#i use so many filler words because the sentence 'sounds better' that i can later begrudingly delete

[daughterofhecata]

Writer's question bc I'm nosy (and in need of guidance): When writing drabbles or other formats limited to a certain word count, what is your method in reaching the exact word count? Do you already have a good grasp on how much/extensively you can write to hit the wc? What's your process in editing, is there a certain type of word or lines that gets kicked out first? i.e. adverbs, etc...) is your approach to a story/prompt/idea different if you don't need to hit a certain wc?

Awww, I feel honoured that I'm apparently some kind of authority here <3

Unfortunately, I genuinely do just have a pretty good grasp on how many words a scene needs, or rather, how much story I can stuff into how many words. Usually, especially with shorter things (like, everything under 1k) I can get within like 10-20 words of the goal on first try.

If I'm just a tad over the limit (idk, up to 10% or something), it's usually the "filler words" that have to go (my beloved "gerade"s and "endlich"s and "quasi"s), or I try changing the sentence structure in a certain way (which is why I'm not sure I'd be able to write drabbles as easily in english - "without hesitation" and "without hesitating" is the same amount of words, "ohne zu zögern" vs "ohne Zögern" saves you a word!). (And if it's *below* the limit the same obviously applies in the other direction as well.)

If I'm past the limit by more (like 10%-40%, after that I consider upping the limit instead), I start cutting background information/backstory/description that isn't absolutely vital to the story/vibe/impact/etc.

...bold of you to assume I have any approach to fic that isn't just starting to write. (Joking, but only mostly xD) I do consciously start with less "extra" tho - don't bother with an intro, just start in the middle of the scene. And if needed I'll also cut off in the middle of the scene (there's a surprising amount of stories that can just. Stop. Let the imagination do the rest.), or throw a quick scene break into it. (Like, that one Cotta/Victor/Skinny ficlet from January '23. That's just four almost disjointed scenes, the first & last just a few lines, but it still *works*, apparently.)

Hope this helps?

[greenhousethree]

Apologies for gushing but your last fic twenty-two was just so beautiful! I'm wondering how you come up with so many good details in all your fics? I'm working on getting better at imagery and would love hearing more about your process, you just have such way with descriptions!

first off, thank you so so much anon! this made my whole week!

but oof, this one is tough since i'm definitely not an authority on descriptive writing (or any sort of writing, really), and i'm not particularly introspective about the process. and twenty-two more or less fell out of my head in one piece, which doesn't happen very often for me, so i'm working a little backwards here.

so at the risk of sounding incredibly preachy, i've taken a stab at articulating how i tend to think when creating scenes. maybe some of this will be helpful?

for me as a reader, details that tend to stick out are both extremely specific and concise. the specific part comes a little easier for me when writing - picking out little actions and details from everyday life that i don't tend to read about very often - but the language precision takes more work. if a detail requires too many descriptors to convey the full picture, i'll usually revisit and search for more specific words or axe it completely.

i think it's really important to trust our abilities to describe things uniquely! which sometimes means swinging for the fences and missing entirely with an analogy that doesn't work, but i find that so much more interesting than relying on clichés.

i'll add to the choir of advocates for killing your darlings. deep down, you know if something doesn't fit. i keep a "dump now use later" doc as a personal pacifier, because it feels easier to delete an *incredibly clever* bit of wording if i think i can recycle it someday (spoiler: i won't).

i try not to think about this too hard, but syntax is a really helpful tool for flow and for characterizing a narrative voice (she says in full awareness that hermione's inner monologue in her fics sounds a lot like ginny's which sounds a lot like harry's... 😬).

i like to let descriptive verbs do the talking over adverbs an adjectives. again this is based on my preferences as a reader; i find actions to be much more immersive when they can stand alone without modifiers.

a wonderful beta changed my life by ruthlessly trimming the fat from one of my works. this is a little different than cutting out entire ideas that don't fit, more like removing filler from your sentences that dilute the point. i'm not necessarily advocating for a minimalist tone (lord knows we're far from that), but this kind of editing really helps the details pop.

a n y w a y , all of that feels very boiled down to a science, which might go against the point? i think it can be good to consider these things while editing, but i guess the biggest piece of 'advice' i would offer is to try and let your voice and your plot/ideas speak before any of the language mechanics. i usually feel most stuck when i'm too focused on phrasing something that doesn't serve the bigger picture, and zooming out to "what is this scene even doing here" often helps me realize that (ahoy, we've circled back to killing our darlings).

maybe some of that made sense, and if not i apologize, but thank you so much again anon for this humongous bit of flattery and for letting me ramble!

🌱

[anticidic]

For the 'get to know your fic writer' game 👀 13, 40, 66 plsss

👀 sure, thanks for sending this in!!

13. what's a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

Just keep writing. There's been times I've gotten hung up on not being able to remember the exact word or phrasing I wanted to use in a sentence, and my writing would come to a grinding halt because I refused to keep going until I remembered exactly what I wanted to put down.

No, BAD. So I slowly have been breaking that habit by just putting either a filler word or something in brackets like [fill later] so I know to come back later, and I just keep going. My drafts always look like a mess because I'll have things like that everywhere where a scene isn't quite put together yet, but it's important to keep writing because you can always go back later. And usually when I keep going, I end up remembering what I wanted to say or, in some cases, think of something better, then I just either jot it down for later or go back and fill it in.

40. If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

OK, SO. I have been so tempted to commission an artist for a very specific scene but they've had their commissions closed for a while, so I'm just twiddling my thumbs and patiently waiting until they open again. 😭 But a scene I'd want is from my fic foiled fables of kitsunezai and Chuuya sitting in a field of flowers, with Chuuya playing with Dazai's tails as Dazai threads a flower through Chuuya's hair. It just lives rent-free in my head and I think it'd be super cute as art. So many scenes from that fic I'd love to see as art, honestly, but that one just makes me fuzzy.

66. How do you deal with writing pressure (ie. pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc.)?

Pressures to update and stuff, I just tell people 'hey, thanks for sticking with me and continuing to read! The next update will be available when I get around to it!' and just leave it at that. I always, always appreciate when people take the time out to comment, so knowing that someone is so excited that they're wondering when I'll update next, I match their energy and let them know as soon as I get to it, I'll update!

Deadlines have mostly been self-imposed. 💀 I make my own deadlines for absolutely no reason other than to try to keep myself writing. But what I do is at least try to write a little bit each day, even if it's just a sentence or two on my phone while on break at work. it's still. Progress. I usually have the terrible habit of, on my days off, just knocking out 8-10k words in a sitting instead of building it up over the week, so sometimes I'll go a whole week without writing, then on my first day off, spend literally the whole day and sometimes pull all-nighters writing.

Yeaaah, I don't recommend it. I think writing a little each day is way more manageable, so I try to stick to that and don't impose an arbitrary wordcount on myself so there isn't as much pressure.

As for negativity, I don't let it get to me. I do this all for fun and because I want to, so (I know it sounds so simple and easy) I don't let any negativity in my head live rent-free and I just keep it pushing. There's too many things to write and too many characters to put into neat situations for me to stop and waste time on negativity! These stories must be written! AHHHH.

[phoenixyfriend]

Random tips for writing fic:

Tumblr is mucking about with nested bullets, so I’m futzing around with hyphens to deal.

Vary paragraph length. Large blocks of text can be hard to read, and too many single-line bits can be jarring. If you err too far to one side, the fic ends up clunky.

Use a different sentence structure for spoken dialogue, internal narrative, and external narrative. -- Sentence fragments are great in dialogue, and acceptable in internal narrative, and uncomfortable in external narrative. ----“It’s just like, you know, a thing. A real hell of a thing. Couldn’t be more of a mess, really. Utter shitshow.” - dialogue ----“And he thinks to himself, well, this is kind of a shitshow. Just, like, a real hell of a thing.” - internal narrative ----“Later, history books will record the incident in a variety of ways. Right now,  however, everyone chooses to describe it as ‘one hell of a thing.’” - external narrative ----I don’t know if I’m using these terms the way other people do so, hey, examples.

Sometimes run-on sentences are good for stylistic reasons. Sometimes, you just forget how long it’s been going on and don’t realize you need to cut it off. If you don’t have a beta, give it a day or two without looking at it and then come back with fresh eyes.

“I mean” and “You know” in prose can be jarring in the middle of a third-person narrative unless the story has already made a habit of addressing the reader. Reserve these for dialogue unless you’re playing with the fourth wall, doing epistolary, or something similar.

If you can’t figure out whether the character is OOC, think of the canon and try to imagine them saying it. Can you hear that line for Snape in Alan Rickman’s voice? Great! It’s not a perfect tool, but it sure is an option.

Check your line spacing when you post on AO3 so you don’t end up with triple-spacing.

If you don’t know how to describe your character to the audience, don’t worry. Every author struggles with that. Don’t pull an Enoby Darkness Dementia Raven Way and you’re probably good.

No swearing is easy to ignore, even if it’s unrealistic, because we’re all attuned to censored TV and the like. Too much swearing can actually be jarring because it feels forced, especially if the source media doesn’t use swears. This one is very trial-and-error.

Figure out your endgame by chapter three if you can.

Crossovers are difficult to juggle, but when in doubt, adjust power levels to be roughly equal in terms of range, unless dealing with literal gods (and even then, try not to do too much) or non-magic/scifi worlds. ----If the fic is an intrusive crossover, and characters are jumping from one world to the other, power levels usually err on the side of the intruder, by virtue of the element of surprise and/or later observation.

Not everything has to be plot-relevant, but the story will flow better if you can figure out a way to tie your ‘things I added just because they make me happy’ scenes in as a way to advance either plot or character.

Breather chapters, plate-spinning chapters, and filler chapters are all different. (Feel free to swap out ‘chapter’ for ‘scene’ depending on your chapter length.) ----Breather chapters: a chapter following one or more heavy chapters to allow the readers room to decompress. It’s there for pacing, because if Everything Is Happening All The Time, you can lose readers to drama fatigue. The breather chapter still has things happening, but in a less dramatic way. It’s the “we should talk about last fight” chapter, the “let’s move into a new apartment” chapter, the “everyone gets to go to the spa” chapter. It’s a moment for the readers AND the characters to take a breath and recharge. ----Plate-spinning chapters: overlaps with breather chapters. There are no BIG plot events in a plate-spinning chapter, but you touch on a whole lot of relevant threads where you can. Side-characters that are cooking up a new weapon for your main, romantic subplots you couldn’t address while the big moments were happening, training scenes. It’s things you need to keep in motion and remind the reader about, but can’t bring into the plot in full yet without throwing off your pacing. ----Filler chapters: not actually a mistake to include, but use sparingly. Any filler chapter is really just ‘a chapter in which nothing plot-relevant happens at all.’ They can have scenes that elaborate on characters, but they generally don’t advance plot or character. These are the chapters where, if you removed them from the story, the readers wouldn’t even notice anything wrong with the plot.

Use dialogue tags. You can get away with not using them for a few lines if there are only two speakers, but for the love of all that is good and holy, dialogue tags.

Said isn’t dead, but it’s not the only word out there either, and you don’t need to use a speaking verb. Rewrite the same line a few times to figure out if the patter suits what you’re going for, and if the verb works for the tone. Half of writing fic is erasing what you just wrote because you realized it messes with the Vibe and need to phrase it differently. -- “I just don’t like it here,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes. -- “I just don’t like it here,” she whispered, refusing to meet his eyes. ---“I just don’t like it here.” She refused to meet his eyes.

Honestly, just read your dialogue out loud sometimes. There’s a good chance you’ll realize if it sounds too forced or wooden, and you can work on making it more natural. ----That said, if you write exactly the way people talk, you might end up with irritated readers because the way people talk IRL isn’t always... easy to follow.

It’s okay to just abandon a fic and start something new. Just make sure you label the fic as abandoned (not complete) and move on. Shit happens, you lose inspiration, and it’s not the end of the world.

[pebblysand]

of tyres that blow (extended author’s note of chapter v. of castles)

- - TO READ THE CHAPTER ITSELF, CLICK HERE. - -

Oh, what a month it has been. Well, a month and two days - I’m a bit late updating. I’ve had two good things happen, writing wise. 1) I got my first original short story published (!!!!) (you can read it here) and 2) I put out a little one-shot about Fleur Delacour that I’m super happy about and gave me an idea about a new series (more on that later this week, I hope. I might need help with prompts!). Regardless, this latest Irish lockdown is fucking endless and I sometimes wonder if this fic isn’t just an outlet for my feelings of lockdown-induced loneliness, apathy, but also a constant argument that I have with myself thinking: for the love of god, just pull yourself up, will you? You’re a Gryffindor, goddamn it. I certainly wish my fucked up sleeping patterns on no one, although I may or may have Mary-Sued that onto Harry, lol. (Spoiler alert: he’s scheduled to get some real sleep in next chapter. All bets are off regarding whether I will.)

This chapter was surprisingly easy to write (I basically vomited out chapters iv, v, and vi over the span of a week in December) but incredibly difficult to edit. For days, I just couldn’t concentrate, wrote and re-wrote and felt like everything was shite. Then, I realised it’d become this 19,000-words long monster so I had to cut a lot of shit out. We ended up with 15,898 words which I suppose is better? 

I do wonder: do people mind long chapters? Like, I know as fanfic reader, I personally prefer longer formats and rarely gravitate towards works that are less than 3,000 words. I love just getting buried into a story, into plots rather than single scenes. This being said, every time I write something that I deem too long (i.e. above 10k) I have these excruciating struggles where I wonder: should I cut it in half? should I leave it as is? I decided to split the last one. Then, I decided not to split this one because (you may notice this or not, I’m not sure) it’s kind of built a certain way, geared towards basically getting to the last two paragraphs. Like, when you get there, it’s a bit of an ah-ha moment, but I couldn’t get to that ah-ha moment without all the build up before it. It’s the accumulation of all of these little details that feel like they don’t matter. And as Harry says in the end, they don’t, in the grand scheme of things, but also they do. Like, everyday life doesn’t matter until you lose it. Then, it does, if that makes sense.

In terms of next update... I’ve decided to get my law licence transferred to France and the EU (it’s a long story), which means that I need to bloody, fucking study. The exams are at the end of March so my current plan is: hardcore study until the end of february. Mix study/writing in early march and hopefully get chapter vi out mid-March, then hardcore study until the end of March. Please, if you see me posting then, tell me off in the comments cause god, I really need to pass. Now, I will go have my traditional i-ve-put-a-chapter-out shot of limoncello and let you read the below :).

...spoilers for castles, chap v. under the cut -

I’ve done a lot of thinking about what this chapter is meant to be about. Obviously (I hope), every chapter has a point, in this story. Chapter 1 is about time (the way it passes and blurs when your mind’s a complete mess), chapter 2 is about hope, chapter 3 is about inevitability and the consequences of trauma, chapter 4 is about becoming an adult and growing into your own skin, etc. I think this one is about fear. How you feel it, and how you overcome it. Like, Harry takes a decision to stand up, fight, do the interview, regardless of the fact that he is scared (for his life, for that of the people he loves), and finds buried inside him a lot of the courage that he (felt) he lost, after the war. He learns to control his fear of the world by figuring out how apprehend it, through the training Giulia gives him, through learning how to kill, too. 

