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snidgetwidgeon · 4 years ago

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Son of Hylia, Daughter of Farore

A roleswap Zelink AU

Art by @anxioussailorsoldier and used here with permission

This story is a one-shot inspired by the prompts from @drsteggy and was gifted to her in a fic exchange.

~~~

Link awoke suddenly, desperately trying to cling to the vision of a woman surrounded by bright light as it diminished from his foggy mind. Try as he might to enter back into the haze of his mysterious dream, sounds came louder and clearer to his ears, and he registered the rustle of the sheets sliding against his feet as he stretched, his senses slowly returning. Today would be a trying affair. He always remained fatigued after she appeared to him, ever speaking yet rendered frustratingly silent.

Perhaps he could try to lay low, hide in the library, and search yet again on the shelves he’d already scoured for something he may have missed; something to prove it was possible that he was having the visions vessels were known to have had. He just couldn’t interpret them. He spared a bittersweet thought for his late mother. She would have known, would have shown him. Or perhaps she would have bore a daughter, and there would be no question; and he could have supported his sister when they found out the Calamity was foretold to return.

But the Kingdom of Hyrule was left with a Prince at the precipice of doom. He’d never felt more useless, or more determined to do something about it. He would find a way. He would protect everyone.

Zelda shifted her feet, practicing her forms to warm up before training. She missed her scimitar. This new blade felt so different and she had to relearn how to make it an extension of herself. It was humbling when sparring partners she had previously bested came out on top. It just proved she still had much to learn and needed to become proficient with many weapon types if she wanted to be the greatest.

She recalled being a bit intimidated as her group of friends grew over the years. Where they used to be physical equals, they now towered above her; but she supposed she could be thankful for the challenge because it caused her to become an incredibly scrappy fighter, always looking for openings she could wheedle into.

This time she wheedled too far and forgot to watch her flank while in pursuit of one of her opponents. Another warrior swept in and bashed her ribs as she was on an upswing and it sent her flying. As she was pulled up, she couldn’t help but think spitefully that the same would not have happened if she were allowed her weapon of choice. She could have recovered with her scimitar but the swing on the Master Sword was different.

“Nice air you caught there,” her sparring partner teased in Gerudo. “Again?”

Zelda recovered her blade from a few paces away and declined, “I think I’ll just nurse my wounds and ego for awhile, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. I recommend you do solitary for a few days with your new acquaintance,” she pointed her chin towards the Master Sword in Zelda’s grip. “See if you two can make friends,” she winked and ran back to join the fray.

Zelda stared down at the sword with slight contempt. Urbosa had told her of the legends she’d learned from the late Queen of Hyrule, and her son, Prince Link- that the sword was wielded to protect Hylia, and how the blade itself chose its master and would even communicate. Someone being chosen meant that a shit storm was likely brewing.

Urbosa also mentioned that preparations were being made against some sort of Calamity. The word made Zelda’s blood run cold and she knew it was something to be feared. If the sword was not speaking to her, perhaps it chose wrong and she was not suited to the challenge. She had tried everything she could think of, even hours of meditation, which she hated because she didn’t like sitting still for long.

But it was all for naught.

She wove her way through the stalls and bustle of the marketplace, sword heavy on her back, and day after day it had only served to weigh her down even more. She could no longer stand it. She exited the north-western gates and ran along the outer wall. Heart pounding and sweating all over, she dug a rather shallow and pathetic hole, chucked the sword in and kicked sand over it before walking away in a huff, muttering, “Curse the day I found your infuriating silence!”

She’d been training in the desert when she discovered it, exploring further than she ever had over the dunes. Following the statues with their guiding swords, she finally came upon the last one and sheltered under her cloak at its base as a sandstorm passed. Thankfully, it was short and as she stood to shake as much sand as she could off her person, she noticed something strange in the distance. She could have sworn she’d reached the last statue of the warriors. Perhaps she’d miscounted as there stood another on the horizon, the reflection of its sword glinting brightly in its grasp.

Zelda took a drink from her ration, taking note of how much was left before deciding she could manage one more. If anything, it would improve her survival skills.

As she neared the solid figure rising out of the sands she noticed that the sword it held was elaborate. Oddly enough, a scabbard for it was slung over the shoulder which made it appear that someone had just left it there. She looked around but only saw a few cacti bearing voltfruits, perfect for carrying around extra moisture for the return trip. Some movement caught her eye behind a cactus and she ran over, pulling her scimitar, in case there was meat to be had, but she was met with a poof of sparkling petals and could have sworn she heard a childish giggle.

After investigating thoroughly, she cut the fruits and placed them into her bag before returning to the statue. It would be a shame to leave such a fine piece of work out in the middle of nowhere. She climbed the figure and slipped the scabbard off the shoulder, letting it fall to the sand before holding the neck and planting her feet against the torso so she could reach the hilt with her free hand. It did not budge. Hiking herself up, she wrapped her legs around the neck so she could use both hands to pull on the wings above the hilt.

She was straining when she heard the laugh again, accompanied by a rattle, and in her distraction, the blade suddenly came loose and they both tumbled into the sand.

She’d thought nothing of it until returning to Gerudo Town.

During a routine visit to the throne room, Chief Urbosa had nearly sent away visiting dignitaries when she spied the sword on Zelda’s back. After the meeting, Urbosa called her into her private quarters, which was very unusual. Perhaps she was to be given a special assignment.

“Where did you find that sword?” Urbosa asked with intense interest and a hint of concern.

Zelda stood at attention and replied concisely, “In the desert, Chief.”

“Zelda, have you any idea what you’ve found?”

Zelda began to doubt her decision to play finders keepers. Maybe it was a ceremonial sword or relic that should have stayed where it was. Though she had been raised with the Gerudo, she certainly did not purport to know all of their culture and was horrified by the idea that she’d deeply offended them.

~~~

Urbosa removed her bracelets and hair ornaments, letting the thick, red locks fall down her back. Making sure her tea would be in reach, she snuggled into her bed and opened a letter from her favorite Hylian. She always saved his letters for the end of the day when her attention could be undivided and she could imagine actually having a conversation with him. He was so bright and inquisitive, and optimistic- as his letter revealed. Just like her love.

~I have not given up my search. I keep thinking that surely, there is a pocket in the library I have not scoured. But then another duty and another day takes me away from it. I see her, Urbosa. It has to mean something. If only I could find evidence that there has been a son of Hylia. Why else would I be given visions? If only I could interpret them...

Do you know how mother did it? Did she ever say anything?~

He then went on to describe his involvement with the funding of the research at the Royal Ancient Lab as well as other gossip that he and Urbosa kept up on, including their inside jokes about stuffy nobles. He also wanted to hear more about the warrior who had pulled the Master Sword.

~Does the bearer of the Blade that Seals the Darkness fare well? The moment I learned of her, I hoped that it was a sliver of evidence to prove my case. If there is a woman as Farore’s chosen, then perhaps it lends weight to the fact that a man could be Nayru’s chosen. But I’m harping. Perhaps I will be able to meet her soon, though father keeps me tied up in social engagements. He has taken to parading me at events where there are ample amounts of young debutantes to vie for my attention. I’d much rather be studying.~

Urbosa wrote back early the next morning after skimming the letter again.

~It seems our chosen Hero is having trouble awakening the power within the blade. When you sent word of legends that say the sword speaks to a worthy master, she immediately felt inadequate. Zelda excels at any challenge and eventually overcomes all obstacles, so when she continually failed to connect with the sword’s spirit, she took out her frustrations in a childish manner. The other day she was witnessed burying it in the sand outside the town walls. She must have blown off all her steam because she did retrieve it later that night.

I think that learning her fate has been weighing on her. She puts on a stoic face but I can see she has reservations. Perhaps if you two came together, something will give?~

After reading Urbosa’s reply, Link laid the parchment back down on his desk and pondered her proposition. He had been wanting to expand his search outside the castle for sometime and though he enjoyed visiting the Royal Lab, it did not hold any answers for what he sought; they were just a bunch of rowdy mechanics who were a lot of fun to hang around with. But to understand his history and role, he wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the known spiritual sites of Hyrule, and perhaps discover unknown ones as well so he could be better informed on how to defeat the Calamity, and possibly awaken the power of Hylia along the way.

He would start making arrangements right away.

~~~

King Rhoam rapped his knuckles on the door of his son’s study. When Link answered with a curt nod and a polite greeting, he entered, leaving his guard detail outside. He thought it prudent to retain at least some privacy for this matter, considering the gossip it could generate.

“I hear you’re planning some sort of trip,” it came out as a statement more than a question.

“A pilgrimage. To try and find any proof of my suspicions-”

He was interrupted by his father’s large, dissatisfied sigh. “Link, you really must stop harping on about that nonsense. Hylia has only ever been reincarnated into the mortal body of a female, that’s just the way it is. A tradition that extends even far beyond what we have in written history.”

“Exactly. We don’t know everything. How do you explain my visions? Mother had them. She knew how to interpret them.”

“Perhaps they’re just dreams,” Rhoam offered again in a misguided attempt to engage.

Link smacked the book he was about to pack on the table in frustration. “I can’t believe you keep saying that, you just don’t understand.”

“What I understand is that you continue to foolishly insist on chasing dreams and fantasies rather than doing something tangible for your people. You’re wasting time, Link. You should be courting and choosing a wife so that you can pass on the bloodline to a potential Princess who will-” Rhoam saw the shock in his boy’s face and tried to change track, “We have no idea when the Calamity will strike, we should be doing everything we can to prevent disaster.”

Link clenched his jaw as a deep anger and loathing swelled in his breast. Voice trembling in rage, he rebutted, “I am not going to produce an heir just to send her to the slaughter. I will fight my own battles. This Calamity is coming down on us! I just need to figure out how to awaken Hylia’s power.” He grabbed his bag and stormed out before Rhoam could push his agenda further.

~~~

The next letter Urbosa received from Link outlined his travels. She grinned as she read through them, glad that he’d managed to get away.

~The Forgotten Temple was very difficult to access, and though it did not produce any results, it was a breath taking trip. It has the largest Goddess Statue I have ever seen and I felt a peculiar familiarity while standing under her benevolent smile. I think this is promising.

We’re now at the ruins of the Temple of Time on the Great Plateau. I’m no stranger to the place of course, but the Priestess has been most helpful in providing old texts to study that were not available at the Castle. She’s even offered to assign a scribe to make copies for me.

I hope to be underway again soon and I would like to visit the Seven Heroines. I want to leave no stone unturned. I shall send a dispatch for when we expect to be arriving in the desert.~

When the time came, Urbosa bid Zelda to be an escort for the Prince across the sands to Gerudo Town. “Listen carefully, Zelda. Being the Prince is more than reason enough to keep him safe, but there may be a chance that he is so much more. The fact that you wield that sword lends weight to his theory that he may be Hylia reborn.”

Zelda’s eyes widened but she remained silent, nodding dutifully.

“I’ll need you to deliver some supplies to him so that he may enter unmolested upon arrival.”

“Chief?” Zelda asked, uncertain about the order. Hylia possibly being in a boy she could handle, but in all her time there, she’d never heard of a voe entering Gerudo Town. For Urbosa to speak of it almost as if it were done every other day was- confusing, to say the least.

Urbosa raised her brow at the question. “He is my Oten’vehvi and knows how to behave within these walls. You need not concern yourself with the politics, just act as his personal guard.”

“Yes, Chief.”

She made her preparations and checked that all was secure with the ‘contraband.’ The idea of meeting the Prince was troubling to say the least. She felt completely inadequate, bearing a sword that considered her unworthy. Perhaps she could pass it onto him and he could find the most courageous person in Hyrule. With his resources she was sure it wouldn’t be that hard. Then again, legendary swords weren’t known for choosing incorrect Heroes, so what was wrong with her?

They would just have to work together somehow.

She rode most of the way at a leisurely pace behind her sand seal until she noticed a scuffle as she neared Kara Kara. “HUP!” she directed her seal to go a bit faster to investigate.

A couple of Hylian vai shrieked when they saw her. “The Prince! Please save our Prince!” they cried as they pointed west.

There were two Yiga chasing after a nimble blond clad in light blue. She sprung after them, tongue rolling in a call to let her mount know they needed to go as fast as if they were fleeing a molduga.

The Prince was doing well for himself until he fell, a prey disposition coming over him. He scooted back but could only stare at the assassins, frozen in fear.

Zelda used her inertia to whip across the sand and jumped to land between the Prince and his attackers. She drew her sword, imbued with courage and confident that she could easily protect the boy against the likes of this desert rabble. She almost become distracted by the sword’s sudden glow before exchanging blows with the masked Yiga. They soon realized they were no match for her and dispersed in pops of red and orange light, laughter echoing in their place.

Breathing heavily, she turned back to face the Prince who was still flat on his bum. They both ogled the glowing sword.

An ethereal, disembodied voice broke the silence, “Master, it is good to see you again.”

Their eyes snapped to each other and searched for understanding. There was an immediate and unmistakable bond between them. They’d both heard it.

“I see...” Zelda began. She glared down at the Master Sword, fist clenching the handle and shaking with anger. “So you only deign to speak when your charge is present?” Her voice rose, “I wasn’t good enough for you?! You picky piece of shit!” she yelled as she hurled the sword into the dunes.

Link gaped in disbelief that his protector was so uncouth when something profound occurred to him. He fell back into the sand laughing, a massive wave of relief washing over him.

She looked at him curiously. “What? What is it?”

His laughter died down and he gazed into the sky, moisture glistening in the corner of his eye. “She’s with me.”

Zelda’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, unaware of the turmoil he had experienced regarding his identity.

Link stood and brushed himself off then held out his hand in greeting. “You must be Zelda. Bearer of the Blade that seals the Darkness.”

She accepted his shake and added spitefully, “More like the blade that won’t open its trap unless its mommy is around.”

“You know, I find it very intriguing, my mother’s name was also Zelda.”

“Yes, my mother was a big fan. It’s kind of flattering, she was a great lady. But people always joke that I’m the lost, secret princess and other nonsense.” She started to move away but he touched her arm and she paused.

“Thank you- for saving my life; but also for revealing the truth. Now that I know she’s here,” he touched his heart, “I will find her.”

Zelda eyed him like a strange bug, still unsure as to what he was on about. She patted his shoulder as she walked over to retrieve her weapon, “Good luck with that.”

~~~

A few nights later, Link and Urbosa took a stroll just outside of town to enjoy each other’s company, catching up on their daily lives. The stars twinkled brightly and the moon shone pale on the dunes, a steady breeze drifting the sands away to the dark horizon. He’d just intimated what his father would have him do to stay the coming Calamity.

She touched his shoulder in support, “And what did you say?”

“That this was our battle. And I would absolutely not have a child just to-” he sighed deeply. “I mean, I know the legends. There will always be a vessel of Hylia and her chosen Hero, but to be so deliberate and unfeeling about it, I just...”

“It’s alright. Your father has always been rather blunt, and practical to a fault. For what it’s worth, I believe in you. The visions you describe sound very similar to what your mother shared with me.”

He looked up to her with a smile, “It’s worth a lot, you’re my Oten’baba; your opinion matters to me more than anyone else.”

They continued on for a short time in companionable silence when Urbosa stopped and lifted her head to the night, listening and placing a hand on her scimitar.

“What is it?” Link asked, only noticing after he’d taken a few steps ahead.

A raucous laughter cut across the desert and as quick as Urbosa had been to draw her blade and prepare a snap of deadly electricity over her foes, two of them grabbed the Prince and held their sickles to his neck causing her to stay her hand.

“What a lovely package we have here tonight. Not only can we bag the boy, we can finally rid ourselves of the thorn in our side, Gerudo Tempest!” a Yiga foot soldier, hidden amongst the rest, spat the last two words out in disgust.

They attacked and dozens fell upon the Chief, running head on and popping up behind. A dance of blades began and Link struggled to free himself. Urbosa tried to lead her foes away but Link’s captors followed, dragging his feet through the sand.

“You’ll not be using your lightning with the precious Prince so close, will you?” gloated the same antagonizing voice.

Link cried out in terror when he saw a Yiga succeed in cutting her arm. She seethed and decked them right across the jaw. When they fell she jumped onto their back and launched herself in the air so she could shoot off a bolt.

“Oh, no! Is the Tempest in distress?” the voice goaded, and the masks cackled.

Link couldn’t tell where the mocking was coming from, they were everywhere and nowhere at once. There were too many. Urbosa was becoming overwhelmed and aid may not arrive in time- a gash landed on her leg- he was going to lose her. The laughing was getting louder, the air becoming so thick with magic that it tasted like chalk on his tongue- a slice was delivered up her back and she cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his mother. What would she do? There hadn’t been anything he could do for her then, but he was here now for his living mother.

Link’s eyes shot open just in time to see Urbosa drowning under the onslaught and his insides fell into oblivion. They were replaced by a warmth that spread through his body and beyond. He jerked his head in confusion as those that held him fell away. He was free. Sparks akin to those he felt when he fell asleep on his hand in the library spread through his fingers and he launched himself into the foray. He clawed through Yiga soldiers to get to her and did not see how each one he yanked was thrown back with a force of golden energy.

“Urbosa! URBOSA!?” They hit the ground.

The desert was lit with a false sunrise as Link crushed Urbosa in a desperate embrace. The light washed over her, healing her wounds as it cascaded around them in a dome, their enemies lying motionless on the outside.

After a few stunned moments, they opened their eyes and picked each other up. Urbosa held his face in her hands and wiped his tears. “Just look at you,” she said, smiling proudly.

“I- I couldn’t. I was,” he stumbled over his words as more tears fell, “I was going to lose you. I couldn’t lose you too,” he cried into her chest and she held him close.

~~~

Link was a natural at seal surfing. That’s what Zelda thought before she realized that he must have actually visited Gerudo Town previously and she just didn’t know it. They had left at sunrise and arrived to their destination mid morning. After taking a much needed rest, re-hydrating and snacking, Link took a leisurely walk around the place to get his bearings while Zelda tended to the sand seals. She joined him after they were settled for a long siesta and the two of them began their research of the Seven Heroines in interest.

