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whattodowithkpop · 4 years ago

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Get to know LiJu

Hello followers and Anons! The admins of this page decided it would be a good idea to make a small post so you could get to know us a bit better. We hope you enjoy and thank you for supporting our page. 🥺💕

How long have the admins been writing?

Lio has been writing for quite a few years. She got into Kpop before Ju and wrote for Monsta X and Stray Kids. Before that she wrote for some anime shows.

Ju mostly wrote fanfics for MHA before getting into Kpop. Lio got her into it a few years ago so she hasn’t been writing it for very long.

Both admins have only been writing for ACE for about 6 months though. They are new to the fandom.

How old are the admins?

Lio and Ju are both 21. Ju is older by a couple months if you want to be a technical person. ;)

Do Lio and Ju ever fight?

Yes, but in a kidding way. Both Lio and Ju are laid back and hate actually fighting so they attack each other over ACE and argue over the assault of gifs and photos.

How long have the admins been friends?

Lio and Ju kinda grew up together. They met when they were about 15 or so. But they didn’t become close until 2020 when the pandemic broke out. Now they talk 24/7. It annoys their other friends.

If an anon posts an ask, who usually answers?

Lio does. She’s on social media more and keeps track of all our anons but frequently tells Ju what is going on and being said.

Ju is horrible at social media and technology in general. So she rarely pops on but if an anon address her she always comes in to answer.

Out of the two admins, who is the biggest Kpop fan?

Probably Lio. Ju admin gets bored watching TV and mostly just listens to the music and watches enough with Lio to know the members personality before writing for them. But Lio watches and listens to Kpop a lot and has more albums then Ju does.

Do the admins write Smut fanfictions for any groups?

Lio loves spice and is soft for soft fanfiction but she can’t go that far in a fanfiction. Her brain stops her and it’s not a desire of hers to write it. She can’t even read it because it’s too hard for her taste.

Ju writes some spice but even with that she’s not very comfortable with it. Because of events from her past she isn’t able to write Smut and also can’t read it.

Final question, Who are the admins biases?

Lio admin:

A.C.E- Seyoon. He is her ultimate but she is often wrecked by Byeongkwan.

Astro- Jinjin. He used to be her ultimate until Kim Seyoon.

Ateez- Yunho. A major soft stan biasing on her part.

Mamamoo- Lio loves all the queens but has a soft spot for Hwasa and Wheein.

Monsta X- In between biases but it's between I.M and Jooheon.

N. Flying- She's pretty sure it's Chahun but it could also be Jaehyun... or maybe Hweseung...

Seventeen- Lio doesn’t really have one. She’s more of an OT13 stan but is wrecked by Hoshi and S.Coups on the daily.

Stray Kids- Changbin. However she adores them all dearly.

Ju Admin:

A.C.E- Donghun. Ju used to be Jun biased but Lio wrecked her into Donghun and now she’s whipped. There’s nothing to be done.

Ateez- San. Everything about him is ouch.

Mamamoo- Solar. mostly but has a love for all of them.

Monsta X- Shownu.

Oneus- Seoho. She thinks he's cute and funny.

Seventeen- Vernon. But is regularly wrecked by the other members.

#liju #lio and ju answers #lio admin #Ju admin #get to know the blogger

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whattodowithace · 4 years ago

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I haven’t been able to read basically the lion king until now and OMG 🥺🥺🥺 Chapter 5, Goblin 🥺😢, he sounds super adorable... I want a goblin now! Now I’m onto the next chapters XD

We love Goblin more than is healthy 🥺🥺 -Lio and Ju

#🍪🐰#lio and ju answers

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junquisite · 4 years ago

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Interview Tag

Let's get to know each other :D

i already don’t like it. it’s too many questions.

Tagged by : @parkmejeon004

Rules : Answer the questions and tag 20 blogs you'd like to know better!

Name/Nickname : You can refer to me as B or user Junquisite, both works.

Pronouns : She/Her

Star sign : Leo

Height : 5′7 so about 169-170 cm

Time : Currently its 3.43pm

Birthday : Aug 06

Fav band/groups : A.C.E, Victon, Ateez, Dreamcatcher

Fav solo artists : Cho Seungyoun!!!! Chungha

Song stuck in your head : Rollin...

Last movie you watched : Idk

Last show you binged : I’m currently trying to complete “Legend of Fei” but before that i binged “Alice in Borderland”

When you created your blog : i think 2019? i had to check and yeah November 2019. Although my first ever complete fic was in March 2020.