But, it’s also about fear in society. How the attack on Robards sets everyone on edge and how they keep going regardless. I initially wrote this chapter with the idea that it was going to be about speaking out and being brave, but obviously, fear and fighting against it is a huge part of that, too. 

Then, there’s Mia. Obviously, this fic is Harry/Ginny endgame but I do like the idea of Harry (and possibly Ginny as well) dating at least one other person, before officially tying the knot. Like, yes, Ginny is obviously coming back next chapter. She’ll probably own the second half of next chapter, if I’m honest, considering they’re obviously going to the burrow for christmas. I love Ginny, I’ve missed her and honestly, I can’t wait to bring her back. This being said, to be fair, I’ve kind of realised that this fic may actually be the first I ever write that isn’t strictly “shippy.” Like, yes, their relationship is a huge part of it (it’s a huge part of his life) and it will and was always going to be a huge part of this story but I think this fic is larger than that. It’s a result of my years-long obsession over: but what happens next? Over what “all was well” really means, in a general sense. How do they get to “nineteen years later” and beyond. But yeah, I’ve missed Ginny and I’m glad she’s on her way back to us now. 

Now, obviously. Giulia. I’m sorry. This was always going to happen. Well, almost always. I remember when I first wrote her in, she was a bit of a filler character. At the time, the thing with Mia was supposed to happen in last chapter and I actually had (have) much more backstory around her, than around Giulia. She and Harry were going to have proper conversations (will they ever, who knows?), really get to know each other. But then, Giulia came first narratively and shone through the page. I started writing her and she had this personality and life of her own and I couldn’t bring myself to curtail her. 

Now, we all know how it is: fanfics can only tolerate so many OCs. So, I had to choose between putting Mia at the forefront, or Giulia. I chose Jules. 

Then, in chapter 4, I wrote this: 

Her first lesson is to teach him how to drive the patrol car. ‘I don’t know why we use them,’ she explains, honest, and Harry vaguely wonders if he should be taking notes. ‘Reckon the Ministry saw them being used by Muggles, had to prove they could do better. They like making noise, the Ministry, don’t they? Lots of sirens and shite.’

Politely, Harry hides a chuckle behind a cough. He clearly doesn’t know yet that he doesn’t need to, that Giulia’s sarcastic sense of humour is one of the things that he’ll come to appreciate the most in this world, over the next few months. That the sound of her voice is one he’ll try to never, ever forget. That in the speech that he’ll give when he makes Head Auror, over a decade later, he’ll think of her and say: ‘Okay, let’s try to not just be sirens and shite, all right?’

This kind of tumbled out without me really thinking about it until I really looked at it and thought: fuck, why is he talking about her past tense, like that. Like “the sound of her voice is one he’ll try to never, ever forget.” Why would he forget it, though? And so, just like that, came her death sentence. For that, I apologise. It killed me too, and I cried when I wrote it in (especially when I wrote next chapter, actually, first time I ever made myself cry writing, if I’m honest) but it just needed to happen. It’s how Ginny and he get back together (I mean, obviously - is that even a spoil) because he’s grieving but she’s grown stronger and steady and she’s able to be there in a way that she wasn’t last summer. It did occur to me that god, all his mentors/father figures come to die, don’t they? But honestly, I kind of thing that his real mentor will be Robards, at the end of the day. She was just the one who allowed him to get back on his feet. 

One last note: I’ve been meaning to put this into the fic for ages but have never found the right moment to write it in. In the meantime, I’ll just say it here, because I don’t know if this has frustrated some of yous - I know it might have driven me mad. There is a logic to the Muggle/Wizard swearing/exclamations in the fic. Obviously, this is an adult fic so they swear normally, like eighteen-year-olds would in this (I decided that very early on), but also there’s “God”-s and “Merlin”-s and things like that. 

Now, I think that throughout this fic, although Harry hasn’t mentioned it yet (cause it never fucking fits anywhere) Hermione’s been having a sort of Muggle reckoning. She - in conscience - decides to start swearing/exclaiming “like a Muggle” after the war. If you notice, she only ever says “god”, never “Merlin.” Harry uses both interchangeably although he tends to use Merlin more when he thinks about wizard stuff, but God when he thinks about Muggle stuff (like when he’s with Mia). Ron only swears in “wizard” but I think he might start using Muggle expletives as well in the later chapters because of Hermione rubbing off on him. 

The fact that I even think about all that stuff is pathetic and I need to get a life. But that’s for another post, altogether. 

Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you liked it :). 

[fireinmoonshot]

REBEL | ARMITAGE HUX x READER | PART EIGHT

CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE RISE OF SKYWALKER.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN Summary: Armitage Hux finds himself strangely fascinated by you, a Resistance fighter and pilot, even though he knows he shouldn’t. You know that there’s much more to him than you see on the surface. Pairing: female!Reader x Armitage Hux Fandom: Star Wars Word Count: 2221 Warnings: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER SPOILERS. A/N: Happy New Year! This is essentially the celebration I’m having for the beginning of 2020 here in Australia, as it’s currently 12:40am on January 1st as I’m typing this A/N, and 1:22am as I’m posting this... I hope this chapter brightens up your New Year even more. I know it’s shorter than usual, but there is a reason for that, and it’s just because I didn’t want to drag it out too much with filler before getting into things after a small time jump in the next part. Enjoy, and I wish you all a very Happy New Year too! Read it on Ao3 here.

The moment your X-wing touches back down on Ajan Kloss, you know you’re home. Around you, people are hugging and cheering and crying and laughing already, and you can’t wait to be among them. You climb out of your fighter without hesitation, and as soon as you set your feet on the ground, a passerby claps your shoulder with a hand and flashes you a grin.

R6-LE5 whirs up behind you, and you crouch down in front of her.

“Thanks for having my back out there, couldn’t have done it without you.”

She beeps happily, and you grin in return and let her go.

For a moment, you just stand and watch. Your face is starting to hurt from smiling as you look at everyone – at their happy faces, at their excitement at having won against the First Order, against Palpatine, after all this time. You’re itching to push through the crowds, to try and find your friends, but you made a promise.

A promise that you would meet Armitage in the same place as before.

And right now, you’re standing there.

Finn finds you before Armitage can, though, and after he runs over to you, you can’t stop yourself from pulling him into a hug and holding him close. He’s shaking a little, and you assume it’s from the adrenaline. You can tell he’s just happy to be alive, as you all are. You’re happy he made it out alive.

“What you did back there, you were incredible, Finn– or should I say General?”

He pulls away from the hug with a laugh. “FInn is fine. I’ll let you save General for the more formal moments, but I don’t expect you to actually use it,” he chuckles. “Hey, I’m glad you’re safe. I was worried for a second there… but…”

“But we made it.” You finish his sentence for him. “We made it.”

His smile returns. “That, we did.”

He gives your shoulder a squeeze before running off to find Poe, Rey and Rose, and you’re left alone once more, waiting for Armitage, though you don’t really feel alone with the excitement coursing through him. You’re hoping Armitage won’t be much longer and glance around to look for him when you finally spot him.

Armitage looks rough. Much rougher than he’d sounded over the comms on Exegol and the way back to Ajan Kloss. His hair is messier than you’ve ever seen it, he’s got a little blood on his cheek and his uniform is charred with ash and dust. He looks like the perfect picture of a Resistance fighter, and for the first time you see him as that entirely. Whatever he still had left in him that was General Hux before the assault, he’s let die along with the First Order.

He’s still looking around for you when you take off running.

Your feet are carrying you before you can even think about what you’re doing. But you’re friends now. And friends can be glad to see each other. And friends – well, friends can hug, or at least you hope, because seconds later you’re hurtling into Armitage’s arms, your own arms wrapping around him for the second time in a day, and he’s stumbling backwards with the force and shock of the hug.

And then… then he’s laughing.

You nearly pull away from the hug just so you can see it on his face.

“This is quite the warm welcome back,” Armitage smiles.

“I think you deserve it.”

You keep a hold on him for a few more moments before you pull away and look up at him. He doesn’t look as bad from close up, but you still reach up with a hand and gently take his chin, turning his head from side to side to make sure there are no serious injuries that he’s hiding from you.

His cheeks slowly start to redden at the contact.

“I– I’m all right, actually. There’s no need for that.”

Eyes narrowed, you relent and let him go.

“How did everything go on the destroyer? How was it, being down in the middle of combat like that?” You inquire. You feel like you’re bombarding him with too many questions, but you’re intrigued. You want to know how it felt, how he feels after taking on such heavy combat like you’d seen. “You didn’t chicken out?”

Armitage scoffs. “Chicken out?”

You fix him with a look.

“No, I did not chicken out. I think I held my own rather well.”

“I can attest to that.” Rose appears beside you and briefly wraps you in a hug. “He saved my life out there… never thought I’d be saying that… but he did,” she admits, and then she looks at you. “I’m glad to see you’re safe.”

And then she’s off, running straight into Chewie’s waiting arms, and you’re entirely dumbfounded as you look up at Armitage again. He’d saved her life. He’d saved Rose’s life, and she was grateful for it. You thought you’d never see the day.

He can tell what you’re thinking before you even say it, just from the look on your face. “It was nothing, really. Just a Sith Trooper sneaking up on her that I saw first.” He’s downplaying it. He doesn’t know why he is, he was always one to talk up his achievements, but here, now, it feels like the right thing to do.

You entirely disagree.

“You saved her life, Armitage. That’s not nothing.”

His gaze drops to the ground again, but this time you’re fast – you’re forcing him to look up at you again, to meet your eyes once more, and as he does, he swears he can feel something inside him crumble at the look in your eyes.

He’s never seen that look on you before.

For the first time ever, he allows himself the luxury to think about how beautiful you are.

“We don’t forget those things around here, not ever. You saving Rose’s life, that’s everything.” You make sure that he knows it. “You’ve come a long way from the man I met on that ship back when you first started giving us information. I’m proud of you.”

His lips curl into a small smile. He’d never really had anyone say that to him before.  “Thank you,” he hums. “It was rather satisfying to see that ship go down, and all those on it go down with it.” Allegiant General Pryde, he was glad to be rid of in particular. That man had always been a particular kind of terrible, the last tie to his father. And now he never had to see him again.

–

Hours have passed when you start to finally tire after the day you’ve had.

Around you, as you sit at a small table with your friends, the Resistance are still celebrating. Drinks have been passed around, joy has been shared, and all of you are taking it in before things settle down the following morning, and you know they will.

You’ve won, but there’s an entire universe waiting for what comes next. People are rising up, there are bound to be First Order sympathisers who aren’t and those who were harmed by them are likely still in recovery. The real mission, it starts in the morning, and it seems you’re all eager to keep that as far away as possible.

Beside you, Armitage notices that you’re starting to tire when he watches you stifle two yawns in a row. He’s amused by your attempt to stay as awake as possible, but then he’s grateful when you finally stand and announce your departure.

He stands up alongside you.

“I’ll join you. I think it is time to call it a night.”

You don’t object.

It’s only when you actually both reach your quarters after walking in silence there the whole way that you realise that Armitage doesn’t have anywhere to sleep. You pause with your hand on the door and look up at him.

He furrows his eyebrows. “Is everything all right?”

“You don’t have anywhere to sleep.”

“I– I don’t. You’re right.”

You laugh at the lapse of realisation. “I guess we just forgot about normal human things like sleeping before, when we were too busy saving the entire universe from certain doom,” you chuckle. “You go on in and wait, I’ll find some pillows and blankets. You can sleep in my quarters. I’ll take the floor.”

He hopes you hear him as you walk away and he yells “The floor? No, you won’t!”

–

Armitage gets his way.

You make up a makeshift bed for him on the floor of your quarters with blankets and pillows that you’d sourced from the Tantive IV and elsewhere. He seemed to be happy enough with it – at least until he lies down on it.

It’s certainly not as comfortable as his bed had been on the Steadfast.

But it’s good enough.

And that night he drifts off to sleep for the first time in a long while entirely content. He dreams of a life in the Resistance, letting his previous life in the First Order go and then, strangely, of you hugging him again.

–

When he wakes up the following morning, you’re nowhere to be found, and so he gets himself ready for the day in silence. You’re a busy woman, but you’ve left new clothes for him at the foot of his bed despite that, and he changes into them, happy to be rid of the dirty other ones. These ones seem to fit him a little better, and he’s grateful for the change.

He finds you sitting out with Poe, Finn, Rose and Rey, with a plate of some sort of food in front of you. It doesn’t look particularly appetising. You’re sat just out the front of the Tantive IV at a small table, the exact same place you’d all celebrated the night before.

“Hugs! You’re awake!” It’s Poe’s voice that calls out to him.

You throw him a look. “Poe, really?”

Armitage pulls up a chair beside you and narrows his eyes. “I knew you were saying that on purpose. I wasn’t impressed then, and I will admit I’m not entirely impressed by it now. But I’ll allow it this once.”

The smile on Poe’s face grows. “Why, thank you.”

You turn to Armitage. “How’d you sleep?”

“Entirely well. It’s no First Order bed, but for now, it will do.”

“Good,” you hum in reply. “I figured you could use a bit of sleep, and you didn’t wake up when I was getting ready, so I just let you sleep a bit more. And I have a feeling we won’t be getting too much more sleep in the next few weeks.”

Poe raises his eyebrows. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“Poe.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”

You glance back at Armitage apologetically. “I meant that with everyone splitting up to travel around to planets directly affected by the First Order, we’ll probably be on the move a lot. I was thinking about where I want to go just after I woke up.”

Finn raises his eyebrows from across the table. “And where is that?”

Part of you was hesitant to tell Armitage, to admit it to him, but the rest of you was just itching to tell him what you’d come up with. You could only hope that he thought it was a good idea – and he had been the one to suggest it anyway.

“I was thinking,” you meet Armitage’s eyes, “that you and I could go to Arkanis.”

He’s a little taken aback by your suggestion.

When he’d suggested visiting Arkanis with you the previous day, he hadn’t expected that it would be planned out this soon. He’d thought it would be in the future – perhaps so far in the future that it never happened at all. And the idea of visiting his home planet and probably not even recognising it… it slightly terrifies him. He clears his throat and stares at you for a moment, fumbles over his words for a few seconds, before he nods once, and then twice.

“When– when would we leave?”

You shrug a shoulder. “I don’t know – a few weeks, maybe? I want to stay here for a bit, get things sorted out and help the people that are going to stay here make it a real base. I’ll be flying to and from here for at least that long.” An idea suddenly comes to mind, and then you’re grinning up at him. “I could teach you how to fly!”

Armitage blanches. His cheeks redden. “What?”

“I could teach you how to fly an X-wing, or whatever you want, really.”

Poe snorts from across the table. “I can see this ending very well.” His words are entirely sarcastic. Finn elbows him in the side and he winces at the impact.

“Perhaps we should just… take things one step at a time,” Armitage gently suggests instead. “Plan this trip to Arkanis, organise things for the base here… let’s not take on too much responsibility so soon.”

His words make sense. “One step at a time, then – Arkanis first. What do you say?”

He supposes the trip might not be so bad as long as you’re with him.

–

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[babbushka]

I think I read that you enjoy writing dialogue? If so, do you have any tips on it? I’m more better at describing things and scenes than I am at creating dialogue between characters, and it’s frustrating because I wanna get better at it. I love reading the dialogue you create in your fics because it’s so good! So, any writing tips for it?

