the way that’s most likely to “save you” whether it’s fight, flight, or freeze.

When PTSD rewires the brain, that fire alarm (which is useful, which is necessary) is now super super sensitive. It’s like placing a fire alarm over your toaster. You’re going to get a lot of false alarms. So, in real life we might take the battery out of the alarm, move the alarm or move the toaster. But with PTSD, because the brain can’t figure out where to file that memory, you’re kind of stuck with these constant false alarms. So most or at least a lot of energy goes into avoiding setting off that fire alarm.

This creates a near-constant hyper-vigilance that is exhausting. Utter, soul-draining, bone-weary exhaustion. To the point where you can’t think clearly – you struggle to order your thoughts or prioritize things correctly. It’s debilitating and can very thoroughly undermine your self-confidence. Every small task or outing gets weighed against the emotional and physical and mental toll it could exact. And let me tell you, this foggy thinking makes life seem pretty hopeless pretty fast.

And while only the most severe cases have persistent flashbacks, that hyper-vigilance and exhaustion is pretty common. The mental fog caused by the hyper-vigilance or a trigger is common. The frustration and internalized shame of not being able to sort your thoughts, or trust your own thinking is intense.

Give your character a coping mechanism

Most people learn coping mechanisms to manage the symptoms of PTSD simply to function, but those mechanisms wear out, their effectiveness wanes over time, our tolerance of them grows thin. If a trigger is the fire alarm, the coping mechanisms are essentially the broom being used the fan the fire alarm to prevent it from going off.

If that “broom” is the only way you can manage life at all, you’ll go to some pretty extreme lengths to prevent having it ripped from your hands. Now, that “broom” can be expressed in a wide variety or combination of ways: anger or violence, self-medicating with drugs or alcohol, workaholism, eating disorders, becoming a hermit, suicidal, etc.

At the same time, someone with PTSD is going to cover up their pain at all costs. People stare. They avoid you. They whisper. And all of that gets internalized over time. They’ll be fine in a social situation until they aren’t and they react in (what might appear to be) an irrational or erratic way, but internally they’ll have clamped down and “soldiered up” as long as possible.

Show the consequences of how ineffective that bloody broom strategy is! Show what happens when the broom is taken away (alcohol, a person, a schedule, etc.).

Show don’t tell a PTSD Trigger

You want to show and not tell, right. The person struggling with these kinds of anxiety or PTSD is going to go to great lengths NOT to think about the original traumatic event. Who consciously relives traumatic events? Nobody.

More likely, the traumatic memories are shoved to the very back of the mind and actively avoided, and numbed when avoidance isn’t possible. They’ll be ruled by emotions, and unless they dig down into the WHY of their strong emotion, the PTSD may go untreated for a very long time.

Instead, show the coping mechanisms (the broom) used to control the symptoms or turn their mind off (escapism, fantasy, porn, drugs, alcohol).

“For me there’s a predictable progression that happens that tips me off to that fire alarm detecting smoke. I feel it in my gut first, a clamping down, a tension, a tightness, and a feeling like I don’t want to be in that place. Then I start to blush, my face feels like it’s on fire. Then I start to tremble. I’ll look down and notice my hands trembling, but at times it won’t feel like I’m looking at my own hands at all. Then my last warning is profuse sweating – regardless of the environmental conditions.” - Lisa Hall-Wilson

When PTSD is triggered you’re at war with yourself quite literally. It will seem to come out of nowhere or can build up slowly to a crashing crescendo. A moment ago you were rationally able to recognize there wasn’t any danger, but then the switch is flipped and your body is absolutely convinced you’re in mortal danger.

Know what your character’s primal goal is when they’re triggered. Is it safety? Is it survival? Is it escaping? Have them seek that out at all costs.

They could have a mantra they recite to control their thoughts. They might have a safe person, someone they trust to watch their backs in new or upsetting situations. The slow removal of their dependence on their grounding techniques or coping mechanisms is a great way to show growth.

Those who know what their triggers are will actively avoid situations that might set them off. This is a potential for conflict – force them into a situation where they’re uncomfortable, where they feel threatened or unsafe. Spring it on them. Put them in new situations.

“I wasn’t aware that exercise fatigue mimicked my PTSD symptoms, so I was triggered by a jerk at the gym and couldn’t feel it coming on because I was in the middle of a workout. The times when you’re triggered without warning are the worst. Being blindsided sets you back days, weeks, even months.”

A blindsided character could be an “all is lost” moment

Being blindsided by a trigger at any point. A situation that’s been fine a thousand other times can trigger you that one day because someone new is there, because you can’t get your usual seat by the door, because someone’s wearing the cologne that your attacker wore. This is a great device to save for a pivotal conflict.

It’s like a two-by-four to the head. Show their emotional wounds bleeding all over the floor and have them keep going anyway. Show them growing stronger, trusting people again against their instincts, forgiving themselves because they couldn’t get a hold of themselves again, etc. Let the whole process be messy, two steps forward and one step back. The stories that end in a pretty bow and leaves everyone “cured” simply aren’t authentic.

SOURCE: https://lisahallwilson.com/how-to-write-about-ptsd-in-deep-point-of-view/

#writingtips #ptsd #ptsdawareness

33 notes · View notes

canchewread · 3 years

Photo

Editor’s note: this post is part of the Recommended Reading series here on Can’t You Read; an ongoing and evolving feature that combines an easy to swipe info-graphic, a short journal, and a link to an important related discussion I’d like to share with readers.

A Culture of Predation Can’t Stop Fascist Pig Violence

In the wake of the frankly surprising (but extremely welcome) guilty verdicts in the trial of former Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin for the murder of George Floyd, I’ve tried very hard to reign in my cynicism. After all, the conviction of a cop for murder “in the line of duty,” let alone a white cop who murdered an African American man with an impoverished background, is about as common as a goddamn unicorn fart, and on that account alone the verdict is worth commemorating, if not necessarily celebrating.

While it would be unspeakably obtuse to suggest that the verdict represented some sort of positive justice, it’s also undeniable that many feel this moment may indeed be a starting point; a chance to at least begin to imagine what a positive justice for African Americans might look like. In particular numerous observers have pointed to the very public crumbling of the proverbial “blue wall” of silence, the fact that Chauvin’s fellow police officers passionately testified against him with the whole world watching, as a positive omen for the future of police reform.

Unfortunately I (and many other observers) have doubts about this position. I don’t mean to be a downer, but the truth is that nobody, not even immunized murderpigs and their commanders, can justify the horrifying video of Chauvin mindlessly executing George Floyd over the course of nine and a half minutes. Faced with the choice of openly embracing their own “little Eichmanns” in front of an outraged public, the Blue Meanies decided that ultimately it wasn’t worth protecting a fuck up like Derek Chauvin. The cost, both to his fellow thug cops, and the profession of policing as a whole, would simply have been too damn high to justify the reward.

The sad and horrifying truth here is that if Derek Chauvin had simply shot George Floyd, instead of casually kneeling on his neck for almost ten minutes, he’d probably be a free man today; just like so many cracker murderpigs before him. Furthermore, even this smallest of concessions probably wouldn’t have happened without months of nationwide protests conducted under a state of constant assault by violent, openly rioting police officers. That last reality is certainly not lost on fascists and neoliberal authoritarians; why else do you think reactionary lawmakers are rushing to pass legislation that criminalizes mass protest against racialized police violence?

Still, you can’t blame folks for hoping; hope can be a good thing if it gives you the strength and courage to continue a seemingly impossible fight for actual justice. Perhaps some long day from now we will look back on this moment and say “and the conviction of Derek Chauvin was the point when the wave ultimately broke, and the tide of cracker police violence finally rolled back” - even if it’s clear that these convictions, by themselves, do not have the power to enact the change we so desperately need.

Where I can and will find fault however, is with those deluded and disingenuous souls who have used this moment to once again champion the doomed cause of police reform; blithely ignorant or willfully oblivious to the fact that police reforms already failed to prevent the murder of George Floyd, and so many others like him. The bald truth is that the current establishment movement towards police reform is about maintaining the power and funding of the very same violent uniformed thugs who’re murdering poor people on behalf of the capitalist state in the first place; that’s why nobody is talking about removing qualified immunity for police officers, and that’s why even some cops themselves are coming around to the idea of reform at this late a date. In many ways, the real importance of the movement to “Defund the Police” is that the mere threat of taking away the sweet filthy ducats that pay murderpig salaries has already shifted the carceral establishment’s position towards bargaining; albeit, in bad faith.

The road to neofeudalist hell is paved with dark intentions however, and what establishment reformers, even and perhaps especially those who’re prepared to acknowledge the fundamentally racialized aspects of police violence, aren’t prepared to discuss in the open is the nature and purpose of policing itself in a capitalist society. There is no public examination of why it is that we keep hiring folks who turn out to be violent white supremacists to be police; and there certainly will be no discussion about the ways class relationships intersect with race through the designed function of racialized policing.

Despite the pro-police propaganda you’ve been fed all your life to suggest otherwise, the vast majority of what police actually do in America is to protect the wealth, property, and feelings of affluent white people and the corporations they own. Far from solving major crimes and preventing violence, modern policing in the Pig Empire revolves around nuisance violations, so-called broken windows policing, and other methods of harassing poor people for minor infractions of the law; remember, the police encounter that lead to the murder of George Floyd started over the purchase of cigarettes and a dodgy twenty dollar bill. The reason murderpigs can get away with violently assaulting protestors and journalists who threaten the established order is because that is precisely what they’re being paid to do, and indeed what their predecessors before them have always been paid to do.

On the surface, this class and capitalism analysis may appear to create a tension with the narrative that white supremacy and racism are also driving the crisis of police violence, but that’s really just about the same old establishment spin. As I’ve discussed in numerous prior essays, you simply cannot separate capitalism from white supremacy, or even racism, because bigoted ideas are propagated and spread for the specific purpose of marking out certain marginalized groups for exploitation and highly-lucrative (for some) repression.

Do you want to know what systemic racism in policing really looks like? It looks like hiring murderpigs to repress the poor, knowing full well that due to centuries of slavery and exploitation, the nonwhite and particularly African American population will be vastly overrepresented in the targeted communities. It looks like a supposedly colorblind war on drugs, the ongoing use of demonstratively racist stop and frisk practices, and expanded powers for your community’s “gang squad” in pretty much any neighborhood that just happens to be predominantly Black. It looks like literally profiting from these practices in ways that are sometimes extremely brazen and obvious, but sometimes hidden from everyday sight; even if they’re hardly much of a secret. The fact that the police are ultimately enforcers for the capitalist ruling class, also makes them enforcers of the white supremacist order that capitalism is so dependent upon in our society; there is no contradiction involved here.

Look; you don’t get rid of fascist murderpigs and white supremacists in law enforcement by throwing more money at nazi cops. Joe Biden can summon up all the pretty words he likes, but you can’t address the racialized nature of police violence without fundamentally altering either the racialized nature of inequality in American life, or the very purpose of policing in our society; and he’s sure as shit not talking about doing any of that at all. Thus, no matter how surprised and hopeful I am after the Chauvin guilty verdicts, that sense of positivity is ultimately tempered by the realization that “nothing will fundamentally change” - and that includes cracker thug pigs executing unarmed Black men on camera.

Although they might finally be better than openly fascist Republicans, the Democrats still don’t have answers to the problem of racialized police violence because ultimately, they don’t have answers to the crisis of capitalism itself. It’s not a question of reform or changing the law; murder is already illegal, even if you’re a white cop. Inequality, and the security force violence necessary to maintain it, is a festering sore inside the American body politic, and there are indeed consequences for essentially ignoring a crisis now so obvious and enraging to the public at large.

What kind of consequences? Well, let’s ask researcher and professor Temitope Oriola who provides one terrifying answer in the public journal, The Conversation:

“The United States is at Risk of an Armed Anti-Police Insurgency“ by Temitope Oriola

Or, you know, we could just abolish the murderpigs first; your call really - but don’t expect Palooka Joe to be much help, either way.

- nina illingworth

Independent writer, critic and analyst with a left focus. Please help me fight corporate censorship by sharing my articles with your friends online!

You can find my work at ninaillingworth.com, Can’t You Read, Media Madness and my Patreon Blog

Updates available on Instagram, Mastodon and Facebook. Podcast at “No Fugazi” on Soundcloud.

Inquiries and requests to speak to the manager @ASNinaWrites

Chat with fellow readers online at Anarcho Nina Writes on Discord!

“It’s ok Willie; swing heil, swing heil…”

12 notes · View notes

nagisasstunningpersonality · 4 years

Text

The Character As A Tool: Why Your Fave Doesn't Get More Screentime

Please refer to this post

REMINDER THAT ALL VIEWS HERE ARE MERELY MY OWN OPINIONS

In truth, one of the most common complaints I see within this fandom is the treatment of side characters. Meaning, in short, a fair amount of the fandom are less connected to what’s going on with our main group of Nagisa, Karma, and Kayano, and instead relate to some of the less obvious choices. Now, there’s no problem with doing this. Hey, if you see something you like in a less important character, then absolutely go for it!

What We Do Know

I discovered for myself, whilst making my About Ass Class series posts, that absolutely some characters’ actual canon information is very dry. Matsui gives everyone a few bits here and there in both the Roll Call book and Graduation Album. If you’re lucky, there’s further points you can pick up just from watching/reading.

Now, and this I want to emphasise I’m stating as an opinion, Matsui actually gives us quite a lot to go from. Even if not every character is highly developed, there’s still a genuinely very solid starting block to go from with your own headcanon. Perhaps it can be argued that it’s not the reader’s job to supply that, but I’d counter that it’s actually kind of fun to not be fed every piece of information. Though more facts and a deeper dive into interpersonal relationships would be admittedly nice, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with us as a fandom coming up with those ideas on our own, using the pointers Matsui does give us as a starting point. Honestly it would take the fun out a little if there was too much information, and we’d have less possibilities to play with.

Why Certain Characters Exist

I’m sorry to tell you, but one of the first things you’re taught in any kind of writing or literature analysis class is that characters are not people, they’re tools. This may feel a little harsh to say, and I’m aware that many people get attached to characters and have genuine feelings towards them. And that is totally valid! Definitely not on the same scale, but I too enjoy when people have real emotions towards my OCs, so I get it.

(rest under cut)

To put it plainly: characters exist within a story as either a plot tool, or a message tool. A plot tool is someone who, as it sounds, exists to move the story along. Characters that need to exist in order for the story to happen as it does. Now, don’t get me wrong, you don’t need to have planned this out. You don’t need to specifically introduce Hara, for example, for the sole reason of her upping the stakes in the first Itona/Shiro arc. Characters existing for filler is still, in a way, a plot tool. It’s like… you set up a chess board. Sure, you might use the knight or the queen piece the most, but the pawns are still an important and useful piece, even if you don’t always utilize it for every move, or they don’t always stand out. Message tools are when a character doesn’t really do anything, but they help to assist in the message you want to send with your art/writing. There’s not so many examples of this in ass class, the best I can think of is either Yuuji or Sakura, who don’t do much at all but are beacons for what Matsui wants to say with them (which if you think about it is just ‘don’t do drugs kids’ and ‘stay in school’ :’)).

So free bit of writing advice for you: your character is your chisel. Once you’ve picked them up and started to work at carving out the story you want, then you can start adding all your fancy upgrades and personality points, which is what ultimately makes your character stronger. You grow attached to them when you’re done? Totally fair. Just… don’t go through this process the opposite way.

Without going too in depth with them right now, Nagisa Shiota is a plot tool. He is a plain easy to follow narrator whose observation skills intentionally mean the reader can see things clearly through his eyes. Where he loses relatability is when he displays his talent, but at that point he’s been so clearly introduced that it doesn’t matter as much, we can hear his voice. Him being more plain makes his talent more effective and shocking as it is. Karma Akabane is a plot tool. He exists so we have those somewhat comedic moments, and so we can have these big bad ass mental/physical fight moments. I actually think him not being the protagonist is something that makes Ass Class hugely stronger (and less cliché) as a series. Kayano Kaede is a plot tool. Admittedly, less so, but she has a lot of function as a back up to Nagisa, and then later is the catalyst for Korosensei’s backstory. The story starts to come to its climax due to her arc alone. As an aside I think a lot of criticism for Matsui isn’t that fair within the fandom, but I will openly say his treatment of her post reveal was not the best at all. He kind of lost control of what to do with her.