There were orbs scattered about the place. Very large, Link noticed. He pushed one with his foot. And heavy. The sand seals might have to work after all. He tasked Zelda with collecting any she could find and in the meantime he studied the statues, picking up rather quickly that some had prominent corresponding symbols to the orbs on various parts of their bodies. Some he couldn’t make out as they were too high so there would be some educated guesses by process of elimination.

Zelda couldn’t help being drawn into his enthusiasm, the way he took notes- the face he made when he took those notes; it was all very quaint, and a bit impressive. Having spent most of her time advancing physically, she appreciated the mental gymnastics they were doing. Where most might sit back defeated, Link pushed through with a calm determination. They tried dropping the orbs in the pedestals in numerous combinations, each with a sound theory behind them. How was Link to know that if shrines had been activated, he would have succeeded in getting a result on the first try? A fact that they both wouldn’t learn for another 103-odd years.

After the sun set, Link scrawled until the dimming light rendered the page unreadable. Zelda had already set about making camp. They could head back to town in the morning, both were knackered. Even with the help of the seals, they’d heaved plenty of orbs around for hours. Eventually he plopped down on the rug with her and heaved a big sigh.

“Wow, you been working all day or something?” she asked in jest as she turned the vegetables in the fire.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s been a long while since I’ve been out in the field.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “What’s it like up at the castle?”

“Stuffy.”

She chuckled and didn’t press but it wouldn’t be fair to leave it at that. For all its faults, it deserved more. “I loved exploring the halls as a boy. I’m fairly certain I found long lost passages even the castle historian didn’t know about. My favorite places are the Library and the Observatory. “

“Sounds about right,” Zelda smirked.

“Ha ha. But really, the Library has books as far as you can see, you’d never finish them in one lifetime. And my mother used to take me to the Observatory. I still go there to feel close to her.”

They sat in silence for a moment when Zelda touched his forearm. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Link nodded in thanks and Zelda started to collect the hearty truffles from the coals. “I lost my father,” she began, and Link was a bit surprised she was sharing.

“He was a knight. We didn’t have any other family close by and mom didn’t fancy moving to Tabantha Village. She hates the cold,” Zelda added as she passed Link a stick laden with dinner.

“Thanks. So she just came to the desert instead?” Link asked before blowing generously and taking a bite.

“She had a close friend here who is practically my auntie. I think she was hoping we could just get away and start fresh from everything we knew before. But then I had to take after dad. Took her a while and a lot of arguments to come to terms with the fact that I was also a warrior.” She shook her head. “I feel bad. I’ve put her in a constant fear of losing me too but... you have to do what your soul tells you, right?”

Link closed his eyes and thought of Hylia, feeling a vibration in his core. “Right.” He agreed thoughtfully.

“Anyway, then this happened,” she said, unsheathing the sword on her back a few inches and letting fall back in with a shinck. “That was not a fun conversation.”

“I can imagine,” Link commiserated as he thought of his own recent rows with his father.

Zelda took a bite of her own truffle and regarded him up and down. With no tact for manners, she said with a full mouth, “You’re alrigh’ fo’ a Pince.”

Link laughed and his genuine mirth spread warmth through Zelda’s chest. “And you’re alright for a Hero.”

#breath of the wild #zelink #fanfiction #roleswap au #prince link #champion zelda #urbosa #king rhoam #Son of Hylia Daughter of Farore #snidgetwidgeon scribbles

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yostresswritinggirl · 4 years ago

Note

hello, i love your writin'!! seriously, it's so cool to read and im just ajdhsish and this is the first thing- second thing, would you be comfortable with writin' albedo x gn reader (headcanons are cool yknow!) who dislikes goin' outside alone? like, they worry that somethin' bad will happen to them or are a bit scared of doin' things that might go wrong around people, so they prefer goin' outside with someone? (they also want to get rid of their fears but have no ideas how) i will understand if you don't want to so dw!! 👉👈

First thing, thank you so much for requesting! This took a while, I'm so sorryy! This was supposed to come out yesterday but I got sick and barely had the brainpower to even stand :(( feels better now tho so yey? And yess ahhh thank you for your kind words, you guys have been wonderful too, give yourself some credit too!

This is the last Albedo request in the inbox and woohoo, we ended this streak in one of the hard prompts I've come by so far ahaha

I'm not sure if I interpreted anon right but this shall be a fic as originally requested? I'm apologizing in advance because I don't think I've captured this scenario well enough hehe,,, but I hope you still enjoy this!

Keep Me Intertwined

Albedo with a gn!reader that's scared of going out alone (Mild Social Phobia?)

Albedo is a genuis, everybody knows that, even beyond the walls of Mondstadt. Praised and sought out by scholars to ask for his wisdom and a majority of the time they receive their desired enlightenment.

Indeed, the Kreideprinz is a genuis even if he says otherwise, but he's a genuis in the art of Kemia. And only that. Truth be told there are a lot of things he lacks when it comes to knowledge, as his focus is only in the science he wants to explore. Beyond that, he comes close to a child's understanding of the world.

When he bumped into you when he was strolling through the stalls during a market fair of travelling merchants, he'd thought it would be something he can shrug off easily, but as he moves his head to look at the perpetrator he'd hear a squeak of a "sorry" and a running figure. What?

Albedo silently pats himself down as he continues to watch as the silhouette disappears farther, with a calculating gaze to memorize all their features for... future references.

After he made sure it wasn't a thief that bumped to him to pickpocket, he immediately moves on without another thought.

"Ah, you're the one from the marketplace yesterday." In all honesty, your second meeting was quicker to come than he expected, and at the most curious location of all places. In the Knights of Favonius HQ. How had he not heard or seen of you before?

Your shoulders tense at the sound before you even closed the door of which you came from. This was a room he's never seen anyone use, he realized. Was this where you've been residing all this time? What an oversight on his part but it seems that you two share the common practice of barely leaving your quarters.

When you turned around, behind those surprised eyes lies a gentleness of relief he has not seen a mixture of in the ones he'd observed before. "O-Oh, Chief Alchemist! I'm really sorry about that, I was- I'm really sorry!" He hums in contemplation before shaking his head, assuring you it was a matter that caused no harm.

There was more to it, but his thoughts are distracted with his current task at hand, and with a short goodbye he made his way out down the hall where the stairs resides.

His heavy boots clap on the carpeted floor...

Paired with shuffling light ones to try and match his stride.

Huh? "Are you perhaps going outside?" He confirms with a soft yes as he continues his walk. What are you implying? "Is it okay if I join your company? I uhm also need to get some stuff from outside." He just nods, not one for small talk or questioning. It's nothing much to think about really—

Your loose and subtle grip around the chains hanging by his coat seem to ground him from his musings as you two traverse through Mondstadt in a normal gait. He tries not to think about it too much, but the way you look around with unease when you near other people or your desperate strides to stay a respectable distance to him were things he observed during the walk. Albedo was no man of science focusing on human personality and it bothers him.

It was like a game of cat and mouse between you two running errands, he'll detour to the side and you'll follow him, and if you need to drop by to a building then he'll have to follow you.

And he doesn't know why. Is it because of his mannerism towards taking care of Klee? Or his feeling of responsibility for bringing you along?

During this whole ordeal the Chief Alchemist has brought himself a bright idea (it is not) and went into his scientific mode. He watches you talk to one of the citizens about a commission you had finished yesterday and after confirming your undivided attention, he quietly slips away from the area to visit the Alchemy stall where Timaeus would surely be working on.

It took about an hour before he was allowed to use the table, because Timaeus took so long working on his forgery. Goodness that man needs to work on his studies more.

Ah, speaking of— Albedo realized he'd just up and left you for an hour. Without a second thought he retraced his steps to where he had last seen you. Surely you would have gone off to do your own thing, probably finished up your errands by now and had gone back to the Knights headquarters.

An unmoving force made him tumble forward as his coat seemed to have been caught. If you were there, it would be a sight to see, a rare moment of the Kreideprinz so uncomposed and shocked as he catches himself with a sputter. What the hell? His head snaps to look over his shoulder at such incredible speed, you'd thought it really would have snapped—

The clutch on his chain accessory tightens. With your head down low he couldn't see what expression you were, but your tense shoulders shake with a tremor similar to that of an on-going earthquake. His guilt was more obvious as your knuckles turn white from the deadly grip.

"Albedo-!" You exclaimed in what seems to be a cross between a whine and a whimper. "You disappeared, I couldn't- I couldn't leave..."

He hides a sigh as you refuse to look up to show your face. And in a comforting manner he has 'mastered' with a certain someone, he gently pries off your tight grip (with some urging pats to get you to loosen) before interlocking your fingers with his gloved ones. And he smiles as genuinely as he can, "I'm sorry, I won't do it again. Are you done here? It's almost night, we should get moving."

Your nod of agreement was a breath of fresh air to him.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

Days after that were pretty much as uneventful as uneventful it could be for Albedo's lifestyle.

Holed up in his laboratory for days without rest like the madman he is. Master's alembic and grounds of scarlet quartz able to keep his mind occupied to not wonder. Hyperfocused, no one has seen him out, only Sucrose dropping by with an 'assistant pass' despite the experiment on-going sign hanging by his doorknob.

When he finally stepped out to the hallway, three days already passed. The door behind him clicks as it locks, a sound that echoed with the door four rooms apart to his.

Kaeya looks up from your doorknob when he noticed the approaching silhouette. "Oh, Chief Alchemist? Finally came out of your cave." He quipped as he leans his shoulder against your room's door, visible eyebrow raising slightly after noticing the fleeting gaze Albedo passed at the door.

"Cavalry Captain, good evening. What were you doing there?" Straight to the point.

The taller man's eyebrow rose higher before he composed his amusement. "I didn't expect you to be into rumors, Albedo." The Alchemist's brows furrows in response. "No harm done, worry not. I just accompanied them on their trip outside before retreating for the night."

Humming to himself, Albedo's eyes wonder back to your doorknob before it was protectively shielded by the man's... white fur cloak?

"I also heard you left them alone when you two were out. I didn't expect you to be such a cruel man, amping up their fear after the progress they've made." Fear? Progress? More questions swirled within the genius' mind the more he talked with this.

Kaeya had noticed his faraway look and pieced together the context. Finally, he offered to explain the background of the issue and Albedo was ecstatic to listen in, a first with the blunette.

"Do you understand it now?"

"Mhm."

"Then I'll leave them to your care, I'm sure your genius mind can come up with something."

"Huh?"

And thus you find yourself standing at the bottom steps of the Ordo Favonius HQ the next morning, hand in hand with the Chief Alchemist you've last seen four days ago. Doesn't he have better things to do? No, he reasoned the solution he worked on will take two days to formulate the desired sediment, and so he has that timeframe free for the taking.

You would have been confused and wary he'd abandon you again—

Were you not forced to listen to the two dummies talk about YOU right outside your ROOM.

"You uhm, you don't have to hold my hand during this whole trip, Master Albedo."

"Albedo." He corrected. "And this is necessary, much more convenient and predictable than pulling on my chains really." A touch of a blush framed your cheeks with embarrassment.

"I have nothing in my itinerary today, so feel free to tug me along. It is, after all, the most I can do for what happened."

Despite the rough texture from the long use, the leathered hand in yours brought about more comfort than you would have thought.

Bonus:

The solar isotoma sparkled in pure golden beauty in front of you, but it didn't prevent the anxiety bubbling inside as you watch Albedo hop over the ledge with the help of his geo construct. "What- what are you doing?"

"Experiment. I'll be up in the roof looking over you so you'll know I'm still here, if it makes a difference if your company is far from arms length or not." He replied as he casually hopped over to the roof of a housing unit.

"Albedooo!"

I didn't get to capture all the aspects of the request that I wanted to focus on ahhhhh, I got so conscious of the length I had to stop it! Still ack I hope I captured his personality and context well— and I'm sorry if I amped up the fear more than you gave, I'm not really sure how bad it was supposed to be skskskks

But hey, this being the last Albedo req in my inbox, I am now free from this man *happy sigh* //:Albedo smut leading the leaderboard for the followers event looms over from behind:// *sweats*

#genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #exile.flower #albedo #albedo x reader #genshin impact albedo #exile.goblet #genshin impact oneshots #genshin impact scenarios #glorysuffer #i enjoyed writing this more than i thought i would have!#sorry this took so long!!#the requests are getting harder lately hmmm #followers special #gender neutral

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krabmeat · 3 years ago

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𝟷𝟶𝟶 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜? 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢? 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔? 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛?

HELL YEAH FELLAS YOU HEARD THAT RIGHT!! FIRST MAJOR MILESTONE BAYBEEEE LETS GOOOOOO!!

guys, i really dont think you see how insanely mental this is. like what?!?! i joined here cause a friend of mine was gushing about a writer here and eventually convinced me to get tumblr. they called me their "noob reading friend /affectionate" and now look at me!! not even a year in and ive gained a crowd? thats so damn cool to think about!! to think that this many people are willing to put aside time in their day to read some fics made by me, im floored man!! all in all though, i have no one to thank but my wonderful mutuals and followers who have helped floor and construct the fantastic beginnings of this blog. which is why im here to bring you all this event that i sincerely hope you guys enjoy!

🦑KRABS KAN MAKE WRITING EVENTS WOW!!🦑

ALRIGHT FELLAS, IM DOING A WRITING EVENT!! HERES THE RULES AND PROMPTS NOW BOSSMEN!

~rules~

only 2 people per prompt

despite me not writing romantic fics yet, all participants are absolutely welcome to!

no smut/nsfw, im not that kind of blog and i do plan on reading entries so please dont submit anything related!!

any and all fics glorifying and supporting bigoted or misogynistic ideals will not be tolerated or respected. this is non-negotioable but if the fic has any of this that results in the putting down of or generally recognizing these ideals as negative then that is completely fine!

you are to use the quote prompts in your fic (im gonna be loose on this though so dw!! :DD)

you can use as many different prompts as youd like!!

please keep submissions in mcyt territory as thats who i write for most. but this doesnt confine to just mcyts in the dsmp! go wild dudes, hermitcraft, third life, pop off!!

keep all fics for minors platonic and platonic ONLY

generally know and respect the boundaries for ccs

when asking for a prompt, please put who you will be writing for!!

TAG ME IN YOUR FICS!! I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH PLEASE ID ADORE IT IF YOU TAGGED ME SO I CAN READ YOUR WONDERFUL WORK!!

you can use and interpret the prompts any way you want! doesnt matter if its in the angst section, you see fluff potential? go for it, vice versa!!

~prompts~

~fluff~

"I swear, if you make us late one more time I'll tape a clock to your wrist." "Isnt that a watch-?" "Shut it!"

"Look! I think it likes me!" (@ohworm-writes with cc!beeduo)

"Man, how did I catch such a good person?"

"Yknow, your parents really did something great when they made you."

"WELL HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT WOULD HAPPEN?!" "THERE ARE WARNING LABELS RIGHT THERE!"

"Take a picture, itll last longer~" "Okay!" "Wait you actually did that-?"

"That does NOT fit you." "Yeah it does! Just gotta roll it up a bit!"

"You aren't 'built different', you're just stupid." (@ohworm-writes with cc!tommy @jschllatt with cc!sapnap

"If it ever happens again, tell me. You know i adore you."

"Well..they dont even deserve you anyways! Just look at you- gorgeous!!"

~angst~

"KEEP F*CKING WALKING, THEN! CANT EVEN FACE YOUR OWN DAMN PARTNER! (or friend! :])"

"No, youre amazing!" "Then why arent i treated like it?"

"Do it again, see if i care."

"Guys..? GUYS! THEY ARENT MOVING!"

"Put the damn drink down and talk to me!"

"Its about time you get whats due, you know."

"So not only do you think im stupid, but you also think im still naive?"

"Just take me seriously for once in your damn life!"

"You'd better start running in the next 5 seconds."

"What do you take me for, a joke?!" "Wasnt that obvious?"

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

now that thats done, heres the ask game part of the event!!! send me the corresponding emoji in my ask box and ill respond!

👽~ ill tell you a weird or memorable occurance that has happened on tumblr between friends and moots!

😳~ ill kin assign you and try to guess who you kin! (friends and moots only)

🍒~ ill rate your blog aesthetic on a scale of 1-10

🥀~ ill give you a bunch of emojis that remind me of you! (friends and moots only)

😎~ ill tell you obscure things i think are very neat!

🌺~ ill tell you a random interesting fact i know!

🦑~ if you send me a description of yourself, personality etc then ill write you a short ship fic with a mcyt!! specify if you want it to be platonic or romantic and if you want it to be c! or cc!(this is to work on my romantic writing!! friends and moots only)

💃~ ill tell you songs that remind me of you! (friends and moots only)

📕~ ill tell you something small or obscure i secretly think about you! (friends and moots only)

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

now...onto the final part- HONOURABLE MENTIONS!!!

@myceliummenace ~ these guys got me into tumblr, some of my closest friends and theyve been supporting me since day one. i couldnt be happier to breathe the same air as these guys, they all deserve a crown and if you disagree i will chomp your hand

@niceimafan ~ an absolute saint!! i came across inks former writing blog and fell in love with both them and their wonderful work /p!!!! theyve helped me through some hellish times and are all around so damn open and accepting

@jschllatt ~ istfg this lady is just-- SOOOO BEAUTIFUL INSIDE AND OUT??? nat is incredibly talented and has encouraged me throughout my time here and i couldnt be happier with how weve grown as friends!! and i know, despite how wholesome and soft nat seems to be i promise you she knows how to keep a bit going like no other. an amazing moot, stay funky :]

@im-an-ungodly-mess ~ okay look,, i know i havent interacted with these guys for a lot buttt...CAN YOU REALLY BLAME ME??!!? LIKE CMON THEYRE ALL JUST SO COOL!!! the moment i met them i knew our chaotic energies would merge and boy did they merge alright. also theyre just insanely nice and super willing to endulge with me in my random interest which is always a sexy trait to have. 10 out of 10, these guys are neato

@ohworm-writes ~ ahhh wormmm, delightful all around and just a sweetheart....BUT THEYVE GOT SHENANIGANS- as well as being extremely skilled as well like, dayummm!!! i live for our bond over fandoms outside of the mcyt fandom and i feel blessed to have you be a moot! much love, dear!