Last thing you googled : 5′7 ft in cm

Other blogs you own : None yet but i might end up making a A.C.E Writers network so anyone interested in joining it, DM!

Why I chose my username : Its basically from Jun + Exquisite. which if you know Park Junhee, it’s pretty true. but my friend came up with it for me. and it’s a username i use for most of my social media platforms.

How many people am I following : 25 i think? (yes, had to check)

How many followers do I have : Had to check, its 337

Average hours of sleep : 3-4 hours

Lucky number : I don’t have any as such

Instruments : Can’t play any

What am I currently wearing : Trackpants and a Tshirt

Dream job : Writer

Dream trip : Switzerland

Fav food : Any fast food tbh

Fav song : Clover, Utopia

Top three fictional universes you'd like to live in : None

Tagging : @unknown5tar, @whattodowithkpop Both Lio and Ju admin, @star-lemonade, @yuchoice , @bearseokie

#get to know me #tag games

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blindrapture · 5 years ago

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The Mookse and the Gripes.

Let’s read a story, shall we? I’ll put it under a Read More, because I don’t know if I want to drive everyone crazy.

But all those who click the Read More? You’re gonna read a story from Finnegans Wake. This story is but one of two that Shaun includes in his multi-part answer to the eleventh question he heard on the radio, the quiz as a whole constituting the sixth chapter in the first main division of the Wake. The question, as best as I can tell, asks Shaun whether he would care to give money to a beggar. His reply, unlike the replies to literally any of the other questions in the quiz, is extremely defensive. He composes dozens of paragraphs of academic language, qualifying his position again and again, talking down on those who pose the question to him, and then is like “because I don’t think you’ll understand my answer so far, let me really dumb this down, I’ll tell you a fable.” (Then after the fable, he has several more paragraphs talking about the way society works and telling another story altogether before just kinda ending his answer.)

This is that fable. It summarizes Shaun’s perspective on society as a privileged bothsider very well, while also covering some real religious history. And it is one of the easiest parts of the Wake to follow.

Good luck. :D

The Mookse and The Gripes.

Gentes and laitymen, fullstoppers and semicolonials, hybreds and lubberds!

Eins within a space and a wearywide space it wast ere wohned a Mookse. The onesomeness wast alltolonely, archunsitslike, broady oval, and a Mookse he would a walking go (My hood! cries Antony Romeo), so one grandsumer evening, after a great morning and his good supper of gammon and spittish, having flabelled his eyes, pilleoled his nostrils, vacticanated his ears and palliumed his throats, he put on his impermeable, seized his impugnable, harped on his crown and stepped out of his immobile De Rure Albo (socolled becauld it was chalkfull of masterplasters and had borgeously letout gardens strown with cascadas, pintacostecas, horthoducts and currycombs) and set off from Ludstown a spasso to see how badness was badness in the weirdest of all pensible ways.

As he set off with his father’s sword, his lancia spezzata, he was girded on, and with that between his legs and his tarkeels, our once in only Bragspear, he clanked, to my clinking, from veetoes to threetop, every inch of an immortal.

He had not walked over a pentiadpair of parsecs from his azylium when at the turning of the Shinshone Lanteran near Saint Bowery’s-without-his-Walls he came (secunding to the one one oneth of the propecies, Amnis Limina Permanent) upon the most unconsciously boggylooking stream he ever locked his eyes with. Out of the colliens it took a rise by daubing itself Ninon. It looked little and it smelt of brown and it thought in narrows and it talked showshallow. And as it rinn it dribbled like any lively purliteasy: My, my, my! Me and me! Little down dream don’t I love thee!

And, I declare, what was there on the yonder bank of the stream that would be a river, parched on a limb of the olum, bolt downright, but the Gripes? And no doubt he was fit to be dried for why had he not been having the juice of his times?

His pips had been neatly all drowned on him; his polps were charging odours every older minute; he was quickly for getting the dresser’s desdaign on the flyleaf of his frons; and he was quietly for giving the bailiff’s distrain on to the bulkside of his cul de Pompe. In all his specious heavings, as be lived by Optimus Maximus, the Mookse had never seen his Dubville brooder-on-low so nigh to a pickle.

