#and the other speaks like they swallowed a thesaurus

[sparkyblizz]

random writing thing I've been doing in Kirby fics—while Meta Knight is the only character I write using more verbose words and generally more "fancy"-sounding, and Dedede is the only one who has like, a US southerner accent, there are some dialogue things I've been putting in to show the different ways characters around them speak:

King Dedede uses more shortened or "lazier" manners of speech, like the "whatcha", "whaddaya", "kinda", "sorta", etc., to showcase his sort of lackadaisical demeanour

Kirby also uses some of the more "lazier" ways of speaking mentioned above which I chose because I write him as a kid and I thought that made sense of a kid

I also like giving Bandana some of those speech patterns because he's historically been one of the king's loyal servants and I like the idea of him picking up that way of speaking from him

in contrast, Meta Knight tends to always say words in full, "what are you", "what do you", "kind of", "sort of", etc., to try and showcase his more serious and knightly manner though I do also have him use contractions so he still sounds somewhat modern lmao

I tend to have the Meta-Knights speak like him as well, saying words in full, like with Bandana and Dedede, to showcase how they pick up things from who they serve

[captainclickycat]

Well, no. He’d say “rime is of rhe ressence”

"he would not fucking say that" i say with disgust, but im not talking about characterization im talking about his, like, vocabulary

[xiseyes]

where one might find cathedrals

You view the world in an extraordinary way. You look for the beauty in the air and the poetry in the trees. You catch poetry where others say there is none. You find cathedrals in broken glass bottles. You bring their shards up to the light and gasp at the beauty of color that shines through it. Even broken things, even old things, even ugly things, are beautiful to you. For all you do is wax poetry. You think and breathe and speak and write in poetry. It is all you do and all you are. You are surrounded by it. You are overflowing with it. It comes out of you in waves, overflowingly. It comes into you like the first gasp of air of a newborn child. You need poetry to breathe. You need poetry to live. You have such a way with words. In fact, some people say it is like you swallowed up a thesaurus or a dictionary or two. In truth, you have not, and you would not recommend doing so. Your vocabulary may be expanded, and your words may enrapture all who come across it, but you did not swallow up a dictionary or two. Maybe three. I jest, I jest. You speak the language of art. You understand it as its creator intended. You understand it as the emotions put behind it. You understand the brevity, the choice of words, the lack of it. You understand every stylistic choice. You understand the intention behind each work, and you feel the impact of it in full force. You feel it all, hear it all, see it all. You could almost taste the imprint of a soul on each work. You understand art in a way that goes beyond words, beyond emotions, beyond intention itself. You see it for its value. You see it for its meaning. You see it for its purpose. All of which it has inherently. You understand it all. Everything you add or omit, every brushstroke, pause, comma, word. Every little detail. It is all intentional. You know perfectly well how to create, how to manipulate, and how to utilize these literary tools to further the quality of your art. Perhaps it is why you have no true magnum opus, for all your works are masterworks. For every piece of work you have ever done is itself a masterpiece. You write, you speak, you soliloquy, you monologue, you rave like a poet possessed. You speak in tongues. You ramble with a touch of controlled madness, with passion. Pure and unbridled passion. You will find that there is so much depth, so much meaning, and so many layers to you and to what you create. You are a poet, but you, too, are a living poem. All one would ever want to do after meeting you is to peel back your layers, dissect the meanings in your words and actions, learn the subtext between them, annotate your thoughts, and understand you completely. But can one truly understand one as enigmatic as you? After all, you are meant to understand, not to be understood.

Want to add this to your playlist?

say yes say yes say yes here

[aelloblu]

Knight Tethys belonging to Sailor_Mimas

╔═════ ∘◦⛧ﾐ◦∘ ══════╗

 Daichi Uehara / Knight Tethys

╚═════ ∘◦ ミ⛧ ◦∘ ═════╝

:Mission:

Many generations ago the Sol System looked very different, including two other giant planets lurking amongst what would become the Asteroid Belt. These were Echidna and Typhon and its senshi were corrupted by Chaos. The ancient Sol Senshi, led by their ancestors, Sailor Blue Moon and Sailor Gaia Earth, could neither heal nor destroy them. All they could do was seal their corrupted starseeds deep in the Earth. Although their spirits slumbered through the ages, their restless souls caused the world to tremble, throwing off the balance of Earth’s Energy Lines. 

Sailor Moon is almost twenty one and she knows this is her final challenge before she ascends the throne of Crystal Tokyo. She, Mamoru and the senshi must remain in Tokyo, maintaining what will be the Tokyo Crystal Points fighting to keep Earth’s Energy Lines from breaking free.

But someone must travel deep into the unearthly realm of Tartarus to quell Echidna and Typhon.

Luckily the Satellite Senshi have awakened in their time of need! Sailor Saturn, now sixteen, must lead these rookies and leave the sunlight behind. Together they will arise as Guardians of the Solar System!

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Civilian Form

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

:Name & Meaning:

The name Daichi means ‘wise’ or ‘intellectual’ but also means ‘dangerous route over the sea’. Uehara means ‘Divine Plain.’

:Age & Birthday:

Daichi was born April 8th which makes him an Aries. He’s sixteen and in tenth grade.

:Appearance:

The brothers share the same fine, chestnut hair but Daichi chooses to keep his short cropped and neatly parted to the left. Both are fair skinned but with his active hobbies, Daichi’s figure is far more sculpted and as a part of Mugan’s swimming team, on display.

Daichi is determined to rise within society and while he doesn’t share Machiko’s expensive, flashy style he chooses simple outfits that reflect his practical, straightforward personality. It also puts people in mind of a host at an upscale restaurant. 

:Sexual Orientation:

Whatever preferences Daichi does have he feels they are unimportant. He breaks the hearts of many at Mugan Academy, carelessly discarding anonymous love letters slipped into his desk with all the hassle of junkmail. He’s so goal oriented he thinks love and love interests are a distraction and a waste of time.

:Personality:

To the lazy eye, Daichi is a student obsessed with Olympic gold. He counts calories, timetables every hour and regards anything less than S rank a failure. The world wants to distract him with temptations but he is above them and speaks disdainfully of those who give in. In fact he is driven by love for his brother and his need for them to escape their dying village for a better life. 

Daichi speaks like he swallowed a thesaurus and a dictionary of old english etiquette, leaving people feeling small and in awe. He treats others as a means to his goal. His teachers, trainers and teammates are given due respect but dismisses attempts at bonding. The rest of his classmates are deemed unnecessary to his success, rolling his eyes at attempts to ‘bring him out of his shell’ and rejects the endless lovelorn letters as frivolous female daydreams. Even his fellow Guardians will feel the sting of his tongue if he feels they’re wasting time and doesn’t feel any need to contact outside of team meetings.

The only thing that really gets a rise out of the normally chilly teen is an Underworld attack. Nothing ruins his day more than an interruption of his carefully planned schedule. He hates being a Guardian, another obstacle to his goals which he takes personally. He’s determined to end a fight quickly and get back to the surface. He starts off patient and listening to Sailor Saturn but if time drags he gets impatient and will whip out his strongest attacks regardless of who is in the way. 

The exception to all of his strict rules is his brother Botan. When their parents died in a mudslide his younger brother was all he had left in the world. They moved in with their mother’s cousin; a family that made them feel unwelcome and he was determined to move them away. His constant nagging and berating to do better is because he refuses to leave Botan behind and in the heat of battle he will sacrifice himself without thought for him.

:Likes:

The hints that Daichi has a life beyond his training and his brother are like a flash glimpse of an animal in hiding. One of his greatest fears is being distracted, and worries that giving in to temptation is the first step to giving up. However when he studies he likes to listen to cool jazz, often slow and melancholy piano pieces. 

He also seems to favour spicy foods. When he ‘risks excess calories’ it's usually adding an exotic hot sauce. Not just a dab either. It's a wonder there are any taste buds left alive after the purge.

His favourite food is udon, the few times his wallet can be pried open is sharing a meal with his brother at the Tengoku Noodles. He changes it up but most often chooses spicy tantan udon with sesame broth and peanut paste. 

:Dislikes:

Daichi complains or nags about everything that doesn’t adhere to his schedule or goals. 

He hates chocolate, pastries and confectionery. He actively spits out food he thinks is too sweet. It's just excess sugar he has to schedule into his exercise regime, with time he doesn’t have!

He hates backstroke. He hates the lack of control, the lack of visual cues, the way water splashes across his face. There is something about backstroke that feels like drowning.

And the thing he hates the most is being a Guardian. It was never part of his plans to save the world. He hates giving up his time to Tartarus and its creepy denizens. He hates how nothing abides by the laws and figures he knows. Most of all he secretly fears this is all a delusion and he’s slowly going insane. 

:Hobbies:

Daichi’s whole life revolves around the idea of Olympic Gold. While he and Botan both train in triathlon, he also practises for the 100m Freestyle and Butterfly, the Swimming Medley Relay and Water Polo. 

But, before their parents' deaths, he used to love camping with his family. He loved being by the lake, lazing in the freshwater and especially kayaking, floating blissfully down river with his family all around him. When with the village children raced ahead, loving the thrill of gliding and hopping down the rapids, laughing wildly as everyone tried to catch up. 

But after his parents’ deaths those trips disappeared, and then they got accepted into Mugan Academy he had to let childhood desires fall to the wayside.

:Sexual Orientation:

Daichi has not expressed interest in anyone, let alone a specific gender. That may change one day when he feels he and his brother have achieved freedom and success but until that day he won’t let himself even fancy the idea. 

:Background:

The brothers were not born in Tokyo, raised in the tiny rural village of Koyagawa of the Wakayama Prefecture. They lived in a state of genkai shuraku, a once thriving village which atrophied after the coal mines closed. It saw no modernisation, no utilities, no internet. It was merely a dot on the mountain highlands on the way to somewhere else. 

They lived with their grandparents, mother and father who ran the convenience store by the turnpike, and their mother helped out at the school where a handful of children played. They loved it. They spent their childhood playing in mountain streams, hunting for mushrooms and wandering freely. Occasionally their parents would take them camping high into the mountains and teach them how to live self-sufficiently.

However one day, when he was eleven and Botan was nine, heavy rains stranded them at a friend's house and everything changed in a mudslide. They were rescued, but much of their village gone and their family’s convenience store buried beneath the sludge and stone.

Their family’s lone survivors, they moved in with their mother’s brother who lived on the other side of the mountain in another genkai shuraku. They weren’t neglected, but they were two more mouths to feed in a family of four with another set of twins to be born soon. The boys lived their lives when they were thirteen a strange tutor from Tokyo’s Mugan Academy visited their school. They complimented the boys' rugged, growing bodies and assured them that a sports scholarship was waiting for the purehearted.

With a goal and an escape, he pushed both himself and his brother into athletics. When he turned fifteen he was invited to join the prestigious school but he also pleaded on behalf of his brother. Recognising potential, both Uehara brothers moved to Tokyo, determined never to look back.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Relationships

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

:Family:

His mother was Wakumi (freshwater spring) and his father Rikuto (land, heavy). They died when the boys were ten, leaving them with many happy memories but also a heavy hearted awareness for what they were missing. 

As time goes by, things trickle away. His mother’s joyous cooking; taking days to prepare ramen broth or waking them up early to get the best ingredients from the morning market. His father’s love of nature and how he could mimic the song of any bird they pointed at. His grandfather’s egg collection. His grandmother's herb garden… All gone in a wave of mud. 