So, let’s talk about archetypes. I intend to write a whole meta about why Ass Class is predominantly written as a comedy series, but for now just take that statement as my opinion. Honestly, I do think Ass Class, with a few tweaks, could have worked with a bunch of unnamed characters. I’m instantly going to follow that up with: I’m very glad it didn’t. I love that it feels more like a large ensemble with a variety of characters. So instead of just plain filler, Matsui kind of makes good use of archetypes. You know, such as Takebayashi and Fuwa as otakus, Hazama as the dark occult girl etc. etc. All of this for comedic purpose, more than anything, which we really see in something like Koro Q which is more directly comedy. You might argue this is one dimensional, and I’d agree, but in this situation it’s achieving an effect. It’s genuinely better than having nothing. And honestly, they all do stuff. Some characters are far more effective and entertaining as a background character (i.e. Terasaka) than carrying a bunch of weight themselves.

Matsui Actually Does This Comparatively Well

Honestly, try and name another popular series in a classroom setting, with this many characters who all have individual personalities. Genuinely, the only one I can kind of think of is BNHA, and that’s not a fair comparison given the difference in story length. Comparatively to most series, Ass Class actually has really good side characters. If they were completely uncaringly written, nobody would stan them as hard. For the most part, I’d certainly argue everyone is memorable. Given that we’re juggling at least 30 people here (including teachers, Gakushuu etc.), I’d actually argue that’s kind of impressive.

And the thing is, Matsui does care. He cares enough to give everyone designs, hobbies, and personalities. A good portion of them have an entire chapter to themselves, although relative to the story as a whole they might not do so much (example: Kimura). Matsui could have been lazy with it, but he was not. I don’t want to invalidate anyone’s feelings with this, but I do argue here that those who think the opposite might be a little wrapped up in the character they stan. And I can totally understand that rightfully, you want the character you love to have more screen time. However, just because you happened to fall in love with them (figuratively I mean), doesn’t change the purpose they were originally created to fulfil.

It’s an unfair criticism that not giving every single person a huge arc makes Matsui a poor writer. Honestly, if everyone was equal without a few main characters getting a greater amount of the attention, the entire series would be a hot mess. It might be fun to reimagine the series that way, and go ahead in your own time, but as a series from start to finish, as a first time consumer, it would be genuinely very hard to follow. Not without changing the entire structure and many many plot points.

I do intend to write more about this too at a later point (because I will admittedly need to do more research), but in my opinion the biggest issue with Ass Class, and the cause behind the problems I have with it, is the genuine lack of time. It’s a relatively short story, compared to a lot of manga, and thus there isn’t the space to contain everyone’s story in deep way. I’m absolutely certain, had there been 50/100 chapters more, every character would have had a stand out chapter to themselves.

So thus I bring up the fun and stimulation that is headcanon.

The Issue with headcanons

(this point will go much quicker, I promise)

Ass class ended a looong time ago, let’s be fair. Whether you’re newer or older to the fandom, there’s still been quite a while since any kind of new content (Korotan D being the last official piece, Koro Q manga being the last anything, though I could be slightly wrong with that). That means, especially if you’ve cared about this series for a while, that we’ve considered the series to death.

Playing with headcanons is great! It’s fun! But, I do fear that especially when it comes to perhaps the more popular of the minor characters, a lot of us are getting wrapped up. It needs to be kept in mind that whilst these headcanons may have been around for a while, they are not directly correct to the source material. As a quick note, since I have seen people within the fandom getting kind of bothered over opposing opinions to the things they assume as canon. That’s not really anybody’s fault, but it does warrant saying, I think.

A Conclusion

Basically, loving a main character is great. Loving a more background character is great. You’re not a better or worse, more intelligent or more basic person for whoever your fave is. The point is, you see something you like in a character and you relate to them, or else just enjoy them. But as fun as that is, characters are tools. They exist for a specific purpose. Sometimes, that purpose doesn’t warrant them having a huge stand out character arc.

But hey, that’s totally okay because we’re fortunate enough to have such a community (arguably, I’d say a genuinely active one too) where we can dream that up ourselves. We can pretty much endlessly explore these possibilities. So, perhaps instead of negativity complaining about certain narrative issues we find (just putting this here: it’s fair to do this, but I don’t think it should be the FOCUS of conversation), we focus on driving that energy into creation. And there’s a lot to play with and create. And honestly, seeing HC posts and all sorts staring these more minor characters is great, and I’m pretty sure the majority would agree with me on that. I fully realise and accept that I have a platform here, and going forward I personally want to be a part of that. In a constructive way, rather than ‘deconstructing’ (yes, there’s a pretty big different as I see it).

(I realise that this last part comes off a bit call out post like, and I want to ensure that it is not intended to be that. I just have a general sense of some attitudes towards things floating around in a very generalised way right now)

#ass class meta #assassination classroom #ass class #ansatsu kyoushitsu

88 notes · View notes

lisinfleur · 4 years

Text

Lullaby

Author’s Notes | It’s an honor to be a part of this sweet moment! Thank you, @hecohansen31 for inviting me to write for our sweet @maggiescarborough and participate in such a sweet gift! And you, babe, may the gods be with you in this day and all the days that follow this first in the new cycle life is offering us with your lovely presence! Thank you for being this sweet and supportive person that makes us writers around you feel fueled to continue our work just for one more smile of yours! I hope you like this humble gift and may your life be full of the sweet and kind energy you spread wherever you go! Happy b-day!

Universe | Vikings, Saxon Team

Pairing | Alfred x Reader

Info | Viking Age AU, a gift to sweet @maggiescarborough.

Words | 2044

⁑ Warnings: Historical inaccuracy¹.

"Y / N!"

Your bedroom door broke open and you lifted your eyes from the music sheets to look at the worried servant looking at you.

"The king..."

You placed your papers aside and got up. Whenever they were worried like that you knew it was again his disease.

Whenever his disease was hurting his body, then... You would be his relief.

"Is he in his bed?" you asked.

Foolishly.

You knew where he would be - your steps passed his bedroom.

"No. King Alfred refuses to leave the music room's divan," she answered, ignoring your knowledge of his habits.

You were the one who asked the servants to install that divan there. It would be too visual to have a bed in the castle's music room or a piano inside the king's bedroom, but that way, Alfred could be comfortable whenever his personal calvary would decide to torture him again enough for his compromises being lesser than his need for your healing fingers.

You nodded. You knew what he needed.

His eyes looked straight at you from that divan when the servant opened the door and your steps entered the room trying to make the lower sounds possible.

"My king," you bent yourself respectfully.

But Alfred sighed.

"I told you already... Forget these formalities, wife."

Wife.

In your whole life, you never thought you would become the Queen of England by his side. In fact, you never ever thought you could be a princess by his side when he was not the next in the line of the throne. But there were the two of you: the crown in his head, a ring in your hand.

Some people in his court would say he married you out of options after Elsewith died in childbirth. Poor Alfred... God wasn't merciful to him and some cruel people would say it was because he ceded lands to the pagans and invited heathens to dinner in his table, but you knew very well what was behind the curtains. They declared that child a stillborn, but you knew Alfred accepted delivering the baby into Ubbe's hands after Elsewith's last words confessed her treason and the fact that the son King Alfred had waited for so long wasn't his, but Björn's, such as many children around the kingdom were blond and blue-eyed like Ragnar's firstborn - May God have his soul, despite his heathen faith.

After his brother's mysterious death, his mother - blessed queen Judith! - who followed her son into the grave. And now his wife and the dreams of an heir she never brought to him. Poor Alfred.

Poor of your beloved and sweet King.

As his cousin from foreign lands, you thought you would end up married to an Earl of his trust. For a moment you even though he could negotiate your hand with one of the Norsemen new leaders that came, once his friend Ubbe was already married to his older brother's ex-wife - something you begged the heavens wouldn't happen in a thousand years.

But it was the crown of a queen beside his throne that landed over your head. An unexpected - but surely desired - place.

You loved your cousin since the first time the two of you could see each other. He was a sweet boy, grew up in a peaceful and wise man. The only decision of his you've ever reproved was to cut his hair so short trying to get Elsewith's attention from the bald Norseman towards himself. A failed intention, but something you were already getting used to - after all, it made him more manly, with less of the boyish sweetness you loved so much in your prince.

Yet, you loved him purely. Enough to have the best wishes when his bride finally came, to mourn in God the treason that brought so much sadness into your King's eyes; to vigil, on your knees in prayer, fasting for days begging for his health whenever that evil disease would take his joviality and throw him on his bed.

The council thought you were chaste enough for the place by his side.

You knew that ring didn't come to your finger for love. But Alfred never ever treated you with less tenderness or sweetness just because you weren't the love of his life...

Yet.

Words of his, not yours.

"I'll grow to love you, my sweet wife. I've learned it with the time that love that comes from the first sigh is flame. And flames are easily extinguished by everyday rain... Or the waves of the sea... This is not love. Love is something else I long to learn with my years by your side. A life... A whole life seems to be enough to discover what love is. May God bless me with life enough to find it in your eyes."

His marriage vows you never forget. Promises of a beautiful future you had dreamed through your whole life. But that, in times like that, would seem impossible for someone who was so close to God, so blessed by him, that seemed to make the angels eager for his presence in his rightful place in Heaven.

You came closer to his divan, sitting by his side in a small bench for servants, ignoring the fact that you were a queen and exchanging the warm cloth in his forehead, wetting it in the bowl of fresh herbal water to replace the cloth and try to lower his fever. Alfred's face frowned for a second with the difference between his body temperature and the cloth you placed on his skin, but soon it relaxed in relief as the refreshing sensation of the herbs was starting to be effective.

"You should be in your bed, my king."

You never stopped being sweet that way to him. Even thou he would always complain about the titles, you knew he liked the way you were gentle and respectful - and the court and council liked it as well so, fewer headaches for him, who had already so many to solve in his head.

"You know what I need," he mumbled, so weak, so pale that you could almost see his veins marking on his skin. "It makes me sleep peacefully. It brings me peace. Please, my sweet wife. Play for me."

The usual ask.

You caressed his face gently and got up to sit at the piano he ordered for you as a marriage gift - your favorite gift in your whole life. Your fingers touched the ivory keys, gently caressing what was your favorite thing in life after Alfred's smile. And slowly, you started one of your compositions - a calming one. One you knew he liked.

Some between the healers of the court once spoke to the small mouth that you were a witch, spreading rumors that your music was a spell that could make the king fall asleep. But Alfred ordered the church's pianist to cede his place for you on a Sunday and under his orders, you played the most beautiful songs in honor of your Lord, causing the priest to say your hands were blessed by God and your music was healing the King's soul.

From that day on, nobody questioned the way Alfred would always ask for your healing songs when he was sick. And you were free to compose more of them for him, sliding your fingers through the keys as if they were dance with grace and love.

So much love...

Alfred's body relaxed a little more. A servant came to replace the cloth some minutes later and the worry in her eyes became a tender smile.

"He fell asleep. The King is asleep, oh, thank God for the Queen's blessed hands, hallelujah!" she exclaimed in a low tone, tracing the sign of the cross on her chest.

You smiled. Yet, your fingers kept playing with a lower tone.

From time to time the servants were alternating to check on his temperature and rest, always blessing his visible relaxation or the fact that his temperature was lowering slowly.

Maybe it was the real rest he was able to reach with your notes. Maybe it was the love in your songs reaching his heart, making him stronger. Maybe the servants and peasants were right and God had blessed your hands with the gift of healing songs to your beloved King. You were never able to explain how you were able to play for hours just for his rest. Or how he was always recovered when he would wake up still hearing one of your beautiful compositions.

But when his eyes were open once again, still under your fingers' dance at the keys, there was more color in his skin, his face was less touched by the disease, and his expression more serene.

You kept playing for a while for his enjoyment before finally conducting the composition to its end, lowering the coverage of the piano keys and resting your tired hands over your skirt. Your fingers were hurting you. Your hands were in pain. But it was worth the price.

"Are you feeling better, my king?" you asked, looking at him with the same sweetness you always had in your eyes when looking into his.

Alfred smiled.

One of those beautiful smiles that got your heart for him years ago.

"Yes... The pain isn't here anymore. But I know it is yours now," his voice mumbled.

Of course, he had noticed how you would dive your hands into warm water at night, washing it in cold herbal water and alternating the temperatures several times before sleeping after that much of time playing the piano for his rest. But you would do it silently, sometimes with a smile on your face when your eyes would catch his serenity, pretending he was sleeping by your side when the truth was that he was awake, thanking God for bringing you into his life.

"Come closer, wife," he asked, and you got up, sitting beside him once again.

But this time he caught your hands into his, warming them in between his now warmed palms.

"Is this it?"

Alfred's question got you confused before he could continue, bringing all the blood of your body to blush your cheeks into crimson red.

"Is this love, my dear queen?" his eyes dove into yours and your voice failed.

But his words were so sure, so intense, straight into your heart.

"Is this love that you offer me when you cause your own pain just to relieve mine? Is this love what you put on your songs that heals my body and brings relief to my tormented soul?"

You didn't know how to answer that question. You didn't know if it was love what you felt for him - too little was taught about love to women like you. But you knew it was the purest desire of your heart to see his smiles. The beautiful smiles you couldn't live without.

"I don't know," you mumbled, "But it is yours," you confessed, smiling at him as your fingers gently caressed his hand.

GIF

His lips curled once again.

"Then blessed be God for my disease is his hand over me, putting me down so I can feel His love through your hands, your notes, your songs. Blessed be God for what the people call suffering, I call His grace, showing me how rich I am of his blessings in my life. Because everything I ever suffered conducted me towards you. And I couldn't be more grateful to have you by my side, sweet Y/N."

Your heart filled with his words, warming your chest and opening your smile when Alfred leaned himself to gently kiss your forehead, caressing your face with that tenderness you would always find in his eyes for you.

None of you could really say what was this love he wanted so badly to know. But you didn't need to name that feeling. You were grateful in your heart for the blessed home you were gifted with and the pain in your fingers was nothing - if that was the price you would pay for Alfred's smiles, then it was a cheap price to pay for what was priceless into your heart.

¹ The piano was an artistic mention to our sweet @maggiescarborough's art. Sad for him, Alfred the Great didn't have the chance to enjoy such a magnificent way to produce music since he lived in the 800 (849 to 899 a.C.) and the piano was invented around 1698 to 1699 by Bartolomeo Cristofori and introduced to the public in 1709. Nevertheless, I discovered the information after the production of this piece and I decided then to bend the time and allow our beloved king to know this art through our sweet reader's hands and to take the chance to share this piece of the pianoforte's history for you guys to learn with me!

Do you like my work? Support me!

Tagged ones:

|| @ivarswickedqueen || @directionlessbuthappy || @akamaiden || @bang-kim-bap || @cris101071 || @elysias-temple || @alicedopey || @captstefanbrandt || @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla || @lol-haha-joke || @readsalot73 || @rekdreams247 || @slutforasoldier || @naaladareia || @laketaj24 || @therealcalicali || @igetcarriedawaywithyou || @grungyblonde || @arses21434 || @honestsycrets || @rabeccablake || @2thequietone4 || @blackspiritshake || @vikingsbifrost || @x-valhalla || @lyanna-the-giantsbane || @isthat-tyra98 || @hissouthernprincess || @xinyourdreamsx || @medievalfangirl || @thiahilmarsdottir || @queenbeeta || @winchesterwife27 || @gold-dragon-slayer || @mzliterarydreamer || @alwaysbenhardysgirl || @marvelouuse || @tgrrose || @lif3snotouttogetyou || @lordsexmachine || @deathbyarabbit || @ietss || @alexisshoto || @letsloveimagines

Want to be tagged? Ask me!