Adrian (that was the Mookse now’s assumptinome) stuccstill phiz-à-phiz to the Gripes in an accessit of aurignacian. But Allmookse must to Moodend much as Allrouts, austereways or wastersways, in roaming run through Room. Hic sor a stone, singularly illud, and on hoc stone Seter satt huc sate which it filled quite poposterously and by acclammitation to its fullest justotoryum and whereopum with his unfallable encyclicling upom his alloilable, diupetriark of the wouest, and the athemystsprinkled pederect he always walked with, Deusdedit, cheek by jowel with his frisherman’s blague? Bellua Triumphanes, his everyway addedto wallat’s collectium, for yea longer he lieved yea broader he betaught of it, the fetter, the summe and the haul it cost, he looked the first and last micahlike laicness of Quartus the Fifth and Quintus the Sixth and Sixtus the Seventh giving allnight sitting to Lio the Faultyfindth.

—Good appetite us, sir Mookse! How do you do it? cheeped the Gripes in a wherry whiggy maudelenian woice and the jackasses all within bawl laughed and brayed for his intentions for they knew their sly toad lowry now. I am rarumominum blessed to see you, my dear mouster. Will you not perhopes tell me everything if you are pleased, sanity? All about aulne and lithial and allsall allinall about awn and liseias? Ney?

Think of it! O miserendissimest retempter! A Gripes!

—Rats! bullowed the Mookse most telesphorously, the concionator, and the sissymusses and the zozzymusses in their robenhauses quailed to hear his tardeynois at all for you cannot wake a silken nouse out of a hoarse oar. Blast yourself and your anathomy infairioriboos! No, hang you for an animal rurale! I am superbly in my supremest poncif! Abase you, baldyqueens! Gather behind me, satraps! Rots!

—I am till infinity obliged with you, bowed the Gripes, his whine having gone to his palpruy head. I am still always having a wish on all my extremities. By the watch, what is the time, pace?

Figure it! The pining peever! To a Mookse!

—Ask my index, mund my achilles, swell my obolum, woshup my nase serene, answered the Mookse, rapidly by turning clement, urban, eugenious and celestian in the formose of good grogory humours. Quote awhore? That is quite about what I came on my missions with my intentions laudibiliter to settle with you, barbarousse. Let thor be orlog. Let Pauline be Irene. Let you be Beeton. And let me be Los Angeles. Now measure your length. Now estimate my capacity. Well, sour? Is this space of our couple of hours too dimensional for you, temporiser? Will you give you up? Como? Fuert it?

Sancta Patientia! You should have heard the voice that answered him! Culla vosellina.

—I was just thinkling upon that, swees Mooksey, but, for all the rime on my raisins, if I connow make my submission, I cannos give you up, the Gripes whimpered from nethermost of his wanhope. Ishallassoboundbewilsothoutoosezit. My tumble, loudy bullocker, is my own. My velicity is too fit in one stockend. And my spetial inexshellsis the belowing things ab ove. But I will never be abler to tell Your Honoriousness (here he near lost his limb) though my corked father was bott a pseudowaiter, whose o’cloak you ware.

Incredible! Well, hear the inevitable.

—Your temple, sus in cribro! Semperexcommunicambiambisumers. Tugurios-in-Newrobe or Tukurias-in-Ashies. Novarome, my creature, blievend bleives. My building space in lyonine city is always to let to leonlike Men, the Mookse in a most consistorous allocution pompifically with immediate jurisdiction constantinently concludded (what a crammer for the shapewrucked Gripes!). And I regret to proclaim that it is out of my temporal to help you from being killed by inchies, (what a thrust!), as we first met each other newwhere so airly. (Poor little sowsieved subsquashed Gripes! I begin to feel contemption for him!). My side, thank decretals, is as safe as motherour’s houses, he continued, and I can seen from my holeydome what it is to be wholly sane. Unionjok and be joined to yok! Parysis, tu sais, crucycrooks, belongs to him who parises himself. And there I must leave you subject for the pressing. I can prove that against you, weight a momentum, mein goot enemy! or Cospol’s not our star. I bet you this dozen odd. This foluminous dozen odd. Quas primas—but ’tis bitter to compote my knowledge’s fructos of. Tomes.

Elevating, to give peint to his blick, his jewelled pederect to the allmysty cielung, he luckystruck blueild out of a few shouldbe santillants, a cloister of starabouts over Maples, a lucciolys in Teresa street and a stopsign before Sophy Barratt’s, he gaddered togodder the odds docence of his vellumes, gresk, letton and russicruxian, onto the lapse of his prolegs, into umfullth onescuppered, and sat about his widerproof He proved it well whoonearth dry and drysick times, and vremiament, tu cesses, to the extinction of Niklaus altogether (Niklaus Alopysius having been the once Gripes’s popwilled nimbum) by Neuclidius and Inexagoras and Mumfsen and Thumpsem, by Orasmus and by Amenius, by Anacletus the Jew and by Malachy the Augurer and by the Cappon’s collection and after that, with Cheekee’s gelatine and Alldaybrandy’s formolon, he reproved it ehrltogether when not in that order sundering in some different order, alter three thirty and a hundred times by the binomial dioram and the penic walls and the ind, the Inklespill legends and the rure, the rule of the hoop and the blessons of expedience and the jus, the jugicants of Pontius Pilax and all the mummyscrips in Sick Bokes’ Juncroom and the Chapters for the Cunning of the Chapters of the Conning Fox by Tail.