Yes I do enjoy writing dialogue! It’s one of the first things i write down, and then fill the action in around it :) 

(These are by no means like the only ways dialogue can/should be approached, they’re just what i have learned over the course of writing many many short stories, scripts, and fics!)

Firstly, the Golden Rule:

Dialogue should either tell us something about the character, or move the plot forward. 

If it doesn’t serve either of these purposes, then cut it. 

What I mean by this is, is your dialogue should mean something -- even if all it means in the moment is that your character is a long-winded speaker, or shy, or curious. That’s all okay, as long as there’s purpose behind it. Don’t just tell the audience that you like the color green just to tell us, relate the color green to something.

Dialogue doesn’t have to be “good” (in fact there are many people who feel like there’s no such thing as Good Dialogue), it just has to be right for the character and the story.

Some tips for how I approach dialogue:

Learn your characters!!

I know this one seems simple, but really, learn them. I find it helpful to write out character study sheets -- where do they live? Do they have an accent? How old are they? What’s their education like, their family? Are they rich, or poor? What job do they have/what people are they around? What time period do they live in, how do they dress, what music do they listen to?

All of these things have influence over how they speak, even something as small as a regional difference makes a big impact. 

Find out your character’s disposition. 

Sort of piggy-backing off the previous point, you have to decide if your character has a sense of humor. Is it dry? It is witty? Is it pessimistic? Is there a lack of humor altogether? 

Often it’s not the words that the character says, but how they say them. You can have two characters say the same thing with different intent, and they’ll each be unique. 

Establish different speech for different characters.

No two people talk the exact same way, and neither should your characters. Give them stylistic differences! These are people, not robots (and even robots have their own inflections!)

This can be in the slang they use, the sentence structure they follow, the speed at which they talk, the volume at which they talk, etc. 

Ask yourself, are they a caricature, or a person?

As I mentioned above, in most cases, you’re writing people. One of the things I try to do above all else, is have my dialogue sound realistic. 

Like, would a person in real life say this? If you’re finding that it’s too stereotypical, too trope-y or cliche’d, take a step back and re-evaluate. 

You might ask yourself, why does it feel that way? And it’s okay if you don’t have an answer right away! But more on that later. 

Find inspiration from real-life dialogue! 

Realistic dialogue is all around you! 

Sometimes we get caught up in our own heads about what we think dialogue should be, and not what it actually is. 

Take some time to just listen to people around you, you’ll notice that just like with behavioral things, there are idiosyncrasies in speech too. 

Don’t be afraid of filler words! Real life communication has pauses, it has stutters and ‘likes’ and ‘ums’ and little tack-ons like ‘huh?’s and ‘okay?’s Just find the balance that’s right for your character.

I also like to take inspiration from a person I know, not just random people on the street, and emulate the parts of their speech I like.

Find inspiration from a character you love.

On the flip side, I think it’s really valuable to find a character who has dialogue you really enjoy and try to figure out why that is!

Once you know what it is about the dialogue you enjoy, try and incorporate it into your own work. Sometimes it’ll work, and sometimes it won’t, but that’s okay! It’s all part of the process. 

Read the dialogue out loud! 

I cannot stress this one enough!! 

Dialogue is a conversation between people, and unless you’re doing it through mind-reading, they’re speaking out loud. Reading the dialogue aloud (and in the accent of the character if they have one) can really bring the scene to life. It can also let you know when things aren’t working, or if they feel stunted. 

Lastly, share your work and keep practicing.

I know it’s kind of a cheesy tip, but practice really does make perfect -- or at least close enough. 

Sharing your work allows a fresh pair of eyes to get their hands on it, and they’ll tell you right away if they think the dialogue is “good” or not. They’ll tell you if they think it’s too cliche, or if it’s too trope-y, and they will definitely offer you suggestions that start with, “i’d say it like this...” and you can choose to listen or not.

Sharing it with other writer friends is a great way to go, but it can also be really nice to just ask someone who doesn’t write what their opinion on it is! Sometimes a general audience is better than a more catered one.

TLDR; learn who your characters are, make sure the dialogue means something, try to listen to the real conversations around you, and practice practice practice!

So there you go! I hope that one of these things was helpful for you! Please know that I’m always happy to take a look at a piece of dialogue or a scene if anyone is feeling stuck (provided it doesn’t fall into my notp fic categories)! 

You are very kind, thank you for thinking of me for advice! 

[hysteria-when-youre-near]

Def Leppard in Vegas, 8/29/19

Back from Las Vegas!! The whole experience was incredible--I really just loved the atmosphere of Vegas for reasons I can’t even describe, and the trip as a whole was one of the best vacations I’ve ever had. And the show itself was, of course, perfect.

I don’t have many pics of the show because the venue, being indoors, was very dark, and my camera does not take good pictures in the dark. I have two comically bad ones I’ll post later, and my mom took some that were actually good but she hasn’t sent them to me yet.

A few notes on the experience though:

I was sitting General Admission Right (right being my right, stage left) and I got there early enough that I was essentially the second ‘row’ in the standing only space. There was one row of people directly at the barrier, then me. I picked a spot near the end of the runway stage so I wouldn’t be behind the band for the acoustic part, so I was far-ish from the main stage, at least within the context of the GA area--still more than close enough to see the band without looking at the screens, though.

Overall, I think I had a good spot. One of the people in front of me was like constantly waving and trying to get the attention of the band, which weirdly gave me some degree of anxiety, and another nearby person was headbanging, which... is this really a headbanging band? You do you though. Also a lot of people between me and the main stage had their cell phones out and up, which was, I gotta say, annoying, since the phones are so bright. You people could at least put your video on youtube, lol. That’s the only reason I don’t absolutely lose my shit about it, is that I do benefit from people filming during the show, but still.

The show was intense as hell. Like, I knew it would be two full hours but I didn’t realize what two full hours would feel like. I was standing for over three hours, in line and then in the venue waiting for the show to start, too, which contributed to the fatigue of just being an audience member, I’m sure.

But it was also a completely packed, no filler show. No intermission, no breaks, no down-time, barely any talking between songs. Joe spoke a little during the acoustic part and then maybe a sentence here or there otherwise but mostly it was song into song into song. I think they played 3-4 before he said a single word.

I knew what the setlist was, roughly, but it still felt very different to listen to versus the setlist from last year. More than I thought it would. I’m familiar with all of these songs, even the rare ones, and if something has been played live before ever I have heard a live version of it, recorded, you know? But it’s different to be there. Not being quite sure what’s going to be played next and then it’s Promises or Now or Excitable or Mirror Mirror, it’s something else.

Speaking of setlists, on my night they played Foolin’, Mirror Mirror, and Let It Go, and there was no Billy, Slang, Too Late for Love, or Paper Sun. I was a little disappointed not to hear Billy or Slang, but my mom really enjoyed Mirror Mirror--and I must admit, it probably is one of the rarest songs to hear in a way.

And Let It Go???? I wanted them to play Let It Go when I heard it come back during the Euro tour in the summer, but then I figured from the setlists coming out I wouldn’t hear it. And then Phil comes out to the center of the stage and does that opening riff and at first I was like--wait--is that???--and then it was!! That song is such a powerhouse live, they should play it more.

The stage was really, really huge. Like I know they said it was huge, but when I first got into the venue, I didn’t think it was that big. Then I saw it in comparison to the band. From where I was standing on the side I could never see everyone at once. I could see people on the runway part of the stage and people at the center and anywhere on the right (my right), but people on the far left were hard to impossible to see. I was thinking about it, actually, and I think it’s pretty impressive that Leppard filled the stage as well as they did, since probably a lot of performers at Planet Hollywood have backup dancers or whatever--they’re literally five people, only four of whom can move during the show, and they still owned it.

I also really liked how they used the screens behind the stage and the lights. A couple of the screens were the familiar ones from last year and previous tours (the Vegas signs behind Animal, the Hysteria screen with old pics/video of the band), just on a larger scale, but often they were just large video of the band as they played, the simplicity of which I appreciated. Similarly, the lights/lasers were obviously super complex, but they weren’t distracting. The lasers during Love Bites were insane and during Switch 625, Phil and Vivian, and then Rick, were highlighted in a cool way. (Rick finally got his cone!) The photos of the band they used during Photograph included some really rare ones that I’d never seen before.

The acoustic set worked really well and I’m so glad they did that... I wish even more that I could see a whole acoustic show from them... Maybe someday. Joe introduced the band members with how long they’d been in the band (’veteran of x years’), and pointed out that they had new chairs for this show, decorated on the back with the Vegas logo (with the dice) and with their names on them. I was sitting so that I was even with Phil, a little ahead of Rick, and behind Joe and Sav. Vivian was also even with me but facing away. But Phil would turn around a lot to look at my side of the audience, or sometimes behind him at Rick, and Viv turned all the way around to look at us, too. At one point, he literally stood up mid-song and handed a guitar pick to the person in front of me (Phil threw one at the end of the acoustic set and the end of the show and I think Sav was throwing them at the other side, but this was the only time I saw one handed to a specific person.) I seriously, like, memorized Phil’s arm I think. He had on bracelets, and his shoes were high top boots that he’d only laced to the ankle and then just wrapped the laces around.

Speaking of outfits and shoes: Viv had his lucky leopard print sneakers, Joe had on Vans, and Sav had sparkly black sneakers. I am fairly sure he and Joe coordinated outfits, because Joe’s jacket for the second half of the show matched Sav’s outfit imo. And for the encore Joe broke out the star shirt from the R&RHOF press tour.

I thought the sound was really good--better than in VA Beach, where I couldn’t really hear anything, from my seats, because it was so loud it was distorted, although this could have been exacerbated by Journey’s set, by which I mean I had already temporarily blasted out my hearing before Leppard even started to play. I could hear the vocals really well in Vegas (Joe really does sound better than he has in a long while imo), although I felt personally like I couldn’t hear the guitars as well as I wanted, versus the drums.

My overall impression was that this was a show for hardcore fans, for certain. I guess it has to be, since aside from people who live in Vegas, everyone in that audience traveled to see them, when generally, it’s the other way around. The rare songs, the length, the lack of filler, etc.

A few quick notes on small observations:

Phil mouthing ‘hi’ to an audience member during one of the songs;

Sav playing around a lot to the audience (you can see this in a video of Let It Go on youtube);

Sav in general looking like he was having a lot of fun, even skipping across the stage, as he does

Phil messing up during the Hysteria solo, I think--I thought I heard a couple notes that were off and then I caught him smiling at Viv in that ‘whoops, fucked that up, oh well’ kind of way;

Viv poking Phil under the arm as they passed by each other;

Phil singing into the microphone with Joe, and the audio was clear enough that I’m pretty sure I could actually pick out Phil’s voice;

David Coverdale and/or someone else from Whitesnake might have been in the audience--not sure, but the security guy was very chatty and at one point I noticed him saying something to someone in front of me, and then I heard her say to the person next to her something that included the word “Whitesnake.” So. I didn’t see anyone but it’s possible??

...So, yes. That was my experience! It was wild, exhausting... I sort of wish I could do it over to pay better attention at some parts lol, and just take even more out of it than I could at the time. But I’m so glad I went. It was a totally unique show for sure, and I’m so impressed with them. I can’t imagine doing that a dozen times, or twice in a row like they do on the weekends.

[ofhvney]

he’s sitting at the bar, drink in hand, when it occurs to him that he might have fucked up. 

this isn’t an entirely new revelation: it’d hit him like a freight train the moment he’d tried to brush the tears from zar’s face, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes just how deep this mistake goes. the mistake being: his blindness. his ignorance. his inability to comfort one of the few people he, apparently, actually gives a fuck about.

among other things.

but zar, for his part, had left. fled, practically, leaving honey standing in the dust without a clue as to what had just happened. until he’d thought: fuck him. and, a moment later, with a sense of finality: i’m gonna get laid.

in the spirit of that sentiment, he locks his phone, pointedly ignoring the four missed calls from the same virginia area code; then, he downs his drink, turns to his left, and starts hitting on the guy sitting there. he’s tall — taller than honey, even — clean-cut, and almost dreadfully polite in that old-money way that’s so common in fucking connecticut. most importantly, he’s nothing like zar, and that makes honey smile at him in a way that he hopes says let me take you home tonight.

but then honey dares to make an inappropriate comment, some sort of lame come-on that only ever works because he’s got the face and body to back it up, and the smirk that appears on the guy’s all-american face feels like a punch straight to his gut.  it’s somehow resonant enough of zar’s own expression that honey struggles to speak for a moment, vividly embarrassed to find himself tearing up at the unexpected resemblance. 

“ i have to go to the bathroom, ” he lies, abandoning his drink and blinking rapidly as the room blurs. once there, he promptly sits down in a stall and massages his temples until his eyes stop watering. by the time he leaves, the guy is gone, and honey is more than fine with that. 

the next girl has him going for a while. she’s blonde, she’s bubbly, she’s buzzed on wine in this fucking dive bar, and he even manages to bring himself to smile at her when she stacks every sentence full of expected fillers, like and oh my god ! dropping from her mouth so often he loses count. he’s not trying to date her, though, so he doesn’t give a shit. he’s just trying to fuck her.

at least, he’s trying to fuck her until she mentions the humane society, the new dog she’s just adopted, oh my god, he’s, like, the fucking cutest. suddenly, he sees zar written in the curve of her smile, the length of her eyelashes — when he glances over her shoulder he physically sees zar, the same miserable look on his face that’s been burned into his memory for the past couple of days, his collarbones peeking out of the stretched-out collar of honey’s shirt. the color drains from honey’s cheeks, and he signals to the bartender for another when he’s not even halfway through the drink in his hand. “ i’m sorry, ” he hears himself say, as if looking at himself from above. “ my friends just came in. i have to go. ”

when he heads to the bathroom to blink away tears for the second time that night, honey dutifully ignores the flash of skin and dark hair in the corner of his eye.

the last straw comes not long after: as he stares mournfully into the bottom of his glass, someone approaches. honey looks up, quickly takes stock of a short, curly-haired brunet, and promptly downs the rest of the drink in one go. he doesn’t even bother rejecting the guy — he simply brushes past him on his way out, ignoring the flash of disappointment across his face when honey doesn’t even give him the time of day. 

later, as honey fumbles his way toward his room, he pauses for a moment in the doorway, hit with a vivid flashback: zar standing next to his bed, shirt in hand, cheeks wet and voice breaking as he begs please. let me leave. for what feels like ages, honey’s caught in a loop, watching helplessly as zar breaks down again. and again. and again.

finally blinking the image away, honey feels his stomach swirl unpleasantly as he stumbles further into the room. as for whether he has the alcohol or the heartbreak to thank for the sensation, he’s not quite sure anymore. perhaps a bit of both.

and he gets it. he fucking gets it. it’s taken eight months and what feels like some weird, off-brand version of a break-up, but he gets it. honey constantly feels like he’s forgetting something — like he left the house without his wallet, or didn’t charge his cell phone. or, perhaps, that he let something slip through his fingers that might just break his damn heart.

it isn’t long until he’s digging through his closet, pulling out one of many of the stash of zar’s t-shirts that he’s squirreled away. he doesn’t wear them, not like zar does with his, he’d look ridiculous — but, undeniably, they are the only thing that honey has access to right now that still smells like zar. since he can’t pull the real thing into his lap and bury his face in his neck, he grabs a shirt as a replacement, turning and falling into bed moments later. 

with the shirt tucked under his head as some sort of makeshift pillow, honey gets the brilliant idea to call up its owner. one touch of the call zar button instantly brings up the picture honey had taken of him early one morning, and his heart falters and skips a beat at the mere sight of him. his mouth is open, his hair a fucking bird’s nest, and the image makes honey want to cry. 

zar doesn’t answer the phone. he pretends to be surprised.