After the funeral, he and Botan moved in with his mother’s cousin who also already had children already, in the ghost village where employment and advancement was limited. While the brothers weren’t mistreated, they felt like an afterthought after all his cousin's needs had been seen to. Then when strange tutors arrived at their tiny school house trumpeting the wonderful scholarships offered by Tokyo’s new Mugan Academy, a school looking for pure hearted geniuses…

:Friends:

Daichi has no friends. He has his brother and that’s all he needs. He has mentors whom he respects, he has ‘fellow pupils’ whom he tolerates and teammates-ahem- team members- who he is forced to be on manageable terms with. He maintains a respectful relationship with everyone and no more. Those who he feels are beneath him, he ignores and merely suffers everyone else. 

Daichi’s attempts at solitude will find his cafeteria table filled quickly; either with his three underclassmen of Botan, Hotaru and Sora, or Machiko’s high class posse. 

:Rivals:

You would think that with his competitive nature his hackles would rise when challenged but instead he is harshest on himself; one's greatest enemy.

:Love Interests:

No.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Guardian Form

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

:Name:

Knight Tethys, Guardian of Primordial Springs and Forgotten Waters

:Guardian Starseed:

Daichi is the incarnation of Saturn’s moon, Tethys. It was a moon of island nations, splashed across a vast ocean rich in minerals and fauna. It bustled with trade and export.

:Realm of Influence:

Knight Tethys is in tune with the ancient waters of the world; hidden aquifers rich with minerals, churning streams and abyssal depths beneath oceans. Dark, rich pure waters they rarely see the light.

:Awakening:

Daichi reluctantly made good on his promise to celebrate with ramen at Tengoku when Botan did well on a popquiz. As they strolled through the twilight evening, they passed Hotaru and Sora peering into a tourist window filled with charms and statues carved in jade. As they drew closer they hear Sora explaining the story of the giant marble minotaur statue outside the door, a half bull half human monstrosity born from the greed of King Minos.  

Daichi scoffed at the fanciful musings of girls and walked away but almost immediately they rushed towards the screams. The statue grows, glowing with fiery molten cracks smashing its way through the stalls. Botan sees it on a warpath and roars. “No way! I’m getting my noodles! I studied! I worked hard! You won’t stop me!” He wells with energy and transforms into Knight Titan and attacks. He forces the minotaur to his knees but takes a crushing blow.

Daichi, overwhelmed by his own inner powers, also transforms into Knight Tethys, leaping to defend his brother. Together they tagteam the Minotaur, exploding it into flaming shrapnel. As they look up,  they see the silhouettes of Sailor Saturn and Sailor Mimas on a rooftop giving quiet applause. Sailor Saturn used her resurrection powers to restore the street and offered them dinner to explain their destinies.  

:Past Life:

Not one but two starseeds were born to a noble Saturn family. As eldest, Tethys knew that before him was a duty, to protect the dormant Guardian of Saturn and he must uphold the ideals of the Silver Millenium Court. 

His brother, Guardian of Titan, did not feel the same way. On the night of Princess Serenity’s Cotillion Ball he snuck away to join the party, and Tethys snuck after him to drag him back by his ear. Little did he know the Princess of Dione would follow, and that Tethys would never see his home again. 

The Dark Kingdom attacked. In the wake of its destruction awoke the one he was sworn to protect, the Messiah of Death and Rebirth, Sailor Saturn’s Glaive fell and all he knew vanished in silence.

:Guardian Animal:

The team is led by the psychopomp sparrow, Athana, through the dying lands of Tartarus. However in their travels they are met by a two headed dog guarding giant golden cattle and responding to the names Orthus and Amydros, names meaning shade and gloom. It followed them deeper into the depths, helping Athana with their keen sense of smell. 

The dogs resemble shoulder high black shepherds with orange eyebrows, chest and thick fluffy tail tip that looks like a flaming torch. Orthus seems silly, constantly grinning and panting and always has something in his mouth ready to play, and Amydros seems serious, his nose down and pushing the group forward towards their goal. The similarities of the pups and brothers are not lost on the team.

:Allies/Team Mates:

Hotaru Tomoe aka Sailor Saturn

Daichi has no memories of his past but he knows that it is in one's best interest to defer to experience. He respects Hotaru, not just for her genius knowledge and serene confidence, but there is something deeper. When things overwhelm he loses control, and he feels the frantic panic rise, a calm word and a glance from those starry eyes can quell the fear. 

Sora Yoru aka Sailor Mimas

Sora is the perfect teammate; she stays on target, isn’t distracted and listens to his contributions. Although she frowns slightly at his condescending tone, the two get on quite well. 

Botan Uehara aka Knight Titan

He and his brother are constantly arguing. His brother, silly and ridiculous, always has wild and outlandish ideas that never work out, put people in danger and it’s always his job to get him out of the messes he makes for them.

Machiko Goto aka Sailor Dione 

Machiko is a conundrum. He can feel him constantly trying to impress him, rising to unbelievable heights of grace and beauty but she’s constantly wrestling with Sailor Saturn to seize power, slowing them down and distracting them. He wishes he could tell her she has her own inner strength he admires. 

:Henshin Token:

Daichi’s token is a golden circular locket, a medallion kept on a bracelet, glossed with a dark navy plate and embedded with the symbol of Tethys. He keeps it hidden either under his sleeves, around his ankle or inside the pocket of his school blazer.

:Henshin Phrase:

Tethys Saturn Power!

:Henshin Sequence:

Daichi tosses the medallion in the air and shouts his phrase, “Tethys Saturn Power!” Out of the locket churns three powerful water spouts, frothing and foaming, splashing waves of energy across his body as they spin around him. 

Tentacles of water coil up his legs forming his boots, pants, sleeves and cuffs. Foaming waves crests his hips to form silvery hip guards. More shining waves splash across his chest forming his pearly white armour and shoulderguards before hardening into an aquamarine jewel that seems to slosh with mystical water inside it. The three spinning water spouts combine, twirling around his body before turning into his turquoise and navy cape and his gleaming Okeanos Trident. 

The camera continues to rise where his forehead blazes with the symbol of Tethys before erupting into his winged face mask. From there he poses ready to finish the fight as quickly as possible.

:Symbol:

:Guardian Challenge:

“Servant of Saturn, I am the powerful guardian of mysterious depths! In the name of Tethys, I will drown your sorrows!”

:Guardian Fuku:

The male guardian fuku is much akin to Mamoru’s armour. Tethys bears a pearly white chest plate, trimmed in silver with angular shoulder guards. At the centre of his chest is an oval aquamarine jewel that has a rippling, liquid sheen. His body suit is navy with aquamarine cuffs and shin guards also adorned in silver. Billowing behind him his cloak a brilliant aquamarine with the inner lining a dark satiny navy. Hiding his face is an aquamarine mask, white eyes and navy metal wings sweep behind his ears and along his cheekbones. 

:Starseed Talisman:

Tethys dexterously wields the Okeanus Trident; a silvery trident with wickedly hooked tines to stab and slash at his enemy. 

:Attacks:

Tethys Rip Tide

Tethys throws his arms wide, seemingly to grab a handful of air and yank it back. As he does, a hammering wave of water spills across the distances, crashing into the enemies and then pulling back with the force of a riptide.

Tethys Infinite Wipeout

Tethys throws his arms above his head and grabs the air and yanks it back to his chest. Rather than race along the ground, these waves seem to rise up and up, before crashing down on the enemy, pounding, rolling and ragdolling the enemy again and again, not allowing them time to breath. It needs his utmost concentration to keep the rolling waves coming. 

Tethys Hydro Jet 

Using his trident, he uses it to direct a pillar of water surging around a midpoint at the tip of his trident. It takes time, it builds and builds before firing a pressured beam of water directly at the enemy. Unlike his other attacks, it is pinpoint and can only affect one enemy at a time.

Tethys Whirling Vortex

His ultimate attack is often used in tandem with Dione to add strength. He stands with his trident vertically planted in front of him as he starts to glow. Slowly water forms spirals at his feet, building into several towering water spouts that rip the earth, picking up everything in its path and drowning them in unfathomable water forces.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Miscellaneous 

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

:Inspirations:

The many ways water flows and ebbs.

:Soundtrack:

Chariots of Fire by Vangelos

:Fanfiction:

:Website:

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

[writingquestionsanswered]

How many times can I use “he/she whispered” before it gets repetitive? I’m writing a scene where someone dies and the character is heartbroken and speaking quietly. Any tips to convey their pain without constantly saying that they whispered? And also- is there a difference between murmur, mumble, and mutter?

Conveying "Whispering" without Repetition

You really wouldn't want to use "he/she whispered" more than a couple times in one scene, but there are lots of ways to convey that your characters are whispering.

Setting Up Context

When you write a dialogue scene where the characters are whispering, it's important to establish why they're whispering. If you set up context for why whispering is necessary, you can trust the reader to understand that all of the dialogue is being whispered without having to come right out and say it. You can give the occasional reminder, but every line doesn't have to be tagged as a whisper.

Using Synonyms

You don't want to use any iteration of "whisper" as a tag more than a couple times in one dialogue scene, but you also don't want to go overboard on using synonyms for "whisper" either.

Murmur, Mumble, Mutter--and Why You Need a Dictionary

The thesaurus is undoubtedly a handy tool for writers, but online thesauruses are particularly treacherous when it comes to accuracy. For example, murmur, mumble, and mutter are all listed as synonyms of "whisper," but as you seemed to suspect, they are all subtly different, and that goes for whisper, too. That's why it's really helpful to look synonyms up in the dictionary before employing them.

Let's say you have a third use of "whisper" in the following sentence:

"I'm sorry for your loss, truly, but we need to get out of here," Craig whispered.

Now, let's look at actual definitions of whisper and the thesaurus suggested synonyms of murmur, mumble, and mutter:

Whisper: to speak softly with little or no vibration of the vocal cords especially to avoid being overheard. (Keyword: soft)

Murmur: a low indistinct but often continuous sound; a half-suppressed complaint/grumble. (Keywords: continuous, grumble)

Mumble: to utter with a low inarticulate voice; to utter words in a low confused indistinct manner. (Keywords: inarticulate, confused)

Mutter: to utter sounds or words indistinctly or with a low voice and the lips partly closed. (Keywords: indistinctly, lips partly closed)

So, as you can see, murmur, mumble, and mutter are not direct synonyms of "whisper." However, if one of those whispered lines of dialogue needs to be grumbling, inarticulate, confused, or indistinct with the lips partly closed, then certainly use the appropriate word.

Other Alternatives

- low/soft/quiet voice - hushed tone - under one's breath - behind one's hand - into someone's ear Exposition

Good writing requires a delicate balance of exposition, action, and dialogue, and that's true even when you zoom in on a dialogue scene. You never want a back and forth of tagged lines, like:

"This is sad," Jill whispered.

"It really is," agreed Dan quietly.

Under her breath, Simone added, "I'm ready to get out of here."

"We should stay a few more minutes," Dan said in a hushed tone.

It's like a verbal ping-pong match. It's monotonous.

But look what happens if we add some context via exposition, as well as adding a little action:

The room was filled with mourners, mostly dressed in black or other muted colors. Except for murmurs of conversation and the occasional sniffle or nose-blow, it was almost silent.

"This is sad," Jill whispered.

Dan swallowed past the knot of grief in his throat. "It really is."

Simone shifted uncomfortably, her ears ringing in the heavy quiet. "I'm ready to get out of here."

Even though they were whispering, the tension in their words had attracted the attention of the minister and a few of the mourners. Dan drew his friends away from the crowd. "We should stay a few more minutes, then we can go," he said, still speaking in a hushed tone.

See how much better that is?

The first paragraph sets up the context. The room is quiet. People are in mourning. We can expect that no one is going to walk into this scene speaking at full volume--and if someone does, that would be a good time for a tag like, "he shouted" or "said a little too loud." Otherwise, we can pretty much trust people are whispering.