While that Mooksius with preprocession and with proprecession, duplicitly and diplussedly, was promulgating ipsofacts and sadcontras this raskolly Gripos he had allbust seceded in monophysicking his illsobordunates. But asawfulas he had caught his base semenoyous sarchnaktiers to combuccinate upon the silipses of his aspillouts and the acheporeoozers of his haggyown pneumax to synerethetise with the breadchestviousness of his sweeatovular ducose sofarfully the loggerthuds of his sakellaries were fond at variance with the synodals of his somepooliom and his babskissed nepogreasymost got the hoof from his philioquus.

—Efter thousand yaws, O Gripes con my sheepskins, yow will be belined to the world, enscayed Mookse the pius.

—Ofter thousand yores, amsered Gripes the gregary, be the goat of MacHammud’s, yours may be still, O Mookse, more botheared.

—Us shall be chosen as the first of the last by the electress of Vale Hollow, obselved the Mookse nobily, for par the unicum of Elelijiacks, Us am in Our stabulary and that is what Ruby and Roby fall for, blissim.

The Pills, the Nasal Wash (Yardly’s), the Army Man Cut, as british as bondstrict and as straightcut as when that brokenarched traveller from Nuzuland . . .

—Wee, cumfused the Gripes limply, shall not even be the last of the first, wee hope, when oust are visitated by the Veiled Horror. And, he added: Mee are relying entirely, see the fortethurd of Elissabed, on the weightiness of mear’s breath. Puffut!

Unsightbared embouscher, relentless foe to social and business succes! (Hourihaleine) It might have been a happy evening but . . .

And they viterberated each other, canis et coluber with the wildest ever wielded since Tarriestinus lashed Pissasphaltium.

—Unuchorn!

—Ungulant!

—Uvuloid!

—Uskybeak!

And bullfolly answered volleyball.

Nuvoletta in her lightdress, spunn of sisteen shimmers, was looking down on them, leaning over the bannistars and listening all she childishly could. How she was brightened when Shouldrups in his glaubering hochskied his welkinstuck and how she was overclused when Kneesknobs on his zwivvel was makeacting such a paulse of himshelp! She was alone. All her nubied companions were asleeping with the squirrels. Their mivver, Mrs Moonan, was off in the Fuerst quarter scrubbing the backsteps of Number 28. Fuvver, that Skand, he was up in Norwood’s sokaparlour, eating oceans of Voking’s Blemish. Nuvoletta listened as she reflected herself, though the heavenly one with his constellatria and his emanations stood between, and she tried all she tried to make the Mookse look up at her (but he was fore too adiaptotously farseeing) and to make the Gripes hear how coy she could be (though he was much too schystimatically auricular about his ens to heed her) but it was all mild’s vapour moist. Not even her feignt reflection, Nuvoluccia, could they toke their gnoses off for their minds with intrepifide fate and bungless curiasity, were conclaved with Heliogobbleus and Commodus and Enobarbarus and whatever the coordinal dickens they did as their damprauch of papyrs and buchstubs said. As if that was their spiration! As if theirs could duiparate her queendim! As if she would be third perty to search on search proceedings! She tried all the winsome wonsome ways her four winds had taught her. She tossed her sfumastelliacinous hair like le princesse de la Petite Bretagne and she rounded her mignons arms like Mrs Cornwallis-West and she smiled over herself like the beauty of the image of the pose of the daughter of the queen of the Emperour of Irelande and she sighed after herself as were she born to bride with Tristis Tristior Tristissimus. But, sweet madonine, she might fair as well have carried her daisy’s worth to Florida. For the Mookse, a dogmad Accanite, were not amoosed and the Gripes, a dubliboused Catalick, wis pinefully obliviscent.

I see, she sighed. There are menner.