@marcooze ~ bro....whyd you have to do me like that dude? being so gosh damn kind and accepting like that like sheesh all the stuff you reblog is gold!!! it can be the most cracked out post or the most serious and informational one. idgaf that youre a reblog blog, you mean the world to me and i shall place a supple kiss on your hand as bros do <3

@ramzawrites ~ THE FIRST WRITERS BLOG IVE EVER FOLLOWED!!! ramza dear, if no one has ever told you how iconic you are then PLEASE LET ME BE THE FIRST!!! everything you do leaves me in awe and despite your talent, you still have miles and miles of kindness and generosity? you are one in a million, ramza. you deserve everything and please know how much you mean to me. thank you for supporting me so much for so long, and i hope your days are filled with really cool rocks :]]

#krabs kommunicating #krabs has 100 wow!!#mcyt x reader #mcyt x platonic reader #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #dsmp x platonic reader #dsmp x you #dsmp x reader #dsmp requests #dsmp x y/n #writing event

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

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Klaine one-shot “Artistic Differences” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Kurt and Blaine have known each other all their lives. They've loved each other almost as long. But as Blaine uses his love for Kurt as inspiration for his music, Kurt has yet to reciprocate. And since painting is Kurt's entire world, Blaine is worried about what that might mean for the two of them. (2703 words)

Notes: I had been writing this for the @klaineadvent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'opinion'. I finally finished it. Wee! XD

Read on AO3.

Baby, you're not alone...

'Cause you're here with me...

And nothing's ever gonna bring us down...

'Cause nothing can keep me from lovin' you...

And you know it's true...

It don't matter what'll come to be...

Our love is all we need to make it through...

Blaine stops singing when he notices an echo haunting his lyrics, lingering on the high notes for longer than written. He listens with eyes closed, smiling at his keyboard.

His boyfriend Kurt, humming behind the melody.

Blaine has been ironing this song out for the past three hours now but Kurt hasn't complained once about the constant stopping and starting.

He never does.

Blaine peeks over his shoulder as he continues to play with the harmonies and watches Kurt, focused on the canvas in front of him, swaying to the rhythm of the music, happily sandwiched between his two passions - art and music.

It's a mild and sunny Saturday - a whole day devoted to cleaning up commissions and tying loose ends on weekly projects before their one day off together. Blaine and Kurt share a studio space - normally unheard of for an artist and a musician, but they make it work. It helps that they've known one another for so long that being alone together is the same as being alone with themselves. That also means they get the inside scoop on what the other is working on long before the public does.

And what they're not working on, which has begun to bother Blaine.

Blaine adores everything his talented boyfriend comes up with. Even regarding his more controversial works, there isn't a thing Kurt has painted that Blaine finds objectionable. Kurt puts his heart and soul into every painting, no matter who it's for, and no matter the subject. A writer from Artforum once wrote: "Kurt Hummel goes beyond the veil to showcase not just the external, but the core of every subject - their drives and motivations. It pairs nicely with the transparency of his own soul, which shines through the gouache and the gesso to leave the viewer with a tangible piece."

And therein lies the root of Blaine's problem.

A glance at one of Kurt's canvasses and the world knows everything it needs to about what he loves.

But one subject in particular has gone wholly unrepresented.

“How come you've never painted a portrait of me?” Blaine asks.

"Hmm... what's that, love?" Kurt mutters, switching out brushes, then moving from a blob of Titanium White to a smear of Winsor Blue.

"How come you've never painted a portrait of me?" Blaine rises off his piano bench and relocates to the wooden folding chair behind Kurt's easel in the hopes of pulling his attention a bit. "You've been an artist for as long as I've known you, and I've known you your entire life. But not once have you ever painted a portrait of me."

“Why do I need to? I have you right here," Kurt says, pretending to bop the tip of Blaine's nose with his brush. "Besides, these aren’t personal." His gaze bounces between the three canvases set on easels in an arc in front of him. "They’re bought and paid for.”

"But what about your private stuff? You've shown me your sketchbooks and your digital art files. Unless you have some hidden folder marked 'secret boyfriend art' that I've yet to come across, there's not a single piece of me in any of your work."

Kurt doesn't steer his gaze away from the apple he's adding highlights to to acknowledge his pouty boyfriend, but the corner of his mouth hitches. "If you say so, dear."

"I know so," Blaine grumps, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping back in the chair so hard he nearly topples it over.

"That's your opinion."

"You're evading."

"Is it really so important to you?"

"Yes! It would be nice to be immortalized by my artist boyfriend!"

Kurt snickers. "Are you that much of a narcissist?"

"Your art is important to you! More than that - it's your life! You paint everything that you love! You've made dozens of paintings of Finn, your father, your mother, your Navigator... "

"My Navigator is my baby. It deserves love. I don't get to drive it much living in the city," Kurt defends. "Besides, those paintings I posted on Instagram landed me a huge contract with Lincoln, and that paid for our month-long tryst to Bali. You're welcome, by the way."

"I'm not saying I'm not grateful... " Blaine pauses, the smile on his face a souvenir from thirty straight days of overindulgence in sex and alcohol. "I think I more than proved that on that private beach? Under the moonlight?"

"Yeah, you did," Kurt growls, silently hoping that will be the end of this discussion.

"But... " Blaine picks up and Kurt's heart sinks.

No luck.

"... nowhere am I present in your work. Not that I've seen. Not even in the abstract. And that makes me think... "

"Think what?" Kurt mutters, his playful attitude fading the longer this conversation drags on.

Blaine sighs, realizing how much like a spoiled toddler he sounds. But he's in too deep to stop now. "That you don't expect me to be around long."

Kurt's snicker turns into a full-blown chortle. "We've been together forever! You staked a claim on me in kindergarten! Are you suddenly going somewhere?"

"Can't you take this seriously?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous!"

Blaine huffs. "Great. So my feelings are ridiculous."

"No, Blaine, your feelings are valid. This argument is ridiculous. Believe it or don't, you don't know everything about me. Or my work. What does it matter what I put on a canvas? I told you that I love you! That I would always love you! I tell you over and over and over! Those are my words! My truth! Listen to my truth!"

"B-but what if you change your mind?" Blaine grimaces when that toddler inside him begins throwing an all-out tantrum.

"Then I change my mind!" Kurt groans, slamming his free hand down on an open tube of Dandelion Green, sending a thick ribbon of paint a good four feet. "I'm allowed to change my mind! And so are you! But I don't see that happening!"

"Then why won't you marry me?"

Kurt pulls a face, probably without thinking about it. "Because I'm not very fond of marriage."

"Why not? Your parents had a great marriage! And your father has a wonderful second marriage!"

"But your parents don't have a very good marriage, do they? Nor your older brother, who's been divorced twice already! " Kurt argues, frustration causing him to forget himself and clean his stained hand on the untucked hem of his shirt instead of a rag. That should be a huge red-flag for Blaine to back down, yet he doesn't. Common sense? Sorry, don't know her. "And the national average isn't that great, either. Doesn't it mean more that I choose to stay with you instead of feeling obligated to?"

Blaine doesn't have an answer for that, even though the answer is obviously yes. Of course, it does. And in high school, that would have been enough to shut Blaine up. But admitting to that feels too much like conceding, and this one time, this is an argument he wants to win. "Did you hear that song I've been working on?" Blaine asks, switching gears so quickly, it puts Kurt on edge.

"Yes," Kurt replies, his voice becoming tight quickly. "It's lovely."

"I wrote it for you."

"Thank you. It sounds wonderful. Another huge hit in the making."

"It's the 15th song I've written in your honor."

"Wow," Kurt says dryly, predicting the direction this is heading. "That many?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's an incredibly kind and loving gesture, one that I didn't know required reciprocation."

"It doesn't require reciprocation. But it would be nice."

Kurt rolls his eyes at Blaine's agenda. Tit for tat. Is that how this is supposed to work? "From what I remember, those songs made you a pretty penny."

"So?"

"So, it's not like you wrote them for me and kept them between us. Most of those songs are chart-toppers."

"But I didn't release them for the money! I wouldn't care if they didn't make me a dime! I put them on the albums because I'm not afraid to let the world know how I feel about you!"

Kurt's brow furrows as he fights through a blooming headache to decode that declaration. Once he gets it, he gasps. "I'm not hiding you away if that's what you're implying! You go with me EVERYWHERE! Every gallery opening, every art show! There have been articles written about our relationship! You're no dirty little secret!"

"I never said I was."

"No?" Kurt chuckles bitterly. "You're sure implying it a great deal!"

"That's not what this is about."

"You're right. It's not. Blaine!" Kurt tosses his brush into a mug of water and starts pacing the floor. "I am a gay artist walking a very fine line."

"I'm a gay artist, too!" Blaine says, offended.

"But you're a musician. And a songwriter. Musicians are supposed to use love as their muse. Writing about your relationship is expected... unless you're Taylor Swift, apparently."

"Yeah. What's up with that?"

Kurt shrugs. "I don't know. The point is that the second I make a piece of art about our relationship in any way, shape, or form, I'm afraid that's all it will be about, no matter what I intend."

"Isn't art supposed to be subject to interpretation?"

"That's just it! If I hint that my art has anything to do with you, that will become the only interpretation. Because too many straight people see the homosexual experience as solely about the right to fuck who we want to fuck and nothing else. I make a portrait about you or dedicated to you, and after that... " Kurt's eyes leave Blaine's face, scanning the room and his canvasses all around for help making his argument. He finds a painting of a forest they hiked through in Bali and stops there "... a tree that I paint will no longer be just a tree. It will become a symbol. In a forest of evergreens, if one needle is slightly browner than the rest because the paint oxidizes weirdly or whatever, then it'll be about you and me on the skids and nothing else. And I don't want that to happen."

Blaine turns in his chair to find the painting Kurt is staring at. On the surface, it's trees, dirt, and sky, but underneath, it's much more than that. That painting of their beloved paradise is perfection - so much so that he can feel the sun on his face, the breeze kissing his cheek, smell the sunscreen on his skin. "I understand what you're saying, but... "

"But?" Kurt grinds out between his teeth. This is the frustrating thing about arguing with Blaine. Even when he says he sees Kurt's point of view, he doesn't seem to really.

And when he's not winning, he gets dismissive.

"... I think you're overthinking things a little."

"And you're not?"

"Another evade," Blaine says, pointing at him in a way reminiscent of his brother's only acting technique.

Kurt grabs the hair at his temple and pulls to keep from flinging the palette in his hand like a frisbee at Blaine's head. "Isn't it more important that you know how I feel about you? You inspire me every day! Your love, your support, your music - they feed my soul! But do I have to plaster it on a wall to make it real?"

"That's kind of an empty question because you don't! There are no paintings of me! Not even in our apartment! And I'm sorry, but I think that's very telling!"

Kurt nods, his lips pulled taut. "You're right, Blaine. Not one. And it is very telling." He drops his palette on his work table and circles the room, grabbing finished canvases and carrying them over. He positions them purposefully, placing some under UV lights he has mounted to runners on the ceiling.

"What... what are you doing?" Blaine asks with worry, wondering if Kurt is about to do something hasty, something that will ruin his paintings, waste all those hours of work, jeopardize the money he has yet to collect for them.

Kurt doesn't answer.

He doesn't even look at him.

He works silently, his shoulders rigid, his footsteps heavy as he collects paintings Blaine forgot about, paintings that had made Blaine bristle because they were of places they had been to together, things they had made a point to see only with each other, but not a one included him. Those Kurt flips upside down.

He swipes a squeeze bottle of clear liquid from his army of supplies. It could be water. It could be paint thinner. Blaine doesn't know, but he's not certain he wants to find out. He's about to leap off his seat to stop him, but Kurt switches off the overhead lights, turns on the UVs, and Blaine stops. He watches in horror as Kurt douses the flipped canvases in fluid, but the paint doesn't run. Whatever is in that bottle, it sticks, but only in certain areas, and before it dries completely, Kurt dusts the paintings with a fine powder, one that brings hidden images to life beneath the lights.

“Oh my God,” Blaine mutters, stepping back to get a better look.

Every painting, in one way or another, is of him. Of them. And not just recently. There are images of them from college, high school... middle school. There are profiles of Blaine in the negative space between flowers of one painting, and in the clouds of another. A fluorescent image of teenaged him playing guitar to a silhouette of Kurt sitting beside him. There are shadows of them dancing, singing, even a daring one of them making love up against a wall.

And the flipped landscapes? Their vacation pictures, as it were? The glowing dust reveals portraits hiding in plain sight, painted upside down and invisible to the naked eye. All of these images, Kurt painted in ways where no one would detect them if they weren't looking for them. If they didn't know they were there.

And they are in every. single. one.

Now that he's seen this, it's safe to assume all of Kurt's works carry similar Easter eggs, even paintings long gone.

"Why... why didn't you tell me about this?" Blaine asks, too stuck on stupid to move, walk from painting to painting and examine them properly.

"Why did I need to? I love you. I've told you. What else did I need to prove?"

Blaine shakes his head slowly, ashamed of himself. What an imbecile he is! Kurt is absolutely right. He loves him! He didn't need to prove it! The hurt Blaine felt - that was on him. It wasn't Kurt's responsibility to fix it. There isn't a day that goes by where Kurt doesn't show his love to Blaine in one way or another. Blaine didn't need this. He really didn't.

And right now, he doesn't feel he deserves it.

On a side note, how wrapped up in his own crap has he been that here, in this space that they share, where proximity has forced Kurt to memorize every song Blaine has been writing for his latest album while he paints, that he never realized just how frickin' talented his boyfriend is!?

"Kurt... " Blaine finally finds the strength to take a step forward, drawn to that ghostly image of them making love. It's a simple shadow of the moment, but it evokes a powerful memory "... these are incredible. How did you... ?" Blaine expects an answer before he can finish. Kurt is rarely shy about discussing his work.

Though Blaine should use this opening to his advantage - apologize since those should have been the first words out of his mouth.

But he gets nothing.

"Kurt?" Blaine looks over his shoulder in search of his boyfriend, ready to make amends.

But Kurt is gone.

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine #blangst

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thatsamericano · 4 years ago

Text

In Gin and Whiskey, There is Truth

Pairing/Characters: America/Romano, brief appearance of Lithuania at the beginning.

Ratings/Warnings: Teen. Mentions/implications of sexual activity, alcohol use, discussions of the consent issues surrounding hooking up while one person is more drunk than the other (though nothing remotely non-consensual happens in this story).

Word Count: 2524

Summary: America has too much to drink at the speakeasy, and he’s more honest and forward with Romano than he would normally be. Romano, who’s been harboring a crush on his idiot housemate for a while, tries to avoid taking advantage of America while he’s drunk.

Notes: Written for @hetaliancupid-hetaliaevent Day 4 prompt “What was the mistake? The alcohol or us?”. Title adapted from the Latin saying “In Vino Veritas.”

America wasn’t as old as Romano or Lithuania, and he probably hadn’t been exposed to alcohol as much in the course of his relatively short life as a nation. That was why, despite being taller and bigger than both of them, he was much more drunk from the evening they’d spent at the speakeasy than either of his housemates. While Tolys and Savino were merely tipsy, Alfred was absolutely blotto.

America needed help from both of them to get back home, so Lithuania and Romano were on either side of him. His arms fell heavy across both of their shoulders, but his swaying steps tended to lean a little more to the right, so he ended up pressing against Savino a few times. At one point, Alfred even tipped his head down, nuzzled into the top of Savino’s hair, and told him that his hair smelled amazing. Savino called him an idiot and tried to ignore the heat creeping up his neck, and he also ignored Tolys’s chuckles at his expense.

Lithuania used his key to get into the house, and then they both helped a very intoxicated America climb up the staircase. It was a risky proposition, but they went slowly, and they managed to successfully navigate the staircase and only stumbled a couple of times.

Tolys’s bedroom was closer to the end of the hallway, so he slipped out from under Alfred’s arm and walked over to his bedroom door. America slumped into his side, and Romano grimaced at him.

“You’re way too fucking heavy for me to keep upright like this, idiota.”

“Mmm, sorry Vinny. But you’re real, real comfortable.” The arm that had been around his shoulders moved down to loosely embrace his waist, and Romano practically had a heart attack.

“Are you guys going to be okay on your own?” Tolys asked. His voice sounded concerned, and his face was drawn into a worried little frown.

“I can handle Al,” Savino assured him. “Go ahead and get some sleep.”

Lithuania nodded and entered his room, shutting the door behind him. America turned his head to smile at Romano with something he might have interpreted as lust if the idiot hadn’t been so wasted.

“So, we’re alone now.”

Savino narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you trying to say, bastardo?”

“Nothing bad.” Alfred giggled. “Well, maybe a little bad. I like being alone with you. I’ve wanted to be alone with you for a long, long time, honey.”

Romano swallowed heavily at the endearment, even though he knew it probably didn’t mean anything. America’s Southern accent tended to come out more when he was tired, and he was probably exhausted from all the drinks he’d consumed earlier. “That’s, umm…”

“I think you’re the bee’s knees.” Alfred squeezed his waist, and warning sirens went off in Savino’s head. “The things I’ve thought about doing with you, well… let’s just say they’d make a petting party look like a Sunday church gathering by comparison.”

Savino coughed and began to shuffle them down the hallway. “Let’s just get you back to your bedroom, okay?” He’d heard about those “petting parties,” and the last thing he needed was to imagine doing anything with Alfred that could make them seem as innocuous as church services. That was way too fucking distracting, and it’s not like he could act on any of those thoughts, especially not right now. America was so drunk that he was saying things he didn’t mean and would certainly regret in the morning, once the gin and whiskey wore off.

Alfred nodded and walked in step with him. “Makes sense. It would be a little odd to do that in the hallway right outside Lithuania’s bedroom.” America started laughing loudly at the idea, which was apparently hilarious to him.

Romano scowled. “That’s not what I meant, dipshit.”