#history vikings #imagine vikings #alfred #king alfred #alfred the great #alfred x reader #alfred imagine #sister wives #shot

57 notes · View notes

arcanumofthorns · 3 years

Text

LGBTQA in Books: Baiting and Erasure

There’s a lot of discourse around books and LGBTQA - in the way that the subject is addressed, treated or even erased in books. But the thing is, there’s a strange line between queerbaiting (getting writer points for inclusiveness and diversity while in all truth the canonverse is vague, uses little to no terms, and essentially leaves it to readers to interpret at will, thus widening their audience, and their profits, but contributing little to authentic representation) and erasure, whether accidental or intentional (by making the sexuality, romantic orientation etc. clear and open in the book, yet never using any terms, thus possibly causing a disconnection between the safe space of the fictional world, and representation in reality).

I believe it is equally important to consider both ends:

To be inclusive, multifaceted, to approach those stories not as people (characters) defined by their sexuality, but as complex and layered individuals exploring their own lives, challenges and fears and desires, all the while learning to navigate their own sexuality, which is just another facet of their identity. It’s important to make this distinction, because it is the truth, it’s the way to create organic characters that are greater than life, the sort of characters that take on a life of their own beyond the pages in the minds of readers; as a symbol, ideal or archetype, or better yet, as someone they could’ve met in real life and instantly befriended.

To bring definition and clarification to those identities explored. To make it clear and undeniable that character X and Y are gay, or bisexual, or whatever else. To leave no doubt in the reader’s minds in terms of representation, to be able to relate with certainty that so and so is just like them, as human as they are, as ambivalent and conflicted as they are. Why is this powerful? Representation is always powerful, of course. And in times when bisexuality and asexuality for instance (both as concepts by themselves, and their appearance in literature) are so often erased, overlooked or altogether ignored, it’s powerful to bring voices to those grey spaces, those identities. Every book that fearlessly tackles this gives another voice to representation.

I don’t want my readers to ever feel like this facet of a character (if relevant to the book, the story, or the character) is used as bait, tiptoed around or glossed over. I want them to see a world where it can be easy and uncomplicated, where one’s sexuality is just a normal part of them, much like constellation-shaped freckles on a shoulder. I want them to see what it’s like to step into a world where they don’t have to question it, or worry about it, where people know - or are coming to learn - who they are, with no judgement or weight behind labels, or the absence of them.

I want my readers to be clear on my characters, to fully relish the magical world of Moonrose where people are free to be themselves. A world where Sienna is a lesbian married to the love of her life and filling one of the most important roles in Xandrias with the esteem of all, and nobody thinks anything of it because it’s literally just another facet of her among thousands others. A world where Kaodhan as the leader of the village is pan and perfectly comfortable being so, because it aligns with his worldviews of love having no boundaries in terms of physical appearance. A world where the heroine, Char, is unequivocally asexual and navigates the complicated landscape of loving others spiritually while feeling no physical attraction.

There is so much potential in these stories, each one more different than the other. It adds yet another layer of depth and humanity to characters in media, so why not go the extra mile and honor these aspects as well by representing them with empathy, and finally... finally actually showing a world where things are as they should be. I don’t know about you, but I’m over reading about dystopias. Let’s focus on how good it can be and what a utopia looks like. Not how bad it can get, because 2020 has shown us enough of that.

#lgbtqa #writers on tumblr #writeblr #celtic fantasy books #representation #diversity #inclusivity #arcanum of thorns #blog #moonrose #sk lumen #articles #writing #behind the scenes #fantasy books #scifi books #writer's life #writers on writing

2 notes · View notes

juleswolverton-hyde · 4 years

Text

Induratize | 02

Genre: Smut, PwP

Pairing: Sugar Daddy/Creative Writing Professor!Namjoon x Student!Reader

Warnings: Unprotected doggy style sex in a bathroom (ALWAYS do it safely, lads and lasses), fingering, squirting, Dom!/Top!Namjoon, swearing/cussing, dirty talk

Summary: It is near impossible to guard one’s heart against love, especially during the prime years of youth. Slowly but surely, resistance is harder to keep up when affection is shown on a daily basis from a forbidden side.

However, forbidden does not always necessarily mean wrong.

Such is the argument of a wolf longing for a little doe.

Author’s Note: Induratize (v.); to make one’s own heart hardened or resistant to someone’s pleas or advances, or to the idea of love.

Masterlist

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

There is only so long one can run from wolves, especially when having aggravated them. The sounds of the massive crowd rushing over the concrete of the station does not distract the clear focus of the predator nor does the amalgamation of the warm scents of freshly brewed coffee from one of the many spots around the historical edifice. As long as the light falls in through the glass ornate ceiling above the tracks and the artificial lamps remain turned on in the wide halls, the hunt shall not be stopped.

‘Where do you think you’re going, little doe?’ A generous arm clad in warm onyx wool wraps around the middle out of nowhere to draw it back into the fresh scent of a forest after the rain, the mocking lips of the pied piper chuckling into hair.

‘Prof- Professor,’ the fast-beating heart in the heated chest of the tawny wolf is pressed against the spine, the sheer presence and weight of it as curiously mesmerizing thanks to its possessiveness as what had been pressed against the behind earlier as well, ‘this is, ahem, highly inappropriate.’

Why keep up this fantasy? I know I am nothing to you, that you are just sadistically toying with me.

‘Is it? Nobody here knows what we are to each other. For all they know, I’m your boyfriend.’ A kiss on conflicted strands goes paired with a boyish giggle almost nullifying the perversity of the situation, lashes fantasizing about having a real relationship fluttering close in sheer bliss for a moment. Content, even if the bond is based around money and emotions are never really reciprocated. ‘They don’t know I’m your sugar daddy.’

‘I- I-’ Hips snap as they did in the train, erasing every sense of logic thought in a split second as the sensual heat from before rekindles. ‘I, mhm, sir, I don’t nee- need- oh, fuck!’

‘I told you to call me by my name, didn’t I? So why won’t you?’ Plush lips ghost over the side of the neck, warm breath setting every nerve on fire in paradoxical anticipation. ‘Maybe I need to convince you. Or,’ teeth sink into the side of the throat as digits glide over the mouth opening in a surprised gasp, ‘ teach you manners.’

In a flash, the hold from behind is made undone to be replaced by a firm grip on the wrist, resulting in being dragged along to the nearest unisex bathroom. Here, freedom is temporarily granted during the small moment it takes to lock the door before a sturdy hand grabs the waist whilst its counterpart snakes around the back of the neck, hiding beneath loose locks whereas the other violently tugs down the fabric of the haphazardly pulled on leggings. Any other woman would have been afraid if their professor had done the same, but that unknown man is not Namjoon and the situation would not have been fuel for sinful fiction. Henceforth, consent to the rough handling is given wordlessly in the feigned helpless gaze at the domineering tutor.

Eyes meet anew in the mirror after being harshly turned around, maintaining contact as slender honey digits explore the wanton desire which essentially forms the foundation for every tale that comes forth in class and private. The toying continues for a bit, the creative writer clearly finding pleasure in the gradually building desperation finding a voice in weak whines.

‘You’d really leave me hanging like that? It’s not polite to let me walk to university with an obvious bulge, little doe, especially,’ all play is over as it takes solely one intruding advance to nullify every thought immediately and be thrown into the melting that feels like wildfire, ‘when you’re the cause of it. What did I tell you each time you wanted to move on to a new project without finishing the old one?’

There is no room to adjust to the unprotected sheer size of the author unintentionally kept on a leash, harsh hips relentlessly claiming what has been longed for. The answer to the question does not surface because every time it tends to, it is cruelly shattered to incoherent bits by a savage growl unable to be kept waiting in the chase for possession and oblivious ignorance. ‘I- I can’t, shit! I can’t r- re- remember.’

‘Finish what you started, Y/N. That’s what I told you and so you’ll take my veiny cock, whether you want to or not.’ A low baritone chuckle filters through the haze behind closed eyes as a warm secure palm folds over lips bitten down on by teeth endeavouring to restrain pathetic mewls hardly containing their overwhelming joy. Forcefully, a look in the mirror is established, the sight melting the last remnants of muscle in shaking legs but fortunately being kept steady by compelling darkened espresso eyes glaring from between tightly held messed-up locks. ‘Look in the mirror, see how I, how your wolf is fucking that tight pussy open. God, you’re gorgeous. Nice and complacent, having no choice but- Yeah, tighten around that big dick. No choice but to take me.’

The loud embarrassing drip of something on the tiles breaks through the baritone grunts and muffled ruined mascara cries of pleasure, something in the sudden hollow sensation in the aftermath of the first explosion of sensual elevation being much to Namjoon’s delight after a disgruntled yet surprised snarl. ‘I didn’t know you’d like it that much, little doe.’ Without a word of warning, bodies are joined in coyness once more. Notwithstanding, the union is a paradoxical mixture of pain and satisfaction in a different manner, for now, overstimulated nerves are denied the recovery from their watery floating in ignorance and brutally brought back to the wonderfully fulfilling reality. ‘But guess we’ll- shit, still tight... fucking wet, do it like this from now on since preparation apparently isn’t, grm, needed.’

From- From now on? I... I’m his?

The conflict likely shining through in the flowing tears finds assurance in the confirmation which was already assumed yet could not be believed. ‘Yes, from now on. I’m what you need, what you want. You’ve made that clear more than once.’ A particular hard advance compels the upper body to lie down on the cool counter entirely, forced into complete submission to the tawny wolf wonderfully claiming what has secretly been his all along. ‘Thirsting after me, squirting over my cock like that. Don’t think I haven’t seen you stealing glances at my bulge, baby.’

A protest wants to be made but is swallowed down before it can find an unintelligible noise to be voiced in for sneaky peeks have, indeed, been stolen in the classroom or lecture hall when thought to have been unnoticeable. Clearly, the opposite is the truth of the matter.

‘You like it, baby? This is how it feels, how your wolf feels. What I’ve wanted all this time, wanted while fluffing myself before- hrm, ah- before teaching you.’ Trying and succeeding in deepening the primal bond, growling teeth leave behind a gorgeous mark of belonging on the side of the neck while hips accelerate, driven to utter madness. To the degree nothing can be said by the human beneath the skin of the beast and thus lets the body speak for itself. Exactly like the little doe irretrievably hypnotized by the bruising grip on the waist in combination with the sharp sting of hair being tugged on and lewd noises resonating between the walls.

The revelation alongside the brand makes the heart almost dance in perverse joy, the knowledge to grace unspeakable fancies and being claimed thus evoking a misplaced yet wonderful delight. So much so that it is enough to be kicked off the edge that precariously has been balanced on again, taking the forbidden lover along by unconsciously narrowing the connection and letting fingers entangle in messy dark golden locks.

And for a while, everything is extraordinarily beautiful and right. The filling intimacy, the warm breath on the side of the throat, the sturdy arms around the waist keeping up both fools standing in delirium. Outside this very moment, there is nothing.

Nothing except us.

All that is misguided.

‘I want you to stay after class.’ The contextless command, for tone leaves little room to assume it is anything else, pulls the mind floating in personal reverie back to the present to reflect on the implications of giving in to the tall dominant writing tutor.

‘Namjoon... I- I mean, professor.’ Irises having regained a sense of Logic turn away from the lovely view in the mirror of tawny locks still enjoying their high burying their adorable button nose into personal strands, breaking it up. It is a crying shame, but the incomprehension calls for elaboration on why the academic would want more time together. Certainly because this is a mistake. A grave, severe mistake. ‘Wha- What we’ve done. I shouldn’t- I didn’t want to lead you on.’

‘Don’t call me that. Just call me by my name.’ Unapologetically, the wonderful physical spell is made undone for the second and last time, the expected comfort at the awkward hollow sensation below remaining absent as punishment. A mocking grin tugs on the corners of plush lips, apparently finding something humorous in the messed-up situation. ‘Funny how you blame yourself while I’m the one who initiated it. You liked it, didn’t you, little doe?’

‘Y- Yes, but... it’s, ah, well, uhm...’ The caress of honey digits over the brand on the side of the throat ending in a squeeze of the shoulder alongside the one over the cheek melts away the ability to speak, all vocabulary craftily used when writing vanishing at once at the gentle touch of the affectionate gaze looking down.

Watching over their territory.

Guarding what they love.

That which they should not.

‘It’s what? Use your words, baby.’ A low chuckle evokes warring feelings of Sense and Passion, not knowing which should prevail outside the university grounds where it is possible to be anything and anyone. Nobody here knows about the actual relationship that goes on between a tall young man and a wee lass differing in age with him a tad.

Notwithstanding, the wonderful reverie is lifted when leaning sideways to undo the intimacy after mustering all inner strength and let palms soak in the cold of the stone sink by moving ever so slightly to untouched spots on the surface. ‘It’s wrong, si- Joon. I’m your pupil, someone taking classes from you.’

‘You might be, but I’m still a man, Y/N.’ Undaunted by the sudden distance, big palms rest themselves on either side of the waist as cushiony lips place a chaste kiss on the forehead. ‘A man who wants to take care of you, who wants to be more to you than simply a professor. I promise you our relationship won’t be solely about sex. I’ve shown that more than once by offering to pay for your food and coffee, didn’t I?’

‘So...’ Fluttering lashes barely dare to look up at the adorable button nose of which the eyes hold nothing but sincerity in the oddly loving expression that makes the heart flutter in spite of trodding down the wrong path with the pied piper. ‘When you asked me to have lunch together, you’d never wanted to, you know, let this happen?’

‘Not without your permission.’ Hands rub the upper arms affectionately, smiling faintly when small palms place themselves on bared honey hips. Their voice is sincere, assuring of holding nothing but honest intentions despite the forbidden aspect of the relationship that might overtake entirely if it is not stopped at once. ‘I won’t make you do things you don’t want to. All those times I asked you to eat together, I genuinely wanted to make sure you’d at least had something in your system to make it through the coming hours.’

A low chuckle speaks another truthful wish for one who should not be loved in the way she is. Nevertheless, a little doe is. ‘Though having dinner together would be a nice change of pace.’

And it is entrancingly exciting.

‘Dinner?’ A pretty image of sharing a meal by candlelight unwillingly carves a timid though anticipating smile onto lips, fiercely longing for something that cannot be.

Or can be if the game is played cunningly and outside spectators are kept in the dark.

We could do this because maybe, no, he surely loves me. Why else would he be my sugar daddy? Although, perhaps that is precisely where the fault lies since the bond would still be based around money and sex. That’s how these types of relationships work.

‘Yeah. And I’d walk you home afterwards, just to be sure you’re safe and sound. And only if you’d want it,’ foreheads rest on each other in a warm air of a lush forest and water lilies blooming in a pond beneath an orange tree when spring comes, plush lips ghosting over an eagerly following mouth which hungers for more, ‘I’d stay.’

‘Is that why you want me to remain after class?’

Please let that be the reason. Please promise me this will indeed not be solely about sex. That I am also more to you just as you are to me.

‘Maybe.’ An innocent grin nullifies the sexual atmosphere as palms briefly relieve their protective hold to swiftly correct the dislocated clothes below. However, when trousers are in order again, Professor Kim... Namjoon envelops the waist again in a loving embrace going accompanied by an unavoidable affectionate peck on the nose, stilling the stupid worry that the gesture of making one’s outfit in order after what has transpired indicates being solely interested in sensual transactions. ‘But I thought it’s nice if we hop on the bus together and I’ll drop you off at the right tracks before going home myself.’

‘That’s sweet.’ The response comes out more mockingly than intended, bitter Logic still endeavouring to kill any hopes of actually continuing this make-believe for that is essentially what this is.

Has to be.

A silly game.

Unsustainable.

As it might turn out to be in reality, but not in imagination as stories have proven time and again. Henceforth, let another be shakily written at this starting point.