“ hey, baby, ” he drawls into the receiver, nose half-pressed into the collar of his shirt. “ you’ll never guess what i did tonight. ” he giggles, free hand fisted in the fabric as he presses the phone to his ear. it’s then that he remembers that voicemails have a time limit, so he puts on his serious face and keeps talking.

“ i went out, ” he breathes, as if that much isn’t already obvious from how much he’s slurring his words. “ to that place where peter yates hit on you when i was sitting there, remember ? and i dragged you to the bathroom right after, pushed you up against the door. i’m surprised they didn’t catch us and kick us out. i had that hickey on my neck for a week. ” he closes his eyes, his drunken mind deciding that he’s going to confess to everything he’s tried to do tonight. 

“ there was this girl there — god, she was so fucking hot. she wouldn’t shut up, but i sure as hell didn’t care. i just wanted to take her home, y’know ? oh, fuck, but then there was this guy. this guy. he was even better. i could just picture him sprawled out underneath me. i knew exactly what kind of sounds he’d make when i touched him. ”

in his drunken state, he shifts, not noticing the soft beep that indicates he’s been cut off by zar’s voicemail. instead of talking to zar’s inbox, he’s talking to himself and himself alone.

“ but i couldn’t do it, you know. none of them. i could only see you, no matter where i looked. ” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face at the admission. it’s been a long time since he’s been this willingly vulnerable. “ i saw you everywhere, zar, ” he repeats, his voice strained as if he’s trying not to cry. on zar, it breaks, almost imperceptibly. “ your stupid smirk, your fucking hair, all your thousand and one strays — everywhere. i couldn’t escape you. i don’t want to escape you. not anymore. ” 

“ i miss you, ” he confesses quietly. “ i miss waking up next to you, even if i’m a dick about it. i miss your face pressed into my neck. i miss your mouth, ” he pauses, chuckling softly, the sound a little wet as if he’s started to cry. “ but that’s not very romantic, so pretend i didn’t say that last one. ”

“ i’ve been stupid, ” he says after a pause. “ and i hope you can forgive me. i realized ... i’ve been falling for you for quite a while, and i’ve just been too blind to notice it. ” the admission weighs heavy on his shoulders, and he smiles, just for a moment, thinking of atlas — zar — two doors down. 

“ talk soon, okay ? please. i miss the hell out of you. ”

[dragons-of-dracaren]

any advise for someone writing for the very first time? I just started writing short stories and I have a novel planned. I feel like my writing is too descriptive, and my dialog to scripted....

My best advice is to keep writing and keep reading. (This got long, so I’m breaking it up with pictures)

You’ll learn an immense amount from reading other works–both published books and other fanfiction. It’ll teach you what you enjoy in a story, what you’d like to be able to do, what tropes you love and the ones you hate.

Even fiction you don’t enjoy much can still teach you a lot. If you’re still in school and are being assigned books, don’t worry so much about liking the story. Just notice how the author does things. How do they describe the room? How do they describe the characters? Does their dialog sound real? If so, what are they doing? Are their characters interrupting each other naturally? Does the conversation wander and return? Is it large blocks of text with only one character speaking for a long time? If so, does that sound right to you if you read it aloud?

For description, notice how well you can picture something based on what the author gives you. If they say the characters enter a restaurant, how much do you need to picture it? Has my saying restaurant already given you a mental image? If I add the word “fancy” in front of it, does your mental image change? Would you need more than “a high class Italian restaurant with attentive servers, each table lit more by flickering candles than the dim fixtures above” to set the mood for you?

You might, if you were planning to throw a character into the fountain in the middle of the room by the end of the scene. Knowing that fountain was there would prepare the reader for the eventual dramatic break-up scene. In which case, you can add something about “the soothing sound of falling water from the fountain drowning out the conversation of the table opposite their own” or similar, once they’ve been seated.

Each piece of description should in some way serve the story. Either to set a mood, evoke a certain emotion or impression, or to highlight something that will be referenced or used later.

Now for dialog. It can be difficult, especially because characters in books and on film don’t speak like they do in real life. Real conversation includes many more filler words–um, er, uh, like, hmm, well–than dialog, as well as more interruptions, talking over each other, changing directions in the middle of a sentence, or repeating words and stuttering. If you take down exact transcripts of real life conversations, they don’t flow well as dialog, and can make your characters seem less intelligent than you want them to. Read actual transcripts of say, US Senate hearings, and you’ll find very intelligent, educated, well-spoken people sounding less so because of the filler words and natural pauses and redirections we all use.

So the trick is to write dialog that sounds good, feels like it could be real, but isn’t actually a recreation of real speech. The best way to learn to do this is to again, read a lot, but also listen.. Listen to audiobooks, listen as you watch movies, tv, webseries, anything where the dialog was written first. Listen to how it sounds, what you like about it, what you don’t. If you’re writing fanfic for a medium where you can hear the characters speak, so much the better! Listen to their word choice, their inflection, everything about how they talk. If it’s a movie or something like the SanderSides, listen without watching–or just read the subtitles if you’re HoH or deaf–and pay attention only to the words, not to the action on the screen.

Eventually you may find you can hear the characters’ unique way of speaking as you write their dialog. For myself, I often “hear” a line or piece of dialog before I know anything else. That bit will be my starting point for writing. (For LJ, my writing partner for the last decade, that starting point is usually a visual image, which can be more complicated, as there are no words already associated. But you can use movies made from novels to help with that. See how the book describes the Shire, for example, and then watch how Peter Jackson gave that same impression in The Lord of the Rings)

So after you’ve done all that reading, all that listening, all that paying attention to the how, after you know what you want to be able to produce…how do you do it?

You write. You keep writing. You write a lot of shitty stories you’ll be first ashamed of, then years later charmed by. You write cliches, you write bad dialog, you write too much description, you write worlds and characters that seem flat and boring and wrong compared to what’s in you head. You write things you hate–and you occasionally manage to write things you love so much it hurts. You pour yourself onto the page, over and over and over, and you don’t stop. You tell yourself stories, because you can’t stop. You share your stories, because they’re too big to keep to yourself.

And, eventually, you look around and realize that while what you’re producing may seem flat, boring, nothing like the glory in your mind, nothing like the rich world and people you want SO BADLY to share–you’re being asked for writing advice by someone who’s struggling with the same demons that’ve plagued you for years.

So you give them some of the weapons you’ve found to beat back the doubt, the self-recrimination, the fear. And you tell them to write.

[bookshopkat]

Fiction Writing: Show and Tell

Image by M. H. Photography

We’ve all heard the age-old advice: “show, don’t tell.”  It is, admittedly, a useful lesson for young writers, but is it really the golden rule of fiction that multitudes of teachers claim it to be? Many argue the point, stating that, like most things, storytelling is too complex to be easily boiled down to such simple guidelines.

There are, of course, many situations in which the adage rings true.  In an article on Helping Writers Become Authors, novelist K.M. Weiland asserts that “Showing gives the readers the details of a scene, including what the character(s) are seeing, hearing, touching, tasting, smelling, thinking, and feeling emotionally.”  This sounds obvious, I know, but it’s an important concept.  As writers, our aim should be not simply to inform readers of the existence of a rose, but to help them see the rose, smell it’s perfume, feel the velvety petals and the prick of sharp thorns.  But only if—and this is the crucial point—the rose is elemental to either the narrative or to character development.

The simple fact is that, while “showing” is vital to helping readers share characters’ experiences and thus building empathy for those characters, too much creates unnecessary bloat and drags a story down.  It can negatively affect the pacing, slowing the action, or, worse still, even confuse readers as they try to figure how all that extraneous information relates to the plot.  At the very least, the end result is likely to be a rather dull narrative.

In 5 Creative Flaws That Will Expose Your Lack of Storytelling Experience, StoryFix provides a three examples of how this can happen.  The first is small talk in your dialogue.  I cannot stress this enough.  There is really no need to give readers the full conversation when only part of it is relevant to the plot.  In fact, William Goldman, a highly-accomplished novelist and screenplay writer, urges authors to “begin our scenes at the last possible moment,” which keeps the narrative moving and the audience engaged.  As such, StoryFix advises replacing pleasantries and chit-chat with a single sentence or phrase.

After a few comments about the weather, Marcus broached the topic most on his mind.  ���At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I have to ask: why me?  We both know there are at least a dozen more senior professors in this department, so why ask me to lead this dig?”

It’s easy to see how this would be so much more interesting to read than multiple lines of dialogue about “how are you?” and “do you think we’ll get any rain?”  Thus this is one case where, within certain parameters, telling rather than showing can be appropriate.

Another, once again according to StoryFix, is when dealing with sequential time fillers.  Young writers are often tempted, in the interest of what they perceive as realism, to ply their readers with unnecessary details about a protagonist’s daily life.  Let’s be honest, that quickly becomes dull.  In fact, the best basic rule is that if events don’t provide exposition or vital plot points, we should probably either gloss over them and move on or skip them altogether.

Even in Slice of Life literary fiction, it’s important to choose minutiae with discernment, focusing on particulars that hold significance or poignancy for the main character, or which bring up a thematic thought or memory.  In other forms of fiction, we should be, if anything, even more selective.  For example, let’s suppose someone wanted to illustrate a heroine’s quiet, insular life by describing what she does upon arriving home after a long week at work.  While some information might aid in character building, we still don’t need to hear every detail of her evening routine.  If a writer provides overabundant information about how much this woman—let’s call her Amelia—relishes finally kicking off her high-heels, enjoys her hot shower and the way it relaxes her muscles, and debates over what to make for dinner before finally reaching the relevant part of the scene, readers will quickly become bored.  Those details are not important for the story to continue, and thus become cumbersome literary “baggage,” if you will, bogging down the narrative.

StoryFix recommends again telling rather than showing, and then moving forward.  This can be done either in brief descriptions, or, better yet, as a part of dialogue later in the narrative.  I’ve included examples of both below.  Telling via description might look something like this:

Showered, dressed in comfortable lounge wear, and armed with a glass of Pinot Nior, Amelia brought up her voicemail app before settling on the sofa.  The missed call was from Derrick.

“Ami, listen to me,” his words were strangely ragged and hurried.  “I’m on my way over.  I found something on Xander in the archive, and it’s worse than we thought.  For God’s sake don’t drink the wine he gave you!”

In this case, telling rather than showing Amber’s normal evening activities serves to keep the narrative moving forward while still setting an atmosphere of safe relaxation that can then be shattered.  Leaping straight into the phone message might not allow readers to experience the protagonist’s jarring panic so completely, but taking too much time describing her evening might make the revelation too slow in coming and thus less impactful.  Of course, as mentioned before, this is not the only way to handle the information.  Below is an example of telling through dialogue instead.

Amelia quirked a half-grin.  “The next thing I know you’ll start asking where I was Friday night.”

Detective Perez didn’t laugh.  “And where were you?”

“Seriously?”

He only watched her, face expressionless, and she sighed.

“At home.  Like usual.”

“At home.”  Perez paused for a moment as if waiting for more. “Can you account for your time?”

This was getting ridiculous.

“Well, let’s see,” Amelia stared at him blatantly.  “I came home around 5:35, took off my high heels because those things suck, got in the shower—that was at about 5:40, by the way—put on yoga pants and a t-shirt, fed the cat, started pasta and vegetables in the instant pot—6:27, in case your wondering—and poured a glass of Pinot Noir.  Blackstone Vineyards.  Rich and slightly woody with a fruity finish.  Then I sat on the sofa and checked my voicemail at 6:34.  Is that detailed enough for you or should I draw some illustrations?”

In this way, we learn several things about the protagonist—she lives alone, she is on friendly enough terms with a police detective that being questioned takes her aback, she is snarky, and she might have just become a suspect—all while simultaneously keeping the plot in motion.  It’s not difficult to see why this is preferable to weighing down the narrative with unneeded descriptions.

I should mention, however, that there are a couple of types of fiction in which this is not always strictly the case.  (Those who already see where this is heading will no doubt recognize the reason I chose a mystery scenario as that last example.)  According to an article by Zara Altair on The Thrill Begins, successful authors thrillers and detective fiction often hide clues in plain sight.  One of the ways they do this is by slipping a clue in amid otherwise inconsequential occurrences or conversations.  Many, in fact, take it one step further, emphasizing unimportant details to draw attention away from the important one. Altair refers to this as “secret emphasis,” and it’s one of several great ways to allow readers to share the mentally engaging and sometimes confusing experience of solving a mystery.  So, while our protagonist in our non-existent story, Amber, should not be described going through the motions of her normal evening in great detail, that would change if there were, say, some hidden clue that someone had been in her apartment.  The same is true if she finds herself at an event where one or more suspects are present.  You get the idea.  Again, there still ought to be limits, but in those cases it is alright to include some extraneous detail.

The final example StoryFix provides which relates to showing rather than telling is an odd one: the description of food.  That may sound a little absurd, but you’d be surprised how many young writers describe meals in superfluous detail.  I’ve even seen it in published works sometimes, and trust me, unless there is a really good reason for it—such as a protagonist (and readers) experiencing unfamiliar foods for the first time or a narrative centered upon culinary pursuits—it really is dull.  An audience might find themselves thinking things like: “yes, alright, I know what beef stew is.  Can we move on, please?”

While StoryFix asserts that details about food should never be included, however, I do have to respectfully disagree.  There are some situations where some descriptions of fare are fitting or even vital for the narrative or for character development.  As mentioned before, in fiction with culinary-related themes, such as Esquivel’s Like Water for Chocolate, cooking and the protagonists relationship with food can play an important role.  Similarly, basic descriptions of meals can serve as a way to illustrate characters, such as in Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe novels.  In these books, the eccentric armchair detective is known for being a gourmet, and his assistant Archie Goodwin often briefly describes his boss’s succulent meals and arguments with the cook, Fritz, about the finer points of culinary arts as a tongue-in-cheek way of further illuminating Wolfe’s character.  However, even in these cases, the authors don’t go overboard with descriptions, and that is a very important point.  While it’s not always wrong to include descriptions of cuisine, these should be told rather than shown.  We don’t need an entire scene detailing every smell, flavor, and presentation.

As you can see, the only truly hard-and-fast rule when it comes to “show and tell” in writing is that there are no hard-and-fast rules. However, this will, perhaps, help you to better recognize situations in which it is preferable to provide brief descriptions rather than detailed scenes.  While “show, don’t tell” may be generally good advice, being aware of these exceptions to the rule may result in more engaging and enjoyable tales.  Although it’s far from the only element of a well-written narrative, telling rather than showing certain details, and choosing those details with discernment, can help writers create stories that are better paced and less weighed down.  Knowing when to show and when to tell is an important building block for penning a truly interesting fiction.

[birdscreeches]

The Eighteenth Maya of Julianna Dalisay || Aisha R.