Unfortunately, he must have said that too quietly for his drunken idiot of a friend to hear him. Because as soon as Romano opened the door, America eagerly pulled him inside and slammed the door shut with one hand. Before he could even get a syllable out to ask Alfred what the hell he was doing, Alfred pinned him up against the wall and proceeded to kiss the living daylights out of him.

Savino should have instantly pushed Alfred away, but he didn’t. Because Alfred may have unceremoniously shoved his tongue in his mouth without warning, but he was a damn good kisser. Even his alcohol-soaked breath didn’t make Savino recoil, because he had been repressing the desire to kiss Alfred for years now, ever since that dumbass had taken the time to break down Savino’s walls and tried his best to help him feel useful and capable at a time when he really needed that. Once Romano had let America be his friend, wanting him as something more than a friend didn’t take very long.

So instead of shoving Alfred away as he should have, Savino let Alfred kiss him and whimpered pathetically into his mouth. His hands fisted the fabric of America’s suit jacket, but they unconsciously drew America closer instead of pushing him away.

It was only when America pressed his thigh in between Romano’s legs, way, way too close to his crotch, that Romano snapped back to his senses. He pushed Alfred away from him, and America stumbled backwards. America stared at him with a dazed expression, and his lips were parted in a way that probably wasn’t meant to be seductive, but still incredibly frustrating. Romano felt a turbulent cocktail of emotions, and they all came out as anger.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, asshole?!”

America looked hurt. “I thought… when you said you’d take me back to my bedroom…”

“I meant I was taking you back here to sleep. Did you really think I was gonna have sex with you?! Why is that the only thing you can think about?!”

“It isn’t the only thing I can think about!” America was yelling, but there were tears in his eyes, and he sounded more heartbroken than angry. Romano felt like a shit heel. “But I really like you, and for a minute there I thought you liked me too! If I’d known how much you’d hate kissing me, I would’ve never tried to do that!”

Romano softened towards him. “I never said I hated it, Fredo.” In fact, he’d enjoyed kissing Alfred a lot more than he should have. But it didn’t matter how much Savino liked kissing him. It would be wrong to take advantage of Alfred when he was too drunk to think clearly and make decisions based on what he actually wanted.

America sniffled. “You didn’t have to say it. You made your feelings really, really clear. I’m not as dumb as you think I am.” He sat down on the edge of his bed, clasped his hands together, and bent his head like he was struggling not to cry.

Romano sighed and walked over to the bed to sit down next to him. “I know I call you an idiota sometimes, but I don’t mean that as a real insult. I don’t think you’re dumb, and I’m sorry I ever gave you that impression.”

“That’s not it. It’s just… I’m pretty young compared to you, and it’s not like I know what I’m doing when it comes to sex and all that stuff. I’ve never even done it with anybody before.”

Romano could feel himself blushing at the turn this conversation had taken. “If you’re a virgin, then why the hell were you so eager to have sex with me?”

“Because I like you. And not just ‘cause you’re gorgeous, though that’s definitely part of it. I think you’re funny, and smart, and way more talented than you give yourself credit for. And you’re one of my best friends. You mean so much to me, Savi.”

Savino still had his doubts. “You’re not just saying this because you’re wasted?”

America shook his head. “Nah. I just didn’t say it before ‘cause I was pretty sure you didn’t feel the same way, and I didn’t want to make things awkward between us.” He laughed hollowly. “Guess I’ve screwed that up, huh?”

Savino reached over to place his hand on top of Alfred’s. “It’s not your fault, caro. I wasn’t exactly being clear myself.” He paused, internally wrestling with his conscience, and then he decided to come clean to Alfred. “I don’t mind the idea of sleeping with you, and I did like kissing you. But I don’t want to hurt you by taking advantage of you when you’re like this. It wouldn’t be right.”

“But if I hadn’t been drinking?”

Romano squeezed his eyes shut. “If you hadn’t been drinking, I wouldn’t have stopped you, and it could’ve gone a lot further than kissing. I like you too, Alfredo.”

Alfred laughed, and when Savino opened his eyes, he could see his bright, stupidly beautiful grin. It didn’t seem like America would be crying any time soon. “I’m so happy right now. I thought for sure you were gonna hate me forever.”

“Well, I don’t.” Hating Alfred was the last thing on his mind.

Alfred bit his lower lip and glanced away from him. “I know you don’t want to do stuff with me when I’m drunk, but how do you feel about spending the night with me?”

“Spending the night with you?” Romano asked. He couldn’t believe the words he was hearing.

“Like sleeping in the same bed, with maybe some cuddling. Not that I don’t want to do other stuff, but to be honest, I’m too tired anyway.” Alfred yawned, which aptly demonstrated his point.

Romano rolled his eyes. “Won’t you freak out in the morning when I wake up in bed with you and you can’t remember why?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll probably just think I’m dreaming about you. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before.”

Romano sighed. “Alright. I’ll sleep in the same bed with you. But I’m only taking off my shoes.”

“Oh, yeah. I should probably do that too.”

Savino bent down to remove his shoes, and Alfred managed to kick his off without assistance. After shrugging off his suit jacket, Savino laid down on Alfred’s bed and stared up at him. Alfred quickly got out of his suit jacket and placed his glasses on the night stand. As soon as he laid down, America pulled him into a tight hug, and Romano chuckled into his shoulder.

“I didn’t know you’d be this clingy.”

Alfred dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “I just really like holding you, Vinny.”

“I like being held,” Savino admitted quietly. “At least when it’s you.” Normally, he would be reluctant to admit to feeling something so sappy, but he was safe here with Alfred. He relaxed enough to let his eyes drift closed.

“Well, good night, I guess. Love you.” Alfred took a deep breath, and then he began snoring lightly. He must have gone to sleep immediately after saying good night.

Romano hesitantly peeked his eyes open, and sure enough, America’s eyes were closed. Romano smiled to himself and closed his eyes too.

“Ti amo, Alfredo.” Within a couple of minutes, he dozed off in Alfred’s arms.

The next morning, Romano woke up in a different position. Apparently, they had shifted around in their sleep, and America was now spooning him. Somehow, America was still holding onto him just as tightly as he had when he’d fallen asleep the night before. Even moving around in the middle of the night couldn’t keep Alfred from snuggling him.

Alfred groaned from behind him. “Ugh, my head. Did I clear out the entire speakeasy’s bar last night?”

Savino snorted. “Hardly. You’re just a lightweight.”

“Vinny? What are you doing here?”

Alfred let go of him, and Savino shifted around to face him. But he seemed more confused than panicky. “I’m probably dreaming, right? I should check.” America pinched his arm and frowned afterwards. “Huh, that’s weird. It actually hurt.”

Romano smiled at him uneasily. “How much do you remember about last night?”

Alfred squinted at him. “Uhh, I’m pretty sure I tried to kiss you, and then you yelled at me. I’m not sure how that led to me waking up in the same bed with you.”

“I told you I had feelings for you too, but I didn’t want to take advantage of you while you were drunk. We didn’t have sex, but you did ask me to spend the night with you. All we did was cuddle, after you promised me you wouldn’t freak out when I woke up in the same bed with you. You’re not freaking out right now, are you?”

Alfred shook his head. “Nah, just kinda surprised.” He grinned. “Wait, did you just say you have feelings for me?”

“I… I think I might love you.” God, it was so nerve-wracking to tell America that while he was awake and sober.

“You’re so adorable when you blush like that! I love you too!” He started to lean in, and then he stopped about an inch away from Savino’s mouth. “Wait, are you cool with me kissing you when I’ve got morning breath?”

Savino cupped the back of Alfred’s neck and kissed him. He wrinkled his nose a little at both his and America’s morning breath, which wasn’t ideal, but at this point, Romano really didn’t care about stupid things like that. He kissed America just as thoroughly as he had been kissed yesterday, and when he pulled away, America looked absolutely wrecked by the kiss, which was a flattering and wonderful thing to see.

Alfred licked his lips. His voice came out gravelly. “You know, if you’re… uh, worried about taking advantage of me, I’m pretty sure I’m not drunk anymore. Just hungover. So if you wanted to, we could…” He trailed off, gaze going towards the bed.

Savino swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Are you sure? I mean, if you’re hungover, wouldn’t you rather have coffee? A shower?”

America smiled, and a blush spread down over his face down to the collar of his shirt. It might have gone down further, but at the moment, Romano couldn’t see.

“If I did take a shower, I don’t see why you couldn’t join me.”

While Romano was struggling to respond (because after what Alfred had said, he was struggling to breathe, damn it), America casually got out of the bed and started walking towards his adjoining bathroom suite. He began removing his shirt on the way, and Savino came to his senses and scrambled out of the bed and followed after Alfred.

If America didn’t see any reason why he should shower alone, then Romano didn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t join him. He had avoided taking advantage of Alfred when he was intoxicated because he tried to be a decent human being, but he wasn’t going to pass up America handing him an opportunity like this on a silver platter. Alfred smirked at him over his shoulder, and Savino knew he had made the right decision.

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lindorthedragonslayer · 5 years ago

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Aerith/Cloud’s Resolution Scene ✨

Normally, I like just reading other people’s thoughts on things, but since this scene, and Aerith herself are so tragically underappreciated, I decided to contribute to the conversation myself. :)

Warning: “there will be monsters.” (I.e. there will obviously be spoilers for FFVII Remake, but also the original game - based on my vague childhood memories of it, anyhow - Advent Children, and defs some Clerith bias shining through, so if that ain’t your cup of tea, please scroll away~)

This scene was one of my absolute FAVOURITES in the remake because - on top of it being both visually, and musically stunning, as well as amazingly well-acted - I felt like it showcased Aerith, and Cloud’s characters, and their dynamic SO incredibly well.

⁑ On Aerith ⁑

First, there’s Aerith. At the start of the scene, Aerith is her usual spirited self. When Cloud asks if she’s okay, she immediately reassures him, telling him that being back at Shinra was like “going back to [her] childhood home,” that it wasn’t "that bad,” even though that was far from the truth. Similarly when Cloud informs her that her “mom’s really worried, too,” Aerith, true to form, latches onto the chance to further lighten up the mood by teasing him about the unsaid sentiment that he was also worried about her (although this unexpectedly backfires on her).

Time, and again, it is implied that Remake!Aerith knows details that she shouldn’t, and the outcome of events that haven’t transpired yet (maybe the Whispers showed her glimpses of the future like they did with Cloud, and co.?). So, I believe that it is her awareness of her tragic fate paired with her own grief over suddenly losing her mom, Zack - and now Elmyra, and her home, too - that prompts her to deliver her hauntingly beautiful speech about cherishing the present moment, to express her heartfelt gratitude to Cloud for all the happiness he’d given her, and to say her iconic “you can’t fall in love with me” line. She knows perfectly well how devastating it is to suddenly lose someone precious to you, so she tries to find a way to both prepare Cloud for that seeming inevitability, and also prevent him from getting too attached to her, and experiencing the same profound sense of loss she has because of her.

I think it’s so sad, yet beautiful how Aerith’s loneliness is at the very heart of so many of her words, and actions. Aerith is so spirited, and lively, so full of life, because, to her, the girl who suffered so many great, and sudden losses, each, and every moment is “so precious, and fleeting.” Because of her early childhood, she learned to find, and appreciate the little joys in life, and the good in the people around her - even, and especially when neither were immediately apparent. This sad, pure girl, who is so touched by people simply seeking her out to be with her, works so hard to ensure, and protect the happiness, and lives of those precious to her, even if it comes at the cost of her own.

⁑ On Cloud ⁑

Then, there’s Cloud. In this scene, Cloud refuses to go along with Aerith’s charade: he calls her out on her “childhood home” lie; ignoring her teasing tone, he sincerely admits to being worried about her; and, he listens attentively to what she does honestly say, encouraging her to continue speaking, even when she’s uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

For the very first time in the story, the seemingly aloof Cloud actually takes a firm stance on something, and even fights for it. When Aerith tells him “not to fall in love with [her],” that his feelings for her “[aren’t] real,” Cloud responds with, “Don’t I get a say in all this?” With this curt response, Cloud actually asserts himself for a change. Cloud, the boy who, up until now, never really bothered to correct anyone’s (often misguided) impressions of him, who repeatedly chose to drop matters, and distance himself instead. Who later has an identity crisis, and doubts whether, or not “Cloud Strife,” and all his thoughts, feelings, and memories are truly real, and his, and not something Sephiroth simply created. Right here, and now, for the very first time, Cloud interjects, gets annoyed, and stands up for himself when someone tries to decide how he feels, and keep him away.

And then, Cloud, the boy who coped with social rejection all this time by setting himself apart, reacts to Aerith’s attempt to push him away by taking a page from Aerith’s own book: he holds his ground, and further inserts himself into her life. “I’m coming for you.” This quiet, but firm resolution of his marks the beginning of Cloud’s journey to becoming the hero, and person he always wanted to be, I think. Previously, Cloud simply, and begrudgingly went with the flow: while he helped Avalanche, Jessie, T*fa, and Aerith (because “he’s a merc,” and, a good guy at heart), he never offered his own input on matters, and always yielded to their decisions, even if he wasn’t too keen on it himself. However, taking Aerith back from Shinra was so immensely important to him; it was a cause he decided to fight for all on his own, regardless, and in spite of everyone’s (Aerith, Elmyra, T*fa, Barret’s) contrary stances on the matter, and a cause that he gradually started calling all of the shots for. By the end of the mission, and game, the others actually look to Cloud for direction on what to do next, cementing his role as the leader of their ragtag group.

⁑ On Cloud & Aerith/Clerith ⁑

Now what I’ve always loved about Aerith, and Cloud’s relationship with each other is that - whether you see it romantically, or platonically - their connection is based on an easy friendship that brought both of them so much happiness, comfort, courage, and strength. Their bond with each other wasn’t built on any epic, world-shattering event that brought them together, but rather on a thousand quiet, little moments that they chose to share together.

For Aerith, who was weighed down by so much sorrow, and unwanted responsibility, Cloud was someone who gave her so much to smile, and fight for. With Cloud, she was able to just let loose, and really live: being with him allowed her to be her true cheeky, mischievous, and energetic self without any restraints; to adventure in, and be part of the outside world she longed for without fear. At the same time, Cloud inspired her to be a little more open, and vulnerable, as well as to face her Cetra heritage head on in order to save the Planet that he, and all her loved ones live on - two huge shifts for her as someone accustomed to hiding behind a smile, and turning away from trouble.

Likewise, for Cloud, Aerith was someone who both accepted him for exactly who he was, while also inspiring him to be better. When presented with Cloud’s cold, and distant SOLDIER facade, Aerith wasn’t deterred in the slightest; in fact, she became even more determined to stick by his side, and get him to open up to her. Through her relentless teasing, silly antics, and steadfast friendliness, Aerith quickly broke down many of the walls Cloud built around himself, encouraging him to just be himself without any pretenses. After meeting Aerith, Cloud was inspired to do so many things he previously scoffed at, like taking a break, and being more actively involved with others. In Aerith’s company, Cloud was happy, and showed that he did actually care in his own awkward, clumsy way. However, Aerith didn’t “fix” Cloud with her love, nor did she make herself the centre of his universe: she simply stubbornly stayed by his side, which encouraged him to really appreciate, and rely on the people around him, work through his issues himself, and even save the Planet.

All in all, I believe that Aerith, and Cloud’s resolution scene perfectly captured every aspect of their relationship together. As usual, they’re initially shown directly across from each other, gazes locked, but choosing to close the distance between them. It’s a quiet moment where nothing particularly major, or dramatic happens - even the music is quiet, and gets quieter still at its climax. Yet, there’s so much love evident in every little moment, and gesture they make: they inspire honesty in each other, give each other the motivation to face another day, and once again make their desire to be together for just a little bit longer so heartbreakingly obvious. Furthermore, Cloud’s later claims about being someone who cherishes everything, and being okay because he isn’t alone anymore are so reminiscent, I think, of Aerith’s monologue here, proving that he really did take her words to heart.

Despite the game’s purposeful ambiguity in the romance department (lest they make multiple version of the same scene, or have Cloud come off as a player), it is still clear that, as friends, or lovers (this part is up to personal interpretation, and preferences), Cloud, and Aerith’s bond with one another is one that brought them so much happiness, and strength, making it one of the most precious ones they have. In a game that heavily highlights contrasts, Cloud, and Aerith are an example of how opposite personalities can complement each other so well, making it all the more beautiful, and tragic. That’s what I believe, anyway.

#final fantasy vii #aerith gainsborough #cloud strife #clerith #ffviir spoilers #games #text #blahblahblah #THIS IS SO NERDY OF ME TO WRITE A LITERAL ESSAY ON THEM #BUT I WAS INITIALLY REALLY EXCITED TO HEAR PEOPLE FANGIRL ABOUT AERITH + CLERITH #SINCE WHEN I WAS SMOL I DIDN'T GET TO EXPERIENCE THAT #AND IMAGINE MY DISAPPOINTMENT TO FIND THAT THERE'S SO LITTLE APPRECIATION FOR EITHER #TT^TT #I JUST LOVE THEM BOTH SO MUCH #AND THEY DESERVE EVERY HAPPINESS #AND EVEN THOUGH EVERYONE'S ENTITLED TO THEIR OWN OPINIONS #PEOPLE NEED TO LOVE THEM TOO #anyhow thank you for listening to my ted talk LMAO #if anyone actually reads all of this i'll be SUPER DUPER impressed

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diveronarpg · 5 years ago

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Congratulations, CARA! You’ve been accepted for the role of HIPPOLYTA. Admin Julie: Cara, you’ve once again blown us away with your app. From your plots, to your para sample, to the reason why you were drawn towards Halcyon, everything about the woman we see here is incredibly human in a very gripping way -- and we know that’s not easy to pin down when it comes to Halcyon. It was a joy to read. The additional writing sample especially drew me in, and by the end of it, I was totally hooked. We’re thrilled to see you bring her to our dashboards once again, and we cannot wait for you to put what you have planned for Hal into play on the dashboard. Set her loose! Go wild -- we’re watching with anticipation. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Cara

Age | 34

Preferred Pronouns | She, Her

Activity Level | Please describe how active you think you’ll be in a few sentences. - I’m able to get online everyday and do replies. Depending on how many and the length, I can write one to three replies perday. I do have a busy schedule during the weekend, so these would be my less active days.