But the tone of the dialogue scene is still set with that first and only whisper tag. After that, there's just a little reminder of the context (grief, heavy quiet) and a reminder that they are in fact whispering. The action (Dan swallowing past the knot of grief in his throat, Simone shifting uncomfortably, the attention of the minister and mourners drawn toward them, Dan drawing his friends away from the crowd) reiterates the tone and keeps the dialogue scene more interesting.

I hope that helps! :)

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[winterandwords]

Word find tag (ship, sail, tracker, controls, shoot)

@oh-no-another-idea tagged me to search my WIP for ship, sail, tracker, controls, and shoot. Thank you! These are from Bridge From Ashes.

SHIP

We meet almost at the bar and he slides his fingers into my belt to hold me close, his other hand pulling my face down to his, pressing against the bruise he left this morning. When he kisses me, he bites my lip hard enough to draw blood and it goes beyond a gesture. It’s a statement. Everything about this is pure ownership.

SAIL

He takes a deep inhale and lets it go slowly. “We were aware of the operation before and were keeping an eye on it, but no. Serious attempts at infiltration did not begin until after they started taking citizens.” “Rehabs are citizens too, Ez. Returning citizens, remember?” I’m not going to make it through another nine years here. Fuck this place and all who sail in it.

TRACKERD

He pulls up another set of data that he’s already sorted through, another pattern he’s already identified, another person he’s already tracked through the city for hours by generated numbers. He shows me the ID switches, where and when they happened, and it all makes sense to me. I can’t explain how or why, but it does. It’s like suddenly being able to see a colour I didn’t know existed or speak a language I didn’t remember learning.

CONTROLS

“That’s not what I meant.” Gillen pulls back just enough that we’re both in focus. “You can’t make decisions like that in this state.” With one hand on his chest and the other gripping the sharpness of his hip, I breathe peace against the mirror of whatever we are, proof that I’m still alive. “I can.” He looks less in control than I’ve seen him yet, not like he’s losing it, but like he’s maybe giving it up, just a little. “You shouldn’t though.”

SHOOT

He takes another bite, chews slowly, and swallows. “It’s not the same. There’s a unique experience in shooting someone when you’re standing right in front of them, looking them in the eye. It takes more from you than a perfect headshot at a distance.”

I feel like I've been doing a lot of tagging today, so I'm going to leave this as an OPEN TAG. That means if you see it, you're invited to join in the game. The words to search your WIP for are win, lose, fail and succeed. Please @ me so I can read and reblog your post!

If you aren't familiar with word find tags, here's some stuff you might not know. You're welcome to use a word containing the word you're searching for (like winner or wins for win) and you're also welcome to get help from a thesaurus if the word isn't in your WIP (like looking for achieve or accomplish instead of succeed).

If you're new to tag games, you're especially encouraged to take part. It doesn't matter if we don't know each other well or at all, what stage your WIP is at, or how new you are to writeblr. Dive in 💜

[bokettochild]

Fic request! Legend and Ravio being best buds and being there for each other? Or like just them getting along. Platonic cuddling? I love them both.

Slight self projection on this one, but oh well!

I really like writing the dynamic for these two! But i would like to clarify that I write it as being strictly platonic.

Yes, Ravio does kiss Legend on occasion. But Ravio is a toucher, and that's just how he loves! For him, that's normal, that's something you do to those you love, not just in couples :)

Legend isn't great about physical touch, mostly because he's unaccustomed to it. He loves it, he just doesn't know how to ask for it or receive it most of the time.

And with that cleared up, on to the fic!!!

Mr. Hero was acting weird again.

His family had come back to visit again, and while many of them were wrapped in bandages and sporting some rather nasty wound, Mr. Hero seemed to be relatively well off from the fight. He wasn’t untouched, this was Mr. Hero after all, but he wasn’t as poorly as some of the others, which is why it was so odd for Ravio to find him curled up on the couch in their living room when he’d thought that everyone had gone to visit the local village.

They’d talked about it over breakfast. They’d arrived yesterday and hadn’t had time to restock in a while. The worse injuries were a broken arm on Mr. Smithy’s part, and that in no way hampered them from being able to do a run to the village, and it seemed many of Mr. Hero’s family saw visiting towns and villages as something of a treat.

They had been so eager over breakfast, talking over each other while Mr. Hero had rolled his eyes and pushed Tune- Wind back into his seat, scolding the champion for chewing with his mouth open and generally just correcting table manners and keeping people under control during the meal. Typical Mr. Hero, fussing over everything being right but pretending not to care, Ravio wouldn’t be surprised if the next time he sees them all they all eat like they’re in a castle, Mr. Hero’s just the kind of person to subtly train them all to behave lest they be faces with his flashing indigo gaze.

But he really would have thought, what with how everyone had chattered, that Mr. Hero would be with them all, leading them through the village and haggling with shopkeepers on the prices of potions and food. Yet here he sits, curled on their couch with that bulky quilt he likes so much thrown over his shoulders. Mr. Hero hasn’t bothered to fix his hair or tuck it under his cap, and it tumbles down his shoulders in a messy tangle as the Hylian stares unseeing at the far wall.

Ravio pauses in the entryway to the living room, his cup of cider still on one hand, and the book he’d been hoping to read in the other, heart torn over walking back into the kitchen and asking why Mr. Hero isn’t with his family. The slight shudder that runs across Mr. Hero's shoulders is all he needs as an answer and it’s without a second thought that the merchant strides across the room to settle on the couch beside his housemate, eyes bright and smile disarming as he looks over to Mr. Hero.

Dull violet meets his own green as Mr. Hero pauses and sighs, gaze shifting back down to the ground.

Oh. Oh, this is bad.

No snark, no dismissal, no ‘Ravio, I’m not in the mood’. Mr. Hero is at a stage where he is simply accepting things, and that’s never good!

“Why the long face?” He prods gently, settling himself on the couch as Mr. Hero moves slightly to accommodate him.

Okay, that’s even worse. Mr. Hero is being accommodating.

Oh Lolia, is he dying?

“Enervated.” Mr. Hero drawls, and Ravio is now officially freaking out. The big words have come out, the big words that he doesn’t know the definition of. His gaze trails back over to his book.

Most people don’t consider reading a thesaurus a past-time, and Ravio never would have considered it before moving in with Mr. Hero, but if he wants to understand the hero than he needs to know all the words that will crop up in his vocabulary anytime he is especially tired or bored.”

“E-enerv-”

“Tired.” Mr. Hero clarifies, shifting in place and drawing the blanket tighter around is shoulders.

Sharp green eyes watch his movements. It’s autumn and a slight chill has pervaded the air, but there really isn’t any need for the heavy blanket in this weather. Maybe a shawl or afghan of some sort, but the thickest and heaviest blanket in the entire house? That’s just plain overkill!

“Just tired?” He doesn’t even bother pretending to respect Mr. Hero’s space as he reaches out to rest his hand on his housemate’s forehead, gently shifting to touch the vet’s cheek. Rather than shake him off, Mr. Hero gently leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed gently as a breath whistle from his lips. Ravio frowns as he pulls back.

Mr. Hero is warm, but not unhealthily so, and it can probably be blamed on the heavy quilt he’s got throw over his shoulders.

The merchant quirks a brow. “Are you cold?”

Mr. Hero’s face twitches oddly, eyes darting up to meet Ravio’s before drifting back down; blank and tired in a way they often are after a long day. But today has not been a long day, he reminds himself, and Mr. Hero must have been in here since finishing dishes with him this morning.

“Yes.” Mr. Hero murmurs softly, more at the folds of his blanket then at Ravio. “But not...outside?”

And that is... that is confusing.

“I don’t understand.” He half wishes for his hood and robe, but he’d only just finished cleaning and he hasn’t put them on again, so he plucks instead at the edge of his scarf, similar to what Mr. Captain Hero Sir does when he’s anxious.

Mr. Hero huffs a breath. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Glad you don’t.”

He doesn’t like the blankness of Mr. Hero's face or the heaviness of his words. “Can you explain it to me?”

If there’s one thing that brings light into his friend’s eyes, it’s teaching. Mr. Hero loves to share his knowledge, and Ravio has sat contentedly through a dozen lectures on bee-keeping and orchard work or weapons care and traveling precautions and any number of other things. All he ever needs is a cup of cider and a warm nook to bundle himself away while Mr. Hero talks. Goodness knows he chatters quite a bit himself; Mr. Hero deserves to have an audience on occasion too, and he always has such interesting things to say that Ravio never minds listening.

But Mr. Hero’s eyes don’t light up with that glint of passion and his fingers don’t tap with barely contained energy. Quite the opposite. He curls in closer around himself, eyes clouded as he breaths heavily. “It’s like there’s somethin’ ‘side you that’s cold an’ empty. Like you swallowed ice or somethin’ cold like an’ it won’t melt. You can be toasty warm on the outside and it ne’er goes away, it’s jist-” The pink-haired Hylian’s ears flick as his nose twitches with pent up irritation. “It’s like you’re empty and no matter how much you eat or sleep or keep busy, it ne’er goes away.”

Understanding dawns with a heavy heart and tears pricking in his eyes. “I think that's called loneliness, Mr. Hero.”

Mr. Hero’s eyes glisten as he turns away. “’m not lonely. There’s eight people on my tail on the day to day an’ I can’t lose ‘em even if I tried.”

The tight ball Mr. Hero is curled into could be defensive or self-comforting, and he can’t tell which, but Mr. Hero's grip on his blanket laden shoulders is too tight to be anything short of strained.

“Being with people doesn’t mean you aren’t lonely.” Ravio’s voice comes softer than he means it too.

Mr. Hero once complained that his own voice was trapped in the stage of squeaking and breaking, but Ravio’s could drop low ‘till it was nothing but a deep vibration. He’s teased Mr. Hero about it more than once, but he finds that it’s also effective at making the other boy calm. Mr. Hero loosens so now, eyes still blank as Ravio stares at them, hoping that they’ll turn to meet his gaze. “You can feel lonely in the middle of a full kingdom.”

He knows. He remembers hiding in his big room in the castle and wishing that it wasn’t so cold and empty and that someone would look at him and see something other than a cowardly advisor. He'd wanted someone to look at him and see a friend, or a brother or a loved one. He’d wanted to matter and be safe in the warmth that was a real home.

Mr. Hero gave him that. Mr. Hero’s house, with its big apple tree and buzzing bees, it’s pokey little kitchen and creaky staircase, the blasted rocker and the freaky masks on the wall, all of it makes this house a home that is so distinctly Mr. Hero's, yet somehow also his own.

He can see it in the knitting needles stashed in their basket by the couch. In the mugs that he’s left empty on bookshelves and table tops. He sees himself in the drawing of the curtains to let in sunlight, and the organization of the items on the shelves and the wall.

This is their home, something that is both of them, and it’s always felt warm and fulfilling to him.

He’d never realized that Mr. Hero might not feel the same...

It’s on impulse, and the fact that Mr. Hero doesn’t push him away speaks volumes, but Ravio scoots forwards and pulls the veteran hero over to rest against his chest, his arms wrapping tight around his friend as heavy breaths escape from them both.

“Is this better?” He whispers softly against the pink that curls beneath his chin and the fluttering breath of Mr. Hero.

There’s only a faint grunt from the hero in his arms, non-committal, but Mr. Hero isn’t complaining or pushing him away, so he doesn’t let him go either. Never mind that he’s almost pulled his friend on top of him, Mr. Hero needs a hug, and Lolia danggit! Ravio is going to give him the best one he’s capable of!

Mr. Hero’s breath evens out as he adjusts a few times, shifting but never pulling away, and Ravio takes that as a cue to make himself comfortable.

Short, pale fingers trail up to weave through curling pink locks that are still unbrushed from the night before. It’s silky under his touch, a testament to his friend’s alternate form, and he takes no small amount of pleasure in winding his fingers through it and gently tugging out the tangles. Mr. Hero only sighs under his ministrations.