And see its way into the world.

The brilliant creative writer picks up on the persevering doubt caused by conflicting thoughts and emotions, every molecule making up the novice writer engaged in the ancient war of Mind and Heart, and in turn becomes hesitating himself. Voice contains a pleading undertone as the low hug fuses two lovers together albeit not in the coy sense, but just as intimate with the desire to stay. ‘You’re doubting me.’

Together.

This is wrong, but he’s good to me. Always has been. Maybe he really is in love with me, though it could just be a farce simply to get sex. No, he isn’t like that. He cares and that’s why he does what he does. I’m going in circles. We could try. I could let him try.

‘I’m not! It’s just that- I don’t know. I don’t know how to feel about this.’ Happiness is anxiously within reach, the alluring manifestation of a goal never to be thought to actually be achieved with the tawny wolf. Withal, it is right there, right here, ripe for the taking. If only all inhibitions are let go of and the truthful Self, the newbie novelist heavily in love with her muse, turns selfish as a reward for doing the right thing for so long. After all, such a change should be allowed as a reward.

Right?

‘Maybe you will after we get some coffee. You look tired and I’m afraid you won’t make it through the day after what happened here.’ The concentration on indecision is broken up by a hand affectionately caressing the cheek like before, turning the chin upwards a tad to lock gazes after setting every vein on fire by gliding over the jaw. ‘In any case, know I’m not lying. I’m really head over heels for you.’

Long honest-speaking legs lower into a crouch to pull up the roughly pulled down legging again and correct today’s simple outfit. Once composed enough to face the public again, Namjoon holds out an arm clad in onyx wool to clutch along the way. ‘You can hold on to me and we’ll find somewhere nice and quiet. Come on, let’s go.’

#BTS #BTS smut #BTS x Reader #thekimlinenet #hyunglinenetwork #Namjoon #RM #Kim Namjoon #Joon #Induratize

83 notes · View notes

tessatechaitea · 4 years

Text

Justice League International #8 (1987)

Is it weird that I have a newsstand copy of a comic book when I definitely was shopping at my local comic shop in 1987?

This cover has so many jokes to talk about that I probably won't have time to review the entire issue. My stomach is already sore for laughing so hard! Look at how the box marked "fragile" is about to fall onto the floor thanks to the carelessness of Blue Beetle and Booster Gold! Ha ha! And they're carrying the large box upside down! According to the label on the upside down box, it's going to Paris, France so it must contain Crimson Fox who is almost certainly swearing in French because have you ever tried to masturbate while upside down in a box being jiggled by two men?! The incompetence of those guys is hilarious! But the best joke is the one where the only woman on the team doesn't lift a finger to help and also can't make up her mind about the placement of a gigantic box that hasn't been opened yet! See how funny that is? Because who cares where the box is placed?! It's not like they're moving a desk or an end table and Black Canary is coming up with a floor plan! It's just a box that will need to be opened and then broken down and then thrown out! The other funny part is that yellow spray around Beetle's head and the shape of his mouth because I think it suggests he's about to call Black Canary a bitch! Ha ha! I probably left out the joke about the hernia although that one might just be implied. Also, it'll probably be a blatant joke later in the story. The issue begins with Jack Ryder on his right-wing radio call-in television "news" program fiasco of a show Hot Seat trying to get the masses to shit blood over the Justice League. It'll work because the masses in comic books (as well as the masses not in comic books because we've all seen how people who listen to and watch right-wing radio call-in television "news" programs easily believe the alternate reality fed to them because it speaks to their inherent biases and selfishness) are idiots. (That might be my favorite interruption by parenthetical reference I've ever written.) I also know that it will work because Glorious Godfrey only recently did the same thing a year or two ago and it worked. But comic books don't recognize time and space in the same way that we more logical and real readers do so the masses won't remember that they were fooled just a year ago by idiotic television pundits who don't mind seeing the world burn as long as they can cash a fat check over it. I doubly also know it will work because Millennium is coming up and I think that might be proof that maybe Jack Ryder was sort of right because aliens have infiltrated Earth and are pretending to be heroes and possibly even right-wing radio call-in television "news" hosts. I don't really remember much about Millennium except that it was weekly and there were Manhunters in it.

My favorite comic book characters when I was a kid were Blue Falcon and Dynomutt. I bet Jack Ryder was Sean Hannity's favorite. Tucker Carlson's favorite was probably Hitler.

This issue begins the long running joke that Martian Manhunter is addicted to Oreos. I fucking get it, man. Have you ever tried to melt an Oreo into a spoon, fill a needle with the liquid contents, and inject it straight into your bloodstream? Me neither because that's stupid, you dumb idiot. Why would you even suggest it? You need to inject them straight into your taste buds. J'onn, Mister Miracle, and Captain Atom are setting up the New York Embassy which leads to lots of jokes about shoddy construction and terrible wiring and lazy movers. At one point Captain Atom electrocutes himself and then destroys all of the wiring because he's the guy the United States wanted to represent them on the new international team. I'd say his penchant to escalate a situation straight to violence proves the United States made the right decision. Batman and Guy Gardner oversee the outfitting of the Russian Embassy with a little help from Rocket Manhunter #7.

Even Rocket Red has heard about Guy's serious brain trauma and yet nobody has even discussed getting him a medical check-up. What a bunch of bastards!

This is also the issue that begins the "Bwa-ha-ha-ha" gag (I think. Did it happen in an issue previously? Maybe?! Anyway, it really gets going here). That's the gag where somebody laughs when something terrible happens to somebody else. It's a great team building exercise, to laugh at a co-worker's pain! Or if it isn't, it, at the very least, helps develop personal morale. Nothing better than laughing at your manager after her credit card was stolen by a prospective new employee while the entire company was in a meeting, especially after learning that said card was pretty much just used at The Honey Baked Ham. Does that make if funnier? Or is this one of those dark humor things like when the same manager was super pissed at an employee I was training for not showing up for work the day before Thanksgiving only to learn later that she had died of carbon monoxide poisoning the previous night which caused her to erupt into crying jags for the rest of the day which I'm positive weren't for my poor co-worker but for her guilty feelings of being so angry at her. That's dark humor, right? The "Bwa-ha-ha-ha" gag begins when Booster tries to hit on a Parisian woman and gets shot down. Later, she winds up being the League's Paris Bureau Chief. And also maybe Crimson Fox?

This scene is well done in a book that often tries too hard for stupidly silly humor.

I'd say that these three pages (the scanned page being the third of the three) of interaction between Blue Beetle and Booster Gold is ground zero for what would become a great best friend relationship. Any interaction before this was just of the generic Blue Beetle making a stupid class clown comment to the group. But this foundational scene in Paris already feels like these two at their closest which, admittedly, is mostly Blue Beetle laughing at something dumb Booster Gold did. But I like to view this entire relationship through the lens of a Booster Gold mostly driven mad and insane from having to live through so many alternate timelines. Sure, the reader doesn't know about that aspect of Booster Gold yet (and won't for more than a decade). But I can't help but understand Booster Gold through that lens now. And his need for some kind of consistency and whimsy and, almost certainly, a need to be able to laugh at himself must be expressed through this relationship as a kind of therapy. In a universe where not even the timeline lacks consistency, Booster Gold finds solace in getting his balls busted by Blue Beetle.

Maybe I'm a dick who doesn't understand true friendship but this is totally what it looks like, right?

The issue ends with a Keith Giffen drawn story about the end of the Global Guardians, or at least the end of their United Nations backing. I'm sure it's a set-up for a future story but even if it were just a couple page story acknowledging the Global Guardians and how they're affected by a new United Nations backed team, it would remain an interesting moment. I don't need iron clad continuity in my comic book universe but I am entertained when writers acknowledge the waves their stories are making in that continuity. Plus it's drawn by Giffen which always makes it seem like I'm reading a story from the perspective of a madman. Justice League International #8 Rating: B+. How come when I publish a manifesto, people refer to it as a 'zine?! How do you get the fucking power to have your photo-copied screed with "art" considered a manifesto?! How many people do I have to rant at to get some Goddamned recognition?! "The Truth About Star Trek Transporters" is not a fucking fanzine, people! It's a manifesto of the alternate reality we're being asked to accept! The alternate reality of an alternate reality where people are being sent to their deaths every fucking mission only to be replaced by clones of themselves and nobody fucking cares! Probably because they're all clones of clones of clones and their ability to think rationally has diminished to the point of dogmatic stupidity! Am I the only one witnessing this while others simply think its some kind of retrograde perspective?! Does my antediluvian intellect subquester the means of proliferating the parallax of reality?! Does the inclusion of three hilarious dick jokes deny me the mantle of manifesto writer, oublietting my ego into an infinite mirror trick of endless zineian declarations?! Fuck this shit! And fuck that satellite that's been following me throughout this meandering conclusion!

#Justice League #Justice League International #Kevin Maguire #Keith Giffen #J.M. DeMatteis #DC #DC Comics

3 notes · View notes

ninavarelas · 4 years

Text

happy new year!

hi, this will really just be a stream of consciousness, but it’s way too long for twitter and i don’t understand instagram other than posting dog pics so here we are! is anyone on tumblr anymore?? i don’t know how many followers i have on here, it’s probably like 15! that’s great, hi to the 15 of you!

(quick aside: one of my favorite opening lines of all time is “I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.” it’s from I CAPTURE THE CASTLE by dodie smith. so, to set the scene, i write this sitting in my bed at my mama’s house which is on a south carolina mountain just off appalachia, and it’s just about to start storming so the sky is big gray and every leaf on the whole entire mountain is currently being whipped up and tossed against my window. i live in los angeles now and there’s nothing i miss more than a good rainstorm! growing up my dad’s house had a tin roof and the rain really did “drum” on that thing. and the wind howled around the corners like i haven’t experienced in any other house, and we had lots of windchimes... i think the best sound combination i can think of is “rain on a tin roof, howling wind, frenetic windchimes.” is there asmr of that???? anyway scene set.)

so the main thing i wanted to say is of course: thank you. i can’t even tell you how nervous i was leading up to the CRIER’S WAR debut. the first 9 months of 2019 was basically just one extended breakdown. i don’t even know what i was nervous about. the mortifying ordeal of being known? everyone hating the book? nobody reading the book? lots of people reading the book?? either way, i was real real nervous and then of course debut happened and it shocked me how great it was. i think because so much of the actual writing process is lonesome. not lonely like “i crave human interaction” but lonesome like a little shack in the woods that sometimes people stumble across but most days they don’t and that’s just how it goes. so much of the writing process is just me sitting by myself in various places, and for so long the only people who read this book were a couple editors and my closest friends. i think i got so caught up in the idea of people Reading the book that i forgot about the natural conclusion of people reading the book, which is people Caring About the book. silly of me considering i have spent most of my life intensely caring about other people’s books! but i’ve been asked a few times what the most surprising/unexpected part of debut year was, and my answer is: the way so many people care about this story and these characters. i’m trying to think of a good way to phrase this.... okay, you know how a big part of fandom is you take the source material and build on it and make it your own? you write fic, make art, come up with content ranging anywhere from “What About the Other Finns?: My 10,000 Word Essay on the Humanization and Subsequent Re-dehumanization of Stormtroopers Throughout the Sequel Trilogy” to “poe has a collection of pashmina scarves and that’s final.” you take the source material and use it to create something wider, deeper, more meaningful; you turn it into whatever you need it to be at this moment.

there’s an endless debate about “does a story belong to the writer or the reader?” and i don’t know anything about anything but i do think it belongs to you; i think the best part of the story is whatever the reader creates once they’ve closed the book. if someone cares enough about the story to start telling their own stories about it, in any form, that’s the best. a great many people have done that with CRIER’S WAR. yes i am talking about your twitter memes!! yes i am talking about your art and fic (i know a couple fics have been posted, i can’t read any of it for legal reasons, but i See You) and very cute “currently reading” threads and headcanons and book ii theories and all of it. i wrote the book but now it belongs to you and you’re doing such wonderful things with it. thank you for reading and thank you for caring. (also thank you to those who read but don’t really care! that’s valid!!). thank you, really thank you.

i’m just finishing up revisions on IRON HEART, also known as 2 WAR 2 CRIERS, and it’s been strange because i’ve never written any sort of sequel before. but i learned a lot and i hope i’ve done well. i like the ending i wrote. i’m not good at complimenting my own writing but i like that ending. i hope y’all will too; i hope it fits with whatever you need it to be.

what else....

well, 2020 is going to be hard. i feel so helpless all the time. every day brings a new atrocity or disaster both here in the US and all over the world, and sometimes it feels like the only thing i can do is bear witness. i hate that sometimes all you can do is donate or signal boost and i hate that i can’t donate to every single cause & person and i hate that i can’t just... make all of it stop, which sounds so simplistic and childish but it’s the baseline truth of what i feel. i wish i could make all of it stop. what i can do is pay attention and vote and annoy the shit out of my state reps and show up and signal boost and donate and keep googling “how to help victims of ____” and so on and it all feels so tiny and futile, it really does. whew this got sad huh!! well... yeah!!

sorry this turned into a bummer right at the end!

in the coming year what i wish for you is hope. it’s going to be hard and exhausting and there will be times where the terrible things, big and small, pile up until that’s all you can see, and for those times i wish you hope and not-aloneness and the ability to keep going. i also wish you good fortune in whatever project you’re working on and everything you’re striving for, again big and small.

once again, thank you thank you endlessly for reading and supporting CRIER’S WAR. i love and appreciate you, thank you.

happy new year, let’s get through it together.

much love,

nina

#just some thoughts #despite it being debut year i'm super ready to slamdunk 2019 directly into the garbage #anyway poe has a collection of pashmina scarves you cannot tell me that man doesn't appreciate a high quality soft yet fashionable knit

20 notes · View notes

girls-scenarios · 5 years

Text

Not Just a Rumor

Idol: Olivia Hye (Loona)

Prompt: Hey could you do loona hyejoo where false rumours are spread around the school that her and reader are dating but she hates it bc she has a crush on reader

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: I’m using Olivia’s real name Hyejoo in this scenario (and everyone else’s real names too), just so everyone knows. Again, I’ve been writing things and meaning to have them up early, but then stuff happens, so I’m sorry for not being as active as I want to be. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

♡ Tip Jar♡

At first, it hadn’t seemed like much. It had been something Hyejoo flushed upon hearing, but dismissed as nothing, because she hadn’t though that the school would care. Now, she wished she’d done something about it before, because suddenly the entire school cared way too much about her non-existent love life, and she hated it.

“If one more person asks me if I’m dating (Y/N), I’m going to scream,” she said as she slammed her locker door closed, face red with both embarrassment and annoyance. “How did this rumor even start?”

“I already told you,” Chaewon chirped from beside her with a smile, enjoying this way too much. “Someone said they saw you with (Y/N) in the library before school started and wondered if you guys were dating. And then it snowballed from there.”

“That’s dumb. I already explained that! We know each other from physics class, and whenever we happen to be at the library at the same time, we study together. That’s it, that’s all that happened.” The hall was packed with students, and some of them shot her looks, whispering behind their hands as they passed. Groaning, Hyejoo pulled her hat down further to hide her eyes and grabbed Chaewon’s arm. “Come on, let’s just get to class.”

“People are going to think you’re cheating on (Y/N).” Yeojin’s voice came from behind her, and she turned to see her standing there with a grin on her lips, wiggling her eyebrows. Beside her, Yerim gave Hyejoo a sympathetic smile.

“I hate you,” Hyejoo said, meaning for it to sound intimidating. But she just sounded like she was pouting, which made Yeojin snicker.

“Cute.”

“Yeojin, stop teasing. You know our Hyejoo is having a hard time right now.”

“Thanks, Yerim. You’re all I have.”

“So I just don’t exist, huh?” Chaewon huffed and leaned all her weight onto the other girl, making her stumble. “I’ve been right here by your side this whole time!”