Timezone | EST

How did you find the rp? | I’ve been aware of it since it’s first run and was happy to see it back last year. I’ve been checking in often, waiting for the right moment to apply. And now, after being inactive, I’m back.

Current/Past RP Accounts |

https://ofhippclyta.tumblr.com/

https://laraxrutherford.tumblr.com

https://theninalowell.tumblr.com/

IN CHARACTER

Character | Hippolyta, Halcyon Santos

What drew you to this character? | I’ve been eyeing Diverona since it opened and the character I always come back to is Hippolyta.

To say she’s resilient would be an understatement. There’s something amazing in her, in a woman who falls from grace like her, someone who had everything and still defied the odds and wanted her own path. Her label being the Phoenix is only proof of that. Halcyon is a woman who sacrificed a lot to the idea that others had of herself, who she was or should be. Being good of heart, like she once was, doesn’t make it less a sacrifice. Halcyon existed for others only for a long time, something that she didn’t challenge. Her purpose served others until her time came.

The strength she showed since Cosimo came after her is not something she showed before. Not in such a raw way. It was one of the most determining moments of her life, when she asked to be taken to him, and it was her first taste of another kind of power. She didn’t accept death because there’s something stronger inside of her, a will to live on her own terms. She had nothing left to lose, she had been betrayed by everyone she ever loved and trusted. She saw an opportunity and took it, something that is very interesting to her. She has the ability to see steps ahead, of being able to size her opponents the minute she sees them. It’s something that most likely comes from all her years of sitting quiet, of observing the world around her without making a move.

Halcyon is a complex person, with two sides. She is kind, something that hasn’t changed in all those years, surprisingly. Her kindness is mostly shown through her work for the Church. Halcyon always had a want and a need to help those who were less fortunate than she and she’s still doing it. But that kindness has hardened over the years. Halcyon has been holding her breath for so long, that when her husband died and she knew the Capulet would come for her, in a way, she started to breathe again. His death was the final push she needed to let go of the life she lived and to forge a new one.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

Rising higher. Halcyon is ambitious, there’s no denying. She is deeply loyal to Cosimo and Vivianne but what about the others? How far will her ambition take her? I would like to have her be confronted with the opportunity to do something, maybe double-cross one of her own, in order to rise higher. Or even be faced with the choice of choosing between Vivianne and herself. Because as much as Halcyon isn’t selfish, how far would she go, in terms of sacrificing herself? Her loyalty to Cosimo is strong but weaker than the one to herself. Breaking away from the Capulets wouldn’t be easy, if even doable, but if her life was at stake,, or if Cosimo betrayed something she strongly believed in, she would try to keep her head high and rise from the ashes of that betrayal, one again.

The ties that bind. When it comes to Halcyon, blood doesn’t run deeper than water. At least not anymore. Her parents caused her too much pain. But could she go as far as hurting them? Halcyon cares deeply about Verona, but what if her parents stood in her way? She never fully let the darkness and ugliness stain her, but would going as far as to cast out her own blood be the thing to push her over the edge? Killing for others is easy, but killing for oneself is harder. In a moment of anger, Halcyon would be confronted with the ghosts of her past and seize that opportunity to completely severe her current life from her past life. Because there is a darkness inside of her, despite all her goodness, and having that balance tip when it comes to her parents specifically would be something that completely unleashed that darkness inside of her.

Greatness. I see Halcyon has still being adored, even if not as much as she used to be. Those who watched her fall and get up, more than once, might have even more faith in her. But I want that faith the people have in her, the symbol they made her be, to eventually fade, either because they turn their backs on her or because she did. Though I imagine if they knew what she was really up to, they would be the ones to cast her out. It would also test her faith, and that’s something I’d like to have happen to her, to wonder who or what she is without God.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes. Death is needed for this kind of group and while I adore Halcyon with all my heart, killing her would be a good plot. I would just like her to have been developed and written a bit before, so that her death could be more meaningful and that she would have her moment to shine.

IN-DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample: Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

SAMPLE I

It had been a strange request, to dye a wedding dress in red, but the Santos name held too much for the tailor to turn it down and the hush money helped too. “Why do you need two dresses?” her future husband had asked, his tone bored. It was an arranged wedding for him as well, and he hoped to gain a dutiful bride. He had been assured that it would be the case.

Halcyon and Callum had gone on a few very public dates, the wedding being regarded as the event of the year. The Santos and Pardi, united as one. Halcyon Pardi, the woman hated the sound of that. Where Celia had insisted they both keep their maiden name, Halcyon was expected to shed hers as soon as the vows would be pronounced. Nonetheless, she smiled on these outings, nodded when he talked and voiced the right opinions only when prompted. She knew that her life would be just like that and she wanted to feel Celia one last time, to feel passion before losing it forever. And so, she had Celia’s wedding dress dyed crimson, a sign of the fire that burned her and the blood her heart had bled.

“Everyone except me to have one for the wedding and another for the ceremony. A woman has to be trusted on these things dearest.” The words sounded sweet, they all did when they came out of her. But they tasted bitter to Halcyon, bile rising into her throat. They ached, every single one of them. They cut through the very fabric of her soul. And she bore them, like the children she would never give him, refused to give him. She was thankful for the pills she could take, until she wasn’t fertile anymore, so that she would never give this man and her parents what they hoped; an heir. Her two biggest rebellions, she thought as her finger ran through the fabric of the dress, now tucked away in her closet, never to be worn again. Celia was gone and she was now someone’s wife.

A voice was heard and Halcyon rushed into the master’s bathroom, avoiding the man she kissed every night. His voice sounded angry and she knew he was talking about them again, the Capulets. Her husband was greedy, money wasn’t enough, he wanted power. And the Capulets had the one thing he really wanted, Verona. Halcyon ran the bath’s water, creating a diversion. She played the almost empty headed wife so well, he often forgot she even had thoughts that weren’t his. Callum felt safe around her, too safe. Pressing her ear against the shut door, she could hear everything he was saying. He had been trying to buy the police department lately, thinking that if he had them in his pockets, the rest would follow easily. But they were not easy to bribe and he was going at it all wrong. He was playing a dangerous game, pretending to help Cosimo while working against him. He wanted to be mayor and he needed more than the few businessmen that stood in his corner.

Halcyon could see all this unfolding before him and the man still thought he was on top of everything. Every little mistake he made, she predicted, finding some sick joy in it, in watching him be a fool. She kept quiet and maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t expect her to be nothing else than an accessory, would she have helped him see what was coming. But with every day that passed, he kept asking why she wasn’t pregnant when it was all she had to do. He kept treating her as if she was failing at the only thing she was supposed to be good at, bearing children. She pretended to cry and despair as he badgered her about it. But that was her secret, at least one of the many she was starting to collect.

As she stood there, holding her breath so that not even that would make her miss a word, she could see too well the choices she had in front of her. If she talked, if she said it all, surely he would understand his mistakes and be able to stay alive. And wasn’t that her duty, as a wife, to help her husband? Hadn’t she vowed, in the Cathedral, to stand by his side, for better or worse? It was a holy bond and Halcyon respected the Church. But she knew her words had been empty then, they meant nothing if they weren’t spoken to the woman she loved. It was there, in their bathroom, that she was conscious, for the very first time, that she would let this man walk into his death. From the outside, it would look as if she had been passive in all this, not involved. But the reality was different, every moment she chose to stay quiet was bringing her one step closer to her freedom and she knew that.

Maybe one day she would understand that he had been her first kill, her first taste of the darkness that was buried inside herself. And years later, when Vivianne would suggest she infiltrated the police department, she would smile, knowing that she would succeed where a man failed.

SAMPLE II

A delicate flower, that’s what they had built her to be. They gave her poise and grace, told her she was the best and deserved the world. And in return, she smiled, nodded and extended her hand to those who needed it. She had walked among them, an angel, her light inspiring others. Never did Halcyon let it alter her, her heart remaining pure. She had loved, believed in it. Like an innocent girl, not yet the woman she was today, she was bound to wed. The fire that consumed her gave her strength, made her better. Halcyon was naive, she believed that everyone was like her, good, or at least, that those who raised her were as good as she saw them. She had been wrong, fooled by her faith. When her fire ended in ashes, she had to get up. She rose above herself with a burnt mark that would always follow her, a scar forever etched on her heart. Had it been a mistake, to nurse her broken heart and not turn the city upside down looking for her missing half?

No matter how deep the bullet lay, reality was ugly. The woman she loved could be bought. And by none other than her parents. It was with trembling hands, already feeling the blow in her heart, tears coming down, that she had taken the note that was left with the wedding dress. A soft finger ran over it, even when she couldn’t see the words anymore obscured by her vision. That’s when the light had gone out. There was rage that first night, something that she was ashamed of. She had sought out her confidante the next morning, feeling herself calmer in the hot air of the Cathedral. She was told that God had a plan for her and she believed it.

Halcyon draped herself in her sadness, coming out of it even more beautiful than before. Her failed engagement wasn’t a secret, the Santos’ were well-known in the city. And it wasn’t long before talk of another wedding ran through the streets.

“I can’t,” she cried many times. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“You’re marrying him. We gave our word.”

“Mama, please,” she appealed to her mother, the one who had nursed her, taken care of her.

“Listen to your father. He knows what’s best.” And Halcyon knew, she had left her mother’s womb for good.

“Stop being a child, Halcyon,” her father snapped. His final words on the subject.

She smiled the day of her wedding, she was gracious to the guest, she played her part. And she played it well. There had been too many tears, too much pleading that had lead to this moment. Her parents had as good as killed her the day they gave her hand away, sealed her faith in a magnificent ceremony, a funeral where she was dressed in white. It wasn’t the fact that she didn’t love him. It was the fact that they extinguished her light, put her in a cell and threw away the key. Halcyon didn’t exist, the shadow that walked this world instead was not her. And they didn’t care, for they all had what they wanted. Her parents gained more money and her husband gained the most beautiful woman in the city. A trophy, polished regularly, something that people took pride in, a simple object. Never did she let others see any of this. She was only his wife, but she was a good one, a dutiful one. Devoting herself to charities, the only thing she was allowed to do, and the halo on her head grew bigger. Little did they know, her hands would soon be bathed in crimson. When her husband was killed, the tears weren’t for him. They were for her, for finally being free from him and from her family.

Halcyon knew Cosimo’s men would come for her. Against everything, she hadn’t fled the city. Verona was her home and like a Queen, she would never leave it behind. Her blood would soil the city if needed, her pain and anguish visible for everyone. A martyr. She had left the door unlocked, knowing there was no need to try and protect herself. Cosimo was powerful and a locked door would not stop him or those who worked for him. Her back was to them when they came in as she looked at the city she called her own all her life. It would all be over soon. “Please,” she started. Make it quick. Her life flashed by, the faces of those she helped and of those who caused her pain. But what troubled her, even more, were the words she heard all her life. Fragile. Useless. Deviant. Wife. Martyr. Fiancée. Beautiful. Kind. Icon. Weak. One word was missing, one word had never been spoken to describe her. Determined. Never before had she felt such courage, or rather, had she been aware of it. “Take me to him.” The words were said as she turned to face them, an angel awaiting her death.

All her life, Halcyon had stood by, quiet, observing. The world unfolded in front of her and she watched it, in awe. Never before had she thought that all her observing would pay off for her, that being quiet would serve her. A presence quick to be forgotten, a pretty face deemed nothing more, the woman has listened. And learned. Until this moment, until her life hung in the balance, she never understood how precious that gift had been. It paid her in information. Her husband was dead, killed by the Capulets. And they thought, foolishly, that all of his secrets were buried with him. They had been wrong. Information was precious, the most powerful currency there was. Information would be her most powerful weapon. “There’s more he doesn’t know.” The words were a whisper as the woman slowly found her voice, the one that had been muffled all her life. She could be valuable, something she saw for the first time in her life. Every moment led her to this, right now, she could finally see it. They thought they had put her down for good, but she got up, stronger than ever. The shackles on her hands were gone.

SAMPLE III

It hadn’t been long, or so it felt like, since Vivianne was in the hospital and now it was Halcyon’s turn to be freshly out, or almost. The days following her release had been spent trying to patch the hemorrhage, a word that could be taken to its most literal meaning. The Capulets were bleeding despite all their physical wounds being, at last, and yet things still felt too fragile. The capitana could be seen at all hours at the headquarters, working relentlessly to find a way to make the Montagues pay double for their actions. Halcyon herself had come close to losing too much, with Theo laying unconscious in a hospital bed for days, a player so precious to the woman, she had been on edge. A short breath of relief had been exhaled when she learned to other had woken up, something she felt on more than one level, some form of friendship forming with the informant.

It was late at night and when everything had started to blur she silently made her way to her dear friend and underboss’ office. On a night like this, exhausted like she was, it was the comfort of the friend she was seeking and not the advice of the leader she blindly followed. “Posso entrare?” May I come in? Tired words that followed a soft knock on Vivianne’s door. Something in Halcyon’s voice had the woman looking up from the reading she was doing and beckoned her to the more private area of her office.

There had been whispers of the state the underboss had been in when she learned that Halcyon and not come back from the mission, something she had seen, in parts, herself when she was finally alone with the older woman. Halcyon had seen changes, subtle ones, in her mentor since she got out of the hospital as if a confidence she once paraded so easily was no longer so strong. Maybe the capitana was reading too much into all this, a trick her own emotions were playing on her. It was, after all, so small what she thought she saw. If only she was not looking at the other so often, maybe they would not be here tonight.

The two women shared a bond, everyone knew it, but it was not something that was openly discussed between the two. Halcyon would die for Vivianne, in a heartbeat. But the moments when they talked about how much the friendship meant were rare. Tonight, the younger one needed that, for herself, but she sensed also for the underboss. As they sat down, closer than usual, an action that was deliberate on her part, a soft sigh escaped her. “Too much has been on your mind.” It wasn’t a question, a simple fact that was uttered as big brown eyes searched the blues she dreamed of losing herself into.

It was a rare occurrence, a hand brushing the other, waiting to see if part of the skin she felt like she craved at times would shy away. When it did not, Halcyon’s hand became heavier, a gesture that was meant to let Vivianne know she was there. But suddenly, it did not seem enough. Amidst the chaos, this simple hand, one that would follow the other woman anywhere, felt too little. “Whatever it is, whatever you’re keeping, you are stronger than it.” Without thinking, something she would never do usually, Halcyon let go of the woman’s hand. Light fingers followed by warm palms went to the underboss’ visage. For a woman who could be ruthless, there was genuine care for those she cared about, many of whom had been targeted lately. “You won’t lose us. You won’t lose me.” They were so close and the touch felt like everything that could soothe Halcyon’s tired body and mind. But Halcyon did not dare allow herself to go further, to let the sudden flushing of her cheeks get what drove the blood there. She did not close the small, too small, space between their lips.

SAMPLE IV

Location: Halcyon’s house

Date: March 25th, 2019

Ever since the hospital, the Capulet forged a second layer around her, another armour that guarded her from the outside. The physical wounds were something she could take, another symbol of the war she was fighting. But the emotional ones were something she tried to shield herself from, marks that were carved too deeply into her soul. Wounds that followed her everywhere, even in her sleep. Days were long, the list of things that had to be done to contain the hemorrhage the Capulet had been cursed with in recent months and the woman always came home later than usual, long nights working at the Cathedral. Some nights she even prayed, the Faith that had been testing her for years never too far. The lights were not turned on as she walked into her penthouse, the dark soothing for the headache that had been building all day. Heels were carefully discarded, joining others that were in the entrance, forming a delicate line. Never would she dare say the words out loud, but there was loneliness lately in coming home to such an empty place, a longing for something more, something well beyond her reach. Her hand could extend, fingers grasping into thin air, and never would she reach what was missing.

The television was turned on, the channel already on Rai News24. It casted a glow in the living room and she went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, the background noise eased part of the storm inside of her. The Santos name was heard distantly just as the kettle started to boil, the whistle of it drowning the noise. Not that it mattered, her father’s business was often in the spotlight. The name barely registered, too preoccupied with the day she had, going over every little detail of everything that was said to her, trying to see if she had missed anything. Absent fingers were running along the edge of her tea cup as she walked back to the living, only then looking at the screen in front of her. Strangely enough, the news was still talking about her father. Breaking News were not words that were usually associated with any of his activities. The images did not make any sense, neither were the words. Was this really how Halcyon Santos was to learn of her father’s death? Not by her own mother but by the coldness of the television. The cup she was holding dropped to the floor, shattering in tiny fragments. Slowly walking closer to the object that was turning her world upside down, finger gently brushing a picture of her father that came with the segment. The woman crumbled on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Halcyon didn’t know if she was crying because her cage was finally broken for good or if it was because the man she once held so high would never be redeemed in her eyes, breaking her heart forever.

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

Headcanons

Training Halcyon was easy. Her years of ballet made her graceful and athletic. Hand- to- hand combat came easily to her, it was another form of dance. The woman surprised everyone by how easily and quickly it came to her and soon, she was able to best more experienced fighters.

She started at the bottom and rose rather quickly because of how determined and dedicated she is. Halcyon directed all her energy and emotions into the tasks that were given to her, breathing and living solely for the Capulets. She was running and quick-thinking, able to see many outcomes unfolding before her. Her charm and apparent sweetness fooled more than one and it played at her advantage.

Halcyon is still nursing her broken heart. Celia was the great love of her life, up until this point. She was a burning fire and Halcyon gave herself completely to her lover., The woman always knew she was attracted to other women. And to men at times, something that was very confusing for her Catholic soul. Never before Celia had she been so open and free with another person . It was Halcyon, timid and fair compared to her passionate lover, who proposed. The ring was exquisite and when Celia said yes, Halcyon thought she could never be happier. In the days and weeks leading to Celia’s departure Halcyon could feel something had changed. She thought it was the wedding’s excitement, as the day was nearing. But when she came home to an empty house and saw the dress, she knew. Her heart hasn’t mended since].