“It’s okay to ask for hugs you know.” He teases softly, almost disappointed that he can’t see how his housemate blushes and stiffens, but Mr. Hero's ears give him away, red as they are, and a smile tugs across his face when he sees it. “I'm sure Mr. Chosen Hero would love to hug you, he seems like that kind of person. And Mr. Smithy always seems fond of that sort of thing. Why, even-”

“Shup.” Mr. Hero huffs, and Ravio grins as his eyes fall down to where his friend’s arms have wrapped around his waist, a messy head of pink lying against his chest and the full weight of hero and blanket pressing down on him.

He doesn’t respond, but he does go back to running his hands through Mr. Hero’s hair.

A tune comes to mind as he sits there, and he lets the melody drift through the room as he absently strokes Mr. Hero’s long pink hair, the book in his hands capturing his attention until soft squeaking snores begin to sound from the hero on his chest.

No one’s there to see the kiss he presses to the mess of petal pink, and when the others return from their trip, neither of the two bunnies is awake to say anything at all.

The heroes stop in the doorway, surprise and fondness taking over their faces at the sight of both of their hosts stretched out over the couch, Legend lying over the top of Ravio, one of the merchant’s hands still resting on Legend’s head while the other hangs down towards the floor, barely grasping the book he'd been reading (Wind makes a comment about reading a thesaurus being strange, but no one really questions it too much). Legend’s arms are still wrapped tight around Ravio’s waist, his cheek pressed against the merchant's chest as squeaking snores escape through parted lips.

They’ve never seen the veteran so peaceful, Time muses as he removed the book from Ravio’s hand and tucks the quilt tighter around the two, noting with surprise it’s weight. Neither hero nor merchant wake, although Ravio does shift in his sleep at the disturbance, but the two are out cold.

There’s the snap of a shutter and a faint coo as he looks up, single blue eye meeting Wild’s own, the champion smiling sheepishly from behind the slate, the image on the screen of him knelt beside the two boys, tucking them in on the couch. Time smiles at his cub. “I want a copy of that picture, you hear?”

“Yes sir.” The champion whispers in return.

[olderthannetfic]

I also speak like I swallowed a dictionary (and chased it down with a thesaurus). This is not always a good thing. So often a much smaller word would work better and too many words sometimes makes it harder to find the one I want... not to mention I really don't want to come off as trying to assert my intellectual dominance when having a conversation, it's just how I talk and write. And god does it sometimes make writing from a character's POV hard when they would not use my vocabulary.

--

That's a problem with any creative writing for anyone.

It has nothing to do with your natural way of speaking and everything to do with whether you can imitate other people's--multiple other people's. It's usually down to your observational skills as much as anything.

[whathappenedtodecember]

some of my chara headcanons........need to post this i've held these in my head for so long and for god knows what reason

- i like to hc that chara is the older sibling or at least same-age as asriel.....partly because the true lab's tapes' "i'd never doubt you!" and chara calling azzy a crybaby all feel like big sib ribbing to me. at the very least the way asriel admired them and kinda, like, put them on a pedestal felt like he couldn't be older than them, as opposed to kris and asriel's dynamic where asriel the big bro used the knockoff controller and took kris to get hot choco to maintain normalcy after the divorce and carried kris to school. and this is doubly interesting to me in the "everything is the same but slightly to the left" universe that deltarune is..........in DR azzy is the older sib so in UT chara is the older sib. it's just neat

- in the same vein as people connecting kris and chara's love for chocolate and knives, red eyes etc.....i like to use this to reverse engineer chara headcanons actually lsdjfsjdfh. so i hc that chara can play the piano. and azzy can sing, ofc. "his theme" is a song chara wrote for asriel a few months into their stay in the underground and the two took to singing it at any given moment, it kinda became their theme song in an endearing way.... so that's why the music box in waterfall only has the barebone melodies of the piece. those are the only parts asgore remembers from a decades-old song

more under the cut so i don't clog people's dashboards

- chara is not a native english speaker to me..........it's true that a lot of their taller vocabs are stuffs they adapted from mimicking toriel but we know they also read a Lot. i think chara primarily learned english from reading books instead of talking to people. you know how sometimes esl/efl speakers sound so formal or stiff, like theyre repeating what they see in textbooks? thats how i imagine chara talks, partly because they died young and havent finished learning english yet and partly because they just think being verbose is cool. i know a lot of efl kids think speaking english like you've swallowed an entire thesaurus is impressive. so that's how chara is to me, an esl/efl speaking kid who disliked talking to other humans and whose first actually meaningful english immersion was in the underground

- so we know toriel can cease to hit you once you've reached 2 HP, but unlike papyrus she's rusty because she hasn't had to take care of a human child for a long time before frisk fell, so she can still accidentally kill you.............i like to think this is a control she's learned to perfect when adopting chara (even though technically there wouldn't be a reason for her to fight chara, which isn't the case for the other fallen humans between frisk and chara, who she probably would have to fight so that asgore wouldn't get to them). i like to imagine she was the one who taught them the basics of monster fights and bullet patterns, and in turn she learned to be careful with them because lbr 20 HP is considerably low when compared to monsters' average HP

> in line with this headcanon and the 'chara is the older sibling' headcanon..........i like to think the 0.1 0.01 0.001 HP and so forth was partly chara's doing. this happens after the sequence where chara's memory of their childhood with asriel plays out so i can be sure that at this point chara was more 'in charge' than frisk was. plus if frisk could actually manage their HP this way they would've done it way earlier or in other fights but this only seems to happen in the fights with asriel (i have a feeling this is what happens in the photoshop flowey fight too, since it takes quite a while before you can die even when your HP bar is extremely low).

so anyway i think this was more something both chara and asriel did from muscle memory - i like to think that while toriel was more careful with chara, asriel was more.......headstrong, both because he was a child and because of his, like, general disposition. asriel always tried to be careful obv he wanted to avoid killing his sibling during playfights, but i think chara would have helped him with this by managing their HP somehow........so there'd be moments in their childhood where asriel would be panicking like 'oh no oh no i hurt chara what am i gonna do ;A;' chara would be forcing themself to stand up and give asriel thumbs up like 'hey! hey! i'm fine!! look at me i'm okay you crybaby it's going to take more than that to knock me out!!' man........theyre siblings your honour..........

- i know the timeframe doesn't match since chara and everyone who appears in game are very obviously not contemporary with each other, but it's nice to think about what it'd be like if chara grew up with the monsters we see in game......they're a weeb we know this so they'll probably go dumpster diving with alphys in search for anime. other than this activity their entire interaction with alphys is in the form of fandom wank and anime discourse. they'll really like undyne because they have so many bonding activities they can do with her........playing piano, drinking tea, geeking over knives and spears, declaring hatred over humanity

i also feel like a chara and sans friendship would be super funny in that whoever taught sans to lace his attacks with karma poisons probably could also be persuaded to teach chara the same trick to compensate for their low HP, but all chara could think about was that they now had to fight an irresistible urge to lick their knife. sans can't say he disagrees

[ciaran-archive]

Serious question. How do you write long stories? Is there a technique or advice for that? No matter what story I have in mind, I can't seem to tell it in anything longer than 1 to 2k. Writing 5k is tiring already, where do people seriously get that stamina to even do 50 or 100 or 200k? It's mind-blowingly amazing.

there is nothing less worthy or amazing about writing shorter fic - i know writers who struggle with it, and i’ve come to inhabit that position somewhat myself, though i’m determined to stay in practice. it’s a different skillset, that’s all. your fics aren’t worse for being shorter.

that said i will not deny that longer fics generate far more engagement from fandoms simply by virtue of updating more often  → being on top of the ao3 tag when people first open it  → getting more clicks and being considered less ‘frivolous’ (which is bullshit, but what can you do)

if you’re dead sure you want to write longer fic, i would first recommend reading this post about writing drabbles, which i promise is relevant to the point i’m about to make.

Because drabbles are about one moment. You don't need to know exactly what happened before this moment of dialogue, or what happens next, or what's happening around it. You don't have to do any of the planning you might do for a longer fic, but you also don't have the space to let the scene lead in and develop naturally. You've got 100 words.

a lot of writing a longer story is about establishing the scope of your story, deciding what beats you want to hit. there are a lot of ways to go about this; [some people like to outline. i don’t outline, ever, so if you want help for outlining you should look at the other sources on the internet. there are quite a few.] i’m going to talk about the way i’ve learnt to do it.

so when i’m writing a short fic, the thing i’m considering is one or two ideas, and one or two moments (short in this case being under 5k). this also depends on the style i’m going for - fics with sparser styles can fit more scenes, if i’m going for my usual style, each scene takes about 700-2000 words at least and therefore takes up more space. a lot of how i eased into writing longer fics was focusing on stylistic changes - you can push up the word count of a fic by going moment by moment. note the difference between: 

They’d been standing next to each other as they spoke; now Felix turned to him in the rain, startled by the admission of weakness. He reached out clumsily, bumping his hand against Ryan’s until he took the hint and grabbed on.

and 

The rain made it near-impossible to hear Ryan speaking, but the harshness in his voice would’ve been audible through a hurricane. “So you ran away,” he said, like he hadn’t expected this. 

“Course I did,” Felix snapped. “What was I supposed to do? Stick it out and let her kill me?” I almost did, he added under his breath.

Ryan’s sensitive werewolf ears, of course, caught that. “I’m glad you did,” he amended, as though it pained him to admit it. “I would’ve - I did the same. It’s all you can do, sometimes.”

Felix turned to him, blinking through the curtains of water. Ryan was slouching in the downpour, eyes narrowed elsewhere. Mostly he was startled by the admission of weakness - rare in a person who prided himself so thoroughly on being reliable and independent. He reached out, struck by the urge to offer whatever clumsy comfort he was capable of; his hand bumped against Ryan’s, and he held it there until Ryan caught up and wove their fingers together. 

His hands were wet and cold, and he gripped so hard Felix’s very human bones ached, but he wouldn’t have pulled away now. Not when he’d been the one to offer.

it’s not even that one is necessarily better than the other - they both work, and they’re working in different ways. they’re set in the same scene, conveying the same beat - reaching out to comfort someone in the wake of vulnerability. it’s just that one is longer, and therefore gives you more room to - set the scene (rain, being unable to hear each other) - use dialogue to show what is being told in the first example - convey extra information about the characters (actually, if this was a scene i was writing in a fic or novel, the stuff about ryan being a werewolf would already be known to the reader, so i would use that space to convey something else about ryan in that moment) - elaborate on felix’s internal state: the transition from defensive to curious/surprised to gentle - linger for a sentence or two on the moment of connection

this is about unraveling a scene and making it bigger than it was, breaking it apart into tinier beats and describing each one in the narrative. what happens when you do that and your fic doesn’t get much bigger still?

back to scope! we understand, as people who read and write and live, that the part of a story that you choose to depict in a narrative is not the entire story: events happen off-screen. some of them happened before the story started, and they will continue to happen after the story ends. the narrative is only showing you an arc, a particular series of events. 

when you’re writing fic, you have in fact tremendous amounts of flexibility when it comes to the scope of a story. you can write something that is about a single moment in canon, and trust that your audience is following along because they have the context already. so you don’t need to waste time on setting it up, which often means - if you’re given to a certain kind of fic writing (canon compliant / small divergences / missing scenes / character studies) your fics will end up not being very long because you’re not reiterating what you don’t need to reiterate. your idea is small because it inhabits a small space, is squished between canon events, and so doesn’t ever get bigger. if this is what is happening, it’s good, and you should try to preserve this going forward. 

people who are writing longer fic are, simply, working with bigger ideas*. they’re not just going “what if he said what he wanted in this scene instead of going home?” and writing the bit where they kiss immediately after - they’re also going “what if this changed everything in the future? what happens if they tackle all their problems together from now on? what new problems arise from this?”