Every morning, at exactly six o’clock, Nathan woke to the ragged screeches of a bird. It was an ugly sound. A cry wrenched out from the air, kicking and screaming from the veranda, pulled in past the window, through the blinds, and into the bedroom. To this, he would start his day.

The morning routine followed. Shower. Dry. Dress. Off he went to the kitchen to start coffee and breakfast. Before, when Julianna cooked alongside him, mornings were livelier; a bustle of two dancing over the tiles. The first years of married life were like that. A little messy, charred at the edges, but still good. Now, his coffee was stale, his breakfast bland, and the air crowded only by angry animals wails. Nathan took his coffee to the veranda, outside to where the Maya bird was. It fluttered about in its padlocked cage, never stilling, and it cried. Great, heaving, hysterical cries.

The first time he had seen Julianna cry was when he was thirteen and she was twelve. She sat on the pavement in front of her home, across his. Nathan had sat next to her while she hugged her knees and said, “I’m cursed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m cursed. My parents told me, I’m cursed.” Julianna said, voice small and tired. “Lolo did something bad, in the past. He angered a witch and now I’m the one who has to pay for it. I’m the one who inherits his sins. I’m cursed.”

Cursed. To be afflicted with. Number twenty, six across on the newspaper’s crossword. He filled the letters in and put the paper down. He skimmed over the news and skipped completely over the wordfinder. Julianna always did those, grabbing the paper from his hands when he was finished with it. She loved wordfinders even after she lost her first Maya, even after it took her longer to remember certain words.

He didn’t notice when the first Maya didn’t come back, and neither did Julianna. There were so many, after all, and it was hard to realize one empty space within a flurry of feathers and beaks. All he saw was Julianna, beautiful as ever, simply pausing sometimes in the middle of sentences as if there were a blank in her mind she could not fill up. When a second Maya didn’t return, bitten by a dog and left to die on the road, Julianna stopped more often, became forgetful, and took longer to reply. But it was fine. Everything was fine. A third didn’t come back. A fourth.

He didn’t notice.

Something he did notices was the lightbulb. Last night, it had blown out after weeks of flickering, drowning the veranda in darkness. Julianna, as a child, was afraid of the dark, so he couldn’t help but think that she would need the light up until now. Nathan fetched his wallet and a shopping bag. He locked the front door then turned to the bird cage.

“I’m going out for a bit, okay? I’ll be back later.” He said. The Maya paid no attention to him and continued the flit around the cage, behind the bars, screaming itself hoarse. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Nathan told her once.

“I know,” Julianna smiled, her hands warm between his. In his pocket, a ring sat heavily, and she continued to speak, voice careful and sad. “But can you love the flock? Will you be able to? I’m not just me, you know that. At any day, I will be animals. Scattered and clueless. You love me, but can you love what I become when I am not who I am?”

“Yes.” He said, surer than anything. He reached into his pocket. “Jul—”

Nathan took a tricycle into the town proper, the fields trickling off, small buildings taking their place. Their town was small, just one of many in the province, drenched in sunlight and asphalt dust, only ever passed by along the trip going elsewhere. It wasn’t a place so much as an in between. A filler. A town to drive past in minutes. It was small and it was nowhere and he never thought of leaving. 

He has lunch at a carinderia before he goes to the supermarket. The people there smiled and nodded at him. Some made small talk. Some asked how work was. How he was doing.

“Oh, it’s good, it’s all good. Ate is still in Manila. So busy. Thankfully, Jul keeps me company.” He said, and then their smiles would go strained at the edges. Strange and curious, but he never brought it up. “I actually stopped by just to get some things for her.”

He bought a new lightbulb, a bag of bird feed, and went back to the tricycle terminal. Nathan waited idly, hoping to get back soon, for the sky was overcast, when he heard it. A mischievous laugh. There, next to a parked truck, was a young boy smiling in the troublesome way all young boys did.

In the boy’s hand, he held a few rocks.

It took a moment, but from one second to the other, all Nathan could feel was fear and anger. He yelled at the boy. Perhaps he even lunged at the boy. Maybe he tried to hit the boy. He must have, given how there were two men holding him back now by the shoulders, yelling at him too. Calm down, Nathan, they said. For fuck’s sake, that’s a kid, they said. Nathan, I think you should go home, they said. He wasn’t sure if they were speaking or not. It was hard to hear anything, for some reason. It was hard to move. Through the haze of whatever seemed to have claimed Nathan by the throat, he could see the boy. He stood at the side, shaking and crying in the arms of somebody, rocks forgotten and strewn across the ground.

“It’s bad,” Nathan said, forcing the words out of his mouth stilted as they were. “It’s bad to throw rocks at birds, kid. You could hurt them. You could kill them.”

“Nathan,” Somebody told him. Or maybe several people told him. The border where an individual begun and where they ended had blurred, replaced instead by a shroud he could not see through. He was handed his shopping bag, lightbulb and bird feed inside, and urged into a tricycle.

With a voice that sounded undeniably human, filled with frowns and knitted eyebrows, the shroud said, “Go home, Nathan.”

So he went, and it didn’t rain. He felt cold nonetheless.

It was cold when Nathan had first seen Julianna turn into the flock. It was her eighteenth birthday, and how witch’s just loved the symbolism of adulthood. When midnight hit, he went over to her house, and together underneath a tree behind her home, they drank lukewarm beer in the morning-night chill, waiting for the sun to rise.

“I’m scared,” She said. “I won’t be human. I won’t know anything.”

“I’ll protect you,” Nathan turned to her. Julianna’s eyes were trained to the sky, or whatever glimpses of it she could catch in between the leaves of the tree. “I promise. Human or not, I’ll take care of you.”

“So cheesy,” She laughed, and he laughed, and they both ignored the fear that pooled in chests.

When the first rays of sunlight peeked past the horizon, there was no fanfare. No magical lights or winds, like how it looked like in TV shows or movies. It was more to the point. Just a simple correction of reality. Where there was once a beautiful woman who sat next to him, hair a mess, cheeks flushed from alcohol, incongruously and abruptly, there were only eighteen Maya birds instead.

They had hopped around, puffed their feathers up, and without a single glance back at Nathan, they flew out into the dawn.

Nathan got home, paid the driver, and stood at the veranda. For how long, he didn’t know. All he knew was that once, he and Julianna had to break down their own front door because they lost their keys. He knew that there used to be a rocking chair on the veranda where Julianna would spend her lazy afternoons, but it was moved inside to make space for the bird cage. He knew that  he still wore his ring. He knew that Julianna’s was on their bedroom dresser. It felt like a haunting, but that made no sense. Ghosts were not real. Julianna was real. The last Maya was real.

The last Maya screamed at him from inside her cage.

“Uy, Nathan.” Somebody said, shocking Nathan out of his stupor. He turned and was met by a dusk sky and the face of his sister, Cathy.

“Cathy, what are you doing here?” He asked.

“What, no ‘hello’? No, ‘I miss you, it’s been so long’?”

“I don’t miss you. You call regularly.”

“As if you don’t just zone out during those calls.”

“Don’t you still have work? Or did they finally fire you.”

“Ha, ha.” Cathy rolled her eyes. “Day offs exist, and I spend mine going here to make sure you’re still alive. That’s what good Ates do.”

“We’re hardly children anymore. I can take care of myself.” Nathan said, a lilting howl enunciating his words.

Cathy paid no mind to the bird. He wasn’t even sure if she paid any mind to him. She sat down, look at him, or perhaps through him, and said, “You like deluding yourself, Nathan. You’re really good at it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” She said. “I bought food. Let’s eat.”

Nathan declined, Cathy insisted, but gave up shortly afterwards with a shrug. He was always more stubborn than she was, so she ate the food herself while Nathan went to replace the light. He unscrewed the cover and disposed of the old light as Cathy prattled on about her job in Manila. It’s always so traffic, Nathan, she said. Everybody is always in such a rush, she said. Always moving forward. Nathan made sure to nod and hum. He made sure to put a good show of listening.

The new light is in right at the moment the last bits of the sun have gone away for good. In the faint darkness, the new light shines, and it is quiet. Cathy had stopped talking. Nathan had stopped humming.

The Maya had stopped screaming.

“There we are,” He tore his gaze from the light and turned to the Maya. It no longer flew from corner to corner. Instead, it perched on a bar placidly. “Isn’t that better, Jul?”

“How do you do this, Nathan?” Cathy asked from her perch on the chair.

“What do you mean?” He fished the key from his pocket and opened the cage to replace the water and the bird feed. The bird paid him no mind at all. Not even a glance.

“This.” Cathy gestured at the cage. “The whole charade you’ve been doing for years. I can’t imagine lying to myself every single day.”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

“Yes, you do.” She stood up suddenly and walked over to him. “You convince yourself everyday that Julianna is still here.”

Nathan laughed. He laughed and laughed and ignored the creature in his chest that rattled his lungs.

“She’s right here, Cathy.” Nathan said, running a finger over the soft head of the last Maya.

“That’s not her anymore.” She said, voice strained. Frowns and knitted eyebrows. Strange and curious, he thought.

“It is. It’s how the curse works, remember? Animals sometimes in the morning, but human always in the night. My dearest, Julianna.”

“If that’s her, why hasn’t she turned back, huh? Because there’s nothing to turn back to. She’s gone. Please look at me.”

“This is Jul,” He said. “It’s nighttime, so it’s her.”

“If you’re going to lie to yourself at least admit that you’re lying. In the morning it’s an animal angry at being caged. In the night, no matter how quiet it is, it’s still an animal. It doesn’t know anything.”

“Julianna would never forget me.”

“This thing forgot how to be Julianna,” Cathy grabbed his wrist, but he pulled it out of her grasp. Carefully, he closed the cage so as not to bother the Maya, locked it, and pocketed the key. “She’s gone, and keeping this bird here is hurting you. Hurting the both of you. Let the bird go.”

“I promised, once, that I’d protect her. That I’d take care of her.”

“This isn’t any of that. All you’re doing is keeping an angry bird in a cage.”

“It’s love. That’s enough.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Shut up,” He said. Nathan did not raise his voice or slam his fist against the wall. He said the words in the same way people set up barbed wire for their homes; methodical. Keep away. Please, just keep away.

Cathy, thankfully, does not say a single word. Nathan offered her the guest bedroom inside, and she took the out immediately, leaving him on the veranda alone with the night and his wife. He stayed there for a while. He checked the lock on the cage, placed the screwdriver back into the toolbox, and disposed of whatever food Cathy hadn’t eaten. When he was finished, he padded back into his bedroom, undressed, and tried to sleep, but couldn’t.

His mind, it seemed, was not interested in resting. Restless, thoughts bombarded him everywhere he looked. The window, the doorway, the dresser. All he could see was her. Julianna at sixteen, vibrant and clever. Julianna with six Mayas left, unmoving, staring blankly as if she forgot how to blink. Julianna in this bed with him, warm and exquisite, a masterpiece framed by a cheap blanket. Julianna more and more. 

Julianna less and less.

“I love you,” Nathan had said once when he woke up this very room to see that it was devoid of woman and was instead filled with birds. The empty space next to him felt like a rift, then. Now, it seemed cavernous, memories echoing from wall to wall, coming back again and again, until finally he grew tired. Until finally, he was allowed to sleep.

Waking the next day was different. Instead of the sudden talons of noise ripping him from his dreams, he woke up slowly. Gently, almost.

The clock at his bedside table said it was eight o’clock.

Panic seized his chest as he kicked off the covers. Outside, the door to the guest room was wide open and Cathy was nowhere to be seen. He ran out to the veranda and shaking, he fell to his knees, near where the screwdriver lay on the ground.

The cage was still locked, but the metals bars had been pried open.

Nathan found it difficult to hear again, but even if he did, all that would meet his ears would be this; an anguished, miserable silence.

[in-the-name-of-styles]

I’ll Find My Way Back To You//Part Three

SURPRISE! It’s short, I know, but I was in a mood to write and thought I should give you guys a filler of what’s about to come next. If you enjoyed reading it or if whether or not you guys want me to continue this, I would absolutely LOVE to here your thoughts on this one. Let me know HERE. Checkout my Masterlist HERE.

Part One / Part Two

Word Count: 1.5K

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“What about this one?” you ask him as you twirl for him before turning back to look at the floor length mirror of the store.

���Hmm…” he scratches his chin with a small pout on his lips, before opening his mouth to answer you “s’very pretty, angel. But you know what would help me give my opinion better? If you would just tell me what’s the occasion for this shopping spree.”

“I told you it’s a casual lunch, didn’t I? Isn’t that enough?... Unzip?” you tell him, he follows and pulls down the zip. You enter then close the dressing room door back again before getting yourself out of the dress.

“But that’s not enough information! You got to give me more than that, love.” He whines. You shake your head at his persistent behaviour. Normally, the two of you wouldn’t find yourself in such a position because you share everything with Harry, but you want things to be completely settled by the time you tell everyone about your relationship with Louis relationship, even the boy outside your door.

“How’s El doing?” You attempt to change the subject. Thankfully it works.

“She’s good, thank you for asking. Actually, now that you have brought her up, she’s wondering if you would like to have lunch with her this weekend.” He questions you. You shut your eyes tight and shake your head rapidly, your glad Harry can’t see you right now. Not to get you wrong, you find Ella rather lovely, but she’s just too excited about every single thing and whenever you meet up with her, she clings on to you like a koala. You can’t understand her fascination towards you. Like, she literally makes you feel like a superstar she adores.

“Umm.. sure, of course.” You answer back hastily. You walk outside the dressing room and hold up the two dresses to him, as to ask him if they’re good enough. He nods and takes them from you so you can buckle up your shoes comfortably.

“I was meaning to talk to you about my new clothing collection I’m about to introduce. I need your advice on the vintage part of it, since I feel it’s very you.” You tell him as the two of you walk out of the store. Being the fashion industry and also knowing the boys has helped you tons to adjust to all the paparazzis, so as you walk back to your car with Harry, you just smile at some of them and wish them good evening before climbing into your car with Harry by your side. The whole world knows about your friendship with him. Initially, there were rumours about the two of you, but just like the passing years, they dissolved too.

“So back to your clothing line, I would love to look through them, angel. When should I drop by your place?” he asks you as you get the car back on the road.

“You can come home with me now, if you’re free?” You look at him for a split second before getting your eyes back on the road.

 “M’free-” he’s cut off by the shrill of your ringtone. You make the mistake of answering the call without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Ello, love. How do you feel about Soho? Or you prefer just sitting at home and…” The sounds of the words fade as you instantly look towards Harry’s direction. Eyes wide open, jaw kind of slacked, mind already trying to make up excuses for this situation. You watch as the smile on his face slowly drops and his staring at the vehicle audio player with a furrowed brow expression.

The clearing of your throat bring his attention back to you, but he shifts glance the car window just as fast as he looked at you, “Soho is just fine, L-Lou.” You mumble back at the speaker.

“Are you okay? Is it a bad time to call?” He asks through the speaker. Probably sensing the tense tone of your voice.

“Kinda…I’m driving.” you reply, stealing a quick glance at the boy sitting beside you.

“Well, I’ll let you go then. Goodbye, sweets.” He bids and hangs up before you can say goodbye.

The silence isn’t the comfortable silence you are used to when with him. It takes him good fifteen minutes before opening his mouth.