The first tasks she had when she joined the Capulets were easy enough. Her first kill wasn’t. It was a conflicting moment, one where her soul fought the two sides of her, the light and the darkness. Never before did she thought she would or could kill another. But when the moment came, it felt…easy. There was half a confession to Hugo, Halcyon talking of a great sin without naming it. But she found that once you committed something that seemed hard, the next times were easier, until it came almost naturally. There was a war to fight and she was now part of it.

#accepted: hippolyta #accepted

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artificialqueens · 6 years ago

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If Only You Could Ease My Mind (Branjie) - bitchimtiredpls

a/n I saw a prompt on here a few days ago about 5+1 kisses and just had to come back for Branjie. Its been a few years since I’ve written and that was mostly Rajila and under a different name. I just wanna give the biggest thank you to Cat aka PinkGrapeFruit for helping me edit and just being amazing (and also alcohol for helping me write haha) I was so intimidated because she is an incredible writer and such a nice person for offering to help me xx

The first time it happened was unexpected. All of the queens were hanging out in Brooke’s hotel room since everyone had decided that from that day whoever won the main challenge was to host a little celebration. Having just finished filming episode one, they were all happy and enjoying letting loose a little after the stress of the first days of the competition.

Brooke was ecstatic because he won the first challenge. This had cemented himself as someone not to underestimate or fuck with. Admittedly he hoped that the others would see that in him the moment he walked into the werkroom for the first time. The Canadian anthem playing throughout the massive pink studio space was just the cherry on top of his perfectly fitted, sparkly red blazer and thigh-high gold boots.

Vanjie was just as happy at not repeating last years nightmare, something that had haunted her since the moment she walked backwards off the runway nearly a year prior. She was worried when Ru revealed that the first episode was another design challenge, but took everything she had learned on the show (and throughout the past year) and applied it. She made sure to have a clearly defined silhouette, while also keeping her style within the confines of what Valentina’s designated box afforded

He hadn’t meant for anything to happen, but sitting there on the small balcony with the smell of cigarettes and Vanjie enveloping his senses - Brooke couldn’t help but lean in. Staring into the shorter man’s cinnamon coloured eyes, he didn’t close his own until his lips met Vanjies. It was a soft kiss, lasting only a few seconds before he pulled away. However, those two seconds made enough of an impression that neither of them could stop thinking about it until the next time their lips met, only a couple days later. _______________________________

The second time he was a little more prepared. The queens were all gathered in Scarlet’s hotel room to celebrate the end of filming episode two. Raising up her glass, Silky paid tribute to Kahanna.

“Girl, she was fine as fuck and will be missed, but another bitch down and 12 more to go before I get my crown!”

All of the queens cackled at Silky’s ambitiousness (and thirst) over Kahanna. Each one of them gave a little bit of side-eye over her claim to win the competition.

After what happened at the last celebration, Brooke had made the decision to sit next to the petite Puerto-Rican but started to question himself as Vanjie got louder and louder the more she drank and the more excited she got. Once he realised that Silky was on the other side of Vanjie, Brooke really started to regret their seating arrangement. However, the moment that she put her much smaller hand on top of his, the regret dissipated immediately - leaving him content and able to stand the noise that the self-dubbed ‘Dream girls’ (consisting of Vanjie, Silky and A’Keria) were making.

As they all wound down and started to head back to their own rooms, Brooke decided to stop at Vanjies room. Fortunately, the younger queen was only a few doors down from his own room. Vanjie smiled at him, inviting him in with a roll of his eyes. Brushing his hand across her chest, Brooke walked into the hotel room and sat at the end of the queen sized bed that was situated in the middle of the floor. She noted that despite Vanjie’s prior fame and notoriety, she still got the same sized room as the rest of them.

Leaning down to tie his shoes (he noticed they had come undone on the short walk here), he heard the door close and the lock click into place. Glancing up, Brooke watched as Vanjie walked towards him. Her smile and heavy-lidded eyes promised more of the things to come. Smirking back, Brooke knew something was about to happen and couldn’t wait. He could feel the energy in the air like electricity, crackling all around them. One touch and there would be sparks flying. One kiss and their clothes went flying.

_______________________________

The third kiss wasn’t really their third kiss but going up to Vanjie in the middle of the workroom felt entirely natural to him. Like it was something he had been doing all his life. Something, he realised with a start - he wanted to do all of his life. If you asked him later on, this was the moment Brooke realised he wanted to be more than just a ‘summer fling’. Something he wanted to be real.

“Hey, Papi.” He said as he wrapped his athletic arms around the smaller queen, placing a quick little peck on Vanjies smooth lips. Brooke just couldn’t help himself. It was the looks they had been sharing all day, little winks and touches on the van to the studio. The way they sat at lunchtime when the shitty food was handed out and how they looked at each other whenever they passed in the werkroom. It all made him long to touch him properly, the way that they had the previous night.

Brooke could see that she was surprised at his actions and he wondered briefly if she had wanted to keep them on the down-low for a while. The sweet smile that followed their short embrace reassured him that he had made the right decision. A brief spark ran down his spine at the lingering touch they shared. The feeling recurred throughout the day with every glance and soft conversation between them.

All the queens in the werkroom looked over at them throughout the day. Giving each other little smirks and looks of interest at the new development. They still thought that no one had clocked their longer than normal glances, touches and intense conversations yet. Although neither of them had really tried or meant for anything to happen, it sort of just did. No one was mad at the development.

______________________________

As the weeks wore on and the remaining pool of queens grew smaller, both Brooke and Vanjie made an agreement. If one of them were to be eliminated the other would not be upset and would not lose focus on the competition. So when Vanjie was eliminated in fifth place, leaving Brooke alone in the top four, he tried hard to seem like he wouldn’t miss her. To be honest, though, it really hurt.

It felt like they were breaking up in a relationship that wasn’t even fully formed. For the single, painful week that they were apart. Brooke felt like a piece of himself was missing and he absolutely hated that he felt like this. He wondered if he was the only one or if Vanjie missed him just as much.

They hadn’t really even said a proper goodbye, she just left with whispered promises to see each other and long meaningful kisses. Filled with thoughts about the future. Whispers of dates and waking up to each other, laying in bed all day just to be up all night. Vacations and meeting each other’s pets, Vanjie with her dog and Brooke with his cats. Going to each other’s drag shows and exploring their cities with each other as tour guides showing hidden spots they found, finding new cafes and restaurants together. Just being together. No competitions, no hiding in hotel rooms, just them.

Brooke Lynn was surprised to see a small and familiar body waiting for him in the lobby of the hotel. Admittedly, looking back on it later he really shouldn’t have been so shocked. The kiss that followed their long overdue hug wasn’t something Brooke wanted to ever forget and he wouldn’t for the longest time.

The intensity overwhelmed him. Pulling her against his chest he sighed into it. He whispered her name softly as he tightened his grip against Vanjie’s arms, making her moan into him. His tongue made his way across her lips, the gentle motion making her gasp. He took advantage of her lips opening and moved to explore the softness of her mouth with his tongue. As he went to remove it, Vanjie caught his tongue between her teeth, gently nipping it before letting go. Pressing his lips hard against her mouth he tried to convey all his feelings from the past week and he hoped to hell that she could interpret the way he felt about her. The way he’d needed her for that week that was agonizingly too long.

Staying in LA a week longer than he needed to was an easy decision. Being with Vanjie made him happier than he had ever felt and before that week was over he knew he loved her. He loved the loud, brash, adorable and unapologetically herself, Vanessa Vanjie Mateo. _______________________________

Vanjie had no idea that one small kiss with a handsome Canadian on a balcony of some hotel in Los Angeles, would ever lead to this day.

As they met at the end of the aisle, underneath a massive arch of beautiful daisies, peonies and vines, Vanjie couldn’t keep his eyes off the man standing in front of him. At 6’3 to his own 5’9 Vanjie had to crane his neck to look into Brooke’s perfectly blue eyes. The older man leaned his own head down to look at him, seemingly staring right into his soul.

Staring up at the older blonde, he had never felt so content, so happy, so at home. He knew that no matter what happened, they would have each other forever. Thinking about this made Vanjie begin to tear up. He tried to look down at his shoes in semi-embarrassment but he felt strong hands cup his cheeks, tilting his head back up to look at his almost husband.

Seeing Brooke mouth the words ‘I love you’ made the tears come faster and by the time he repeated the words after the chaplain, a lump had formed in his throat. It made his already comically husky voice even harsher. Vanjie didn’t care though. Those two words were the only thing that he cared about that day.

“Brock Hayhoe, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do.”

“Jose Cancel, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do"

Standing on his toes to reach his husband, Vanjie couldn’t help the gigantic grin that crossed his face. As Brooke leaned down to kiss him, a smile graced his face, just as big. Just as full of love. Vanjie truly felt, that out of all their kisses throughout the years, all of their kisses since that simple, soft kiss that started it all and of all the kisses to come. - This kiss would be his favourite.

#rpdr fanfiction #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #branjie #fluff #bitchimtiredpls #concrit welcome #submission

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nightingaletrash · 6 years ago

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@eldritchscreech said: omg write the SCENE with the augurey sometime, please 😍😍😍

so as I always do, I ended up loosely interpreting the prompt and ended up with this XD it was fun though, I definitely need to do more writing for Evie and the Jensens in general ^^

When Adam got called out of the office, usually it was when he or one of his colleagues finally unearthed evidence that proved someone a supporter of the Dark Lord during the war, and he would go into make an arrest. Sometimes it was because a fellow Auror was having a tough time getting someone to talk to them and needed a little back up. Very occasionally it was an emergency that needed half the office to move in on an armed and dangerous suspect before they could do any harm.

But the Obliviators’ Office informing him of an incident involving muggles at his own home? That was a new one.

It was raining when he arrived. With a gentle pop, he apparated outside of the gate of the gravel road that led to the house itself, and was framed either side by fields, one that expanded out into the distance, and the other that was met at the fringes of the local woods - apparently where the incident had taken place.

He set up off the road, shrugging his coat a little further around him and sticking his hands into his pockets.

According to the Obliviator who had informed him about the incident, some muggles had come across his young daughter, Evie, and whatever they had seen had led to them calling the police. Kara had reached them first and alerted the Ministry, and the team had managed to contain the situation before things got out of hand. Not that it would soothe his nerves until he saw for himself that Evie was safe. Maybe it was the lingering effect the war had had on him, but he didn’t take him family’s safety lightly.

After rounding the corner, the house finally came into view and the front door soon opened. Kara was standing there in a wet raincoat and muddy boots, and looking far too amused for her own good. Adam raised a brow at her.

If she wasn’t looking worried then it wasn’t as serious as he had feared. And he was likely to get ribbed about it back at the office.

“What happened?” he sighed, finally stepped inside.

Almost immediately he was set upon by a pair of large red setters, both of whom started vying for his attention. They didn’t jump up, but instead stood as close to him as was physically possible and barked at the top of their lungs, tails wagging hard enough to upset the coat rack and nearly knock it over. Kara caught it as Adam hushed the dogs.

“I’ll let them explain,” she giggled mischievously, pulling out a pair of earplugs. “I need to get back to the Fwoopers. Their silencing charm is wearing off again.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, then stuck the plugs in her ears, pulled up her hood, and headed out into the rain.

Adam sighed and rolled his eyes. He was definitely going to get ribbed about this back at the office.

So he proceeded into the living room, the dogs at his heels, where a pair of Obliviators were waiting, and sitting on the sofa was Evie. With an augurey perched on her shoulder.

He raised a brow at the bird, which looked about as miserable and forlorn as any other augurey he’d seen. Which wasn’t many if he was being honest. But even he could see that it was perfectly comfortable where it was, occasionally preening at Evie’s hair and glancing around the room at the Obliviators, then Adam, then the dogs. It certainly didn’t seem to be in much distress.

“Ah, Mr Jensen,” said the closest of the two Obliviators. She extended a hand. “Delara Auzenne.”

He took it, shaking briefly before turning to Evie, who was unharmed. Albeit looking incredibly sheepish and like she’d much rather sink into the floor and never come back.

“Do I want to know what happened?” he asked dryly, raising a brow.

“Fortunately it’s nothing too serious, if that’s your concern,” said Auzenne, glancing quickly over a notepad. “A group of muggles were out for a walk when they reported a disturbance in the nearby woods to the local authorities. Apparently they heard the sound of a child screaming, accompanied by another sound they were unable to identify. They assumed that the child in question was under attack. When one member of the group attempted to intervene, he found your daughter and this augurey, apparently in the middle of… a conversation.”

The other Obliviator was biting down on a laugh in an attempt to remain professional, whilst Evie shrunk a little further back into the sofa as the augurey adjusted to the shift in position.

“Your wife was alerted to the situation and succeeded in detaining the muggle group before their police arrived, at which point the Ministry had also been alerted and we arrived to contain the situation. You’ll be pleased to hear that we’ve decided to let your daughter and the augurey off with a light warning, and the advisement that they not be left to ‘chat’ without proper supervision.”

“Of course. It won’t happen again.”

“If it does, Evie will be let off on account of her age.” Auzenne’s eyes then twinkled with amusement. “However we may have no choice but to detain the augurey.”

“Of course. And thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

Auzenne nodded and turned to her partner.

“I believe we’re done here.”

The Obliviator nodded and the pair disappeared out into the rain. Adam waited until they had disappeared up the road before turning to Evie. Now without their company, he smirked.

“So. They called the police on you?” he chuckled, moving to sit beside her on the side opposite from the augurey which was now eyeing him beadily. The dogs laid at his feet, heads resting on their paws.

“I didn’t know they were there,” she protested meekly. “It was just a bit of fun.”

“It probably sounded like bloody murder. I’d be more concerned if they heard that racket and did nothing.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Does he have a name?”

“She doesn’t, no,” Evie huffed.

“Sorry. Have you thought of one for her yet?”

Evie shrugged.

For a few seconds there was uncomfortable silence. The kind that usually meant she had something she wanted to say but was working up the nerve to do so. So Adam waited for her to speak. When she finally turned to face him, she just asked, “am I in trouble, dad?”

He raised a brow.

“I thought the Obliviators let you off just now. Or are you worried they’ll change their minds and arrest you?”

“No!” Her brow furrowed. “But you came back from work early. You only do that if something bad happens, like when Dumbledore sends letters because Jacob’s in trouble, or before You Know Who died.”

That was enough to make him flinch, even if only a little. He’d not realised that in Evie’s mind his coming home early meant that something had gone seriously wrong. But then he’d only just heard why the Obliviators were dealing with a situation at his home and prior to that he’d been assuming the worst. In hindsight, it wasn’t an unfair assumption for her to be making. So he softened and wrapped an arm around her back, mindful of the augurey’s tail feathers.

“I came back early because someone from the Obliviators’ Office told me something had happened. I just wanted to make sure you and your mum were okay, that’s all,” he explained, squeezing gently.

“And the creatures?”

“Yes, Evie. And the creatures,” he chuckled. Then he looked over at the augurey again who was still watching him with those baleful eyes. “Though I suppose this one’s in a little more trouble than most. Not even the nifflers have gotten a visit from the Ministry before, and you know what they’re like.”

“They’d be the first ever to break out of Azkaban if they got caught, so the Ministry doesn’t bother telling you to arrest them,” she giggled as she reached up to pet the augurey who made a low, thrumming sound in its throat that could be its equivalent to a purr, he supposed.

There were a few more seconds of silence, not at all uncomfortable like the first, before Evie said, “so… can I keep her?”

At that he outright laughed and shook his head. Not to say no, but out of amusement

“Ask your mother,” was all he said.

#nightingale writes #hphm #evie jensen #adam jensen #dadam jensen

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smokeybrand · 4 years ago

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Smokey brand Movie Reviews: Well, Sh*t, Diana

I’m not a fan of the DCEU. I think they make capeflicks the wrong way. Sure, i absolutely understand there is artistic merit in he creation process and i do love a different interpretation of a character but there are certain elements that absolutely have to hit in order to make your version of the character, true to the core character. Spider-Man is a geek, Iron Man is an arrogant asshole with a heart of gold, and cap is a roided out boy scout. Unless the character has some nebulous history, like Donna Troy or Captain Marvel, the blue print for creating the characters is right there. Someone needs to be in charge to make sure you follow the plan. someone needs to be the one to reel you in when you stray too far from what’s been established before you go from Batman to Rorschach I know it sounds like i don’t like DC but that’s not true. I love them. Not as much as Marvel but i still dig their stories. Mostly. Hell, The Dark Knight is one of my all-time favorite films. I’m not saying they need to be as good as that but at least give me recognizable version of the characters, especially when there are excellent adaptions like this out there for comparison. Just because you CALL your movie a Superman movie, doesn’t mean it IS a Superman movie, ya dig? With that in mind, here’s hat i thought of Wonder Woman 1984.

The Good

Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman hits it out of the ark. This is the best I've ever seen her act in her short career. Look, i know she’s been doing it for a while now, but it's be honest; Wonder Woman is literally the strongest role she’s had to date. The emotional complexity of Diana Prince is easily the most nuanced character Gadot has ever played to this point and it took a while for her to really nail that as a reality. WW84 really demonstrates how Gadot has finally found a happy medium between her acting ability and the strengths of the character. I was a little sus when she was cast originally but immediately got on board when it turned out that she as the best thing about BvS. Since then, shes continued to grow with the character and seeing the ultimate version of her interpretation was a joy to watch.

Chris Pine as Steve Trevor was Chris Pine. Look, he’s great at his job. Dude knows his range and he stays in that lane perfectly. This makes his characters kind of same-t, you’d be hard-pressed to tell me the difference between Trevor and his version of Kirk, but I'm not mad either way. It’s always a delight seeing he show up to steal a few scenes then disappearing before overstaying his welcome.

I legitimately love the chemistry between Gadot and Pine. They are great together onscreen and it really lends a bit of authenticity to their relationship in the film. The way Trevor returns is wonky as f*ck and I'll get into that in a minute, but it was good to see him up there with Diana, for sure.

Pedro Pascal as this version of Maxwell Lord was pretty okay. I generally enjoy Pascal’s work, specifically on The Mandalorian and GoT, and he executes here to that inspired degree. He does an able job being a different kind of foil to Diana’s different kind of hero and it all works. Even if this version of the character does not.