*hopefully they are working with bigger ideas. i have seen longfics that are just incredibly fucking tedious because the author swallowed a thesaurus and had a tenuous grasp on plotting to begin with. 

that’s for a canon divergent fic, presumably. you might also be writing a post-canon fic, with its own set of pre-fic events and a new set of problems to deal with. currently, for example, i’m writing a fic where akira and goro were dating after canon, broke up, and stayed together in a deeply dysfunctional way after that - and the consequences for them now that they’re forced to deal with the mess they’ve made of their lives, together and apart. so now they have to deal with: the catalyst for dealing with their old problems, which is a problem in itself, and their old problems, which have been festering for a really long time.

which forms the core of the scope i’m talking about. i have to go through a bunch of scenes to set this fic up - i need to show their old problems and their new problems, i need to explain why the old ones haven’t been dealt with already, i need to set up the potential for dealing with them and the necessity of doing so, i need to give them places to start, and also i want to allow them to fail so they can choose to start again. i know these things because i have some idea of the kind of story i want to tell. if i didn’t know this, my story would not go anywhere by itself, and i would have to start outlining scene by scene the way people who actually outline do it, and i hate doing that because then i never write. 

if you can outline and it doesn’t make you want to chew wood, then i highly recommend picking up the habit. it’s very useful, and the methodical approach is a fantastic failsafe for the moments when you (me) get stuck on your fic (breakup au) and have to stop writing for several weeks in order to figure out a single fucking plot point that will let you move forward and

anyway. 

so yeah! to sum up;

find a larger scope for your story

get in the habit of picking apart beats into discrete moments and guiding the narrative through them

learn to outline if you can

last thing - which is perhaps the most vital and least reliable - stamina. 

you WILL lose interest in half the longer fics you write. it WILL suck. if you think you know pain because you have 700 words of a fic and can’t get through the last 400, i promise you it is like that but much worse because you have 7000 words now, or 17000 words, and you are stuck with no way forward. it will suck so BAD. 

don’t beat yourself up over it. once you’re in the habit of writing something long, you will retain that habit, and be able to apply it elsewhere. the words aren’t wasted, they’re practice, and they’re worth what they’ve taught you.

but! all the scope and internal scene-building and outlines won’t help you if you do not (and this is not as bad as everyone makes it sound) actually write. you HAVE to learn to actually write. you have to figure out what you like about writing and make a longfic outline [/ scene beats notes chart / themes mind map / tumblr tag of inspiring quotes and photography] that consists entirely of stuff you love and then you have to sit down and write your fic. it is not terribly scary. it’s okay to fail, but you also have no way around this. 

i hope this helped, and good luck!

[ochrepaints]

Because it’s a thinking sort of day, I’m again thinking about how Irene’s accent makes her sound so trustworthy. People have accused Natalie Dormer of doing a bad American accent, but to my ear it sounds so bouncy, casual and friendly. The way she stretches her vowels and turns “t’s” into “d’s” and just sort of... makes her words round-edged, if that makes sense (that is a terrible way to put it, but I hope you get what I mean). At risk of sounding insulting to Americans, her accent almost has a lazy ring to it, languid and laid-back and informal.

Even her syntax is so casual and confident, saying things like “Sherlock Holmes P.I., hi,” and “No problem, what’s up?” so cheerily when she sees Sherlock on the street. It makes her replies very hard to pin down for me, because she doesn’t have as clear dialogue as Jamie -- as @deductry​ and I talked about, one second her dialogue is very casual, the next she’s speaking with much more technical jargon about artwork (as with her speech on the studies for The Fighting Temeraire.) She’s obviously intelligent, but in an understated way that doesn’t exactly come across in her word choices. She’s also very quiet -- there are several instances in the show where a silence should be filled, but she says nothing and leaves space for Sherlock to speak. I do want to talk, sometime, about her use of those silences, but for now I’ll just say that they’re very interesting, and again lend themselves to this self-confident persona.

And then you have Jamie Moriarty, who’s British and clearly upper-class, or at least that’s what her accent and syntax lends you to believe. For those not aware, Moriarty’s accent could probably be best described as an “estuary accent”, and it’s that clipped and posh south-eastern English accent you hear a lot of villains use in TV and movies. This accent is of course associated with power and wealth, and (importantly) colonialism. There is a whole other meta I have yet to write about Moriarty’s global criminal empire and the undertones of colonialism it conjures up, but I’ll summarise here by saying that the estuary accent brings to mind, whether consciously or subconsciously, Britain’s history of global dominance, power, and privilege.

Far from Jamie’s accent being trustworthy, where Irene’s was boisterous, Jamie’s is sharp and clipped. Her consonants are keen, her vowels short, and even when she speaks softly, there’s such a menace to her voice. It practically screams danger, simply because it’s such a sharp-edged and clipped accent.

Unlike Irene, Jamie’s syntax is much easier (for me) to pin down. She casually tosses out phrases like “I apologise for the subterfuge but seemed the most expedient way to get you away from Sherlock” and “hoped to show you my work someplace less bleak, more conducive to conversation” as if she’s swallowed a thesaurus, and yet the sound completely natural to her. Her accent suggests that she is well-educated. She would never say “hi” or ask “what’s up?” as Irene would. Where someone else may use one word, Jamie would use three.

When you put, for example, Irene saying “Sherlock” and “Moriarty” next to Jamie saying those names, you really hear the difference. Irene shortens the “sher” of “Sherlock”, and it almost becomes “Shrl”, and she stretches the “o” sound in the second half of the name, making it again sound more casual. Compare this to Jamie saying the name, with the harsh emphasis on the “l” and the “ck” sounds, and the shortened vowels. And again, Irene doesn’t say “Moriarty”, she says “Mooreeardee”, where Jamie shortens the the “o” sound, and hits the “t” of the name, her tongue clearly clicking against her teeth to make the sound.

I could talk way more about this, but I’m going to stop because I’ve been working on it for ages. Bless you if you made it this far with reading, and I hope you enjoyed my rambling thoughts!

[connorswhisk]

my sadness, my hope (but mostly, my love)

Vision reminisces before he goes.

also on my ao3

At first, there had been nothing.

Then, a burst of gold - and there was everything.

Where once was naught but an automated voice had become a fully-functional vibranium synthezoid  - the Vision, powered by an Infinity Stone, and not quite a robot, but not quite a man, either.

His first few weeks on Earth had been loud, confusing, and tumultuous. So much had happened at once, almost too much for him to comprehend - a manner of speaking, of course, as Vision comprehends everything. There had been fighting, and arguing, and death and destruction.

But, like a beacon shining through the darkness, there had also been Wanda.

Vision sees everything in rays of color: the monochrome blue of Tony Stark’s Arc Reactor, the pale olive of Dr. Bruce Banner and the bold and brash green of The Hulk. He sees Steve Rogers’s patriotic red, white, and blue, Natasha Romanoff’s striking reds and blacks, Pietro Maximoff’s shimmering wisps of silver - and Wanda glows like none other, bright and vibrant and utterly scarlet.

And that scarlet had needed comfort and love after her brother was killed, and Vision (somehow, inexplicably) had provided it to her; he wasn’t sure if it was something he could do, or even something he was meant to do - but he’d done it all the same. It had - had humanized him, to talk to Wanda and to hold her in his arms, and one moment, he’d loved her as machine and metal and Artificial Intelligence, and the next, he’d loved her, as flesh and blood and so many infinitesimal ways, clustered like stars and flashing and blazing like neurons.

Vision’s not sure exactly of when he’d crossed the line from loving Wanda Maximoff to being in love with her. But it had been very sudden when he’d realized, and very strong.

And then, one night, in her room, he’d said, “Wanda.” And she’d torn her eyes from the flare of the television screen and met his gaze, and his throat had stuck, and his tongue had twisted, and he’d stared at her like a dunce for all of fifteen seconds before she’d cocked her head, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, and asked, “What is it, Vis?”

He has no heart, not really, but one had jumped in his chest, anyway. “I…I…”

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you so speechless,” she had remarked, teasingly, and Vision’s parts had kicked back into motion and he’d suddenly blurted out the first word to come to his attention.

“Alexithymia.”

Wanda had frowned. “What?”

Vision had shaken his head furiously, internally wincing and cursing himself for being a walking thesaurus. “Sorry, I - From the Ancient Greek léxis, speech, and thumós, soul. Alexithymia means the lack in ability to express one’s true feelings, the incapacity to voice the words of the heart. I���that is to say, you - well…Alexithymia.”

She had been silent for a moment (7.37 seconds, to be precise), the look on her face murky and indescribable - and then she’d leaned in and kissed him, and Vision had known that she understood.

No one…No one has ever seemed to understand him in the way Wanda does.

And now they’re here, balancing on the brink of the cusp of a magical armageddon (for Vision, at least, for the boys, as well), and Wanda burns redder than ever, and if Vision were human, he’d have to avert his eyes, but seeing as he isn’t, and seeing as nobody else can see Wanda glow, anyway, he’ll allow her to sear herself into his body, as he’s always, always allowed her to do before.

“You’re scarlet,” he whispers, stroking her face.

She winces. “Not that. Please.”

“You’re crimson,” he amends, and her eyelids flutter closed as she leans her cheek into the palm of his hand.

“You,” she murmurs quietly. “You, you, you…”

She doesn’t finish the thought.

Vision does not kiss her again. He knows that if he were to do so, Wanda may never be able to let him go.

“The boys,” he says.

She nods. “I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

The borders of the Hex edge closer and closer, sweeping across trees and neighborhoods and streets and every part of Westview that there is - every part except the pair of them and their home, savoring the Vision and the Scarlet Witch for last.

“Wanda,” he says breathlessly, as the seconds count down and the time slips away. “Wanda, what color am I?”

She opens her eyes, gazing at him with parted lips.

“Please,” he begs of her. “Please.”

“Vis, you’re golden,” she tells him, and he feels the Stone in his forehead pulse.

He nods. “Thank you.”

The magic hits the house. The walls start to glitch apart, the furniture fizzling in and out of different time periods - Vision feels his core begin to eat away. Painlessly. Painfully.

“Wanda.”

She swallows. “What?”

He hesitates, pauses for the briefest moment in time, and even that manages to be a moment too long.

“What?” she repeats, eyes searching him desperately. “What? Alexithymia?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

He’s almost gone, now, for a second time. The house sparks around him, sparks crimson and vermillion and burgundy and scarlet. The boys make no sound from upstairs. Or perhaps he simply can’t hear them over the roaring that surrounds his body.

Wanda touches his cheek.

“So long, my love,” he says, one last time, and he leaves his world behind him.

At first, there is everything.

Then, a burst of gold - and there is nothing.

[dadolorian]

Just like me- Part one

A/N: this is the first time i have ever shared a fic to tumblr.  Credits: Thank you @oloreaa​ for being my Beta reader/editor ! 

Title: Just Like me  Fandom: Prospect (2018) Ship: Ezra/Reader Warning: Talk of injuries/amputation. Ezra and reader get to know each other. Reader is an amputee. No use of Y/N. Word count: 3K +

MASTER LIST  Request status AO3 Link Next part. - coming soon

Prospecting was a dangerous job sometimes.

You were proof enough for that. 

Some would ask why bother with the risk, but they can not understand.

The thrill and joy of finding and securing your payload, the rush you got for a job well done, the chance to drift about to new and wondrous places, was more than worth the risk in your eyes.

And the pay, well, when you had a good job, the pay more than made up for the dangers of prospecting.

You could almost guarantee that after each run  your account would be filled up with more points than what you started with. And once you paid off the rental of your pod and supplies, more often than not you made a decent enough profit if things didn’t go tits up.