“Is this the casual lunch you were talking about? A casual lunch with Louis?” he puts an emphasis on the word casual. You let out a loud sigh, which causes him to look back at you, waiting for you to answer.

“Uh huh…” You nod.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks in an accusatory tone. “Oh, wait is it because you don’t want me to feel left out?! Well, congratulations, YN. It worked.”

“It isn’t like that, H-” he cuts you off before you can complete your sentence.

“What is so important that you two feel the need to hide it from me? From when did you two start having lunch without me? When and how did you get so close to him? Is he like your new best friend now?!” He exclaims and fires questions at you left and right, “I’ve been noticing this from the time I came back from my filming for Dunkirk, it’s like you’ve replaced me with him! The two of you do everything together and never invite me, it’s like you have a much closer connection with him now, than you have with me… Like… Like you’ve forgotten me!”

After his outburst, only then he realizes that you have parked the car. You are looking at him, wide eyed, trying to think about for how long he has been feeling this way. But suddenly, you remember how he has too ignored your presence tons of time when he was away romancing with Ella.

“You’re acting as if you’ve been a better friend to me, Harry! What about all those times when you ignored my calls just to return them weeks later?! Why?.. Because you were too busy living in your romantic dreamland with Ella. I was cooperating, wasn’t I? Now when I’m living my own life, you are feeling neglected?! How is that fucking fair?!” you exclaim.

“I was working, YN! I wasn’t gallivanting! I just happened to meet her along the way. What’s the damn crime in that?” he scoffed trying to ridicule you.

“Well, exactly my point, Styles. While you were working, I was working my ass off too! Wasn’t gallivanting either! I just happened to develop a close friendship with him along the way!” you explain in a slightly raised tone. You stare back at him and take a deep breath, “No one replaced you, H. We just happen to have changed our priorities…” you say in a softer tone.

He looks at you helplessly, “YN, m’ in a relationship with Ella. Of course m’going to spend more time with her than you but that doesn’t mean that you’re any less im…. ” he abruptly stops before letting out a small gasp, “Are you seeing him, YN?!” he says loudly.

You jump at the sound of his deep voice filling the car, “Would you calm down? It isn’t that big of a deal!” You tell him.

“Isn’t that big of a deal?! You’re in a relationship with my best mate for fucks sake and neither of you considered telling me about it?” He yells angrily. Why is this affecting him so much you wonder?

“Oh my gosh! We are not in a relationship, Harry! This is just a first date!” You yell back. You and Harry fight plenty of times, the fights are more like short arguments.

But when the yelling starts, you know there is no going back, “How am I supposed to know that?! Oh hold on…Because you never tell me anything anymore!”

“Why is it bothering you so much?! It’s my life, Harry! I don’t need your permission for anything!” You snap.

“Maybe because I don’t want you to get hurt..that… that maybe I want to protect you?! Ever thought about that?!” He stumbles and retaliates.

“Yes, I’ve thought about it. But lately you haven’t proved that you could be bothered about me because guess what, H… You’re never present. You are no longer present in my life.” You croak out.

“So you’re saying it’s my fault that I finally have someone to cherish in my life? A companion…That I’m happy and not alone for once?!” he strikes.

“Are you hearing yourself?! The same thing is literally happening in my life! You can’t witness that? That I’m finally not alone and have a companion…” You laugh out in disbelief.

“You never told me about feeling lonely. You are so happy all the time. How am I supposed to know?!” He snaps. He knows he is lying but can’t bring himself to say the truth. His biggest nightmare is coming true. He’s losing you and there is nothing he can do. Your next words shut him up for good.

“I did, Harry. So many times… But just like I said for the past many months you’ve been so absent and distant that…” You take a deep breath before continuing,

“That Louis was there when you weren’t.”

-

Likes and reblogs are a blessing so if you wish please do so others can find my work! I LOVE YOU GUYS. THANK YOU FOR BEING SO LOVELY ALL THE TIME  :) xx

[prophetparadox]

Birds of a Feather Chapter 15: Altissia Aftermath (A Prompto x OC Soulmate AU)

Chapter 14 <-/AO3/-> Chapter 16

Masterlist

Word count: 1,907

Okay, not gonna lie, this is mostly filler again. But I needed it because I deserve to have some fluff before things get crazy. Next chapter will not be filler, I promise. But you should still check out this chapter because it’s got some more backstory stuff and some insight into future events. It’s good stuff, I promise.

Just as a warning, the next chapter may take a while depending on a few things. So if it takes some time between now and the next update, that’s why. Just hang in there, alright?

Tagging: @themissimmortal, @cupnoodle-queen, @nifwrites, @takuahijackedthetardis, @lunarlapin, and @mini-moogle-queen. Insert message about letting me know if you want to be tagged in future updates here.

Katia could only stare out of the window, looking at the city of Altissia. Just a few day ago, she'd been out on the streets having a great time with her friends. But now? Now such an idea was impossible. Leviathan had caused damage to the city, Lady Lunafreya was killed during the rite, Ignis had gone blind, and Noctis was laying in a bed unconscious. She didn't even know what Gladio was going through, he'd locked himself in his room after everything had happened. All they could do was wait for Noctis to wake up, and they didn't even know when that would be. She let out a huge sigh, wondering how this whole thing had happened.

"You okay there, Kat?" Prompto asked from his position on the bed. She turned away from the window to face him, being greeted with his worried expression. She tried to smile at him, but couldn't completely muster it.

"Don't you already know the answer?" she asked, intending for it to be a joke but her tone making it sound harsher than she meant. Prompto got up and walked over to her, wordlessly hugging her in an attempt to help. "I'm just worried about what's happening. I mean, Gladio's holed himself away, Iggy's blind, Noct's been sleeping for two days, and we're stuck here unable to do anything except wait."

"Things could be worse, something could've happened to us out there." Katia wrapped her arms around Prompto, squeezing him tight and taking in his warmth.

"Something still could, though," she said. "I have this bad feeling that we're not out of danger just yet."

She felt small circles being rubbed into her back as Prompto left a brief kiss on her cheek. "Things'll work out eventually," he reassured. "How 'bout we just try to play some King's Knight or something? It'll help distract you from that bad feeling."

Katia smiled. He always did whatever he could to reassure people and put a smile on their face. Just one of the many reasons she loved him. "Yeah, no point moping around and feeling anxious. King's Knight sounds like a great idea."

Prompto smiled, letting go of her and making his way back to the bed. Katia was about to follow until an all too familiar pain suddenly spiked up in her head. Another headache, but why now? Prompto noticed instantly, likely because he felt the pain too because of the bond, and brought her into the bed. So much for King's Knight. "The headache's back."

"Yep, kinda noticed that," Katia said, lying down and trying to deal with the pain. "But why now? I've barely had any headaches since I left Insomnia. The last one was back when Ardyn was taking us to the Disc, and that was weeks ago," Or at least it felt like it was. This trip had been going for so long that it felt hard to tell. "I mean, I don't mind having barely any headaches, but it keeps feeling weird."

Prompto joined her on the other side of the bed. "We can probably worry about it later. Let's focus on it going away first."

Not that there was any way to make it go away. These headaches were strange. They just went away on their own. And the last thing she wanted to do was sit in silence while waiting for it to stop. She supposed that now was the right time to tell him that thing she had on her mind. "Prom, I have something I need to tell you."

"Hm? What is it, babe?"

"I...I remember our first meeting."

There was no answer at first, a small chuckle from Prompto breaking the silence. "Well I'd sure hope so. I'd be bummed out if you forgot how we met in high school. It was only five years ago."

Katia wanted to shake her head, but the pounding in the right side of her head kept her from doing so. "No, that's not what I meant. I mean our real first meeting."

Prompto just looked confused, but realization slowly set in and his eyes went wide. "Wait, by first meeting you don't mean back when I was..." He couldn't get the rest of the words to come, but she finished the sentence for him.

"Back when you were chubby and wore glasses? Yeah, I do."

Prompto didn't know what to say. So many potential responses went through his head, but he couldn't pick one out. "I guess that's the nicest way to put it." he settled on.

"What? It's true. You were all cute and chubby back then," Katia smiled at the memory of the shy boy who always carried his camera around. "I was really surprised when I saw you in high school, you know. You looked like a different person."

"Wait, you've known it was me the whole time?"

"Well of course I did," She leaned closer to him, resting her hand on his shocked face. "I mean, how many people out there have blond hair, freckles, blue eyes, and the name 'Prompto Argentum'? You're one of a kind, after all."

As much as he wanted to appreciate her kind words, there were still so many questions. "So if you've known it was me the whole time, how come you've never said anything?"

"I dunno. I guess because you never said anything about it. I thought that maybe you forgot or just didn't wanna talk about it. Especially since you'd changed a lot."

Prompto looked away, feeling guilty about himself. "You weren't wrong," He turned on his side, his back facing her. "I didn't wanna talk about it because I thought you were still upset about it."

Katia sat up so she could see his face. "Why would I be upset about that? I understand why you did it, it's not like I was ever mad at you or anything."

"But I told you not to talk to me ever again. You can't tell me that didn't hurt you."

Katia sighed and began playing with his hair. "I mean, sure, I felt sad at the time. But I know you only did that because you were worried about me. We weren't the most popular kids after all. And besides, we were eight. Do you really think I'm gonna hold you to something that happened twelve years ago?"

Prompto knew the answer to that question. She wasn't the type to hold a grudge, even if he thought she should. "Still, what I did was selfish."

"No it wasn't," Katia lied back down, hugging Prompto from behind. "You were worried about what might happen to me, that I was going to be bullied even worse than I already was. And you did what you thought was best. Nothing selfish about that. It just means you've always cared about me."

Prompto felt a tear slide down his face. He turned around to face her again, seeing the warmth in her eyes and smile. "Six, Kat, what did I do to deserve you?" he asked.

"You talked to me, that's what." she joked.

The two of them stayed there on the bed, reminiscing over the time they spent as kids. It certainly managed to remove any worries Katia was feeling earlier, how could she stay sad when they talked about such a time? The hours seemed to pass, and the headache finally died down. As the conversation came to lull, she got up and headed towards the door. "Where're you going?" Prompto asked.

"Just stepping outside for a sec. I'm feeling better, but I've been cooped up in this room for too long. I need some fresh air. I'll be right back, okay?"

Prompto smiled. "Sure. Don't take too long though, or I'll start to miss you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know." Katia rolled her eyes, opening the door and stepping out towards the lobby. She felt a lot better getting that off her chest. Not that she expected Prompto to be angry about it, but she could never be too sure. She went outside, feeling a strange chill. It wasn't like this a few days ago, was it?

"There you are. I was wondering when I could have the chance to speak with you."

A sudden voice startled her, causing her to turn to the source. Only to freeze at who stood there. A beautiful woman with black hair was walking towards her, exuding grace with every step. Katia knew this woman. She'd seen her before while on this journey. She was Gentiana, a servant of the Astrals, their messenger. But why was she appearing before her and her alone?

"What do you want?" Katia asked, her voice shaky. Gentiana laughed.

"Do not be afraid, child," she said. "I will not hurt you."

"I didn't think you would. But what do you need from me? I'm nobody special."

Even though her eyes were closed, it felt like Gentiana was looking straight through her. "I need to speak with you," she said. "Tell me, that boy Prompto, do you truly love him?"

Okay, that was a weird question to ask. Why would the Astrals' servant care about her love life? "Of course I do," she stated, no hesitation to speak of. "Prom means everything to me. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost him. He's like a ray of sunlight shining down on me alone. He brightens up my life and makes me feel happy. What more could I ask for?"

Gentiana smiled. "You must remember that always. Treasure his sunlight and know he is there for you. Believe in him, for it will keep you both strong. Especially in what is to come."

"What's to come? Does this have anything to do with the nights getting longer?" Lunafreya's words came back to her. About how there was a darkness in their star and how they should not despair, but she didn't quite understand it. But the nights had began getting longer since her death, or at least it felt like it.

"The two of you will soon be facing many hardships," Gentiana didn't answer the question, continuing on as if it hadn't been asked. "That which was locked away will be brought out. The truths about yourselves laid bare. And you must look to each other in times of grief, lest you succumb to darkness itself."

"Hold on, you're not making any sense! What's all this mean? Can't you tell me instead of giving me vague riddles?"

Gentiana shook her head slowly. "I am sorry, I cannot divulge that information," she said. "You must discover the answers yourself. And as I have faith in the king, so too do I have faith in you both. It will not be easy, but have faith. He is your beacon, and you are his. You have been brought together for a reason. Do well to keep that in mind."

Now this was just confusing. Was she trying to give relationship advice or something? "Can you at least be less-" Katia tried to ask, but Gentiana was gone. "Okay, that was fucking weird." She figured it was better to shrug it off and head back inside. Whatever she was trying to tell her would have to wait. Making it back inside and heading into the room, she hoped that Noctis would wake up soon. Whatever these hardships were, she wanted to get them over with quickly.

[hanksterhillingtonexplained-blog]

Big E.T. in Arlen

Let’s start off with my very first video Big E.T. in Arlen. This video actually predates the Hankster Hillington channel, and was originally posted on a very different channel all the back in October of 2014. It never achieved more than a few hundred views, and when I decided to launch the Hankster Hillington channel a few months later, I reposted the video (along with the truly new Hank’s Waifu and You Only Dale Once), and for most people it was a brand new video. The opening joke of this YTP is simply “What if the opening of King of the Hill was boring?”. Basically, rather than having a time-lapse where many things happen, in this version nothing happens other than Hank, Dale, Bill, and Boomhauer looking all around. Truly, the pinnacle of clever comedy, I know.

The next joke, and the first proper bit of humor in this YTP begins with Hank exclaiming, “I heard a funny joke the other day.” The idea here is that Hank is reminiscing about the joke he heard, but isn’t going to tell his friends (or the audience) what it was. Really, this scene is just in here to set up the gag of Bill being destroyed by the ball. You think something will happen, but you aren’t sure what, so when Bill goes flying it should come as a big laugh, even if you have seen the real episode before. We see the ball fly past Hank, but it’s on screen for only 3 frames before cutting to Bill getting hit with it. This is quick enough to give the viewer the information they need so that the cut to Bill getting knocked over isn’t abrupt, but still fast enough that it feels instantaneous. Inside we get an assortment of more or less random jokes. We have Bobby lusting over Peggy’s giant breasts, “Warm Bulging Rains”, and Bill being pathetic before getting hit by another ball. There’s not much coherence to any of this. This was well before I started focusing on narrative driven humor, so these things are simply there to be funny without purpose. No more, no less. In the next scene we get our first of many sex jokes. This was well before I was comfortable showing any sort of real nudity in a video, so we have the brightness and coloring turned way down to simulate a dark room instead. It looks visually poor, but I think the dialogue works well despite that - especially  Hank falling asleep instantly after giving up on trying to pleasure Peggy.