“You’re hardly any better than Yeojin,” Hyejoo pointed out, trying to push the other girl away. “I’m suffering here, you know.”

“Since it’s the weekend, do you want to come over to my place tonight? We can play video games and order some pizza and then you can tell us why you hate this rumor so much.” Yerim smiled and reached out to pat the younger girl’s shoulder, and Hyejoo finds herself smiling in return despite the circumstances. Nobody could ever not smile around Yerim.

“I’d really like that.”

“Yay, a sleepover at Yerim’s! I’ll bring my new Switch!”

“I’ll bring ice cream!”

“Great, I’ll let my mom know! Let’s have lots of fun tonight, girls!”

Late that night, after they’d all eaten their fill of pizza and played a couple rounds of Mario Party, Yerim flopped back onto her bed and wrapped her arms around her pillow, looking down at Hyejoo who was making a bed on the floor with Chaewon.

“So, are you going to tell us why this rumor has you so upset?” Her eyes were kind, like they always were, and Hyejoo swallowed, nervous about finally saying her feelings out loud.

“Well. I’ve liked (Y/N) for a long time, but I’ve never had the courage to say anything, since we don’t really know each other that well. But when this rumor started going around, it just made me feel weird. Like now everyone knows this secret that I’ve wanted to say for so long.”

“It’s not like you started the rumor,” Chaewon said, tilting her head. “Do you think that (Y/N) thinks that?”

“Well, no. But it still feels weird! Like, Yerim and Yeojin, how would you guys have felt if someone started saying that you were dating before you actually started dating?” Hyejoo pointed at the two girls on the bed, who looked at each other.

“I feel like I would have been embarrassed,” Yerim said slowly, putting her chin in her palm. “I can see where you’re coming from.”

“I would have just confessed! You’ve already got a rumor going around, might as well, right?” Yeojin shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t see what the big idea is.”

“Yeojin!” Yerim elbowed her girlfriend, not hard enough to hurt but enough to get her point across, and Yeojin pretended to zip her lips. “Anyway, Hyejoo. I understand why you’re so upset, but it should die down soon. You know how rumors are. People are interested for a few days and then they find something else. I’m sure it will blow over soon.” Yerim gave her a smile. “Plus, you have us. We’ll help you get through this.”

“I still don’t see why you can’t just ask them out,” Yeojin muttered under her breath, but Hyejoo chose to ignore her, smiling to herself and focusing on Yerim’s words instead. Yeah, she could handle this.

“Thanks, Yerim. I needed this talk.”

“Of course! That’s what I’m here for!”

“Can we have a pillow fight now?” Chaewon asked, peeked up over Hyejoo’s shoulder. With a laugh, Hyejoo rolled her eyes and clutched her pillow close, ready to swing. She was really lucky to have friends that made her worries slide right off her shoulders.

“Only if you’re ready to lose!”

Monday morning found Hyejoo sitting in the library once again, looking up at you as you pulled out the chair across from her and sent her a little smile. The air was a little more awkward than it usually was, and as Hyejoo shyly smiled back, a little flush on her cheeks, she knew it was because of the rumor.

“Good morning,” she said, voice soft as she glanced over at the door, out of instinct. Was anyone watching?

“Good morning. Last time we were in here, we caused quite the stir, didn’t we,” you said as you sat down, looking a bit embarrassed yourself.

Heart pounding, she opened her physics book and tried not to think too much about the words coming out of her mouth. “No kidding. I’m kind of surprised you even came today, to be honest.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I thought you might want to stay away, just in case the rumor started back up.”

For a moment, you were quiet, and when she glanced up to look at you, you were flipping through the pages in your textbook, face unreadable. But then a small smile spread over your lips and you looked up, locking eyes with hers. “I have a good time whenever I’m here with you. So I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Immediately, Hyejoo felt her face flush and she quickly looked away, trying to calm her rapidly-beating heart. What was this? Were you trying to give her a heart attack? “Oh,” she replied weakly, hoping that she wasn’t too obvious as she fidgeted under the table and pretended to go back to her textbook. “That’s good, then.”

“Hey, Hyejoo?”

She dared to look up at you. “Yes?”

“What did you think when you first heard the rumor?”

Again, her cheeks colored and she took a deep breath, collecting herself. What should she tell you? She could tell you the truth, but the truth might make it look like she didn’t want to date you. And if she lied, how would she lie? What could she even say? The question was hard, and she resisted the urge to groan, wishing she could just melt into the ground.

“Um. Well, it was kind of weird. Hearing a rumor that involved me, I mean. And kind of embarrassing, since everyone kept asking me about it.” That seemed like a good enough answer, and she mustered a smile. “What about you?”

“Kind of weird, like you said. But when I thought about it, I guess I didn’t mind the idea of dating you.”

Hyejoo choked on air. “Uh, what?”

“I’m saying that I wouldn’t mind if the rumor was true.” Your cheeks were flushed now, and she pinched herself under the table to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. “Sorry if that’s weird.”

“No! No, it’s not weird! I was just caught off guard, that’s all.” Both of you were blushing now, and she knew if anyone saw the two of you like this, the rumor would explode. But right now, she didn’t care, her heart pounding in her chest and a shy smile sliding across her features. “Um, I wouldn’t mind if the rumor was true either. That’s why I found it so embarrassing. Because I kind of like you.”

Laughing, you brought your hands up to cover your face for a moment, leaning back into your chair. “Oh my god, this whole time I could have already confessed? I was so scared that you didn’t like me!”

“I was the same,” she said with a laugh of her own, watching with bated breath as you pulled your hands away from your face and placed them on the table, clearing your throat.

“Sorry that it took a rumor for me to say this, but will you go out with me, Hyejoo?”

A smile so big it hurt appeared on her face, and she felt her heart swell inside her chest as she took a leap of courage and reached out to hold your hands in her own. She couldn’t believe that this was actually happening, but at the same time, she was so happy she could burst. “Oh wow. Yes. I’ll definitely go out with you.”

“Than can I tell everyone that it’s not just a rumor anymore?” You were visibly excited, grinning just as wide as she was as you played with her fingers, and she began to giggle. Who would have known that what started out as a nuisance would end up leading to this happiness?

“Just let me tell friends first. I’m sure they can’t wait to hear about this.”

#loona #olivia hye #hyejoo #femifics #loona scenarios #loona scenario #olivia hye scenarios #girl group scenarios #kpop scenarios #girl groups #kpop girl groups #t:highschoolau

123 notes · View notes

the-house-of-the-nine · 5 years

Text

In Depths Below, Masquerade, Part 7

[Part 7, Just a warning that we’re getting to the violence, blood and reveals here. ]

If you’re enjoying this, please like and share to your friends! Help us to reach new faces,readers & writers!

[We’ve been so blessed to have help from this fantastic community here, every single one of you have helped us in so many ways! And feel free to send anonymous ASKS if you are curious about writing with us! We absolutely welcome new faces! Without further delay….]

The sound of a slap coming across her face broke the conversation wide open. It even caused Marseille to blow their cover. Low and behold the second her face was slapped he knew. He had heard that tone many times before working in the servants lifestyle. He almost burst through the paper cover but Verzatea grabbed him to hold him back.

Though it was too late. The slap had caused silence and in that veil; his little shift and noise was all the Magister group had to hear in order to learn there was someone else there.

“What----was---that...” his golden eyes suddenly faded from their brilliance and the fel green that dwell beneath peered toward the little stand where the delicious cakes still sat. “Brightsong. . .”

The magister called upon would suddenly cast a spell of revealing against the little stand. And there the transparency of the paper showed them hiding behind the counter in full detail. There was nothing more they could do.

“Get out from behind there. . .show yourselves this instant!” Honeywell demanded as he stormed forward toward the stand.

At this point there was nothing more the pair could do but to crawl out from behind the counter. With hands raised upward and their disguises all but ruined, Verzatea and Marseille stood before the group of magisters. Marseille had calmly slipped the spoon into the spot where his tomahawk usually sat, unfortunately because of his apron and disguise, the weapon was missing.

“What were you doing. . .” Dawnseeker asked curiously. His fel green eyes calmly narrowed as he searched through the facial expressions of these stowaways.

“Well m’lord. . .you see, we got stuck in here when the crowd started to shuffle out, and rather than be rude we just felt. . .hiding was the best option to not disturb your meeting.”

Verzatea played the part of the innocent victim all too well, and her tone and fearful voice would simply scream truth to the untrained ear.

Dawnseeker had yet to demonstrate why it was that these people all seemed to fall in line behind him, but it was soon made clear when he waved his hand in her direction and the coiling essence that warped around the two of them suddenly squeezed. A fel green wrapping synched tightly and he would pull them toward the group.

“You are the owner of this little confectionery stand. . .” he said in the same horrid tone as before. The noose around them tightening while he inspected them.

“I am sir. . .lord. . .M’lord.” Verzatea stammered out as she nervously peered back toward him.

“You have heard certain things that. . .you should not have been privy to.” the look between the two as he spoke was insisting her had something in mind as to how he would deal with this.

“Certainly not. We have no idea what is going on with any of this and we have no interest in repeating anything.” she quickly tried to turn the tables so he could see they were in agreement.

Dawnseeker began to shake his head as he calmly moved away from the pairing of elves. His coiled fel wrapping still kept them in place and he would simply meander about thinking out loud.

“Well, there in lies the problem. . . if I leave it alone, I'm going to have to worry about you saying something to someone. . .and we just can’t have that.” he said as his feet slowly danced along the ballroom floor. “Can we?”

The collective group of magisters and their spouses would shake their heads and agree. They could not have that.

“And then comes the whole having to pay you off to silence you. . .which frankly I just dont have the energy to do. So. . .”

Dawnseeker raised his hand toward the pair of them. His power was fel based, clearly. He was a master of chaotic magics. The man who so proudly pontificated his pride for Silvermoon City; surrendered to the dark magics entirely. A ball of green energy focused against his palm while a skull shape began to emerge from the center.

“I am truly sorry, if it was not for your blatant stupidity. . . and overall incompetence this would not be happening right now.”

The magister pointed his palm flat toward Verzatea and Marseille who were still trapped in place by the green sizzling band. He narrowed his eyes and just as he was about to release the glowing ball, something loud broke the tension.

“No don’t!” Siida shouted in a scream just as she witnessed Magister Dawnseeker turn and fire the bolt of chaotic energy into the chest of the unsuspecting Honeywell.

The magister fell backward onto his rear as the green fel magic began to burrow through his chest cavity like a flesh eating disease. It bore a hole straight through and began to burn through his spinal cord and muscles. He was dead within seconds.

The rest of his group gasped and covered their mouths. They were completely aghast at what had just happened. The man whose house they all stood in right now was dead on the floor, still boiling and popping from the burning magic. Sennaris dare not move as she would not wish to incur his wrath further.

“You were saying?” Dawnseeker sneered as his sizzling hand lowered behind his vision. His burning eyes locked on Siida while the other hand tightened the grip he had on Verzatea and Marseille. They both let out a scream this time as the tension increased.

“Speak!”

“Alright! Please! Just don’t. . . not anymore. . .” Siida had raised her hands up. Watching the struggling partners she cared so deeply for; caught in the grasp of the effervescent vapors of his dark magic, she pleaded with wet eyes.

“Who---are--they...?” his voice was still as cold and horrid as ever. The crackling energy that bled from his fingers would drip onto the floor in pools of light green. “And speak the truth. . . I will know if you are lying. . .”

His glowing eyes peered back toward Magister Brightsong. The man was similar to Sennaris; save for the fact he could not manipulate the mind. But, he could cast a wave of energy over the collective. His ability would inflict a mentality of pure transparency. Similar to how he was able to show what was behind a solid object; it was true all the same for his ability to cause your truths to come to the surface.

Dawnseeker gave the signal and the other magister would begin to work his woven net of magic across the room, enveloping them all.

She felt odd. Almost as if something had melded with her mind. She went to speak but there was nothing. Only her eyes wide; purely cognizant of what had happened when the other magister cast his spell. She would attempt it again, but alas no words. Her thoughts were meant to deceive but she was unable.

“They are my friends. . .my family. . .” she whispered softly, loud enough for the room to pause and consider. She was unable to speak any deception. “Verzatea Duskflame. . . keeper of our family records and my brothers trusted advisor...”

“Siida. .. .” Verza spoke softly listening, trying to plead with her to stop. Though her voice was barely at half the volume of who she addressed due to the squeeze.

“A mentor of mine. She has taught me a great deal. The other is my brothers personal spy, his name is Marseille. He is Shal’dorei, the mask he wears is. . . fake. he haunts my dreams. . .” Siida opened her eyes widely and clamped her hands across her mouth.

Oh the light bit of laughter that suddenly overtook the group of magisters while they watched on. Dawnseeker continued to suspend her friends where they were; those dark eyes were still burning.

“Somebody get Honeywell out of here. . .” he said in a snide tone. His eyes alone spoke much deeper than his voice ever could.

For at that second he peered at Sennaris; the wise woman rightfully raced toward the body and began to drag it best she could from the room; leaving a trail of burned insides and blood across his polished stone floor. She would eagerly attempt to flee before her own cover was blown.

Thankfully she and Siida had shared a light glance that nobody happened to see. It was one of remorse; Sennaris was not about to abandon them but if she could slip out to Vari, there was a chance this could end. It was after all one part of the fall back. She left the four of them behind, hoping that if she could only make it outside the portcullis, that she could alert the rest.

“And what happens if we are made?” Vari stated while she padded across the room in her bare feet. She often removed her armor when she was in the comforts of The Bastille, especially in the drafting room. Or in this case; The Compellors hideaway.

“We will not have our cover blown unless someone speaks. I know these dossiers inside and out; my Mast. . .Lazarius had been sure to test me on everything in them.” Marseille stated firmly while watching the frozen queen move across her path.

“And there was no chance. . .” She hissed, her lich fire eyes locked on the glowing soft pink of his own. “You’re telling me, absolutely none, zero percent.”

Verzatea and Sennaris sat beside on another; it was clear they were not going to throw their hats in the ring.

“Zero.” he responded firmly. “The only person who will be recognized is Siida.”

Marseille softened his gaze; it was no secret that he did not enjoy harboring the idea of offering one of the only real friends he had as bait, but the plan was already set.

“I still don’t like this. . .” said the older sister.

“What choice have we Vari?” came the younger. “Even if the only thing we take away from this is that Lazarius is. . .”

“Don’t. . .you.” Vari turned and narrowed her vision at her younger sister. Granted they were not nearly as close and Lazarius and she, there was still that love she shared for her sister present, but her twin was by far a link she shared with no other.

“Even if. . . we will learn what we learn and get this. . .Dawnseeker.” she continued while watching Vari seeth. “It will be enough.”

“It will never be enough!” the frozen lich howled a chilling voice that rattled books from the shelves and seemed to come at them from every direction.

“Pyravari. . . I know that you are angered by the loss of what transpired here; truly know that it is not my intention to rob you of that grief. But for this plan to work, we need everyone to cooperate. Arguing will not bring him back to us, this. . . might.” Marseille calmly stated after the silence of her howl waned.

There was silence for a moment. Yes there was conflict in the air; the entire group of them were on edge. They’d been at this plan for nearly a week straight to this point. And the time to debate and try and find alternative routes had passed. Sennaris had already met with Honeywell and the invitations sent. The entire structure of the plan was in motion; if they backed away or changed anything, it would collapse.

“R-right. . .yes.” the voice of The Harbinger said softly.

She had peered toward the pale old elf as he spoke; seeing there was nothing but determination on his face, and honest in his voice made her reason with her anger. She nodded, taking a seat beside her love; and Koltun placed a fiendish claw against her frozen hand. He also knew the pain that was manifesting here. Lazarius was like a brother to him as well.

“Please. . .continue.” she added after feeling the touch from the demon beside her.

Marseille nodded his head and motioned toward Sennaris and Zalra.

“There is always a chance that something could be turned upside down. We don’t know how the night is going to play out. The main goal should be that if something does end up turning in their favor; we regroup, and get word to everyone.”