It was fair to say you were a decent enough prospector, maybe not the most experienced,but you had a decent enough excuse for that. Until a few months ago you were in recovery, having injured yourself on the last run of jobs you had been on before your current drop onto the Green.

Arguably, you could have retired after your injury. Caused a big enough fuss to get some serious compensation, but that would have meant giving up chasing the rush. 

At heart, you were a wanderer, a floater, and you couldn’t settle just yet.

Of course, after the accident you couldn’t just swing back to it. You needed to recover, and medical bills were expensive, not to mention you couldn’t let your employers get away with their gross negligence that caused the accident to begin with, so you had come to an agreement. 

It worked out for both of you, you get to keep your lifestyle and be financially secure at the same time, and they didn’t have to go through a public court battle. 

Your last, and most recent swing had been average, ending with a gig on the Green, you had just caught the ride back home.

Your routine getting back aboard was always the same, even after such a  longtime. Say goodbye to your (temporary) partner, sell your Aurelac, drop your belongings in your bunk and take a shower.

Thanks to your hush contract, you had the luxury of a second class bunk this time around, not having to rely on sleeping in your drop ship. It was bigger, private, had its own bathroom and all free of charge for you. Some perks for not choosing to sue.

A new, and rather annoying addition to your routine now would be to check into the medical bay, the only reason your doctors had allowed you back to work was that you agreed to regular check-ups when you weren’t on a gig.

So, a few days later, having waited for after the rush of people docking to catch the last swing to die down, you made your way to the medical wing for a drop in appointment.

Even though the waiting room was empty, you were forced to wait.

You sat down at an observational window, passing the time by watching the stars as the ship flew by them.

Lost in the view for an unknown amount of time, the sound of the door caught your attention, that familiar hiss of them opening and shutting.

You turned to make eye contact with the other patient… another amputee, just like yourself. You took note of his face, a small scar on the left cheek, the prominent nose, a streak of blonde in his otherwise dark and slightly scruffy hair, square jaw, and short facial hair. He was certainly handsome, even with his slightly disheveled appearance. 

His right arm was gone, you noted, just below the shoulder. His stump was well bandaged, you didn’t feel guilt about staring at his injury, you were one in the same after all, but he seemed to mind.

He tried to subtly turn himself away from your inspection so his left side was facing you more, a little self-conscious over his injury, it would seem.

You gave him a warm smile, trying to ease his embarrassment a little by pulling up your right pant leg to show him your prosthetic.

A silent way of telling him you were one in the same.

It seemed to have worked, for he visibly relaxed a little, returning your smile as he found a place to sit close by after checking in.

He hesitated, looking like he wanted to ask you something. He was lost in his thoughts for a short while before you decided to speak first.

“Recent amputation?” You asked, giving him another smile.

“Yeah, happened less than a cycle before catching the swing back,” he said

You nodded to yourself “Looks pretty fresh. You don’t look quite comfortable with it yet either”  

“No, indeed I am not.” He sighed “May i ask... if I were to inquire about your own heretofore displayed impairment, would you have any issue in disclosing what had caused your own injury to me?” He asked , eyes roaming over your face, small crooked smile tugging at his lips

Did he swallow a fucking thesaurus? You thought to yourself, leaning back in your window seat. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours first.” Tilting your head, you looked him in the eyes.

“I asked first,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, you did. Seems rude to ask my story without offering yours first,” you said, the smile  that was on your face letting him know you weren’t actually bothered.

“Very well,” he said, sitting back into his chair, getting comfortable by throwing his one arm over the back of it. “I was shot by a little bird. Scared kid who was completely justified in her actions, so I do not find myself with much blame towards her." Something like regret flitted over his face, but it was quickly gone as he launched himself into the story." I had originally been the cause of her predicament becoming much direr than it currently was, so she fired upon me in what she believed to be defense despite my lack of intentions to harm her."

He then gestured to his shoulder, and gave a half shrug as his brows drew together." Sad truth is it became inflamed , dust had entered my wound and I was not able to treat it accordingly. Before I knew it, infection set in and I eventually had to make the onerous decision to amputate it before it spread to the rest of my body.” Smile wry, he made a gesture at you like 'What can you do?', the corner of his expressive eyes crinkling slightly.

“You did it yourself?” You winced.

“Naw, Little lady who shot me became quite the welcomed, albeit reluctant, ally. Managed to do it all herself, cool as a cucumber." He huffed to himself, amused, before continuing: "Wish I could say the same for myself, I was wracked with nerves during the whole procedure.” He looked at you, a self-deprecating tone in his voice that was offset by the hawk-sharp look in his eyes.

“Ah, well at least you’re not bullshitting your bravery,” you huffed, before backtracking to what he said, eyes becoming wide as saucers. “So, you were conscious?” You asked in shock.

“Regrettably so. We did not have the luxury of professional medical facilities such as this.” He gestured around.

“I’ve heard some nasty amputation stories over my time recovering, and it’s always the ones where they are conscious that bother me the most,” you explained, feeling ever so slightly queasy at the thought.

“And…what about yourself?” He asked.

“Unfortunately for you I am not allowed to tell my whole story." You smiled at him, holding up your hands. "An unnamed private business was responsible for an accident in which I can’t disclose legally. Had to sign a lot of papers,” you sighed at that, unable to keep your annoyance out of your voice, before continuing. ”What I can tell you was I was in an accident involving machinery. I broke everything below my waist, most of it was healed, but my right leg was the worst. Completely crushed. When I was pulled out, the limb had undergone some extreme tissue damage." You paused for half a second, mind wandering. "They tried to save it, but there was nothing that could be done,” you explained with a slightly dismissive shrug. His brow was furrowed, looking at the prosthetic slightly exposed at the ankle in thought. “You seem to handle it quite well” He said eventually. You took a closer look at him. Bags under his eyes, avoiding prolonged eye contact with you, lethargic body language. It was recent for him, you concluded, he was still traumatized. Not that you blamed him. “A lot of people say that, ” you said, wanting to give him some hope and comfort, his eyes seemed so sad, you couldn’t help it. You wanted to be the support you had needed yourself when you were in his position. “It’s gotten easier, but I can’t lie and say I’m not still affected by it anymore. There are days where I continue to struggle. But each day gets easier. They will get easier for you too.” You looked him straight in the eyes, face serious. You needed him to understand that you were not simply saying things, that it was something that you had experienced yourself. He gave you a skeptical look, silently challenging that notion. “I know, I know,” you sighed, looking down to the floor before meeting his gaze again. “It’s hard to believe right now, but it’s true. You’ll struggle, but that means you’ll learn and adapt. You’ll get there.” Giving him a big smile, you hoped that some of your words will stick. .

“If I can be honest, I’ve already gotten sick of hearing those words of encouragement from my doctor. It seems so hollow and disingenuous when he says it, like a fallacy. It feels infantilizing to have him repeat his mantra over, and over again, and frankly, I struggle to believe it." He scoffed slightly, before quieting. Looking at you, head slightly tilted, he continued. "But coming from you, someone who has been in my own shoes, so to speak, I feel inclined to believe there is some truth behind those words, even if I do find myself skeptical about them,” he said, brows drawn together, eyes roaming across your face. . You shrugged lightly. “It usually helps, knowing someone who’s gone through the same thing. A friend.” “And is that what you are offering me? A friendship?” He asked, an amused smile gracing his lips and a curious look in his tired eyes. 

You shrugged again “I think that depends on you. But, at the very least, I can be an understanding ear, and I'm willing to listen. If you’re interested that is.” 

He cocked his head slightly at you, a small smile playing around his lips, “I…”  he began, choosing his words “ I appreciate the offer. It would be nice to have someone who will listen to my long-winded nammerings without judgment or pity.”

“No pity…  just…sympathy, compassion,” you offered.

“I think, then, I would like that very much. So long as you promise not to grow weary of my contemplation's” 

You gave him an amused huff. “I think with the way you talk, it would be very hard to be bored.” 

“Very well, annoyed then.” He smiled and you laughed at his small joke. 

You were content to sit there and chat to him more about anything and everything, but unfortunately for the two of you your conversation was interrupted by the receptionist calling your name. “That you?” He asked. “Yup” You sighed standing up reluctantly. ”It was nice to meet you…?” “-Ezra,” he supplied. “Ezra,” you repeated, testing it out. It suited him. “I hope I can see you around then, I mean it, having someone who understands how to help would really benefit you.” “I know, thank you. I’ll have to take you up on it soon.” He smiled, giving you a small wave as you left the waiting room for your check up. 

It surprised you to find him waiting outside the medical wing for you when you finished with your appointment. He was leaning back against the wall trying to look nonchalant.  “How the fuck did you get out before me?” You asked with a smile, pleasantly surprised. He had a small smile of relief on his face,“I only went for a bandage change,” he said, waving his stump a little to show. “I hope you are not too put off by my waiting here. I fear i may come across as overzealous.” “It’s fine, don’t worry about it” You smiled, shaking your head in indication you didn't think that way of him. “Sorry you had to wait so long. If I had known you were waiting I might have tried to hurry things along.” “It’s not a problem," Ezra insisted "I didn’t really have plans to do anything, and I was hoping for a better chance to talk to you." He gave a boyish smile, and you could not help but being charmed a bit. "Perhaps in the mess hall, if you would be so inclined to join me?” You nodded in understanding and agreement. “Fair enough, I suppose. How’s it healing then?” You asked, motioning to his stump. “As well as it can be. My doctor is worried about my exposure to further infection so it's being heavily monitored. Daily changes at the moment.” “That gets boring fast,” you said, motioning for him to follow you as you made your way to the mess hall. “I am very much in agreement with you there, I must say," He said "I have only been on board for a few days and I am already finding myself bored and frustrated with the routine,” Ezra sighed slightly, annoyance in his voice. “Just wait until you get a prosthetic. Then you’ll be in there for ages,” you snickered before you realized something. ”Are you wanting a prosthetic?” You asked. “I don’t think I would be able to even consider choosing not to invest in one." Brows furrowed, he looked at you. "I can not even fathom how i would be able to continue on in my career without the use of my arm.” “Quite the investment, if you want one good enough to act as a full replacement. I would have to imagine they would cost more than a prosthetic leg.” “That's what the doc said. I am a little overwhelmed with decisions because he keeps showing me all these different options that I cannot quite distinguish from each other." Frustration was written all across his face and in his voice. "I had not realized it would be so complicated.” He sighed, sounding a little dejected. “I’d be more than willing to offer my help in that then,” you offered, “It's best to figure out your needs and work backwards from there.” 

“You are surely a godsent from the heavens themselves,” he chuckled, you ignored the way his compliment and laugh made your stomach flip. “I am simply wise counsel,” you joked, making him chuckle more. “Either way, your offers of help in all kind of regards is much appreciated. I do not feel quite so daunted towards my own recovery now." Ezra smiled at you brightly, and you smiled back. "I thank you for your kindness, a rarity i fear in this line of work sometimes.” “Not wrong there,” you sighed knowingly as the two of you entered the mess hall. It was quiet, given the time of day, a little too early for those wanting their lunch that wasn’t from a ration or nutrient pack. You preferred it like this anyway. 

The food wasn’t amazing, neither of you were first class citizens but it was damn better than the food you were all able to store on your pods and ships. A hot meal of any kind was sought after on these kinds of trips, even if it was just hot mush.

You filled up your tray alongside Ezra, watching him curiously as he easily filled his tray as he pushed it along, the hard part would be maneuvering to a table. You weren't going to offer him any physical help, not yet at least. Giving him the space to learn and adapt would do him better than to dote on him. You remembered how frustrating it was, but you also remember how equally frustrating it was to be physically dependent on others. 

You would not offer him help with physical things unless he asked. 

Regardless, he managed it, balancing his tray on one arm as the two of you made your way over to an empty table. You pulled your chair out and he kicked his out before you both sat down. 