“So what do you do? You just flick it?” The “Little Sister” song sequence that follows is nothing more than an excuse to showcase an underrated song I quite like. If there’s any joke here, it’s the unexpectedness of Bobby having a beautiful singing voice, perhaps juxtaposed against him holding a “black power” type fist pose. The scene of Bobby’s head expanding like a balloon before popping is supposed to be a physical manifestation of his ego. When Dale praises him it blows up, but it’s too much for him to handle and he “explodes” - quite literally. Dale sheds two tears here. Two are for Bobby’s beautiful song, and the third is for the death of Bobby himself. The “Joseph d-u-u-u-u-u-d-e” scene that follows is tantamount to filler. I couldn’t think a funnier follow up scene, so I stuck in this trite of Joseph’s vocals repeating quickly when he tries and is unable to correct himself from calling Peggy “dude”. Peggy’s reaction is supposed to be one of annoyance, and she quickly shuts Joseph without saying anything to him, but the whole scene doesn’t play well, and isn’t that funny. Luckily it’s over quick. The “Warm Buldging Rains” scene was supposed to be a little gag along the lines of, the YTP was bleeding into the actual real episode for a moment, before going back to the way it was. Or to put it another way, Big E.T. in Arlen is an alternate reality of the episode “Of Mice and Little Green Men”, and the other reality was peeking through for a moment. The joke doesn’t quite work however, and the typo doesn’t make it any better.

The next scene has a joke I really like. A man comes up to Peggy and asks, “Excuse me, is that seat free?”, and Peggy ever-so-slowly moves her purse into position before slamming it down on the empty chair. It’s unfortunate that the animation is so choppy here, because Peggy being a total bitch (and smiling at the pissed off guy) to a random stranger for basically no reason is pretty funny if you ask me. The cutaway to The Simpsons is a joke I would think twice about doing now. It’s funny as hell, but it feels like a bit of a tonal shift. Still, even if I would think twice about it, I would include a scene like it in a future video if I thought it was funny enough.

“Can you send a 13-year-old flowers?” If you look closely in this scene, you can see that Dale’s pants have some black lines, and a yellow spot on them. Likewise, his shoes have metallic stripes on them as well. The reason for this is because although this Dale was in the perfect pose to put in  this scene, he was partially obscured by some objects above him (he was originally on a mower, I believe) and I simply left those details in and hoped no one would notice. If I were making this video now, I would simply Photoshop those imperfections away, but I was young, naive, and needed the money.  (•﹏•) After a brief scene of more bitch Peggy (”Are you as nervous for Bobby as I am?”) we encounter that weird “Taters” scene that I for the life of me don’t recall how I came up with. It’s as bizarre to me as it is to all of you. I think it my thought process was something along the lines of “Wouldn’t it be funny if Peggy took a picture of Bobby, but it came out all real and grotesque”, and “Then the second time it comes out all real and cute”, but I honestly don’t remember for sure. We then come upon the “Go, Joe, Go!” scene, which isn’t really funny at all. The zoomed in Nancy face I thought was hilarious at the time, but now after having worked on so many YTPs and seeing so many off-model KotH characters, it just comes across as ordinary and boring to me.

So after another groan-worthy “Joe” joke, Dale and Hank get to talking, and Dale admits that Joseph isn’t his sus. This joke probably flew over the heads of most people, but the idea was that Dale calls Joseph his “sus” as a reference to all those older KotH YTPs where everyone would say “sus” and “yay”. Hank doesn’t respond, because he doesn’t understand what Dale means, before Dale corrects himself, by saying “son” instead. Luckily, this is followed up by an always hilarious gasp by Hank as he looks nervously back and forth, with Dale then stating, “Well, I didn’t impregnate Nancy’s pussy. So who did?” The word “pussy” fits so well into that sentence, you’ll almost wonder why it was never there to begin with. Okay, maybe not, but it feels more natural than having a character say “cock” out of nowhere like in some older YTPs. Anyway, the whole point of this scene is to imply (correctly) that Hank had an affair with Nancy and is in fact Joseph's father. Hank pulls the word “spacemen” out of his ass to try and cover his tracks, and Dale ignorantly believes him. Yet somehow Hank is completely right. Joseph is an alien, and he attacks Dale when confronted about this. Personally, I always like to think of Joseph lifting Dale up and breaking his back Bane / Batman style, but you can interpret it however you like. Next is a Big Wolf on Campus parody. I use the term “parody” lightly, as it’s basically just the theme song set to a bunch of clips from King of the Hill. It’s not a parody; it’s an AMV. You wouldn’t be surprised to see Vegeta powering up to Linkin Park at this point. To make matters worse, I didn’t have many episodes to work with at the time, so the clips in the sequence are all mostly from the same episode. It’s boring as hell in my opinion. I’ve never even seen Big Wolf, I just like the song. But unlike the earlier Rufus Wainwright tune, I feel this song was a mistake to include. The only positive that came out of it was Joseph’s scream at the end as he pops up in front of the title card, which I liked enough to keep as the thumbnail.

Some music from South Park plays as Hank enters the hospital. There’s this weird little scene where Hank talks with the receptionist that goes absolutely nowhere. You would be right to assume she’s talking with Dale, based on what happens in the next scene, but considering Dale is on his deathbed, I doubt he has the strength to even use the phone. Dale admits to knowing about Hank’s infidelity, and Hank apologizes before he dies. Hank then oddly smiles and walks away silently upon seeing his best friend die. This isn’t a joke. I just forget to add in footsteps and the sound of the door closing. I probably should’ve edited his face too to make him look more glum about this whole thing. But it turns out that Dale Winchester isn’t actually dead, but is now a demon! We see an extended sequence of fan girls reacting to the Gribble heartthrob dying and being resurrected as an agent of darkness. Personally, I think the whole thing goes on a little too long, but it was hard to trim it down, as it’s all buildup to the final scene where the two girls majorly overreact to Dale’s death. Funny enough, the girl from that finale clip actaully found out about this YouTube Poop and approved of her appearance in it. Who’da thunk it. (If you haven’t figured it out, those are actually reactions to the Supernatural season 9 finale, but with Dale taking the place of Dean who died and became a demon.)

“I don’t like this show anymore.” Dale uses his newfound second chance at life to live out his best Charles Whitman, in probably one of the funniest scenes in the episode. He blows off Bill’s head mid-sentence leaving a peeved Peggy on the other line to ponder Bill’s rudeness in hanging up on her. There aren’t any jokes in this scene. It’s just an excuse for Dale to be badass as he takes on the police and everyone in town. And honestly, I wouldn’t cut it for the world. I love this scene. It’s followed by a weird little snip of one of the Gun Club members saying “The police aren’t trained for this”, followed by them leaving, which seems like it’s going to set up another scene. I wish I could say that I put it in as a red herring so the ending would come as a surprise, but I actually forgot I had it in there, and didn’t remember to resolve the Gun Club subplot. Not that there was any story there to begin with. We then get a scene of Dale killing an unseen hostage (I probably should’ve put her body in a later scene), followed by the police shooting knockout gas at him. Cue shocked reactions from the cast. The idea here was that this would be a Dragon Ball Z-esque moment where all the characters are speechless by Dale’s new form, in which he’s able to withstand the police’s most toxic fumes, and they’re forced to think what they’re feeling instead of stating them aloud. It’s all very silly, but I feel like it works.

“The Dale we knew no longer exists.” Another funny little note... In the scene where the gas canister is shot into the tower, you can see Dale talking to someone, but we can’t hear his words. Perhaps he’s talking to the demon inhabiting his body? Perhaps he’s truly gone crazy? Or perhaps I simply forgot to put dialogue in that scene. It’s up to interpretation, and I think scholars will be debating it for years to come. In the finale, we get Hank slide-whistling his way up to try and talk Dale down. The scene takes itself fairly seriously, which is completely intentional. If there’s even a core of real emotion in this, it’s in this brief moment where the music kicks in, and Hank admits to his wrongdoings. It’s all set up to contrast what comes next. Curiosity gets the best ol’ Robert Hill, and in the ensuing struggle, the gun discharges shooting Hank, and causing him to fall to his death.

Hank’s dead. The end. We don’t get a resolution to the story. Much like life, it simply ends when it ends. I actually play (almost) the entire credits sequence set to  Blue Öyster Cult’s 1976 hit song “Don’t Fear the Reaper” to try to give it the feel like you were watching an actual episode of the show. This includes showing the production cards and 20th Century Fox logo with even a voice-over at the end of Bobby saying “Taters” and Joseph screaming his alien scream to mimic the actual show replaying a quote from the episode at the end. Honestly, I feel now that no one will actually watch the entire credits to the end, and most people will jump to another video or exit, so after this I shorted the credits when I used them before doing away with the idea completely (only bringing it back one last time for Metal Dale.) And that’s it. The first video that kicked off the Hankster Hilington channel you all know and love today. Ye-ep.

[calistapledger]

A Very Nice Prince

[A/N: A Filler Fic because I’m trash and I love exploring Calista’s mind Mentions: @theiahuntley @domschreave @alinaschreave @princeevanschreave @princesscallieschreave @princepercyschreave]

It is true what they say, crying helps you feel so much better. I once read that it is actually an outlet to release feelings because on a technical level, feelings are basically chemicals released from your mind. So when it gets too overwhelming, your body generates tears to secrete the chemicals. I was finally free of the chemicals from the day before.

It was a new day and I intended for it to be a good day. I stretched my arms and made a groan that mimicked a pterodactyl screeching. I opened my eyes to see three shadowy figures looming over me. I blushed when I realised they had witnessed my less-than-ladylike morning ritual. I allowed myself a moment before I sat and gave them my most dazzling smile, as if that was going erase the previous mortifying moment. I became more comfortable when I heard Isla’s soothing voice.

“Miss, these are your other two maids, Paris and Valencia.” “Oh, nice to meet you both.” I shake their hands before turning to Isla, “You know how I feel about the word maid, Isla.” “I meant helpers.” I could hear the smile on her voice. I make a motion to get out of bed when the girls flock me, ready to change me. I wave them away, I was more than capable to changing myself.

“The three of you must always work so hard, I want you to take a break. If I need any assistance, I will call.” I assure them as I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and change into one of the new dresses provided by the Palace. I checked the time on my shades, it was a little before 8 in the morning. The interviews were to be at 9 and then breakfast is served. I like - well that is a weak word, I’m more obsessed with being on time. With Father and Boreas being the heads of the household, you have been conditioned to always be early on time. I had a little more than an hour before the interview so I decided to explore our floor. Isla offered to accompany me and as tempting it was, I had to get over my fear of getting around in such a huge place. I was making my way down the Hall when I heard a friendly voice called me. I turned to see an shaky figure - courtesy of my eyes - walking towards me.

“Hi, are you Calista? I’m Theia!” She chirped happily, I couldn’t help but smile. She also vaguely smelled of potatoes, this must be the farmer I read about. “Oh hello Theia, it's nice to officially meet you, I know I ran out of the sleepover rather quickly last night.” I smiled sheepishly while trying to suppress the horrid memory. She assured me that she had gone to bed not long after me, that made me feel much better.  I confided in her as to why I ran out.

“Could I tell you a secret? I couldn't up with the girls and that scared me off but I thought it over last night and I'm okay now.” I catch a glimpse of her mouth opening with surprise. Her tone confirms it.

“Really? Well, I guess it can be quite loud and crazy with so many girls together. I've never had a party with so many girls and just girls since I have like three male cousins and a brother.” I let out a little shriek of excitement while grinning wildly. I never thought there would be anyone who understood how I was raised. All the other girls seemed to know how to get along with each other while I was completely lost.

“Ohmygoodness finally someone who understands. I grew up with four brothers and an uncle who might as well be our sibling.” I explained to my newfound friend. “A household full of boys. They can be so annoying haha.” “Tell me about it, although I believe they were more cautious with me and my condition.” I casually slip that into our conversation to see how she would react. She was very lovely but I could never be too cautious.

“Oh yes. I watched your interview. I'm so sorry about your condition. You know you can find me whenever you need an extra pair of eyes.” Her voice was shaky and I suspected that she forgot I had my condition which is good because she viewed me as a normal person. I try to soothe her nerves by assuring her kindly.

“Don't be sorry, it wasn't your fault. While I do have my aiding devices, the Palace is so big that I could get lost -” I couldn’t even finish my sentence when someone came barging into our hall. I knew it wasn't a fellow Selected because I felt and heard heavy footsteps. My guess was a butler or a guard.

“Lady Calista Ledger, you have been summoned by the Royal Captain of Guards.” He boomed, yep definitely a guard. I slid on my shades and fold out my stick as a precaution, I didn't want to lose my way. I nod at him before turning to Theia with wide eyes. I genuinely did not know what I had done wrong but I made light of the situation by stage whispering to her.

“I hope I didn't accidentally commit treason.” It was a horrible defence mechanism to hide my fear under weak humour. I couldn't even tell if I should be laughing or shaking right now. Well if I was to be Queen, I was going to have to push down these feelings and go gracefully. I haven't done anything wrong. I could tell Theia was barely registering what I had said, she was simply staring at the guard with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“See you later.” I try to get her attention by waving at her as the guard escorted me away. She finally snaps out of it as I'm leaving the Hall and I only barely hear her soft whimper.

“S-see you! I- I hope you're okay!”

I wasn't even at the Palace for two seconds and I was sought out. I was in for a shock when the escort guided me to the mailroom. With the help of my sunglasses, I was able to assess my surroundings. It was the mailroom but the elephant in the room was the mass of guards surrounding several packages. I was summoned forward by a smooth English voice. It caught me by surprise, I expected all guards to sound gruff. I followed the voice to its owner and stood in front of the blurry silhouette. "Calista Ledger?" "That would be me." He sounded arrogant so I discarded my usual meek demeanor, stood up straighter and kept my voice steady as I stared at him in the general eye area. "Would you care to explain these parcels addressed to you?" I moved over to feel them to confirm that these were the packages I was expecting. He blocked my way. I huff, frustrated. How the hell was I supposed to identify and explain them if I wasn't allowed a feel? I relayed this to him. "I do not want you tampering with evidence. You just going to have to inspect them from here and explain their presence." I could feel my temper boiling over. Was he seriously that incompetent? "I'm blind, you genius!" I exclaimed and I heard him take a step back, alarmed by my harsh tone. I turned my ear slightly to him so that I could identify some of his tells. He was rubbing the back of his neck. He was nervous, probably realising his mistake. "I apologise for misinterpreting your use for the sunglasses. Would it help if I described the items to you?" I simmered down. I nodded curtly and he proceeded to describe the contents of the parcels unsuccessfully. I rolled my eyes behind my shades. "It would be better if I could feel them." I say as I reach for the parcel but the guard pulls it away from my reach roughly. The room grows silent when his careless move results in all the parts of my inventions falling to the floor. I hear a loud crash and bolts rolling around. I hear the other guards holding their breaths as I turn red as I set my jaw. I was going to murder this man. I remember what Notus told me whenever I felt like blowing up. I counted to 10 and in a quiet but threatening voice, I ask him for his name. 

"Captain Alystair Costas." He tried to keep his voice detached but the nerves shook his voice as he choked out his last name. "Well the Prince will be sure to receive a formal complaint from me about you." I get the butler who escorted me to help locate the broken pieces of my inventions as I gather the parcels. Without another word, I walk out with my packages.

I check the time as I deposited the gifts to my work space which was really the study table we were provided but Isla helped me extend it into a work space. I would fix them after my interview. I was going to be late and if I was, I will end the Captain's career. Since I had given my helpers the morning off because I was allegedly busy with the interview and breakfast, they weren't around for me to ask for help. So I turned to my escort and enquired if the helmet was damaged.