He extended a withered gloved hand; its slender finger pointing toward the two women.

“Sennaris and Zalra have the best chance to relay information should we need to get word from inside. . .to out. Disguised as a Lady of the hosting house; you should be able to go where you please, Azurestar.”

Zalra would remain silent; She just nodded understanding fully what needed to be done.

“If something goes wrong outside, the house will go into lock down. We can adapt. The key at that point is to handle Dawnseeker at all cost. But it is imperative that anything that constitutes a breech in our safety inside, needs to be made known to those of us who are free to move on the grounds.”

Everyone seemed to be in agreement. Eyes would pass from one person to the next, looks of determination, confidence. It was a key to their survival if things did in fact go south.

“And that is-th why Operation: Mus-thic Box is-th our fall back plan!” squealed the little voice of the gnomish doctor sitting on the outside edge of the table.

Brox Sulfin sat beside him and groaned, the miserable Dark Iron dwarf puffing away on his pipe while billowing out clouds of smoke, he shook his head hearing the gnome speak. The pair had just recently returned from their long and painful trip to Searing Gorge, and were eager to aid however they could. Sadly though, Brox did have to return to Stormwind; lest the internal structure of their business there suffer further.

“Only if and when. . . if it should it be required, Operation. . “ Marseille said as he begrudgingly paused hearing the name inside his own head.

“Mus-thic Box!” the little gnome added so as to help complete the sentence.

Marseille sighed with an utterly large lump in his throat as the ridiculous name was heard.

“Yes. . .that.” he added shortly after. “Then we should all consider that as the point of no return. Should we require Doctor Whistletorque and his. . . marvelous contraptions. It will be from a position of desperation, and we will be unable to turn back.”

“The illustrious Lazarius Kash’ebahl and his little network of accomplices. How typical that I was the one that had to weed out this filthy garden simply because some incompetent fool was too lazy to realize that we had an infestation.” seethed the Magister.

To be continued... In Depths Below:Masquerade,Part 8

10 notes · View notes

dcarevu · 5 years

Text

Batman TAS: The Clock King

Hi, guys! Gee, it’s been a while! For another week or two, doing these blogs are going to be incredibly difficult to accomplish. It’s the last two weeks of my school semester, meaning that it’s crunch time. Overall, school has kept me so busy that watching the episodes has been doable, but writing about them has been a huge problem. It sucks, because doing this blog and venting my thoughts is incredibly satisfying. To be honest, if I didn’t include screenshots and captions for most of them (like how I used to do things), these posts would likely still be coming out regularly. But they are a lot of extra work. It more than doubles the creation-time, believe it or not. It is work that is worth it, mind you, it adds a massive leap in awesome-factor. But I just don’t have time for it at the moment. I have watched up to Robin’s Reckoning as of the moment I type this. Because of how far ahead that is without actually writing anything about those episodes, it’s going to be hard to write meaningful blog posts about them, simply due to the episodes not being as fresh in my mind. I will try to rewatch them (or at the very least skim through them and read about them). I’m in a bit of a rut. I didn’t want to stop watching episodes entirely, because I’d like to get through the DC Animated Universe in a somewhat timely manner (I’d watch an episode per night if only I could). Luckily, after the 10th of May I should be back at it in full. I’m likely way more excited about it than you are, but hey, I’m mainly doing this for me (with a hearty “welcome” to anyone who happens to discover and enjoy these along the way). Just figured I’d keep any readers updated! This is the last post for the next couple of weeks. I’ll check in soon! In the mean time…

“Thirty-seven pages? That would take a copier exactly one minute and forty-nine seconds. One more delay like this and you're fired!”

Episode: 25 Robin: No Writer: David Wise Director: Kevin Altieri Animator: Sunrise Airdate: September 21, 1992 Grade: B

So lately I’ve been watching these episodes using my Blu Ray copy, and receiving the screenshots from my DVD copy. There hasn’t been too much for variance, aside from one looking obviously better, but The Clock King is an example of a pretty drastic difference in how two episodes can be presented. The Blu Ray copy is much brighter than the DVD copy, and while that does allow us to see what is going on a little bit better in dark scenes such as when Batman and Temple Fugate face off inside the clock, it also makes other scenes uncharacteristically bright, and honestly a little bit tacky. Seeing Batman walking around in broad daylight is odd enough, but when you further get rid of the illusion of how cool he looks by upping the exposure an additional amount, it makes him look really out of place. In the series bible, I can see why they wanted to keep Batman only appearing after dark. In the real world, it would be a lot easier to see Batman as a normal guy in a dorky Halloween costume when not cloaked in the shadows or when the ability to see him before he attacks is present. Of course, this isn’t saying that if Batman were to see trouble during daylight that he should just ignore it. It makes sense to break the rule sometimes, and it’s not even a problem to me in this episode, I just don’t think that the remastering of the Blu Ray release does it any favors in this case. The brightness also brings out the budget, revealing a whole lot of bland blues, grays, and browns. These colors have not been shy since the beginning, but there is no disguising them this time.

Fugate is a villain who’s main flaw is not only how obsessive-compulsive he gets about his schedule, keeping track of things, being on time, etc, but also the fact that he extends this to other people. He expects them to fall in line with his standards. For example, he keeps track of how long he and Mayor Hill have been taking the subway together, and expects Hill to know his name just from that. Also, his employee/intern who brings him a stack of papers too slowly for his standards, because apparently a photocopier should only take “one minute and forty-nine seconds” on that particular stack. And then, the biggest one of all, when he expects Mayor Hill to immediately know the significance of the time 3:15. This is the time that Hill suggested Fugate go on his coffee break, indirectly leading to Fugate losing the court case, ruining his life and creating the Clock King. But this was seven years prior! If someone came up to you and went, “1:47!” would you have any idea what they were talking about? Sure, a lot of things have happened at 1:47, maybe even some significant things, but as far as what they are, most people probably do not keep track. Another theme that I noticed was the idea of hindsight. Have you ever been in a situation where you gave someone a mere suggestion, they willingly took it, and then when something happened to ruin it, they blame you and insist that they knew it was a bad idea? Right, of course in hindsight it’s easy to say that, but truth is, neither of you saw the consequences coming! On top of that, any bad things that happened were completely unrelated to what you suggested, and luck just did not happen to line up. Maybe if Fugate hadn’t gone on that coffee break at a different time than usual, something else would have happened (not to get Final Destination-y on you). Point is, Fugate is completely missing the mark by staying mad at Mayor Hill for that long, and it’s like the old saying goes, “Shit happens.” Ironically, for a man so precise and knowledgable when to comes to all things time and clock related, looking back in time without heavy distortion does not seem to be something he is capable of doing in this case.

The main thing I liked about this episode (as I think a lot of people did) was its incredibly cruel nature. Just how mean to a guy can the writers be? “All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy”. That’s a Joker quote (taken from The Killing Joke), and it’s something I think about from time to time. I often wonder how much is between a rational brain and a completely irrational one. How much subconscious effort does being sane take? What’s keeping any of us from letting go and succumbing to the lunacy? Do our minds even work that way? Well, I sure as hell don’t know. And nobody worry, I’m not even the least bit afraid of snapping or anything, hahaha. It probably greatly varies from person to person as far as what would be enough to drive them crazy. In Temple Fugate’s case, it was a lot less than it would take for the majority of us. But this is hammered home by the drama of him being late to court. The bloody browns, dramatic shadows, and violent ticks of a clock do not necessarily represent how Fugate sees the situation, but they are there to represent how the situation affects him. If we were to be affected like him, this is how we would have to experience the situation. After all, everything is relative. This is juxtaposed brilliantly by the prior scene where birds are chirping and the sun is shining. Fugate seems like an alien trying to act casually as he struggles to relax for those few seconds. This is also more from our point of view than Fugate’s. These two scenes being back to back make us feel confused and baffled over our villain, all while allowing us to understand him completely. To me, understanding does not necessarily mean that something makes sense to us. Understanding is knowing the why. But, as an analogy, someone can tell me why they like the taste of zucchini. But that doesn’t make it any more clear to me those reasons can be enough for someone can like it. It just is what it is, and the bottom line is that all of our realities are different. For Temple Fugate, this is an unfortunate reality.

The producers of Batman set a goal of having a crazy set piece at the third act of every episode. They wanted it to aid in the excitement and to be memorable. I’m pretty sure not all episodes did this (it would become formulaic is abused), but this, along with Prophecy of Doom are the two that come to mind as demonstrators of this concept. Unfortunately, the animation lacks the spark that it needs. Luckily The Clock King wasn’t infected by Atom disease, and so the climax downright corny like Prophecy of Doom, and seeing the inside of the clock was neat, but… It wasn’t beyond just neat. I wish we got a bigger sense of scale, seeing further to the bottom of the clock, and maybe getting some better angles along with quicker action. I wanted a sense of height like what Mayor Hill was experiencing from the outside, as he was tied to the clock-hand. Plus just better fighting. It was such a tease of an action scene. I wanted to be at the edge of my seat, but feeling that way would require forcing it. And I just don’t have that kind of energy, man. Sunrise tried, they really did. The scene (and the whole episode in general) looks passable. But the blandness holds it back. It’s like eating the macaroni and cheese from my college. It’s mac and friggin’ cheese. So of course it’s going to be edible. Of course I’m going to like it. But where is the usual flavor? Where is the element that I usually am head-over-heels for? I can make vague comments about what it’s missing or what I would personally do to make it better. But probably the most firm statement I can really make is only, “Just do it better next time.”

I feel bad for people like this. We’ve all met them. They hold themselves (and others) to an impossibly high standard. Think about how much energy that must use.

The shock of Fugate hitting his coffee break at an odd time. She’s worked with him a long time.

Batman’s idea of a nice, sunny day. As noted, it’s brighter on the Blu Ray. One of the scenes where the brightness adds to it. That tree is casting a shadow, but it almost looks like the clock is the one causing it...

The Blu Ray variant.

Great stuff! The tick of a clock gets louder and louder through the scene.

“Then perhaps this will teach you to be on time for a change.” This line holds so much weight, as to someone like Fugate, it cements the idea that one moment of leniency was one too many.

This drawing could have been a little more grotesque, but not bad!

“I take it taxi-drivers are no longer required to obey traffic signs.”

I find it a little whacky that Bruce Wayne noticed trouble from way down on the streets.

Bruce going through that car was animated incredibly strangely. It looked like he entered the car, but then it looked like he emerged from behind it. But anyway, maybe this was a Superman homage? In one of the Superman movies, he walked through a car and emerged completely changed. Batman doesn’t have that amount of speed, so maybe this is kind of like his version of it. In the shadows, where he belongs.

Wow, ugly screenshot. But see how odd it is to see Batman in the daylight?

Again, here is the Blu Ray version. And on a much better frame.

Why he didn’t hurl the explosive directly at Batman is beyond me. He just kinda threw it into the distance. Maybe as a warning (much like Walter White vs Tuco for any Breaking Bad fans).

See what I mean by blandness so far? A little more style would have gone a long way.

What an awful way to die this would be. Split in half by two hands of a giant clock. Imagine the impact this would have on Gotham if it had have worked.

A few bits from inside the clock, including Fugate’s apparent death. But Batman doesn’t seem to think he’s gone... Some of these drawings of gears frankly suck. The line-work just isn’t there. This episode felt like a Twilight Zone episode, I’ve gotta say. I think it had to do with the personality of the villain along with some of the events that happened. Batman and Twilight Zone... Now there’s a crossover with possible potential...

Char’s grade: B Next time: Appointment in Crime Alley

Full episode list here!

#dcau #dc animated universe #batman tas #the clock king #batman #btas #batman the animated series

6 notes · View notes

violetsystems · 3 years

Text

#personal

I had an epiphany last week during the break from writing. Having a space where you can go to where people understand you is paramount in life. Not many people have the luxury of being understood without question. Some people have it harder than others in mainstream society. There are complex reasons for this. But most of my young adulthood was spent finding spaces out on the fringe that just didn't waste time caring about any of it. Nobody likes people telling them what to do or what to be. It's such a simple feeling to fathom. I live in a country where freedom is supposed to be our secret sauce. Where everyone could be free if we just left it at that. And yet we're too busy arguing our little lines in the sand. Some people have more of it. Some people cross the line with it. And some of us are left creating some sort of metaphysical bulwark to seal up the gaps where other people sink into our own rights to be. I'm a bit of a scientist when it comes to the socials I'm adrift in. So I believe in quantitative results. I always think the problem is me. And this Is why as a writer I internalize so much. I am literally thinking aloud about how to socially engineer a situation to be less encroaching. I ask myself from the beginning of when I wake up where the points of failure might lie. If writing on the internet really were the cause of everything then I'd follow my mom's advice she gave me in college. I used to dress weird according to some people. I challenged the social norms because this is what I liked to do particularly with punk fashion at the time. Some jocks at the college called me any number of slurs. She told me simply to face it or change. No matter how rude people were. I dressed that way for some time. And went on to be known for many things that eventually went nowhere. But the knowledge never left me. There are some things worth fighting for and others a Sisyphean task. Last week I stopped going out somewhat altogether. I ordered groceries for the week. I made coffee and cooked chicken in my sunny kitchen. I cleaned dead mice with severed heads off the property before the sun rose and woke my neighbors. I paid my rent electronically for the first time from my bank and not my credit union. Serves them right for that James Webb shit. I focused on the things I couldn't escape. The times I left were to fly a drone out in the park for free with the newly licensed flight license I acquired through the Boy Scouts of America. I finally spoke with my neighbors across the way after intervening as a Good Samaritan in the laundry room we all share. That earned me two donuts and a long John. It also feels the politeness has lowered the defcon ratio of mistrust that exists on my porch. That shadow is more cast by what people expect out of this city. To trust no one. To think everyone is spying on them. To worry about what people say behind your back. That world exists out there every time I step off the property. It's a culture I do not welcome on my doorstep. I live in what they call a sanctuary city that nobody will talk about for fear of going on record. The silence is meant to protect but mostly a large defense that keeps people from healing and growing. And yet another year here locked in my little hut by the train seems different. What could have changed?

I'm not a mind reader. I'm not psychic although my mom's Croatian gypsy and Bohemian German roots claimed they saw the future. Nature is overlaid onto of us at all times just like the internet. The mysteries and the wonders are happening right in front of us as we fixate on a microscopic display. Most people live an encapsulated life in a walled garden of their own data. They're afraid of freedom and so they sacrifice it for a jailed security. I somehow end up the same. Trapped here in some weird prism of questions nobody really wants to ask. They tell you that's the first thing that bothers people. When people ask too many questions? What are we doing here? Are we alone in the universe? Where is this thing we have headed? Will I see you again on Tuesday? Do you remember Kid Entropy? I remember the reverse entropy of working out every day and not looking like I did when I was younger. Just sore. All over my body. The Body by Jake sore and not the I fear I'm dying of Covid sore. Not even the wake up on Monday and have to face your fuckhead boss kind of sore. I remember having a job once. Or at least being on someone's payroll because music wasn't good enough of a career to justify your existence. It still isn't. I make more money mining ethereum than I did on band camp sales. And even then it's not that much. Why are all the people I help shoot videos getting featured on bandcamp daily while I'm invisible to everyone and everything. Maybe it is best to not focus on what isn't being said. Everything is a double edged sword of Damocles in this era. You get what you wish for. Or do you? Nobody but you will ever know. And that's a level of confidence that goes deep into the void if you follow it. Nobody out there is sure of anything. They ask for reassurance. Sometimes they don't ask. They want to control your stage time on this episode of real life. And I live on a backlot where anything is possible. Anything except having a real job and being seen as important. I was never as important as I was when I started writing here. And that's not very important really except to a few dear friends. I always say stick to what's worth it and then stick to what's working. I just said that now. But anything worth it is worth fighting like hell for. And it's pretty clear to see what is working and what isn't. I have a space where I live alone and wonder aimlessly. I try to figure out what I should be doing to be relevant. And then I realize there is a lot I already do. So much so I've done or did that nobody can forget. I've been cancelled without even a word or a poor deed to speak of. Nothing to be remembered and nothing to be gained. Is this why they are so worried about cancel culture? I existed this far in life by sticking to my morals and ethics. Nobody really has ever asked what they are. People want the abridged version. They want to know what God you worship or what your favorite sports team is. They don't want the heavy lifting of understanding what singular identity you represent. They don't want the burden of caring. They're too busy caring about themselves. When you do care nowadays it shows in ways that seem arcane and wizardly. I'm not a mind reader at all. I am considerate enough to go above and beyond your expectations. That is if you are worth it.