Kristen Wiig’s Barbara Minerva was delightful. Look, i love Wiig, man. She’s great in everything she’s in. There is a charisma to her that only the very best SNL alumni can claim to have and it makes it really difficult not to root for Wiig in her projects. I mean, i paid money to see her version of Ghostbusters! Legit disappointed with that nonsense but i went because i like Wiig and she was the star. I was not disappointed in her performance as Minerva. No, she was exceptional as that character. I was, however, put off by her version of Cheetah but I'll get to that, too...

This movie is gorgeous. I’m an Eighties baby so seeing that whole aesthetic is always fun. Takes me back to when i was young. Part of the reason i love Stranger Things is because of that nostalgia. WW84 doesn’t execute as thoroughly as that show in their Reagan era retro run, but it’s serviceable. Big hair, big shoulders, big colors; It’s all there and it’s fantastic.

The effects are a little hit or miss but, overall, they’re okay. Certain aspects of this film’s super abilities, that fantastical sh*t which makes this a capeflick, could have been visualized better but i get why they weren’t. Most of my gripes with this type of stuff are nitpicks and you get over them pretty quickly. Most, not all.

Patty Jenkins is getting more and more comfortable behind the camera in films like this. The action in WW84 is much more detailed, much better shot, than in it’s predecessor. Free from Snyder’s grimdark influence, we have a relatively bright, relatively light, take on Wondy akin to the old camp from the Seventies show and i kind of dig it. It’ a choice and i commend Jenkins for making it.

The score is great. I mean, it’s Hans Zimmer, man. When does he ever drop the ball on sh*t like this? His score is actually incredibly important to this flick. There’s not a lot of action in it, thing is almost a character study or morality parable dressed up as a capeflick, so you need that extra impact to get you over the expository hump. Simmer delivers this with a delicate and powerful companion soundtrack. One could make the argument that this score is the best thing about Wonder Woman 84. I’m not, but one could.

The Monkey's Paw effect was executed pretty well in this flick. I was surprised by the level of escalation and how it all kind of made sense. I'd say that the writing was great because of that but it really isn't, just this one aspect.

That Lynda Carter cameo, tho.

The Bad

I hate this plot so much, man. The overall narrative is goddamn convoluted and a little inept. The primary conflict seems incredibly forced and the absolute hurdles this thing had to do in order to shoehorn Trevor back into the story is f*cking disappointing. It’s effectively Heaven Can Wait with Amazons, magic wishes, furry nudity, and Eighties excess. This sounds like a dope ass anime but it’s not. It’s a wonky, uneven, adequate time spent with contrived nonsense.

This is easily some of the weakest dialogue I've ever heard in my life. I cannot stress enough that I absolutely understand this is a capeflick so I'm not expecting Shakespeare but at least give me something better than this.

I hate this version of Maxwell Lord. Look, in the book, this dude was evil Batman. He bested the entire Justice league, every last one of them, with his sheer brilliance and terrifying capability. He achieved absolute victory over DC’s heroes prompting Diana to literally break his neck to rob him of his triumph. It’s wild to see. She actually thinks about it. Wonder Woman pauses, contemplates her options, and them murders Lord in cold blood, in front of Superman, and just walks away from dude’s corpse! It was brutal and understand. Maxwell Lord was a f*cking problem and he was only going to get worse. WW84′s version is not a problem and could have been much, much, better.

Full-blown Cheetah is gross looking. The effects for her wholly CG body are f*cking terrible, man. Obviously, they frame this “fight” at night to hide all of that but it’s still really, really, bad. I understand that there’s a budget that you have to hit but, f*ck, you couldn’t give me Rebirth version of Cheetah with two hundred million dollars? Word? I shouldn’t be surprised about this, all of the DCEU CG villains look like sh*t, but how hard is it to execute Cheetah properly? The Mortal Kombat guys did it for a game but you can’t do it for a movie? Really?

This feels like a throwback capeflick and i have a real issue with that. Of course, i like the old versions of superhero movies. Donner’s Superman and Burton’s Batman will always mean a great deal to me but we are beyond that now. We have a better understanding of how to do this now. It’s a legitimate film genre with prestige pieces and everything. Why the f*ck are we looking back instead of forward with this movie? I imagine the cartoonish nature of this movie was a conscious choice by Jenkins but it definitely feels like a miscalculation on her part.

There are a great many plot holes and loose threads left unexplored. Why didn't Barbara lose her powers when Maxwell lost his? That convoy really didn't see them f*cking kids in the road? How and why did she go full Cheetah for that matter? Why does Steve look like himself to Diana when he doesn't even look like himself to himself? How the f*ck did Barbara just walk into the whole ass White House like that? While on the the subject of Barbara, what the f*ck was the cost of her wish? Was the the Cheetah thing? None of that was very clear. Will Stagg get out of prison for the tax fraud thing in the beginning? I get that I shouldn't b e analyzing this movie to the extent that I am but it's so loose with its own internal logic, I can't help it.

Two and a half hours is a real big ask, man. This flick did not need this run time. You could easily trim thirty to forty minutes off this thing and still have a really compelling watch. As it is, there's too much time for the pacing to get dumb and, boy, does it get dumb.

The Verdict

Wonder Woman 1984 isn’t a Wondy flick. It’s a generic superhero vehicle that happens to have Diana slotted in the pole position. You could have put any character and their main love interest in these roles and it would have worked out fine with little to no tweaking. This sequel feels uninspired in a lot of ways. It’s completely devoid of the emotional weight that first run carried. I can’t say it’s terrible, though, because i know what else is in the catalog to this point. WW84 is still one of the best in the DCEU and that says way more about the franchise than it does this flick. It’s not all bad, however. I did enjoy Gadot as Wondy. She’s come a long way and you can see just how comfortable she is as Diana. Chris Pine is going to Chris Pine. His Steve Trevor is, once again, the best thing about this movie. Rather, his and Gadot’s chemistry is the best thing about this movie. The newcomers are pretty okay as well.

I always enjoy Pedro Pascal and this version of Maxwell Lord ain’t terrible but it is way too different from the core character for me to really get on board Just write a different character, you know? Nothing on the page about this version of Lord, come anywhere near the violent mastermind from the books and i think that’s a very real missed opportunity. I was a little sus of the Kristen Wiig casting for Barbara Minerva but she pulled it off. I really enjoyed her as Cheetah literally until she actually be Cheetah. i was curious why the marketing refused to show her in full-blown Cheetara mode and, when i saw it, i understood. They should have let those effects cook a little longer. That’s the theme of this entire flick, though, wen i think about it; Sh*t should have cooked a little longer.

WW84 is a decent watch, if a little long in the tooth. It;s mad campy, saccharine sweet at points, and is definitely a capeflick envisioned through the eyes of a woman. It’s not bad, mind you, it’s just not that good, either. Everything seems almost but not quite. The villains are almost compelling but not quite. Diana’s entire arc in this seems almost cathartic but not quite. The necessity of Steve Trevor seems justified but not quite. This thing just misses the mark and yet, somehow, it’s still one of the best in the DCEU catalog. hat sh*t just boggles my mind, man. If you know your Amazonian lore like i do, this film can be frustrating at time. If you’re a fan of the DCEU, you’ll probably enjoy this flick. If you’re a fan of this version of the Wondy myths, then 84 is definitely for you. There is enough other stuff here to entertain and distract so it’s an okay time overall. The first one is still the best out of the lot, though.

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clonerightsagenda · 7 years ago

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alright... this is a vague as hell question so i understand if you gotta think about it for a while, but do you have any advice on writing? or maybe about the process of how you personally write things? i love how organic all the emotions in your fanfictions seem to be. it's not over the top but they still seem /tangible/, you know? i aim to have that kind of skill some day so i figure i may as well ask where i can, but no pressure or anything! thank you :)

Well, first of all, thanks for the compliment! It’s always exciting as a writer to hear that things are coming across well. And it’s very flattering to have someone come to you for advice.

Now, my writing style and process vary dramatically between fic and original stuff. There aren’t a lot of examples of my original stuff online - I put a few stories up here, here, and here, and of course there’s the shitty vampire novel, but all of those are pretty old. I don’t have any current examples of my original stuff; I’m hoping to get back into that more once TLC stops eating my life. So I guess I’ll split this response into halves, with a section for generic advice as well. So thirds, I guess.

General

This is something you hear everywhere, but the number one ingredient in good writing is time. I’m 23 years old. I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. And my early stuff is shit. That being said, it’s fun shit - there’s this joyful abandon you can find in really early work, where the writers don’t know any of the rules, don’t care about what other people think, and are having fun in this new world where they can do anything. I love looking back at my old stuff for that reason. But in terms of quality, it’s not great. Now… I’m not going to be arrogant; I’m not spectacular, but I’d say I’m pretty consistently OK. Solid. And a good chunk of that is because I’ve been writing for nearly two decades.

That being said, this time I’m talking about is over *years*. I don’t hold with advice that says you have to write every day to be a writer, even if you feel miserable doing it. Doing something when you hate doing it is a good way to poison it for yourself forever. There’s a difference between knowing you’ll get into a writing session once you start and you’re just dragging your feet vs. forcing yourself when you don’t want to. Don’t punish yourself if you don’t feel like writing today or if you don’t have the time. Don’t fret if you’ve gone a year without touching any of your wips! You can always come back to it. It’s not a race.

You’ve probably heard this next one already as well, but reading is also important. Find authors you like. See what they’re doing. Learn. And this 100% includes the writers you like online.* There are some people online doing incredible things with language that I haven’t seen as much in published fiction, because self-published stuff is a crucible for creativity that might not get past official publishers as much or as quickly. (Ngl it’s also a dumping ground for a lot of bad stuff, but you have to do the filtering). The more you read, the more you have to draw from when you’re developing your own style.

*(If your goal is publication, you do need to read a lot of what’s being published in the genre you’re aiming for. Most of my advice here is focused on just writing for pleasure. Publication has some different considerations.)

Finally, if you have an opportunity to give and get critique, go for it. You learn a lot from pulling other people’s writing apart. What worked? What didn’t? How can you apply that to your own work? Do note though, that unless people are asking for this level of criticism, they may not appreciate you showing up and giving it to them. There are some sites that involve people critiquing each other, or you might find a workshop class or group. You can also find friends who might be interested in swapping stories. Always figure out what your boundaries are and how honest you want your friends to be. Setting that up at the start is a good way to avoid hurt feelings later.

Those are all pretty general and obvious, and I’m sure you’ve heard most of them before. So let’s move on to my process and break the rest of this response into two.

Fic-related

I’ll start with fic since that’s what you mentioned. Again, a major ingredient is time. I’ve been in this fandom for 5 ½ years, which is kind of horrifying to think about. I wasn’t writing fic for all of that time, but what I was doing was a lot of meta and character analysis. I really love digging into characterization and motivation. How does this character really feel? Why do they do what they do? What would be the best way for them to develop as a person? Those are questions I dealt with in my meta posts, but they are also questions that you frequently deal with in fanfic. Then TLC happened, and I ended up writing tens of thousands of words for these characters. That was a hell of a lot of practice. So, I got very comfortable with them. I can whip off a pesterlog like that these days.

What really got me comfortable though, was assigning a kind of speedy and carefree attitude to fic. I tend to be very protective of my work. For a long time, I wouldn’t let anyone read anything I wrote. A real turning point was when I went to a workshop where the instructor challenged us to submit something. I submitted something terrible to a literary journal, and it got rejected, but I also got a really nice note, probably since whoever looked it over realized how young I was. That first submission broke some of the tension. However, I still tend to be cautious. I’m a perfectionist. I like to get things right. So with fic, I really tried to let go of that. I don’t polish this stuff as much as I’d polish original material. I usually do a little more if I am putting it up on ao3, but I will write something in one go and slap it online. That’s incredibly freeing. It makes me more productive, and I think some of the stuff I write fast and loose is often some of my better stuff. The John and Jade pajamas thing, which I think is by far the superior tuesjade prompt response I’ve done, popped into my head all together. I wrote it down, did one pass of revision, and was done. Telling yourself ‘I’m just going to write this thing because it’s fun and I want to, and I’ll put it up online in case anyone else wants to look at it, and if they don’t like it I don’t care because I like it’ is liberating. When you’re no longer so worried about getting everything perfect and making sure other people will love it, I think you write better stuff.

In terms of process, most of my fic is short. I usually have an idea, often a few scenes will pop into my head fully formed, and I’ll write it. There’s typically not a lot of planning involved. In my longish 6-10k stories, I usually do this for multiple scenes and then paste them together. Now, I planned the hell out of TLC, but that’s because it’s 1500+ pages with over 30 characters to deal with. If I didn’t plan everything out, I’d be halfway through and realize I’d forgotten a main character. And that would be terrible.

I want to make sure I touch on emotion, since that’s something you mentioned. A lot of it does go back to all that analysis I did so I got pretty comfortable with how I interpret these characters’ inner lives. Then I had to figure out how comfortable they would be talking about that stuff, how they would express it, and what circumstances might encourage them to be more vocal. The nice thing is, people sitting around talking about their feelings is a perfectly acceptable fic genre. I’m not saying you can’t get away with that in original stuff - I’ve seen some good examples - but it’s not a hallmark in the same way. Fic is about filling in the gaps, and since content creators often don’t slow down to show these quiet emotional moments or the emotional impact of various story events, fic writers and fic readers love them.

When I’m writing something focusing on emotion, I try to avoid “quick fix” stories. You can’t suddenly solve depression or anxiety or trauma. Instead, my moments of catharsis typically involve someone learning to be more honest than they had before about their problems, an exchange of insecurities, a realization of what they have left to overcome, or another sort of “small step”. They’re quiet, tiny progressions on a scale of getting better, and maybe that’s why they feel more organic? Sometimes you get a big epiphany in life, but more often you get a lot of small ones.

I do think stories focused on emotional development can very easily seem forced and false, so I’m pleased that you don’t think mine do! It’s something I worry about. I think the biggest trick is to make sure the characters aren’t just talking about something because you want them to. Would they realistically admit something? How would they respond to being questioned? Are they doing this because they want to, or is it obvious that the fic author has tied them to a chair and is pointing emphatically at a teleprompter offstage? One advantage for me is that a lot of my fic is set post-TLC where people have aired a lot of their grievances. However, they’re still sometimes reluctant, say one thing and mean another, or cloak one emotion in something different. Once you know how a character behaves, you can write them behaving that way and still express the true emotions underneath through the ways they try to hide them. I think Catch Me If You Can is a good example of that. Vriska is allergic to being genuine (that’s kind of her whole arc in that fic) and so instead of being upfront about her emotions, she frequently gets defensive and hostile. However, those defensive responses betray a lot about what she’s really feeling. So often, I like to express character’s emotions in the negative space between their reactions and their true sentiments. What we don’t say or only allude to is often more important than what we do. Sometimes the words we use are just distractions. (In contrast, Dave will talk to a wall, and TLC Jade is so determined not to repeat her mistakes she turns honesty sometimes into a cudgel or penance.) Often, characters being truly honest to each other and straight-up admitting their feelings shows up at the ending of one of my fics as the resolution moment, once they’ve worked their way up to that level of vulnerability. See: A Horrible Kind of Nice.

OK, let’s touch quickly on original stuff. In terms of process, it’s the total opposite. I outline the hell out of it. Maybe not for some a shorter stories, but for anything long? I love outlines. I also tend to start with the plot first. That’s something, after spending so many years focused on fic, that I’m starting to reconsider. I think that when I go back to original stuff, I’m going to spend a lot more time immersing myself in the characters first, so I can write them as authentically as I hope I write people in fic these days. I also write out of order. Is there some scene you are really itching to get to? Write it. This goes for scenes in the same story, though. You do need some level of discipline to not keep jumping from new idea to new idea abandoning your old ones. You’ll never get anything done that way. I do think there’s power in finally completing something too. In my experience anyway, after I completed my first long story, it got a lot easier to finish other ones. I did that with the help of NaNoWriMo, but I’ve since done it on my own.

This has gotten very long, so I’ll cap it off there. It’s a big question that can be answered a lot of ways, and I feel like I mostly rambled. So if you’d like clarification on anything, or if you want to say 'hey Kat you didn’t answer my question at all’, feel free to ask a follow-up.

#Anonymous #kat writes

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stellahibernis · 7 years ago

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Fic Writers Week 2017 Day 7: Spread the Word

(List of prompts here at FWW tumblr)

I’ll do the fandom appropriate thing and rec twice 5+1 fics, my own as well as some of my recently found favorites.

Five stories I’ve finished and one work in progress:

1 These Are My Hands, This Is the World

(Steve//Bucky, E, post-CACW)

Easily my most ambitious fic, and one that I’m the proudest so far. In it we follow Steve and Bucky’s journey from where they were left right at the end of CACW, their progress to find stability, while looking back from where they came from.

2 Recrossing Tracks

(Steve/Bucky, M, post CATWS canon divergence)

Over the ten years following Steve waking up on the banks of the Potomac, he and Bucky keep coming together, redefining their relationship to fit the new times they live in.

3 For the World That Can Be

(MCU/Wonder Woman crossover, T)

Diana on a mission in 1943 finds an unconscious man named Steve in the forests of France. He ends up tagging along with her group, and they form a friendship along the way. In the meanwhile, in another reality Bucky wakes up in Wakanda knowing something has gone wrong.

4 Living Instead of Just Surviving

(Steve//Bucky, E, post-CACW)

Set a few years into future where everything is fine, and they’re back in New York. It’s a chance for Steve and Bucky to figure out how to really live and what makes them happy.

5 If There’s a Reason I’m Still Alive

(Steve/Bucky, E, AU)

This is a loosely interpreted angel-AU, where some beings from another reality are stranded on Earth after their world was destroyed. Fourteen billion years down the line Steve is trying to find reasons to keep going, and one of them might be an old companion dragging himself from the void where he fell.