“I think I like coming here earlier,” he said, looking around. “Less people means less well meaning individuals offer to help me out,” he said, tucking into whatever food he had piled on his tray. “I hope that doesn’t make me sound ungrateful. I appreciate help but I do not want to be treated like someone completely invalid, the idea of not being able to take care of myself physically is a wretched notion.” “No, I get ya,” you said, understanding. “You need to do things for yourself. You value your independence, and when people dote on you like that, you feel pitied, your independence feels invalidated. You start to resent the ‘help’ because of it.” “A perfect way to describe the mix of feelings I have found myself with over these past few days,” he agreed, looking at you, chewing on his food “Just wait until you get your prosthetic” You smiled “You’ll be able to hide it well under a long sleeve and no one would be able to tell” “Well if you are any indication to go by, i am more than willing to believe that," He said "If i had not known you were missing a part of yourself beforehand, i would not have been able to tell just from watching you walk. It's impossible to notice at a glance” He complimented, smiling, eyes dropping slightly wistfully. “Thank you, I was fueled purely by spite in my recovery” You said, your smile growing. He laughed “Why, I am truly inclined to believe you." He grinned at you, smile sharp and endearing all the same time. "I shall take that to heart in my own recovery and take inspiration from you.” 

There the two of you sat in the mess hall with him what felt like hours. You found him so easy to talk to and could not help but be entertained by the way he spoke and whatever story he told you. You had found yourself hanging onto his every word, and when you spoke he made you feel like the center of the universe. Your conversations drifted between your shared physical disabilities as well as more personal topics, to get to know each other a little better. You spoke about the places you had visited, the difficult jobs, and your shared love of books. You couldn’t remember the last time you had such a pleasant conversation with another prospector. Most of your interactions were your temporary partners or hostile ‘competition’, there was never any opportunity to share in such deep conversations.

When the two of you reluctantly parted ways, you made sure to let him know where to find you in the second class quarters should he feel inclined to want to speak to you again.

He assured you very much that he was definitely interested in seeing you again. You felt like a teenage girl at that and as you said your goodbyes, hiding a bashful smile as he promised he would come find you again soon.

[fandom-collective-writers]

Reader x Jihyun Kim {MysMes} - Letters to Heal a Broken Heart

Title: Letters to Heal a Broken Heart Fandom: Mystic Messenger Character: Jihyun Kim Genre: bittersweet? romance Warnings: spoilers for his good ending!  Intended Gender Audience: Neutral Audience  Word Count: 2040 words POV: second person Other comments: no smut but im proud of this! please note that everything with the push back is a letter! i think its pretty clear, but i wanted to make sure it’s understood <3 Written by: @mythiica​ Req: 

Dear –

I’ll admit, it feels a bit strange writing a letter for you, but my therapist recommended it. He told me to explain my emotions with words, saying it would help me become more confident. 

See, the reasoning behind it, at least from what I remember, is that there is no pressure to think quickly. Writing allows a flow, a sense of movement between the words before you pick which one you wish to use. Talking is different because it follows a completely contrasting rhythm. To keep a conversation going, you have to speak rather quickly so the person stays engaged in the topic. 

It’s all really interesting, and my therapist has given me a book over the fundamentals of other practices like this. I read half of it on the plane to Japan. 

To clarify, I’m writing this from my hotel room in Tokyo. I landed a few hours ago and the jet lag has yet to hit me, so I decided to take advantage of this time to write. 

I think you’d like it here – the sakura are in full bloom and I have three days dedicated to photographing the sea of pinks as they ripple in the wind. Until now, I’ve only seen pictures of the famous parks, and I never thought that I would be able to witness them in person. 

I didn’t think I’d

I never conside

Ah, I should mention, I’m not allowed to erase or cross out sentences I start. Another confidence booster? It’s a bit sillier, but it’s meant to force me to say what is on my mind, rather than letting it fester. I’ll try again: 

During my years under Mint Eye, my vision was narrowed, and I had only one duty. However, I am learning to broaden my horizons and expand my mind to encompass everything. The urge to explore bubbles in my chest, waiting for the moment to come out. There are so many chances to do anything, and I’ve got all the time to do all of it. 

I’ve also realized that I went over my word limit. I have to stick to 300 words or under. Confidence booster #3! Express yourself with less words. Take a guess of how many times I’ve opened the thesaurus, looking for better synonyms for words? At least seven times in the past five minutes. It’s crazy! 

For now, I’ll sign this off and try better next time. 

                                                 よりご多幸を祈って

                                                           Jihyun Kim

PS, I’m practicing my Japanese! That says best wishes… I think. 

नमस्कार

Hello and greetings from India! I took a long nap on the plane, and forgot to write. Although I’m only passing through, I ate some delicious food (that I should really try to replicate for you). India is absolutely beautiful – from the sunrises to the bustling markets to the colorful fabrics hung at every corner. I’ll inhale the air and smell six things at once, albeit, not all of them are the best, but I embrace it nonetheless. 

More about what I’ve been doing: funnily enough, my phone died on the bus ride, but I made a new friend named Sunmi, and she was kind enough to lend me her charging cable. Instead of ending the interaction there, we spoke for a few hours at least. I learned she was traveling with her friends on a photography excursion. She gave me all the information, and I’d like to look into it when I have wifi again. 

You wouldn’t believe what they’ve seen! Last year they went to Antarctica through South America. She got to pet a penguin! Apparently the company also takes people to Greenland and New Zealand – some places I’ve been dreaming of visiting since I was a young boy. 

I’ll use my last 100 words to mention that… I’ve gotten a bit homesick. I miss the RFA – well, the people from the RFA minus… 

Don’t tell Jumin about the company though, he’ll insist on flying me around with his private jet. I want to experience for myself. Saeyoung is somehow messaging me when I don’t have service? I don’t… understand. Anyways, I also saw Zen landed a huge international role (someone had a magazine on the plane). Otherwise, I hope Jaehee and Yoosung are well. And Elizabeth the 3rd of course. Send them my wishes. 

I didn’t forget about you though! The keychain you gave me reminds me of home every day. It might have lost an eye, but I found a button and stitched it on. And I also wanted to ask you–

Ah, I’m over again. 

Next time. 

                                                           Jihyun Kim

Iyi günler! I am in Turkey now and actually writing this on a boat. The sun is setting over the horizon, making the sky change colors with every passing minute. It’s breathtaking, but I wish you were here with me. The other passengers and I take turns standing at the front of the boat, and I sometimes linger, trying to take pictures. 

Good news! My vision is getting better. I’ve been taking some Greek herbal remedies, and the seem to be helping. Either that, or they have a wonderful placebo effect. Has that ever happened to you? To think something is working, but you’re just imagining things? 

I apologize, maybe that stirred bad memories for you. 

Back to Turkey: I stepped out of my comfort zone and spent a night camping. Honestly? I was terrified of doing so, but now I want to do it every night. It is the perfect temperature for hiking, even though I am a bit sunburned. 

So many people have been commenting on my hair. Good things mostly, and I started styling it with a bit of gel to keep it out of my eyes. It feels good to look people directly rather than through a curtain. 

What are you up to? Hosting anymore parties? I imagine that you are keeping busy, as always of course. My therapist said it would be best to wait messaging you until I return home. I nearly called you a week ago, but I didn’t want to break my vow. It’s like lying to myself, and I know better than that now. 

Still, it doesn’t stop me from dreaming. 

                                                           Sending love, 

                                                                     J

I’m genuinely angry, but writing to you always calms me. Someone stole my bag – I luckily didn’t have much in it, but your keychain… can you make me a new one please? Now that I don’t have it, it’s almost like I’ve lost a part of you. It hurts a lot, but then I wonder if I am being silly. It’s just a keychain. 

Otherwise, France is nice. I didn’t want to go to Paris, so instead I traveled through the countryside to visit a few wineries. 

Yes, I did… drink a bit, but I wasn’t impaired when my bag was stolen! 

You would laugh at me if I told you what happened, so I will save the story for another time. Before coming to France, I went through Germany and visited some of the most beautiful castles I’ve ever seen. They all looked like they could be straight from a fantasy movie set, and I was convinced one – Neuschwanstein Castle – actually was. 

I’ve barely written anything despite so much happening. 

I got a haircut (finally), because it was becoming a hassle to tie it back at night. 

One evening, I fed some stray cats and they followed me home. 

And a drunk (?) tried to play cards with me. But he didn’t have cards. He was dealing an imaginary deck. 

Other stories will have to wait until I see you again, and I feel better now. It’s okay to be upset, but it won’t hinder my trip any more. 

                                                           Je t'aime, 

                                                                     Jihyun

Alaska doesn’t have a night. 

That’s not exactly true, but it’s basically true. The hotel has special curtains that block the light, and it is only dark for a few hours. 

It has been many miles since I last wrote, but I was caught up in visiting show after event after party after exhibit through America. Their art has given me a new perspective on point of view and emotions, so I hope that the ten camera chips I’ve filled with photographs will be able to convey the same sense of awe. 

I’ve also been mistaken for an idol? Like – multiple times. Interesting to say the least, maybe I’ll say yes to the next person that asks. What should my stage name be? I’ll spare you the embarrassment and not share my ideas. They are all very silly and no one would believe me if I told them my name was Cam Ra. Do you get it? It’s bad, I know. 

I’ll be returning home soon, unless I get distracted or impulsive and go down to California and Hawaii before coming back. I want to – it doesn’t feel right to return just yet. But that doesn’t mean anything about you! 

Really, I think about you and everyone else each day. 

Have you met new people? We’ll exchange so many stories… 

                                                           See you soon, 

                                                                     J K 

You pace around, waiting for the last guest on the list to appear. The party started an hour ago, but he still has not arrived. Then again, it has been three months since anyone heard a whisper from V, and you start to lose hope. Swallowing hard, you remind yourself that V is having a wonderful time exploring the world and finding himself. 

          Taking a handful of your dress, you turn and head through the doors to the main room. Jumin tries to pull Saeyoung away from Longcat, Yoosung explains his most recent surgeries to a group of nurses from his work place, and Jaehee receives many compliments for her majestic cake. 

         Everyone is happy and has moved on. 

         You hope V has too. 

         Maybe all the wishing and praying finally paid off, because you hear his familiar voice calling out behind you. It’s a long shot, but you turn around nonetheless, thinking it is a different guest. 

         Instead, you see Jihyun, wearing the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen, running towards you. He’s carrying a folder filled with papers, but that doesn’t stop him from embracing you. He smells rugged, like his voyage has transformed him, but you rather like it. 

         “Jihyun!” You melt against his hug. “You’re.. Here… you’re here!” 

         Your squealing draws everyone’s attention, but he focuses on you and only you. “Of course I’m here. I missed you more than I can verbalize.” 

         His stance is open, welcoming, and confident, much different from two years ago. He is a different person now, brave and proud. Jihyun offers you the folder. It is strange to gift something in the middle of a party, but you accept it anyways, happy he has returned. 

         Jihyun’s heart races as he explains. “I wrote you letters every time I went somewhere new. These are just a few of them, really I have so many. But each shows something I’ve learned.” He takes a breath and laces his fingers with yours. “This is sudden, and I’m sure you will need time to think about it, but I’m trying something new: asking without being afraid. Over the past two years, I’ve… longed for you. Art has shown me the power of friendship, joy, perseverance, and most importantly, dedication. I want to dedicate my art to you, if you’ll stand by my side.” 

         You can’t find the words to express yourself because you are so awestruck. He truly has changed, but he has embraced himself and his life. Tears start to roll down your cheeks from the overwhelming surge of emotions. Jihyun brushes them away and presses his forehead to yours. 

         “I still have much to learn, but I want to do it all with you.” 

         “I’d like that a lot, Jihyun,” you whisper, captivated by his intense gaze. 