Some shit out there is just not worth it. Not worth explaining. Not worth thinking about. Not worth fighting to be heard amongst people who can't even remember your name. Fake names included. There's people out there who still remember every bit of the last twenty to thirty years of my existence. I wish they'd understand why it doesn't mean anything. And yet I'm still alive. I still look out for people. I didn't ask for a medal or a star on a walk of fame. I'm still that guy you try to copy but can never get the swagger right. I still foster the culture even if I felt abandoned by it all. I still think it's worth it to be the impossible version of me. A kind, stern figure that moves deliberately like a shadowy colossus as not to hurt the blades of grass flowing underneath my feet. I walk off my steps onto the concrete and it's a million human eyes perched like grasshoppers. I could endure that for anyone but around here it's more trouble than it's worth. I've been walled off behind an understanding. One that has no guarantees and no goal posts other than how I hold it down. How things can be so fucked up out there but always so safe with me. I wonder sometimes. Why people don't strive to be more like me instead of chasing after some stupid shit. Like everyone writes on the internet that people like me should be more like me. And yet people like me are horribly forgotten. After all this time, it's better off that way. But what kind of a mind fuck would it be to explain that to people. I stopped explaining. I stopped going out and dealing with the constant silent prodding. I resisted by mothballing my entire life and hiding. I wanted people to seek it out. The horrible and bitter truth. Whatever my history is. Because I'm not like anybody after all of this. I'm in a place where I can truly say you deal with me and me alone. If I write about it, you can read it for your own very eyes. I've cultivated that for years. Sometimes it's been used against me. Sometimes it's my own fault for not realizing things sooner. But nobody can grow when they're constantly being uprooted by hazing, gaslighting, intimidation and pack tactics. That's not provoking culture. This isn’t the army. That's being an asshole. If anything delicate plans need deliberate decisions and timing. And we live in an era where everyone thinks they can brute force, glitch or subvert their way to the top in a two week news cycle. I've been casted to the side more times than I can count. And I get back up and reinvent myself. These days I'm through being tested by people who can’t be bothered to look themselves in the mirror. And I'm through watching other good people have their time wasted by useless roasting and disingenuous provocation. If anyone has learned anything about me is that they've tried it all. And it all just sits there on the wall. Other people's failures of vision of what I could excel at. All the failed pranks and dumb attempts at guerrilla warfare. They couldn't see a world where we win by our own standards. Maybe if they rolled the old gypsy bones a couple more times, you'd be able to predict my outcome. I've rolled them for you. Bohemian rhapsody all day. You can unlock the layman's interpretation on Tumblr+. Everything else you should have figured out already. The people I really care about already have. <3 Tim

0 notes

truettkarsyn · 3 years

Text

15 Mistakes You May Be Making In Article Writing

Article writing can be a good way to operate a vehicle traffic to your website and to really get your feet wet in the writing business. But it's also easy to disappear in the ocean of content out there. By avoiding these 15 common mistakes, readers will recognize you as a qualified writer:

1 - Writing in exactly the same style you would use for a novel. People are not looking at your article to see if you're the next Shakespeare. They're here for the data, so give it in their mind in the simplest, most user-friendly way possible.

2 - Writing like you're texting your best friend. There's nothing more annoying than reading something that's allowed to be in your own language and not understanding it.

3 - Imitating someone else's style. If there's something people can spot from a distance away, it's when you're faking it. Let people get to know you for who you are and appreciate you as an original writer.

4 - Worrying a lot of about repetition. In traditional writing, using the same word over and over is recognized as a mistake content for blogs. However, search engines will never find you if you keep changing what you call things, so don't concern yourself with it too much.

5 - Overusing keywords. Yes, it's the opposite of the last point. Using keywords just so you can be found will break the flow and readers are certain to get tired of trying to see it.

6 - Using way too many negative words. You don't wish to depress your readers, you want them to come far from this article feeling that they have gained something useful. Exactly like in real life, irrespective of how good the conversation, nobody really wants to pay lots of time around negative energy.

7 - Unclear writing. If the reader doesn't have an instantaneous feel for what you're getting at, then this article doesn't serve a purpose. Try and keep your sentences short and to-the-point.

8 - Too much "we", insufficient "you" ;.The informal style used in this sort of article should have the reader feel just like he's in a discussion with somebody he trusts. Ensure it is about him and not about you.

9 - Badly organized body. The flow and direction of this article must certanly be clear from the start. If your system is badly organized then your reader will weary and proceed to another article. If your thoughts are organized, your writing will undoubtedly be organized.

10 - Giving poor quality/out-of-date content. This really is just a consequence of bad research. When you include any information you are uncertain of in your article, make sure that you have a recent source so you know the data you are supplying continues to be valid.

11 - Writing this article just like a sales letter. The objective of this article is to supply free information. That is what you are supposed related to it and that's what your readers will expect. You have your links at the end of this article and that's where you do any selling.

12 - Writing long paragraphs. Big blocks of text cause you to weary before you even get started. The content may be amazing, but if it's presented like a stone wall there's very little chance anyone will ever read it. Short sentences, short paragraphs, and lists are the perfect format for user-friendly information.

13 - Not writing consistently. Writing one article won't make people recognize you as an expert. You prove your worth by consistently returning with more information or even a fresh perspective over time. Once you feel familiar, readers will appreciate your work because they can help you treat it professionally.

14 - Putting this article in the incorrect category. In the event that you neglect to assign this article to the proper category, people who are searching for the data you supply may not find your article. And individuals who find your article probably won't be thinking about what you need to say.

15 - Being a perfectionist. Be sure you write a great article. Check it for spelling and grammar mistakes, and then just publish it. The simple truth is, perfectionism is just fuel for procrastination, which means you eventually just need to get it on the market, otherwise there is a constant will. Develop a routine and stay glued to it, whether you think this article is ideal or not.

0 notes

1-800-jikooks · 6 years

Text

Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood || I

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Warning: smut, swearing, drugs and alcohol abuse

Word Count: 5.3k

Prologue - Chapters - Next

The smell of food drew Yoongi out of his bed and into his dining room. He quickly took a seat as his roommate finished making his breakfast. The night before slowly started to sink in, him being thrown out of the wedding, meeting her, talking about things he’s never said out loud before. If he was being honest with himself he never felt this good with some one before, and it scared him.

“Morning,” said Jungkook. Yoongi ignored him and took out his phone checking for new notifications. “So, I’ve been thinking about a way to fix my problems,” Jungkook said bringing Yoongi a plate of food. “You’ve finally found a solution to move out my house?” Yoongi asked taking a bite from his plate. “No, I mean my real problems, like the nightmares and how I wanna do heroin all the time,” Jungkook said like it was a normal thing. Yoongi looked at him weirdly. Jungkook was usually the quiet type but when he spoke it amazed Yoongi how blunt he was sometimes. They have been friends for a while, even though he would never admit, Jungkook was one of the only people he cared about, in his own way. “So, anyways, I think I should-” “Hey, why did you let me sleep so late?” Y/N interrupted Jungkook, yawning. Her platinum blonde hair was messy and she only wore Yoongi’s shirt from the night before. She started to notice details of the house that she hadn’t the night before. The house was bigger than she remembered. It was a big open space, you could see the living room, the dining table and the kitchen from the top of the of the wooden staircase that led to Yoongi’s room down in the basement. She approached the table and reached for Yoongi’s plate taking it from him, “God, I’m so hungry.” Jungkook and Yoongi stared at her weirdly, nobody ever spent the night. “What?” she asked. They both shook their head and continued what they were doing. “I’m Y/N by the way and this food is awesome.” “Thanks,” the raven haired boy said quietly. “How did you guys meet?” She asked taking another bite. “We met in college,” Jungkook said “No, we didn’t.” Yoongi responded to him. “He was in college and I sold stuff to the students,” he looked at his plate and moved to the table. “He gave me CD’s and music sheet books because he saw potential in me.” “I gave you CD’s I stole from a music store because I couldn’t afford the weed you sold.” Jungkook shrugged at his comment and happily continued eating. “Yeah, well, heard his music?” Jungkook asked. Yoongi shot him a glare, he knew how much he hated when people pointed out his music career, yet Jungkook still did it all the time. “No, not really,” she paused for a moment, “Wait, now I know where I’ve seen you before! Didn’t you sing in that really catchy song last year with um, what’s his name? Kim Seokjin? He is a really good singer-song writer.” “I rapped and wrote it.” Yoongi mumbled. “How come I haven’t heard anything new from you?” She asked him. “I’m working on stuff, it takes time to write good music.” he grumbled. The truth was, he wasn’t writing at all. In fact he was completely tired of everyone he talks to asks when was he going to release a complete album, he would always have the same answer. In reality, he had absolutely nothing. He couldn’t write anything. He stayed up every night he wasn’t in a bar locked up in his room trying to produce something but nothing came to his mind. “Cool,” she said. “So, who’s giving me a ride to work?” “I don’t have a car, I’m too poor,” Jungkook said picking up the plates. “Min, you’re up.” “My car is at the reception. We took a cab, remember?” he said rolling his eyes. “Shit, well, I’ll call somebody,” she said looking for her phone then she called the only person who would be willing to pick her up.

“I cannot believe you slept with Min Yoongi!” Jimin scolded her. He couldn’t believe how reckless she was, she knew what an asshole he was and she still did it. “Drive faster, I’m late for work,” Y/N said ignoring her best friend’s scolds “He dated my sister!” Jimin continued, “And you slept with him on her wedding night!” “Apparently,” She laughed. “Why are you crawling up my ass about this Jiminie?” “You know what an asshole he is. I tell you all the time about how he swallowed her up, she disappeared her life into his and was never the same.” “Yeah, but that’s because Jeongae didn’t have a personality to begin with.” “Well, that’s true,” Jimin agreed smiling. “Ugh, Yoongi is the worst. You’re not gonna see him again, are you?” “No way,” Y/N answered. She was never the type of person who had a relationship with someone, not a serious one at least. The liberty to fuck whoever she wanted, party whenever she wanted, drink before 10 am and just enjoy life all together was more of her thing. Relationships only limited the possibility of fun, she told herself. But she couldn’t help but notice a weird feeling forming in her chest at the thought of Yoongi. “We did have fun though.” What if Yoongi thought they had too much fun last night? What if he… if he,asked her out? Y/N shivered in disgust at the thought, and put her feet on top of the dashboard, “Oh god, I hope he doesn’t think last night was a thing.” “Yeah, I hope.” Jimin said, “Hey! Take your feet off the dashboard!” “Stop the car,” She said annoyed “What?” “I said, stop the car.” she demanded, Jimin stopped the car and looked at her with disbelief. “You’re gonna judge me for having sex with a guy at a wedding, how many guys did you blow at our 5 year reunion?” Jimin looked down at his feet, “Four.” “Four?!” She said surprised, “You told me three.” “I might have left out Kim Min Ho,” he said smiling. “Ew, so gross,” Y/n laughed. “We used to have so much fun.” “Yeah, we did. Why did you have to get married?” You pouted. Jimin’s smiled faded away. You quickly realized what she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to bring it up to hurt me.” Jimin had been married for a year to Lee Ma Ri now, and she was a nightmare. Not to mention Jimin was gay. The marriage had been arranged since Jimin started college, his parents decided that if he was going to inherit their company they couldn’t have a soiled reputation because of Jimin’s “bad habits”. Jimin shrugged it off proceeded to drive. He hasn’t been the same since that wedding, he was usually a giggly happy-go-lucky type of guy but now he snaps from time to time and gets annoyed easily. He was truly unhappy. She couldn’t do anything but feel bad for her best friend.

“Great, just great!” Yoongi said when he opened yet another letter from the entertainment company. The company that worked with him for his first single with Kim Seok Jin kept nagging at him to write an album. They knew he was good and that he would make them a lot of money so they kept bothering him instead of dropping him like they would with anybody else. He took the cigarette that rested behind his ear and put it between his lips. “Hey, I’m Oon Jong Joon,” Yoongi turned around to see a little boy standing in his driveway. The kid’s head reached Yoongi’s shoulder. He was a bit chubby, had dark black hair and his face was squished down like he had hit a brick wall. A bit like pug. Yoongi thought. “What?” he said with a grimace. “I just moved in,” he pointed at the house in front of his. “Right over there.” “Of course you did,” Yoongi grumbled annoyed and lighted his cigarette. “Why do you say that?” “Because the death of any interesting neighbourhood is caused by the influx of procreators,” He replied rolling his eyes. “Oh, that’s cool. My nutritionist is gay, too.” “I’m not gay, I’m a musician.” “What’s that?” Yoongi let out a sigh bothered by the presence of the child and his insistence to talk to him. “A letter of instigation from an entertainment company. You know- ” “You wanna hang out sometime?” The kid interrupted. “What?” Yoongi grimaced. “What are you even talking about? I’m an adult. Do you know what that means?” The kid stared at him blank look on his face. Not that bright, Yoongi noted. “It means that I am attacked at all times by a tsunami of complex thoughts and struggles, deeply aware of my own mortality and able to contemplate the futility of everything and yet still rage against the dying light. So, do you see how monumentally stupid, you a child, asking me, an adult, if I want to hang out?” “My dad designs videogames, we get all the new ones early.” The kid shrugged. “Come over around 8,” Taehyung stated turning around and entering his house.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Y/N screamed while hitting her office’s door. Famous actress Moon Sye Ho laid face down on the couch. Y/N has received a call in Jimin’s car about how if the main actress didn’t show up the show would be cancelled. She couldn’t have this show cancelled. “I said I’m not coming out!” Sye Ho shouted throwing something at the door, making Y/N jump back. “We have to finish filming this episode today, we’re already three days behind!” “I’m not doing shit until that bastard apologises!” She threw another thing around the room. Fuck, she’s gonna break everything! “Who? Bong Sang Mo?” Y/N asked with a compassionate tone rolling her eyes, every goddamn day the main stars of the TV drama she wrote fought and she was the only one that could reason with them from the whole staff. They were more dramatic than they characters she created. Fellow co-workers stood around and looked above their desktops to see the drama unfold some of them were even taping. Y/N hace them a weak sarcastic smile and they turned away. “Do you want to let me in and talk about it?” “No.” she pouted. “Come on, Sye Ho. Let’s try to fix this, you don’t want to disappoint your fans by not finishing filming now, do you?” She gritted through her teeth. The door was unlocked and slowly opened. Sye Ho slowly, crept out of the room, and closed the door behind her. “What did he do now?” She asked. Moon Sye Ho and Bong Sang Mo were the most famous celebrity couple in Korea, people found them profoundly entertaining because of their on and off dynamic and rumors of cheating. Their life was drama. Sye Ho went on and on about how Bong Sang Mo was dancing with some other girl at a club and something about burning his 2017 autumn collection in his backyard She quickly spaced out of the conversation due to the fact that it was unbearably boring. This is exactly why she didn’t like the whole relationship thing. It brought too many problems and conflicts. It’s easier to stay away from them. She did a simple no strings attached one night stand the night before, there were no complications or issues afterwards. Why can’t more people do that? Yoongi, at least understood. She still couldn’t believe that she told him all those things. Some of them she swore she would take to her grave. What surprised her the most was the way he reacted to them, he laughed and went along with it. If it was someone else they would have probably thrown her out of the house. He probably didn’t because he’s just as terrible as her. She felt arms wrap around her, taking her back to reality. Sye ho was clearing her face of tears and backed away from the hug. “So you’ll do it for me?” “Sure, sure. Whatever you need, sweetie.” Y/N said pretending she paid attention smiling. Sye Ho jumped with joy and clapped her hands. “You’re the best!” She explained, walking towards the elevator. People made space for her to pass, a lot of them were afraid. “I’ll go back to work now! Don’t forget, I’ll be expecting it tomorrow or I’ll have your ass fired!” Y/N watched her get back into the studio skipping and shook her head. She spotted an employee that was probably standing there all along and approached him. “Um, what exactly do I have to get so I don’t end up jobless?” She whispered. “Apparently some cocaine,” he shrugged. Fuck. Where the hell would I find cocaine? She thought. She knew of someone but she would do anything to avoid him right now. “Do you know where to find some?” She asked him, looking around, people weren’t paying attention anymore. “Not my problem,” he said plainly. She shot him glare. “You’re rude,” she shot. “Yeah, well I don’t care,” he said turning around. She grabbed his shoulder. “Hey! Don’t turn your back on me!” He let out a sigh and turned to face her. “What’s your name?” “Kim Taehyung,” he shrugged and pushed past her. She followed him with her eyes shooting daggers at him. What’s his problem?