+1 Entire History of Human Desire verse

(Steve//Bucky, E, post-CACW, WIP)

In which Steve is taking break from Avenging to sort his head and in the meanwhile Bucky gets into the business as means to deal with the guilt. They also live together in a very nice house in Brooklyn, and also realize there are some feelings that need sorted out.

***

Five stories featuring the current (and possibly forever) obsession and one featuring the definitely forever obsession:

1 Summer Don't Own Me No More by alby_mangroves, Nonymos

(Steve/Bucky, E, AU)

Bucky Barnes, weary soldier, illegal immigrant, sarcastic sex worker. Steve Rogers, miracle of science, lonely man, disillusioned cop. Both of them on a collision course in this brave new world, like that's not gonna end in sex and explosions.

2 The Only Familiar Thing by brideofquiet

(Steve/Bucky, M, post-CATWS canon divergence)

Steve takes a breath, steels himself, and asks, “Where are we going, Buck?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You’re the one driving, Steve.”

And before Steve can protest, Bucky gives him that broad, toothy grin again. The worry pitted in his stomach ebbs, and he decides—what the hell? Why not? Steve pulls his helmet on and swings a leg over the bike. Bucky settles in behind him, and he cranks the engine to life.

3 no matter how long the day is (i'll come home to you) by alby_mangroves, talkplaylove

(Steve/Bucky, T, post-Avengers canon divergence)

Steve’s spent an hour along Portobello Road before he sees the paparazzi on the left side of the street, trying to be inconspicuous by a street lamp. He crosses the street and ducks into the first store he sees, tucked behind a screaming red door and under a blue and white striped awning.

He listens, feet planted in front of the door, shoulders tense, as he looks around the shop. Row upon row of books are on the shelves in front of him, the wood creaking under their weight. Behind the counter is a dark haired man wearing a jacket, elbow on the table, stubbled chin on one hand, gloved left hand flipping the pages of a book.

No one follows Steve in.

Or, the one where Captain America travels the world, learns how to be Steve Rogers again, and meets Bucky Barnes along the way. Also: the one where two old souls fall in love over young adult books, long distance calls, and texting at strange hours of the day.

4 Perilous Underside of the World by eyres

(Steve/Bucky, M, post-CACW)

After Steve becomes an unwilling subject in Ross's pet weapons project to make a next gen super soldier, Bucky is awakened from cryo to join a daring rescue operation to save Steve from an impenetrable government base on the Antarctica coastline. When things go belly up, Steve and Bucky must strike out on their own across the hostile landscape, with Ross's men close behind.

AKA 'The one where Steve throws a snowmobile at a helicopter.'

5 Every Tree That is Pleasant by spitandvinegar

(Steve/Bucky, T, canon divergence)

“As near as we can figure,” Tony said, “we had two incredibly ridiculous things happen at once. The first was Cap and murderbot activated a device that was sort of the juiced-up remote version of the thing that they used to scramble Barnes' brains back in the day. The second is that Mad Madame Mim here panicked and tried to get the universe to move them out of the room, and instead accidentally sent them to outer space.”

“To another dimension,” said Wanda, as if that was the point that made all the difference.

+1 What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym

(Harry/Draco, M, post-canon)

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

#ficwritersweek #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #harry potter

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laberintos-espinas · 5 years ago

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The Contribution of the Agamas

The Validity of Scriptural Knowledge - Except the Carvakas, all frameworks of Indian Philosophy concede the legitimacy of scriptural information. In the Vedic convention, the Vedas which are viewed as indifferent, establish the most elevated authority of religion. In the convention of the Sramanic culture of Buddhism and Jainism, the authority of sacred writings rests with their prophets, who should be Omniscient too over all wants and revultions. In the Jaina custom, the legitimacy of the sacred text is concurred at standard with direct recognition since the scriptural information is information picked up by the Omniscient being, who has straightforwardly seen the truth Lords Mobile Hack Tool

In this manner scriptural information is additionally unmistakable and indubious like the omniscient information. This is conceded by Samantabhadra in his Apta-Mimamsa. It ought to likewise be noticed that the information and practice of Scriptures (Agamas) additionally prompts the fulfillment of Kevala-jnana, to the knower of the Srutas are called Sruta-kevalin. Anyone and everyone can't be Srut a. So as to be a Sruta, he should satisfy the states of getting desireless (Vitaraga) and he should obliterate the Karmas which cloud the genuine idea of Sruta. At exactly that point, such a Scriptural information serves like the ecstasy.

As per the Vedic custom, the Vedas show their very own legitimacy. Words utilized by us, as indicated by them, signify things that can be cognised by different methods for information, and, on the off chance that we can't know them through different methods, at that point the individuals who articulate them must be of undeniable power. So non-Vedic expressions can't have any natural legitimacy. As indicated by Prabhakara, such non-Verbal information is of the idea of surmising in light of the fact that solitary the verbal cognizance of the Vedas is carefully verbal. The Vedic masterminds embrace the precept of mimic creation maybe to keep up is dependability, in light of the fact that an individual is at risk to numerous imperfections. Be that as it may, so as to demonstrate the generic creation of the Vedas, the Vedic masterminds; particularly the Mimamsakas present a supernatural hypothesis of the unfathomable length of time of the Vedas. They hold that the connection between the word and its importance is characteristic and not made by transformation.

The reason for the Mimasmsakas in dismissing the origin of the Vedas to Gods is on the grounds that God, who is spiritual, has no organs of discourse and henceforth he can't articulate words, and on the off chance that He accept the human structure, at that point He is dependent upon every one of the constraints of material presence and consequently his expressions won't be definitive. At that point there is no convention of perfect or human creation of the Vedas. In the event that it is said that the Vedas are human arrangements since names of holy people and soothsayers happen, it might be said that the songs manage the interminable marvels of nature and the names of people have just symbolical essentialness and no verifiable criticalness. In following their Agamas to the expressions of Lord Mahavir, the Jainas have a more verified position. Right off the bat, since Mahavir is Omniscient (Kevalin) what he says must be valid. Since, he is above wants (Vitaraga), what he says is free from any abstract partialities. In conclusion, since he is caring, what he says is for the advantages of the individuals. Along these lines the Jaina hypothesis of sacred texts as the messages of Lord Mahavir is progressively comprehensible normal. the adherence of one's confidence in the character of Lord Mahavir gives a strict shading. Finally, such a hypothesis of sacred writings having its source in the character of an acknowledged man raises the respect and status of man to the status of God. Omniscience isn't divine yet human.

It requires a Sadhana. Consequently the Jaina principle of Agamas sets up everything in genuine and chronicled setting, while the clarification of the unoriginality of the Vedas is somewhat unclear and equivocal. Notwithstanding, it looses at one spot by regarding the Vedic creation as generic, it infers that it is per haps incredibly old and antiquated in light of the fact that an individual is after each of the a verifiable occasion. Here the Jaina answer is that since reality contained in the Agamas are one, endless and lasting, it is as old as anything. The objects of the information are the one and the equivalent for all. Henceforth their cognizance is neither new nor old. Thus, there is a contention in the educating all things considered. In this sense, the lessons are endless and all inclusive and thus indifferent. Therefore, the line of division among individual and unoriginal creation of the sacred text offer path to a compromise. A prophetic articulation, in the sense, it is interminable and all inclusive, is indifferent; notwithstanding, since it originates from the mouth of a recorded individual, it is close to home. Agama and its Interpretation - The announcement of a trust-commendable individual is said to be Agama. Something else, words themselves are inactive, inert and even vague. Henceforth, the legitimacy of Sabda rests with the individual who utilizes them. Thus the elucidation of the Agamas depend both upon the Speaker and furthermore upon the Audience. Up until this point, the speakership of the Agamas is concerned, it is held to be the immediate messages of the Omniscient Lord, which have been incorporated and classified by their main supporters called Ganadhara. So far the understanding of the Agamas from the perspective of the crowd is concerned, it ought to be obviously noticed that a specific measure of scholarly capacity and good readiness is required for the suitable handle of the topic. Without such a readiness, a similar Agama concedes to various and in any event, clashing understandings around one and a similar subject, similar to the various elucidations of the Brahma-Sutra and the Bhagavad-Gita.

The Jaina Agamas are the messages of the Tirthankaras which have been accurately revealed by the Sruta-kevalin and the Ganadhara, who are additionally expected to be Sruta-kevalin and the Ganadhara, who are likewise expected to be omniscient and furthermore over all wants of affection and detest, thus the legitimacy of the Jaina Agamas is doubly raised in light of the fact that both the Source just as the Course of the Agamas are unadulterated. The Place of Samayika - There are three particular commitments of Jainism to Indian Culture - Equality (Sama), Self-control (Sama) and Dignity of work (Srama). Balance or Samayika is said to be the core of Jainism. In the Jaina strict sacred writing, Dvadasang or in the fourteenth Purva, the spot of Samayika is the as a matter of first importance among the six day by day obligations. Without the act of Samayika or uniformity, there is no expectation for any strict or profound acknowledgment. At the point when a householder acknowledges the Jaina religion, he gravely promises to keep the standard of uniformity. The entire of Visesavasyaka-bhasya of Jinabhadra Gani is an article of this standard of Samayika.

The three gems of Jainism, for example Right Faith, Right Knowledge and Right Conduct rely on the guideline of uniformity. The Gita considers it the internal balance or the uniformity of psyche (Samatvam), or equivalent mindedness (Sama Cittatvam or Samata) and such a man who achieves this is called diviner with an equivalent eye (Samadarsinah or Sarvatra-sama-darsana). This guideline of balance must be reflected both in thought and activity. In thought it is the standard of Anekanta, in real life it is the rule of Ahimsa. (an) Anekanta - Anekanta is the use of the standard of equity in the circle of thought. In this manner it's anything but a way of thinking however a philosophical point of view similarly as there is the Advaitic viewpoint of Sankara and the stance of the Middle way of the Buddhists. Anekanta actually implies non-vindication. Despite the fact that the Anekanta Period in Jaina philosophical writing comes after the finish of the Agamic time frame, the beginning of the Anekantic thought is as of now present in the Agamic writing. The acclaimed Bhagavati Sutra alludes to the significant and intriguing dreams that Lord Mahavira had simply before achieved Keval-jnana. In one of the fantasies, there is reference to 'multi-confronted' or 'multi-hued' (citra-vicitra) wings of Pansakholi which symbolizes the multi-confronted reality.

The Buddhist likewise have their regulation of Vibhajyavada or 'contingent articulations', which implies that they dispose of uneven view (ekansavada). In any case, the Buddhists accepted inhajyavada to a constrained degree, where as the Jainas trust it to the full degree, so it was at last formed into the Theory of Non-absolutism (Anekantavada). In Buddhism, Vibhajya implies division and Vibhajya Vyakarniya implies responding to an inquiry by jumping. While the Buddhists quality the unique traits simultaneously as to two distinct things, the virtuoso of the Jainas is reflected in crediting the various properties in the one and a similar subject, obviously, the settings are extraordinary.

This prompts the organon of Sapta-bhangi and the multi-esteemed rationale of Syadvada. Indeed, even in the Vedas and Upanisads, the depiction of the fact of the matter is as far as opposing qualities, similar to genuine and unbelievable, portable and stable. Nasadiya Sukta, in this way, stays away from to portray the truth either as genuine or stunning. ThusAnekanta is by all accounts a dynamic of thought-compromise, through which we discover an endeavor at amalgamation between evidently opposing qualities of endlessness and non-time everlasting of the world or limit or interminability of the Jiva or distinction or non-contrast between the body and the spirit. Anekanta notwithstanding, ought not be comprehended to imply that the truth is opposing. It basically implies that it has countless number of perspectives and properties which can be completely grasped just when we can assemble every one of them.

This is perfect of flawlessness, which can be accomplished just when we become an omniscient. Be that as it may, we can have the information on one or other angle in the event that we are free from preference and predisposition. Accordingly, from one perspective it has its optimal of certainty of information, as a general rule it goes for aspectal information or naya. As a result, we must be wary in our discourse. Master Mahavira clarified each issue with the assistance of Siyavaya or Syadvada. Absolutism in discourse and language is as terrible as absolutism in suspected. The Agamic s

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bleedandevolve · 7 years ago

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Developer Diary: Quests Rework

Hello hello and welcome to the first Developer Diary on this tumblr! With Developer Diaries, we hope to share the thought process behind changes and implementations of different mechanics and lore. And hopefully not just ramble into the void, but it’s possible that’ll happen too.

Today’s Developer Diary is focused on quests. Quests are an important part of the roleplay, it helps people develop their characters and push them forward both storywise and mechanically. It ties in with the three thread types we have - modless, modlite and mod heavy. The different thread types determine if a Storyteller is involved at all. A Storyteller (or ST) is someone (anyone! it doesn’t have to be staff) who moderates the thread and makes things happen. Originally, these guys had to come up with a lot of things on the spot. Sure, we provided prompts in the form of what pokemon would appear more likely in the quest, and what the quest’s goal was, but other than that, they were on their own. It made it a lot of work to be a Storyteller (then called “mods”, the name change is because I noticed people get confused between a staff moderator and a “mod” for a thread).

In the same vein, we had modless threads. We had tables for what you would encounter based on what you rolled, but the system was stiff, oftentimes directing exactly what the encounter was (social or fighting or even just picking up an item), with an exact pokemon, whether it was special at all, and generally speaking, they were boring with not a lot of freedom. However, they were the best way to rank up skills and have things happen, so a lot of people did them.

After reading the tabletop RPG manual for Ironsworn, I got hit with some major inspiration to change this stiff system into something a little more loose, and able to tell more of a story. For those of you who aren’t going to bother clicking the link, Ironsworn is a tabletop RPG that’s able to be played solo - that means no GM, and just one person going on a journey. I was really intrigued by this because I started the original version of Bleed and Evolve (then called Shadows over Alleos) because I had no one to play tabletop games with. And I want people to be able to write their own stories easily in the roleplay, character development and relationships are incredibly important to me.

What I gathered from Ironsworn was giving the player more agency with the quest. People who do forum roleplay heavily favor agency over letting dice dictate everything - and I agree, to an extent. I personally prefer to have dice add a randomness and flavor to what I’m writing so that it doesn’t feel as predictable to me.

So I looked at Ironsworn’s mechanic for how characters go about their quest in the world of the Ironlands, and came up with this idea. Modless quests would, instead of being stiff, become more relaxed. Sure, there would still be tables for things when you wanted or needed them - both pokemon and events on separate tables. But instead of those tables being specific, they would just include a list of pokemon, and a list of loose events to push the quest forward. You would still be provided a prompt on what the character needed to accomplish in the quest (example being “go to a shrine and bless this amulet”), but you would determine how the character reached that end point.

You would need to complete a certain number of rolls before the quest would end still, as was with the old system. However, you would determine how those rolls came into play in the story your character was going through. These rolls also wouldn’t be linear and based off of the tables. Nope. Like Ironsworn, they would be retooled to have outcomes, determined by the dice. In Ironsworn, they’re referred to as “Strong Hit”, “Weak Hit” and “Miss”. Here, they would be referred to as “outcomes” as well, and would be called “Conquest” “Triumph” “Botch” and “Fiasco”. You can also break these terms into a much easier terms to understand, “Strong Hit”, “Weak Hit” “Miss” “Bad Miss”. Here’s how they break down:

Conquest - You succeed at whatever it is you’re trying to do, but you succeed too well. Success comes at a price.

Triumph - You succeed, but not as much as you would hope.

Botch - You fail in what you were trying to accomplish, but not by enough that it’s catastrophic.

Fiasco - You both fail in what you attempted to do, and cost yourself something in the process.

Regardless of the roll on these “challenge dice”, it moves the story forward. You can’t keep attempting the same thing over and over again, so the story must move on. There is no “redo” button. Battles proceed with the battle system, and make use of our skill system instead of “challenge dice”. However, how many battles, and if there are battles, is up to the player. Until a battle of some kind is initiated (a fight, social combat, or contest), the challenge dice are king.

Let’s run through an example, to make this clear. Let’s say my quest is to bless the amulet I was given by a farmer who is highly religious. Okay. I decide I want to venture out into the woods, and roll the challenge dice, a 1d4. Maybe I roll a Fiasco instead, and find myself lost in a desert. Cimmeria is an odd place, that could happen.

So now I’m in the desert. I decide to roll to find a pokemon to interact with. This time I roll a Conquest, and while I find a pokemon, I find a lot of them. But maybe they’re friendly enough when I tell them I’m searching for a legendary pokemon’s shrine. They point me in the right direction after I use social combat to persuade them to do so.

I go through a few more rolls to get to the “end game” requirement, which is perhaps five rolls total. I then can end the quest, but I have to roll a challenge dice to see how it ends. Maybe for this I roll a Botch. So while I make it to the shrine, nothing happens to the amulet when I try to bless it. From here, it’s up to me how I want to officially end the quest. Maybe I go back to the farmer and use social combat to convince him that it is, in fact, blessed. He hands me a handsome quest reward and I’m on my way.

Quests this way will not only be shorter than our original system where you had to roll 10-20 times to end it, but have more uniqueness and flavor for each character that goes through it.

Modlite threads can also benefit from this system. But instead of the writer interpreting a dice, a Storyteller does. Instead of having an event table to roll for and a pokemon table dictating what pokemon show up, these things would be chosen by the Storyteller. This not only eases the load on the Storyteller as far as having to carry the weight of the story, but presents some agency in a modlite thread for the character. It’s more collaborative instead of leaning heavily on one person or the other. Additionally, it opens more quests up to more types of characters. I remember that many quests on our old forum had the restriction that of “no pokemon”, which made it hard for pokemon characters to find quests.

I believe that’s all I have to say on the matter! I’ll provide a tl;dr at the bottom of the journal for the people who didn’t want to read all of that. For those of you who did, thank you! I hope to write more things for you to read in the future about my thought process for these mechanics and lore things.

- Thief

The Changes:

Quests reworked heavily to favor more story instead of stiff mechanical encounters.

Quests renamed to Journeys

Mods renamed to Storytellers

#developer diary #pokemon roleplay #pokemon #quests #bleedandevolve #dark pokemon #pokemon rp #tabletop #pokemon tabletop #forum roleplay #forum rp

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