         “And I can finally say this without fear–” 

         You tip your head up, and Jihyun kisses you the next moment. His lips are chapped and the warmth radiating from his skin envelops you. He doesn’t need words to communicate it, because you understand perfectly what he is trying to say. 

[damaless]

Harmony & Counterpoint

Chapter Seven: Nocturne

Dearest Momo,

I wish we could have had more of a chance to catch up with each other today. I understand you have a busy schedule and some things take precedence over speaking with your parents. Would it work for you if I call sometime next week?

Regards,

Mother

Kyouka frowns down at Momo’s phone before handing it back to her. “It seems a little formal, I guess? But is it really that bad?”

“It’s terrible, Kyouka.” Momo falls back on her bed and presses her hands over her face. She continues, muffled, “She’s extremely upset with me.”

“Okay,” Kyouka says, slowly. Are all rich parents so weird, or just Momo’s?

“Regards,” Momo wails, fingers sliding up into her hair.

It’s rare for her own parents to get upset, never mind extremely upset, but she’s pretty sure it would involve some degree of actual emotional expression. Not a vaguely passive aggressive email from a disgruntled business associate. She’s out of her depth.

She sits on the edge of the bed, and Momo shifts over — making more room for her? Or putting space between them? No, she’s making room. They’ve talked about being direct with each other, and Momo doesn’t seem bothered by her being on the bed — it’s just the angry mom situation that’s got her worked up.

“And I haven’t even told them about the course I dropped,” Momo whispers, rolling onto her side, hands tucked under her cheek.

“Is that something you have to tell them?” Kyouka tilts her head. “I don’t think the school is allowed to inform them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah — I can’t remember why, but while I was back home, I asked my dad to call about my course registration.” She’d been sick, or something. “They wouldn’t even talk to him.”

“Well…” A crease appears between Momo’s brows, and Kyouka resists the sudden urge to reach over and smooth it out. “I still don’t think I can reasonably expect to hide it from them forever; I’ve never been a good liar. But at least I know they won’t be informed of it before I’m ready to have that conversation.”

“Yeah,” Kyouka says, because there’s not really much else to say about it.

As far as she can tell without actually having met them, Momo’s parents don’t seem to be emotionally neglectful or anything, they’re just a little stuffy and maybe overprotective. If Momo just tells them what an eight course schedule was doing to her physical and mental health, they’ll have to understand.

“I’m sorry,” Momo says, voice quiet. Her teeth worry at her lower lip, pearly white contrasting with pretty pink.

Wait— “Sorry for what?”

“It seems like you’re always the one supporting me while I fall apart for one reason or another.” She looks up at her through dark lashes.

Kyouka swallows.

Momo continues, “I don’t want you to feel like this is a one-sided friendship — I don’t want this to be a one-sided friendship.”

Shifting one knee farther onto the bed, Kyouka twists to face her more fully. “I mean, I agree with you, but I don’t...” She trails off. How to word this? “Even if you— just because you’re the one who needs more support right now, I don’t think that makes things one-sided.”

Momo just waits, still looking up at her with those big, dark eyes. God, she’s really fucking pretty. Kyouka’s chest aches.

“I guess— I feel like I know you well enough to know you would return the favor? Like if I did need help, for whatever reason.” She runs a fingernail along some stitching on Momo’s quilt. “Even if it weren’t, like, a crisis— like if I were just, I don’t know, feeling sad, or whatever. You’d do whatever you could to help.”

“Of course! Anyone would, wouldn’t they?” Momo pushes up onto an elbow. “Are you feeling sad?”

Is she? Maybe sad isn’t quite the right word. Melancholy. Bittersweet. Wistful. Yearning, if she wants to get really cheesy about it.

Momo’s fingers brushing against hers interrupts her journey through the thesaurus. “Do you— um. Would you like a hug, Kyouka?”

A hug. Of course she’d like a fucking hug. But…does this count as manipulation? Would it be so wrong to say yes?

“Do you want to give me one?” She asks, heart in her throat — because she’s ridiculous. Completely absurd. Why does it feel like this matters so much? It’s just a hug. If Momo wants to hug her, who is she to protest? That would just be hurtful and unnecessary.

Momo pats the bed next to her.

Oh god. Oh god oh fuck. What is— she’s in way over her head.

“Is this okay?” That crease between Momo’s brows is back. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. Are there… rules? Since, you know, since you— Since you like girls. Is this a faux pas?”

Kyouka shakes her head quickly. “No rules.” Momo’s face transforms into pure relief so fast, she can’t help but laugh. “Oh wait, I always forget the one rule for all the gays — hugging is strictly forbidden.”

Momo rolls her eyes but her lips curve into a hint of a smile. “The lesbian police are coming for me now?”

“We should make the best of our remaining time together,” Kyouka says, and maybe a little too much sincerity creeps into her voice.

It’s just a hug. Friends hug each other sometimes. She’s not crossing a boundary.

She lies down, and Momo’s arms envelop her, pulling her to her chest, and— just a hug, yeah, no — this is Heaven on Earth. Just a hug. Just a hug. Jesus, she’s an idiot. There’s no going back after knowing what this feels like, all warm and snuggly and perfect, and Momo smells so nice.

Momo’s arms around her squeeze just the perfect amount — not so much that she feels like it would be difficult to push away, but enough that she’s drawn in against her. Her own arms find their way around Momo’s waist, her cheek presses into Momo’s shoulder, which is also comfortable — how can one person be so comfortable everywhere? — and she lets her eyes flutter closed.

This is the textbook definition of a really good hug — no, not just a really good hug; Momo’s the definition of someone who gives really good hugs. Eijirou gives good hugs, but he’s rock solid; there’s no way he could pull off this level of comfy.

She sighs softly, and snuggles closer. Momo doesn’t seem to mind.

Momo hums thoughtfully, and it resonates through her chest. “This is really nice,” she says.

“Yeah,” Kyouka breathes. “Really nice.”

It was a long day mini-golfing in the sun. Maybe she’ll just rest here…for a little while. Just for a bit.

Read the rest of the chapter on Ao3

Read from the beginning

[benevolent-poet]

Why I Write

I write with a cigarette between my fingers on tea stained pages. I write with the sun on my back to the sounds of wild galahs cooing. The outside of my little finger smudges the black ink, leaving a cloud-like shape to discolour my skin. The remaining tea leaves a ring on the off-white ceramic, mildly scratched by the stirring of a teaspoon. I write to create a tangible timeline of my life. To look back on my growth. To plan for my next adventure in life.

I embroider pages with mixtures of neat lines and rushed cursive. I illustrate the imperfections in our world. I dance with my imagination on a page. I write to nourish myself. I encourage myself. My words are my tears whether they be joyous, passionate or sorrowful. I play with grammar and vocabulary like a child would engage in craft. I experiment with my words.

I theorise. I criticise.  I write to examine the world; to qualify it; to make sense of it; to categorise it in neat packages. I write sentences with symbolism, usually fuelled by emotion, to scribe my personal experience; to express how my mind interprets the outside world. I write as an ode to words, a tribute to the plethora of splendorous adjectives, adverbs, nouns, and verbs, to ensure these fabulous words do not evaporate out of existence. I like poetry. I write poems to appreciate my surroundings. I write them to expose my deepest, darkest secrets. I write poems to reciprocate the rhythms of nature.

Amongst the shaky list, usually comprising of soy milk and bread, I write kind words on my skin, too. Sois gentile, I wrote most recently – be kind.  As a child I was told by grown-ups that I would suffer from ink poisoning. I am yet to notice any symptoms.

I write for my university professors. In each piece I grow a little better, more academic, more to-the-point and I expand and deepen my understanding. I write only out of necessity. I will not achieve much by polluting my work with unnecessary language, the abuse of a thesaurus and ideas that are not my own. I intend to avoid clichés, so that the piece purely reflects the thoughts that roll around my mind, formed by my own personal experience.

I write to my lover. He always sneaks in to my poetry.  Usually, sweet ballads in admiration. I write in hopes to boost his esteem. To the kind gestures and the pure heart he offers me. I write because I want to shout from the rooftops, cry out about how much I appreciate him, but that would be dangerous.  

I write to my online community. To the companions I have not met and will never meet. I have fleeting moments with passers-by and meaningful long-lasting connections with old friends.

I write music. I dream in D minor 7. I adapt my experiences in to chord formation, melodies and lyrics. The way spoken word, or music conveys emotion contrasts particularly different to written text. It is just as meaningful, but there is a certain complexity to it - the interweaving of individual elements, the tone and the emotive response that arises from it. 

I stopped writing because my words were too tangible. My thoughts were private. What if someone had read my words? The introvert in me would be appalled. Each Diary entry followed with ripping it, scrunching it up, making the words illegible. Now, writing is a useful tool for me to locate, interpret and communicate my thoughts. I find that I often experience a blank mind in a social-setting causing me to stumble in conversation. I write for reaching the final sentence means – I am free. Free from worry, free from fear.

I write for the same reason I would light incense. For some kind of spiritual cleansing. To meditate; a form of mindfulness; tranquillity; relaxation. There something about burning that is very scared. I write as an act of self-care or self-love. Words line my pages like its aromatic smoke that clouds a room. I write to become in touch with how my mind and body feels, as I describe the sensations – I can process and heal.

I write in metaphor. I write poetically. I write for meaning; to find purpose. I write about the little things. Happy things, grave things. Parfois j'écris des choses en français. I write as a pathway between my past and my future. I note where I’ve been and where I aspire to be. It grounds me. I write for I find the act cathartic; I find satisfaction in creating sentences. For clarity, for peace, for patience.

I write for her. The voice that screams to be heard. For that one time, where she had known of the fight or flight response, but she was yet to experience the freeze reaction to a traumatic situation. The pamphlets on anxiety were yet to include it. Then, it happened. And not too long after there was that freeze response. She lay still. As still as the air in that room. The air surrounding her changed in general after that incident. Polluted with disdain, fear and confusion. It sparked a change within her; a silence. A loss of innocence, loss of trust. I write for her, the shame that swallowed her and the peace she searched to find. She stopped writing for two years, that girl. The light inside her withered away. She couldn’t concentrate in school. She didn’t feel safe at home.  I write for her; the girl who grew up too fast.

I write to the moon, for only it listens to my story silently. I write to keep the fire inside me burning alight. I write to condense weeks of built up feelings in a paragraph. I write to ease the voices in my head. I write to reassure myself, to motivate myself.  I form words to be different.

I write to find god in a godless world. I write to defy police brutality. I fight for equality. I write for justice. I write for George Floyd. For all the black men and women failed by the justice system and subjected death at the fault of racism. I pray for their daughters and sons, that they do not grow bitter and hostile; that they prosper. I write as a prayer to the universe.

I write to express my gratitude to the brave indigenous peoples of this country, who sacrificed their culture and land. Colonised by the British, tortured and disrespected and still to this day, belittled. I want to express my appreciation of the land I call home, for its wonderful unique flora and fauna. I praise the world that surrounds me. I note its beauty. I question society. I wonder about its harshness and the repercussions of imperialism.

I write for my women. To stress the importance of building each other up. For the magnificence that is the essence of woman. I write to note that feminism is just as important today as it was 100 years ago. I write to represent a population of women who are unheard, mistreated or too scared to speak out. I write to fight the against the abuse, the unheard screams, patriarchal dominance... sheer terror.

I write memories. I write stories. I write observations. I write in the same way a photographer takes a picture, to capture a snapshot of a moment. I write for me. I explore the depths of my mind, conjure my true feelings. I cast a net in to open waters, some days gifted with a fantastic catch, other days trash. I write to filter the important from the unimportant. To capture my identity. I write to get to know myself, the inner workings of my mind. I write until it cannot fathom any new full sentences.