The siss of the whisp of the sigh of the softzing at the stir of the ver grose O arundo of a long one in midias reeds: and shades began to glidder along the banks, greepsing, greepsing, duusk unto duusk, and it was as glooming as gloaming could be in the waste of all peacable worlds. Metamnisia was allsoonome coloroform brune; citherior spiane an eaulande, innemorous and unnumerose. The Mookse had a sound eyes right but he could not all hear. The Gripes had light ears left yet he could but ill see. He ceased. And he ceased, tung and trit, and it was neversoever so dusk of both of them. But still Moo thought on the deeps of the undths he would profoundth come the morrokse and still Gri feeled of the scripes he would escipe if by grice he had luck enoupes.

Oh, how it was duusk! From Vallee Maraia to Grasyaplaina, dormimust echo! Ah dew! Ah dew! It was so duusk that the tears of night began to fall, first by ones and twos, then by threes and fours, at last by fives and sixes of sevens, for the tired ones were wecking, as we weep now with them. O! O! O! Par la pluie!

Then there came down to the thither bank a woman of no appearance (I believe she was a Black with chills at her feet) and she gathered up his hoariness the Mookse motamourfully where he was spread and carried him away to her invisible dwelling, thats hights, Aquila Rapax, for he was the holy sacred solem and poshup spit of her boshop’s apron. So you see the Mookse he had reason as I knew and you knew and he knew all along. And there came down to the hither bank a woman to all important (though they say that she was comely, spite the cold in her heed) and, for he was as like it as blow it to a hawker’s hank, she plucked down the Gripes, torn panicky autotone, in angeu from his limb and cariad away its beotitubes with her to her unseen shieling, it is, De Rore Coeli. And so the poor Gripes got wrong; for that is always how a Gripes is, always was and always will.be. And it was never so thoughtful of either of them. And there were left now an only elmtree and but a stone. Polled with pietrous, Sierre but saule. O! Yes! And Nuvoletta, a lass.

Then Nuvoletta reflected for the last time in her little long life and she made up all her myriads of drifting minds in one. She cancelled all her engauzements. She climbed over the bannistars; she gave a childy cloudy cry: Nuée! Nuée! A lightdress fluttered. She was gone. And into the river that had been a stream (for a thousand of tears had gone eon her and come on her and she was stout and struck on dancing and her muddied name was Missisliffi) there fell a tear, a singult tear, the loveliest of all tears (I mean for those crylove fables fans who are ‘keen’ on the prettypretty commonface sort of thing you meet by hopeharrods) for it was a leaptear. But the river tripped on her by and by, lapping as though her heart was brook: Why, why, why! Weh, O weh! I’se so silly to be flowing but I no canna stay!

#finnegans wake

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windupnamazu · 5 years ago

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prompt 21: crunch

[ ffxivwrite2019 : cold snap ] [ previous prompts ]

Lunya Lanya was not built for cold weather, much less snow.

She grumbled as Majj dislodged her from yet another snowbank, the dragoon chuckling as he lifted her as easily as he would a sack of popotoes.

“You didn’t haf’ta take on leves ‘ere.” He grinned toothily at her, the points of his fangs glinting under Coerthas’ frosty sunlight. “Thought you didn’t like apples anyhow.”

“I like them!” Lunya exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I just don’t like snow!”

Majj shrugged as he hooked her basket onto Ube’s saddle and pulled up a new one for her from Bentu’s bag, slipping his chocobo one of their apples as a reward for his patience.

The vintners of Ul’dah had recently got into a mirror apple kick and demand was high enough for the Brugaire Consortium to reach out for help gathering them. It was easy coin - which was the only reason Lunya was out here in Coerthas’ perpetual winter, trudging behind her friend and thinking about shoving her hatchet into his head every time he laughed at her misery.

On good days, Majj was a great friend, his liveliness and charisma lightening up the party’s mood. On bad days, he was a menace, and Lunya was really feeling that today.

Just as she started thinking that Majj couldn’t possibly do anything worse than mock her by wearing only a thin coat out in the cold, he walked over a ledge and plummeted into Witchdrop.

Lunya yelped and set down her basket - because Majj had done stupider things in the months since they started adventuring together and lived and she would be damned before letting a paycheck slip away from her for anything - before she darted over to the edge of the cliff. At first glance, she thought the Miqo’te had splattered across the ravine floor, but thankfully it was just the apples unceremoniously scattered around for the banemites to eat. Instead, the Keeper dangled halfway down the cliff face, the back of his coat caught on a jagged spike sticking out of the wall while he looked like a scolded kitten.

The Lalafell sighed, more out of exasperation than relief. “Majj, are you okay?”