She decides to relax in her office for a while, maybe steal some food from her co-workers and then buy a bottle of beer at the American themed diner across the street. Today had been stressful enough.

She entered her now half destroyed office and sat on the tear stained couch. She looked around the disaster and almost screamed with excitement when she saw the half of the donut she started eating the day before. She quickly ran to it and shoved it in her mouth. Finally something good today!

After some light work she decided she was bored. She looked for her purse to head out but it was nowhere to be found. She was pretty sure Sye Ho wouldn’t touch a fake Louis Vuitton purse even if her life was at risk so that ruled her out. She realized that she didn’t have it when she was in Jimin’s car… Oh no… no no no no… fuck. She left a his house. Shit, he’s gonna think I want more if I go back! She groaned and sat down again in the blue sofa. Calm down. She told herself and took out her phone ordering an Uber. He might understand, if not you can do your usual speech. Yeah, the speech.

“I got your car towed back here!” Jungkook said entering the front door. Yoongi sat on the red couch on his living room tea in one hand and the company's letter in the other. “Look who I found getting out of an Uber.”

“Hey,” Y/N said awkwardly stepping inside the house. She waved at him quickly and smiled. Yoongi tore his eyes off the letter just for a second ant took a quick glance at her. He turned back on her and ignored her presence. Y/N smacked her lips and let out an awkward laugh.

“Don’t worry. I forgot my purse. Not on purpose or anything ” She waved her arms around. She paused for a moment to see if he would react to her words. It was like she wasn’t even there. Jungkook scratched the back of his head and slowly backed away.

“Imma leave you two alone,” and he disappeared into the house.

“Um, he’s sweet.” She said approaching him a bit. God, this was way too awkward. She just wanted to get this over with and leave.

“You know your purse had food in it,” he stated, finally acknowledging her presence. He glared at her giving her a judgemental look. “It was covered in ants. Who keeps food in their purse?”

“Woah, what’s your problem?” She folded her arms. He took a deep breath.

“Well, I’ve had a shitty day and then I come home to find that my goddamn bedroom is like a 50’s sci-fi movie,” he scolded her, “Why did you stay over, huh? That’s amateur hour.”

Y/N couldn’t believe him, here she was standing in the middle of her one night stand’s living room being scolded like a child and then lecture on how she should handle her ditching phase one she slept with someone?

“Here, I was worried that you were going to get the wrong idea about last night,” she dropped her arm hitting her legs. “So, thank you for saving me the speech.”

“You were gonna make a speech?” He mocked. She scoffed and turned around to leave the house.

“Forget it.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Save your breath!” She halted at his response and scoffed. What the fuck was wrong with this guy? She stumped back to the living room.

“I don’t know what planet you are from but on my planet, someone like you does not get someone like me,” she moved her arms around her body to accentuate the point. “So, congratulations you bagged a weakened gazelle. That’s right, I’m still stupidly hooked up on someone else who is eons away from you in the evolutionary scale in all categories except maybe an unearned ego!”

Yoongi looked at her more amused than angry at her reaction. Never in his life had he heard someone talk to him like that. Well, he has heard a few insults… more than a few, but there was something about the way she was spitting those word with acid that amazed him.

“What? You so value honesty, you had to chew a bride out on her wedding day in the name of it? Well, why don’t you face this giant hunk of truth, Min Yoongi?!” His smiled dropped instantly. “There is a big fat asterisk next to my name on your skank-ridden little bone list saying ‘She probably would’ve gone home with anybody that night’! So, thank you! Thank you for my wake up call, Yoongi! You are officially my bottom.”

Yoongi watched her pick up her purse and before he could say anything back she left. He stood there dumbfounded. What the fuck just happened?

She currently stood in front of the house of the other. She was a aware how stupid and embarrassing it was but she needed cocaine. She climbed the wooden to the black steel door. It was already the middle of the night, they front of the house was dimly lit but enough to see the extensive garden that surrounded her. The house was massive, modern and minimalistic. Exactly the opposite of her small apartment. She rang the doorbell and in a few seconds she could hear his steps coming down the stairs. The door turned instead of opening like a normal door revealing Gong Yeong Woon, dressed in his sleepwear. He was a renounced movie and television director in Korea. He had so much money and he was kinda sexy. She thought of him as some sort of sugar daddy, it was occasional and from time to time he would take her to fancy events. She loved that fancy shit, the food, the drinks, the parties. “Hey you.” she said giving him a sultry smile. “Kiddo,” he exclaimed, “What a surprise.” “I was just in the neighbourhood, I figured why not drop by.” “I have an early call time but… yeah, come in. Last time you said you were coming over you never showed, I thought you’d grown sick of me.” “Nah, you’re alright.” She said smirking. She had been here countless of times before, but somehow she felt a bit awkward tonight. Like if something was wrong. She shook her head erasing the thought. “You’re so beautiful,” he said placing his hands on her jaw and pulling her in for a sloppy kiss. At first Y/N Kissed back, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place. She opened her eyes and grimaced a bit at his touch. She slowly backed away from the kissed and gave her a kiss in her temple. She gave him polite smile and walked inside. She couldn’t get that annoying fuck out of her head. How could she even go home with him? Well, she was drunk and he was kinda hot. It was so irritating. “Oh- fantastic!” She heard Yeong Woon moan. She found herself bobbing her head down on his cock underneath the white sheets of his king sized bed. She tried to enjoy what she was doing but all she could think of is stupid Min Yoongi with his stupid attitude.

Yoongi took a gulp of his whiskey and return to the video game he had been playing for at least two hours now. The sounds of guns and explosions tore through the house while hip hop music played in the background. Besides him, the kid from earlier sat on the floor so he wouldn’t damage the clean couch, playing as well.

“Hi,” Jungkook said giving the kid a strange look, but quickly turning to his friend. “You busy, Yoon?”

“Yup,” Yoongi answered, eyes glued to the screen.

“Well, would you like pause it for a second?” Jungkook asked a bit annoyed by Yoongi’s attitude.

“Nope.” He simply replied. Jungkook walked to him and took away his remote. Yoongi turned his attention to him.

“What’s wrong with you dude? Give me the controller,” he demanded extending his arm. Yoongi had a shitty day and didn’t want to deal with Jungkook’s shit right now, so he launched himself at Jungkook in an attempt to get back his controller.

“I’ve watched you for two years,” he started pushing Yoongi back onto the couch. “Two year now, getting girls to come home with you and they’re always gone in the morning.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it if she refused to leave!” Yoongi shot at him. “Now, give me my controller.”

“No.”

“Fine,” Yoongi said taking the other controller from the chubby kid. Jungkook let out a scoff and rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry I have to do this,” he said before putting Yoongi under a chokehold. “Now, I don’t mind you being jerky with me because I know you care-”

“What the- No I don’t!” Yoongi exclaimed gasping for air. He felt the blood rushing and the air escaping him. Of all the mistakes he had made in his life the one he regretted the most right now was letting thing crazy junkie live in his house.

“Yes, you do.”

“Your an animal, there’s a fucking wild animal living in my fucking house!” Yoongi started to trash around trying to get out. When the hell did Jeon fucking Jungkook get so strong?!

“But Y/N stayed, Yoon, she stayed.” Jungkook continued. “You say she forced you, but we both know there’s not a single person on this planet that’s ever had a good outcome trying to force you to do anything. She stayed, man! And that means something, whether you like it or not. Imma let you go now.”

He’s right. Those words tore inside Yoongi’s brain. He stumbled back. No, it doesn’t mean anything. She doesn’t mean anything. He’s wrong. “Why the fuck would I listen to you? You’re a mental case. You’re like a million medications that all say ‘Take for bat shit craziness’!”

“My family was killed in front of me,” Jungkook muttered, The elder’s words stabbing him like knives.

“So?! People die every goddamn day. And you were like fucking eight!” Yoongi kept spitting.

“Mental illness is not a joke Yoongi, a lot of people suffer from them and just because I suffer from one doesn’t mean you get to tear me down for it.” Jungkook answered calmed down.

“That is the most intelligent thing you have ever said to me.” Yoongi pointed out.

“Thanks,” Jungkook smiled

“You’re still a lunatic,” he said walking away.

“Hey, wait. Come one man!” Yoongi ignored him, he needed to get out. He need space to think.

“Where are you going?” Jungkook called out.

“To a bar,” Yoongi turned around, “where I can drink in peace. “Come one, Oon Jong Joon!”

“I’m 14,” the kid pointed out. Yoongi let out a groan and walked out slamming the door. Jungkook quickly took the controller he had dropped on the floor and started to play happily, he had done his job as a friend. Yoongi was an asshole but he listened even if he pretended not to.

“Call the police,” Yoongi said walking back to the house. “Someone stole my car.”

“Nah, Y/N took it,” Jungkook said moving forward to concentrate better on the game

“Sorry, Y/N took my car?” he said with disbelief.

“Yeah, I saw her driving it away earlier. I figured you loaned it to her.” He paused for a second. “Now that I think about it, it was kind of weird.”

“She doesn’t have a license!”

“Huh,” Jungkook chuckled. “She must have stolen your keys from the counter. You have to admit, it’s kind of a baller move.”

Yoongi let out a sigh, and dropped himself on the couch besides Jungkook. What a fucking day.

“You guys are fun,” the chubby kid, that was still there for Yoongi’s surprisement, said nodding to himself.

Yeong Woon let out a deep grunt as he slipped inside her repeatedly. Y/N pressed her lips together awkwardly, this was not working out. “Um, hey.”

He lowered himself down so his face would be centimetres away from hers “Yes, Y/N?”

“Can we take a little break?”

“Sure,” he nuzzled their noses together and got off of her. They both stared at the ceiling for a while. Y/N cleared her throat breaking the silence.

“So, what’s the worst thing you have done?” She asked turning to him. He gave her a disappointed look.

“You know I don’t dwell on negativity, since India.” He simply responded.

“Ok, then…” she said before the room fell silent again. She decided to look around the room but quickly got bored. “I once started a fire at school to get out of a math test.”

“That’s terrible.” He said giving her a weird disapproving glare. “Why would you tell me that?”

“Nevermind, just kidding.” She tried to save the dying conversation but found it to be unsuccessful. “Do you still have cocaine?”

“It’s in the bathroom, third drawer to the right,“ He answered waving her away. She quickly ran out of the bedroom and found herself in the bathroom closing the door behind her. She slides to the marble tiled floor, covering her face with her hands. She groaned and turned to the drawer beside her. Right in the middle of it stood a small yet beautifully carved wooden box. She took it out of the drawer and put it on her lap so she could study her surroundings. It was his take on the millionaire’s modern house decor. The entrance of the bathroom had a white toilet with a mirror and a countertop made out of dark wood to contrast the white marble, the size of a regular guest bathroom. The main room however, was the size of her apartment. A white Bathtub stood in the middle of the room and had the size of a hot tub. Most of the room was exposed to the neighbourhood due to the walls being made out of glass with a door leading to a one of the balconies. She slowly stepped into the bathtub putting the little box on the border. She opened it and revealed a at least 8 ounces of cocaine. She quickly slipped some in a plastic bag and put it in a pocket of her hoodie. She stared at the box for a few seconds before taking the small blade inside, pouring a small amount on the border of the bathtub preparing it into a perfect line. Pressing down the left side of her nose she inhaled the line and felt a slight burn in her nostril. She jumped and the sudden sound of her ringtone going off. “Um, hello?” She answered wiping her nose

“Hey,” Yoongi said taking Y/N by surprise. “What are you up to?”

“Uh, nothing,” she replied shifting nervously on the tub. Why is he calling? “Just.. um.. reading.”

“Well, my car got stolen today,”

Fuck. “Wow, that’s terrible Yoongi.” she said biting her lip.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to report it to the police. You know, to make sure that they catch the person…”

“Um, I may have borrowed it earlier today,” she laughed nervously.

“I know,” he replied

“Oh. well, sorry. I told you, I’m the worst.”

“No, actually you said that I was the worst and that I was lucky to get you.”

“Yeah, about that-”

“No, don’t apologize,” he stated, “It was a great speech. It was funny and true and mean. My favourite kind.”

“I set my school on fire to get out a math test,” she blurted out, the laughter that filled the other end of the line made her smile.

“That’s genius. Oh, and… I… lied to you,” he started.

“Yeah?”

“I do have a foot thing,”

“Seriously?” she asked trying not to laugh.

“Yeah. In fact, I was just trying to find the right clip online.. so you know.. s-so that I could, um fall asleep. But… nothing’s quite right.”

She let out a quiet laugh, “Oh, do you want me to try?”

“What?” He asked sounding surprised.

“Shh,” she said getting out of the bathtub and walking to the balcony, “Let me think.”

Yoongi got out of his bed and started walking up the stairs. “Come one, this is stupid,”

“Shut up,” She ordered him, making smile grow on his face. “I have been walking around all day in these new shoes, and they are just so… hot and tight.”

He reached upstairs and slowly walked to the quiet and messy living room. Yoongi stopped in front of the wide window that stretched to the other side of the room. The dark sky was illuminated by small stars, he could observe the city from here. All the glimmering lights of the buildings shining through the night.

“Yeah,” He responded, she let out another quiet laugh separating the phone from her face.

“And my socks are so… sweaty.” She made a grimace. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Was that even right?

“That happens.”

“I think I might just have to take them off,” she turned around to face the pool. She could see the whole city from there as well.

“You do that.” he said enthusiastically. “Hey, you’re, uh… very nice for doing this.”

“I am very nice,” she replied. They stayed quiet for a minute, taking it all in. There was no way of evading it now. “Yoongi, I’m scared of this shit, you know? I don’t like it.”

“Well, um, I don’t believe in it anymore, so…”

“What’s the harm, right?” She said, in that moment she thought she had fucked up. “I mean, if we both know that it can’t work, then there’s no problem… right?”

The line went silent for a minute. A short yet eternal minute. Why did I speak? Of course he wouldn’t go for it. Fuck, why would I even suggest it, I hate dating in the first place. She balanced herself on her toes and swung her arms around while mentally scolding herself.

“Right,” he finally muttered.

And in that moment they both smiled. This can only end one way. They it would go down engulfed in flames destroying everything around them, but right now they didn’t mind.

“So what kind of socks?” Yoongi asked abruptly. She let out a laugh.

“Mmm… knee-high basketball socks. Orange and green stripes,”

“You’re amazing, you’re 19 types of trouble but… amazing.”

“Yeah, so are you. 19 types,” she cleared her throat, “Well, it’s late. Did you finish?”

“I think the moment’s gone.”

“Ok, well, have a goodnight,” she said, “Call me.”

“I will.”

Previous - Chapters - Next

58 notes · View notes