“It is perfectly fine, ma'am.” I smiled at him, feeling very fancy after being called a ma’am. I thanked him and asked if he could help me find my way to the Hall where Prince Dom was conducting his interviews. I have the butler quickly wrap up the Prince’s gift for me before we make our way down.

I was very hasty, rushing my way to the Prince, not wanting to be a minute late. Once the butler successfully guided me to the interview room, I thanked him. That was when I realised how disheveled and out of breath I was. I didn't even have time to pat down my mess of curls when I burst into the room.

“I hope I'm not late!” “Hello Lady Calista, are you ready to begin?” We say at the same time. My cheek flame as I navigate my seat across him. I explain my messy appearance. “I had a little trouble with this,” I say as I pass him the gift. “This is for you, a thank you for welcoming me into your home.” 

I hear him unwrapping it and I hear an audible gasp. He liked it, I could feel it but what I didn't expect was for him to be flustered as he thanked me and assured me I was not late. He was really wasn't as cocky as he came across in magazines interviews. I explained how the helmet wasn't just any ordinary helmet but it had in built headphones which are programmed to play all his favourite songs. I hear a squeak from his chair and I realise he's leaning over in interest as I explain. He's close enough for me to catch a whiff of his scent. There were two layers. The usual musky cologne men wore but with my sensitive nose I picked his natural scent that was being covered up by cologne. He smelled of grease and metal, most likely from his motorcycle. I surprisingly enjoyed it and it suited him. After I'm done explaining, he comments how cool it is and I beamed, taking in the praise.

“So, how are you today? Besides out of breath.” He makes polite conversation. I smiled at his joke and proceed to describe how the Palace has been treating me well despite my phobia of big spaces.

“Yes, the Palace is big. It's easy to get lost if you don't know your way around.” “That has happened to me a few times, I don't know where I'd be without the other Selected.” I smile dreamily, thankful for my newfound friends. I hear his chair scrape against the marble floor, I guessed he was leaning forward with interest again. It made me feel more comfortable and prompted me to discard my reserved manner. 

“So the other girls have been helping you? That's nice of them I guess.” “Some, mostly my hallmates they are all really nice girls that sometimes I forget we are competing against each other.” “That's good. I don't really like to think of the Selection as a competition. I just like to think of it as finding the perfect girl.” The soft familiar sound of waves crashing graced my ears. Prince Dom was running his hand through his hair as his voice took a light tone when talking about finding the perfect girl. What a romantic. I didn't peg him to be like that. He was odd how much he reminded me of Eurus with the hands through hair, he kind of felt like home. I felt an odd warmth spread across my chest. I ignored it and continued the conversation. 

“That's nice, I know you've met girls before me so am I allowed to ask if you think you've met her yet?” I wanted to size up the competition but knowing Prince Dom I should have expected his response. “I don't know yet. I think I'd like to play the field a bit first and see all the options first. And of course, my opinions can be changed.” I nodded along. “Ah yes feelings and opinions can be very confusing, I just hope I won't get too caught up in all the glamour and lose sight of who I am.” I suppressed a giggle at my pun. He was silent until I heard heavy breathing. He was shaking with quiet laughter...he caught on as well but didn't comment further so I switched topics. I wanted to try my luck. “Your Highness, I have a rather odd request, could we be friends? I know I came here to fall in love with you but I know for a fact that falling in love with your friend is the best feeling and my parents are a prime example of that.” While my parents used to be the prime example, it was Uncle Ro who told me to fall in love with my best friend. It is logical, who better to be your life long partner than the person who knows you best? “Umm, I mean you can't just start a friendship by saying you'll be friends, but I suppose if you'd rather take things slow…” He ran his fingers through his hair again. He was reluctant but I understood that. So I gave him the straightforward answer.    “I know that I just like to be upfront with my intentions and hope you'll do the same.” “Hmm we'll see.” Cryptic as always and to lighten the mood I made an obvious blind joke. “Well I'd hear about it since I can't see. I giggled and at that moment my shades gave me the time. We had less than a minute left. “Well we're starting to run out of time, is there anything you wanted to ask me?” He asked and I had been cracking my head about this question all morning because he was the Prince after all, his entire life has been displayed for us to observe. There wasn't any typical first date questions I could ask. “Yes and I hope this isn't too political for a first meeting, but once you become King, what would you do first?” I settled on this. I wanted to know how seriously he took being King. “Politically? I don't know yet. Not politically? Throw a party. Alright, well there's the timer. It was lovely talking with you Lady Calista.” Typical Prince Dominic. Calista from a year ago would have rolled her eyes but I was here to experience the Selection to the fullest and that meant letting go of the uptight version of me. “Hahah of course I hope I'll be invited. Thank you for a lovely first meeting, your Highness.” I played along and stood before falling into a deep curtsey.

I had a playful grin on my face as I walked back to my room. 

My irritable mood from earlier returned when I walked back into my room. I remembered how the Captain had manhandled Prince Evan's gift. I sat at my work space and cropped a feel at it, it was definitely damaged but it was nothing I couldn't fix. The engine on the electronic surfboard was busted. I had Isla retrieve my tool kit and I started working to fix the engine. It was going fairly well but I miscalculated where my hand was, and the turbine cut me when I jump started the engine. I could feel the blood gushing out heavily. My blurry hands were smeared red.  I yelled out loud, careful not to swear. I am a lady after all. Paris and Valencia rushed to me with a first aid kit, the supplies rattling violently inside the box. I sat with my knee bouncing impatiently while they fixed up my hand. It hurt to move it, I wanted to maim the Captain for causing this.

There was a knock on the door, as I was cursing him. I didn’t want to deal with anyone so I had Isla answer it as I sat at my work station, trying not to think about the pain as Valencia quickly bandaged my hand. I wanted to scream when I hear his smooth voice coming from the door. Was he here to mock my blindness further?

“Lady Ledger, if you would just allow me to apologise.” He brushed past Isla. I sighed, I would have to make Isla take some self-defense sessions at some point. That way no one could get past her. I dismissed my helpers before I stood slowly from my desk and turned to him, taking my time. I wanted to make him as frustrated as he made me feel.

“I am not interested in anything you have to say to me.” I told him off in a clipped manner. “I brought chocolates.” I saw the blurry box in his hands. I snatch it from his grasp, giving him a taste of his own medicine from earlier. “I'll take those and now you can leave. You're not forgiven by the way.” I push him out of the room and slam the door in his face.

Once the girls was completely sure he was out of shot, they broke down into giggles. My ears perked up at the sound. They were always so meek and shy but other than those two default demeanors, I have never heard them betray any other emotions. So their giggling came as a surprise to me as I gaped at them. They must have caught my stumped expression because they immediately fell silent.

“Oh don't stop on my account. You have such a lovely laughs.” I could only imagine they were blushing furiously. Isla quickly muttered an explanation. “You should have seen his face, Miss. He was pouting like a sad puppy.” “I don't particularly care for puppies, Isla.” I keep my voice levelled as I look down at the box of chocolates. Perhaps I was too harsh? I pushed that thought to the back of my mind. I had to let the feelings stew otherwise I'd do something stupid like I did signing up for the Selection. I sat at my work station and worked through the surfboard despite the hand injury.

Breakfast made me feel better about my hand. Having invited all the girls from my Hall along with Maddie and Emma to have breakfast with us was the best idea I've had. They were all lovely girls and we got on quite nicely. After Breakfast, we all went our separate ways to explore the Palace. I, on the other hand, had to track down the other royals to pass over their gifts. I made a quick stop to my room to pick up all the gifts and put them in a bag so that I wouldn’t look like a fool carrying a folded surf board. Once I made sure all four gifts were secure, I made my way to find the other Royals. The Prince mentioned Princess Alina would be idling around the Great Hall - the Palace’s version of a living room - so I headed there first. I found a figure walking about and my shades identify her to be the Princess and walk up to her, smiling sweetly.

“Hello Princess Alina! Your brother pointed me in your direction. I made gifts for you, your brother and cousins as a gesture of thanks for welcoming me into your home. I hope this phone case comes in handy.” I present her with the case.

“Awww thank you so much, Lady Calista! It's so cute!” She gushed and I couldn’t help my grin wider. I’m so glad all my efforts are being appreciated. I can see why Uncle Ro loves inventing so much. To create and have it appreciated is a feeling no one can bring you don’t from.  You are very welcome, your Highness. Have a good day ahead, I'm going to see if I can track down your cousins. Do you know where I might find them?” I would have loved to chat more but I knew virtually nothing about flowers and was nervous. She was the Princess after all. 

“I haven't seen them all day. Evan's either in his room or out, probably. Not out of his room, out of the palace.” She had a nice laugh and I returned it with a giggle of my own.  “Maybe I could try the library. I assume I can find Prince Percy with Charlotte.” I then enquired about the youngest princess. “What about Princess Callie?”

“There's a chance she's in the gardens, but if you listen carefully enough, you'll hear her screaming eventually.” She supplied helpfully. “Hahaha I shall follow the screams thank you so much Princess Alina. Have a lovely day ahead!” Both of the royal twins were hilarious, being funny must run in the family.   “Of course, you, too!” We waved goodbye before I headed off to the Library which was corridor away and it was getting tired dragging around Prince Evan’s surfboard. I located easily enough, navigating my way through the Palace was becoming easier by the minute. 

I took a deep breath before entering. I was suddenly very nervous, I would never admit it to anyone but I’ve always had the biggest crush on Prince Evan. He was a literary nerd like me, very practical and the way he carried himself was admirable. Of course when I was Selected, I had to supress those feelings because I was competing for Prince Dom. I completely threw away those feelings when I heard whispers of Lady Kat and Lady Cameron going for him. I may not be proper friends with them but it was in the Girl Code not to go after a man who you know other girls are pursuing. I suppose that doesn’t apply to Prince Dom because we knew what we were signing up for. I just hoped Prince Evan and I could be friends. Friends, with that in mind I pushed open the Library door. I see a figure skimming through shelves and could only assume it was him from his heavy steps. 

“Prince Evan, is that you? Princess Alina said you'd be here.” I called out just to be sure and smiled to let him know I didn’t mean any harm.  “Hello.” It was a very short greeting but it caught me off guard. His voice was much more charming in person and he smelled of sea breeze. I felt the old feelings linger before I stuffed them far far away. 

“Hello, I've made gifts for all the Royals and I thought I'd give yours. I'm sorry I took so long it was damaged when being shipped to the Palace and when I tried to fix it I cut myself.” I passed him the surfboard with one hand while hiding my injuried hand. 

“Oh, uh, thank you.” What is up with both cousins being awkward when presented with gifts? They were Princes, aren’t they showered with luxaries everyday? I wasn’t discouraged and kept the conversation going by explaining how the surfboard works. “You're welcome! It's not just any surfboard, it's foldable and electronic so you can keep it just about anywhere and since it electronic you can surf even without waves.” “Huh. I guess I'll have to try it out.” Finally I caught his interest, his voice takes on a certain tone when something interests him. This felt surreal, my childhood crush slash hero was interested in something I made for him. I could faint but I was Lady Calista and I never lose my nerve. So I kept my cool.  “Let me how that works out for you. Oh and Prince Evan, do you remember getting letters from a Fitzgerald Girl? That would be me, I'm a bit of a literary nerd and no one back home understands and it was really fun discussing Shakespeare with you.” I had to tell him at some point if we were to be friends. Although at the rate this conversation was going, that possibility seemed more and more far away. 

“Oh, yes, that was enjoyable.” It didn’t sound like he enjoyed it very much. I give up but was polite anyway and made my quick leave. “I'm glad you think so. You don't talk much do you? *laughs quietly* Well I must be off to find your brother and sister. I have gifts for them too, any idea where I might find them?”  “Find a big group of the Selected and you're sure to find Percy flirting with them. And Callie is probably in the gardens.” This, this is why I used to like him so much. 

“Hahaha and Prince Percy says you're not funny. Thank you I think I'll go find Princess Callie first, I wouldn't want interrupt your brother's flirting.” “Yes, his flirting is a tragedy know one should have to witness.” I laughed loudly, much too loud for a lady and blushed embarassed.  “Thank you for making me laugh, I needed that after the morning I've had. Well see you around Prince Evan I really enjoyed your company. Goodbye.” 

I waved before heading for the gardens. I was rather nervous because grass didn’t quite provide a stable ground for me, making it harder for me to navigate and it messes with my already messed up depth perception. By luck sent from up above, I saw a figure tending to the gardens. I walk up to her and my shades helped me identify her as Princess Callie.

“Hello Princess Callie, I'm Lady Calista! Your brother said I could find you here, I have a present for you. I made it for you on the plane to the Palace. It's thank you gift for letting me and the other girls stay in your home.” I smile kindly as I give her the flower crown. 

“IT’S SO PRETTTYYYYYY!!!!!!” She gasped and started jumping as evident by the tremors I felt. I laughed happily, her reaction was my favourite and I didn’t even have to work the hardest for hers.  “Ahahaha I'm glad you like it! Your cousin Princess Alina said you liked tulips so I used those.” I tell and she hugs it close to her chest. “Yay!!!! I love it!!! THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU.” 

She truly was an adorable child, what I would give to have a kid like her.  “You're very welcome!! I'm sure everyone tells you this but you really are very adorable. Well I need to go find your middle brother so I hope we'll see each other soon, Princess.”  “Obviously I'm adorable. Good luck with Percy!” She flipped her hair, being funny really does run in the family.  “You really are too cute and thank you. Goodbye! “Bye!” My interaction with the youngest Schreave left me in a good mood. I happily skip off to see Prince Percy. The music box I made for him is one invention I’m most proud of especially its intricate design I made all by myself.

I wander into one of the corridors and hear girls giggling. I peek in and my sunglasses tell me that Prince Percy was in the centre of it all. Prince Evan was right. I was cautious not to do anything so I walked up to him meekly and tap him on the shoulder. He turns to me and I hear his eyebrows raise up questioningly.

“Hello Prince Percy, I hope I'm not interrupting anything,” I looked over in the direction of giggling girls, “but I made you, your siblings and cousins gifts as a thank you for welcoming me into your home. It's a music box shaped as a piano because I know you are quite the pianist I've programmed it to play all the classics.” I explained as I passed it to him.

He barely gave me or the music box a glance. “Cool.” He was curt and that hurt. At least Prince Evan was awkward but not rude. I heard the girls whispering. I felt humiliated but I wasn’t going to give Prince Percy that satisfaction.  “You're welcome.” I say loudly. “Alright.” He turns back to the girls. I never had someone make me so feel insignificant. I don’t know why I even care, he’s just a shallow child who was judging me based on my condition. I’m glad Aricia didn’t end up with him, she deserved so much better. I stormed off angrily. I went from being happy from talking to Princess Callie to my interaction with the intolerable Prince Percy leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

Back in my room, I curl up against my bloster. I replay the memories of the day. Bonding with Lady Theia about our brothers, Captain Costas being ignorant, Prince Dom’s interest in the helmet, his metallic scent, Princess Alina’s humming, her smelling of flowers, meeting Prince Evan for the first time, Princess Callie’s excitement, Prince Percy’s dismissal. I hold the good ones close to my heart, protecting me from all the bad memories. 

Why did I care so much what the Royals thought of me?