“S’alrigh’,” came the muffled response, and Lunya looked around for a way down, her hand to her linkpearl to page the other two members of their party. He probably smacked his head on the way down, and if not then Nyneve could have a good laugh at his expense. “D...dunworry... ‘bout me. I’ll jus', ah, eh. Juuuuuuuump—“

“You will do no such thing!” Lunya shouted, Nyneve mumbling an ‘ow!’ in her ear as their paladin answered the call. “Nyneve, Majj fell in Witchdrop!” She gathered Ube and Bentu’s reins in hand - the last thing she needed was for one of them to jump in after her idiot companion.

“Is he dead?” Nyneve asked curiously. Lunya heard Theodaux splutter in worry somewhere near her and the screeching of chairs pushing back on brick floors.

Lunya glanced back into the ravine. Majj seemed to have regained his senses - though just how much was questionable, as he started testing how strong the spike he was attached to was, looking an awful lot like a worm on a fishhook. “Unfortunately, not yet.”

“No, no, no, watch,” Majj called up to her. “Cats always land on their feet. I can do it.”

He couldn’t see her face, but Lunya frowned anyway. “H’lios said that Miqo’te aren’t cats and Y’shtola called Thancred a bad word for suggesting it.”

“I’ve been on this crystal three years longer than Lios!” Majj scoffed, crossing his arms as the wind gently swayed him side to side. It was a ridiculous sight. “That’s three thousand two hundred 'nd eighty-five more fish I’ve eaten than 'e has! I know what I’m talkin’ about!”

He didn’t say anything about Y’shtola though, which was wise. Privately, Lunya thought that the ones that grew up around other Miqo’te would probably know best, but what did she know?

“Listen, kid—” Majj started.

“I’m nineteen.”

“—I said it ‘ffectionately. I’m the Azure Dragoon—”

“You got your soul stone just last week.”

“—and I’m going to— hang on, Lu, step back.”

With a shake of her head, Lunya did as he asked, crossing her arms with a huff.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

A torrent of wind exploded from Witchdrop, sending snow and apples flying skyward. Majj burst out of the ravine with it, twirling through the air with all the grace of a wind elemental. Lunya was almost impressed until she realized he had conjured a gust so sharp it managed to cut all the apples in the air in half.

“Majj!” she wailed. “The levemete asked for whole apples!” Their chocobos, in contrast, quarked in delight as they snatched up apple slices in their beaks. As Majj landed next to Lunya, coat in tatters and covered entirely in snow but still laughing gleefully, footsteps crunched behind them in the snow.

“Oh, he’s fine,” Nyneve said disappointedly. “Not even bleedin’ or anything. Let’s go back, Theo, it’s freezing out here.”

“Is it?” their white mage wondered as they wandered back down the path to Camp Dragonhead. “It’s rather balmy for Coerthas.”

Majj at least had the decency to scratch the back of his neck in shame as Lunya levelled a glare at him, the sound of the apples hitting the snow as discordant as the sound of coins not meeting her hands. “Uh, I didn’t mean to do that part. You’ll... split the pay for yours with me, ‘ight?”

“Shut up before I push you back into the ravine.”

#ffxivwrite2019 #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #lalafell #miqo'te #oc: lunya #oc: majj #tales from the warriors of light #nyneve and theodaux are there too #that side of coerthas central isnt even where you gather mirror apples. fools.

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eeriestatic · 4 years ago

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Theodore was patiently waiting now for any response. Even body language response, though he didn't have the ability to see through the pillow to see much of anything anyways, he didn't budge from his spot. He just remained idle now, watching her again closely for anything at all - of course he knew how difficult it actually could be just to talk to him overall but he'd never intend to be a hassle for her. But nevertheless, he wasn't bothered by any of the shared words. It was between them after all unless Varro was somewhere in the wall. Instantly though did he become more alert as soon as he'd seen her move, going right for her face now that he could see it. The words had made his head come to the opposite side tilt now, seeking further answers without giving much word that he didn't quite understand for the moment. But neither did he go ahead and interrupt, giving her space to talk while he was otherwise still all the same now again - idle and drinking in her words.

Theodore had little interest in sharing those types of words or thoughts though with anyone - trusting Maya and considering the way of his feelings, of course she was more than the right person. "You are the r-right person... To... To talk about th-th--... Those with." He would've receded back for how sheepish he became again, but not this time. He didn't let himself, neither when she started moving. His gaze risen along with her frame as curious eyes gawked now for a moment - trying to make sense of her doing now, or at least what he could when his time was up. The lurching posture made him flinch with a look of shock until his entire frame flopped, the knocking of his head against her own made a peep leave his lips through the seconds daze. Even if he was stuck laying there now for that span, he was certainly appreciative that Maya assured he didn't bonk his head either for that matter - but small recovery from bonking his against hers though.

An arm wrapped around her frame though, considerably careful at that. But his mind took a second to process how close she was all together, opening his eyes to a mere side eyeing peek. Theodore could see her, though he held on nevertheless while his body didn't want to budge anymore from its cuddle. He heard her out though, but the comment regarding Lios didn't fly over his head - making him chuckle softly. Equally though, the closure only would've made him a little bolder. Though for now, he'd answer her question in what abilities he had in communication even if it was plain simple. "Sorry about... Him." He quietly added, he understood easy. But he jumped from one thing to another. "Things I like... Hmm..." He tilted his head more towards her. "Puppets. Unpopular o-opinion-- make better pe-people than actual ones. Never really tried anything with them though, but I like them." However, that was no nod to even the mask that he lost track of in the bed. "Uh... Reading, though y-you already know that and books- I had ho-hobbies, something like coin collecting. Or general small stuff. I liked to go out and s... Seek, mostly when it was dark though and no one was around. I suppose on the side when I was on my own, I was just a collector for fun. Wasn't ju-just someone locked in a ro--room every second of my life. No matter how scared I could be." He turned his head, nosing against her cheek. "Th-thinking of more... Things I h... Hate is an easy one."

eeriestatic:

His only defence mechanism was hiding under those robes, other than that he couldn’t take the heat of even his own words. Not that he did even out of sight, sure it might’ve been a heavy question though to begin with but Theodore probably didn’t help by asking it specification. Though he let up the robes, letting them hang off his head now loosely and listening to her piece instead. Though his attention was set on her entirely, he at least caught the fact of the two words. Enough that he surely hesitated because of his sheepishness, but he shook his head for the latter to assure that wasn’t what he meant. However, the reactive response made Theodore flinch back and pause, slipping his hand away with a grind of metal on the floor from the second hand shock. Short of wide eyed, he blinked a few times trying to process what he might’ve asked that came off the wrong way - Theodore knew he was capable just as much as Lios. But almost instantly after did he shake his head, enough that it could’ve messed it up. “N-no– I’m not accusing you of anything.” His frame plopped forward, his upper half making it onto the bed and dropping his chin to the bed. It might’ve looked silly, considering that he looked like a worm for the moment.

Though his brows knitted, that might’ve made him sound like some kind of pervert - though he didn’t day that thought out loud. But no doubt the look might’ve been enough to give off some type of unspoken, self scolding. There wasn’t time for that, but other words the outcome of words wasn’t what he intended and as a result had him shaking his head so she didn’t need to worry about trying to bring better light to it. “Just… U-uh… A… Very in-a–inappropriate… Thought question- I’m sorry.” He stifled a breath in his throat by holding it now, instead of trying to excuse it for something else though - he owned up to it at least. Despite how much he burned up over it, he raised a careful and hesitant hand out in her direction and gently laid it over the bed - stretched as far as it could reach before it went flat and idle once it couldn’t reach. “So…rry if I upset you by not b-being a bit more clear- I know I’m a bit of an id–idiot sometimes. I didn’t mean to.” His brows upturned, glancing off to the side as his head came to a tilt.

Despite his reassurance, she still couldn’t face him. Anything she could have said in return might have been misconstrued. On the one hand, she meant everything she had said to him previously, but on the other hand, she didn’t want him to keep talking about it if it was bothersome. Then again, she didn’t want to make it worse by dismissing it as “just as joke” - which, by any means, it wasn’t.

After she gathered up enough courage to lower the pillow, she peeked at his hand, then let her gaze wander all the way down his arm until it landed on his face.

❝I’m not upset– I’m just… embarrassed.❞, she confessed. However, it wasn’t for the reasons he might have thought. ❝It’s okay to have inappropriate thoughts and it’s okay to discuss them with the right people. If you think I’m the right person for that, then I don’t mind.❞, she reassured. It was an understatement to what she actually wanted to convey, which was the fact that she’d be offended if he talked about it to anyone else.

With a sigh, she pushed herself away from the mattress and landed on her knees. Not a moment later, she lurched at him and dived down the bedside, wrapping her arms around his head to protect it from the brunt of the impact with the ground. They ended up bonking heads when the collision happened, but she didn’t move an inch away from his face; rather, she snuggled it and barely gave him a chance to breathe. As tempting as it was to kiss that puppy-like expression away, she chose not to; she thought that if he wanted to go through with it, he would have on his own.

❝Before the murder clown man comes back and I lose Theodore privileges–❞, she chuckled, nestling against his cheek. ❝Tell me more about stuff you like. Or, in case you don’t know what you like, tell me what you dislike. Because trying to get straight answers out of Lios is a headache.❞

#abgrunt #[theodore]#{nerd stuff dhfh}

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recordsarebetterthanpeople · 8 years ago

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VIOLENT MOOD SWINGS (pt 16)

Cela fait maintenant trois mois que tu suis cette histoire invraisemblable de booking qui tourne au vinaigre. Trois mois que ton coeur bat au rythme d’une syntaxe hasardeuse. Trois mois que ton coeur est pris d’une insensée fièvre maileuse. Quelles conclusions en tirer ? Que sont-ils devenus ?

Déjà, je te dois l’honnêteté de préciser que je me suis retenu de publier certains courriels de la part de ******, en raison de leur violence (pour synthétiser, des menaces de mort plus qu’explicites à base de couteau et de sacs poubelles, femme et enfants inclus) ou de leur haut potentiel de creepiness (y sont faits plusieurs fois mention de supposées rencontres à Metz, au comptoir du bar le Rubis, le soir de Noël). Tu n’auras donc malheureusement pas l’occasion de les lire. En revanche, je te confirme qu’après avoir reçu ceux-ci, je me suis fermement décidé à restreindre au maximum mes contacts avec lui, tout en prenant soin de poser une main courante au commissariat de la Ville de Metz à cette époque, copie des mails sus-dits à l’appui.

En 2013, cependant, je tombais sur ce fascinant échange de mails entre le groupe américain BLACK TAPE FOR A BLUE GIRL et notre ami ******, échange qui me rappelait étrangement tout ce que j’avais vécu avec lui durant presque deux ans. De mémoire, c’était la première fois qu’un groupe osait publier publiquement et en toute transparence sa correspondance avec lui. Forcément, je ne me retins pas de partager cette épique lecture sur ma page Facebook. S’en suivirent quelques anecdotes et autres souvenirs qui remontèrent à la surface dans les différents commentaires. Rien qui ne puisse convoquer la Bête pour autant, d’ailleurs je me demandais bien dans le même temps ce qu’il pouvait devenir. J’essayais d’accéder à son profil Facebook, sans succès.

2017.

Pour une raison que j’ignore (probablement un mélange de rancune et de haine qui macèrent dans un jus de connerie), ****** prenait contact avec moi via la messagerie privée du réseau social bleu. Sans avoir la volonté de lui répondre, je me dis que je pouvais au moins lui laisser une ultime chance de s’amender.

Ben oui, hein.

Je suis gentil, hein.

Et un peu con aussi.

Pendant une semaine, je me retrouvais alors assailli de notifications concernant l’échange de mails avec BLACK TAPE FOR A BLUE GIRL partagé sur mon journal. Le troll était de retour, et il était dans une forme olympique, déroulant son petit “****** ****** illustré” avec une telle conviction que l’on aurait presque pu croire à un fake, insultant tout le monde et justifiant son comportement avec de piètres excuses (le coup du “désolé, j’ai bu 2 bouteilles de vin rouge hier” = totalement priceless). Si bien, d’ailleurs, que l’on atteignit sans trop de problème les 500 et quelques commentaires...

Je sais, tu aimerais bien que je publie ses interventions, toutes plus hallucinées les unes que les autres, afin que ce feuilleton palpitant ne se termine jamais. Malheureusement, j’ai été contraint et forcé de supprimer purement et simplement ma publication (et tout ce qui y était attaché) pour deux raisons très simples :

* il commençait vraiment à dire de la merde sur mon boulot à l’Emile Vache, racontant comment j’avais arnaqué les groupes, ne les avait pas payé ou avait gardé leur argent (ce qui bien entendu totalement faux);

* ce petit bâtard eut la présence d’esprit de signaler plusieurs commentaires portant atteinte à son intégrité, provoquant ainsi le blocage de mon compte, ce qui m’emmerdait profondément pendant quelques jours (je m’en sers surtout pour travailler, pas pour raconter ou embellir ma vie).

Tu comprends peut-être mieux pourquoi je me suis décidé à sortir les dossiers, sept ans après notre dernier échange. J’aurais peut-être tout gardé pour moi s’il n’avait pas tenté de me troller comme à la bonne époque. Sacré ******... Je sais d’ailleurs qu’il me lit toutes les semaines. Tu veux en avoir la preuve ? Il y a deux semaines, je reçus cette nouvelle rafale de messages via la messagerie de Tumblr :

1. Tu m'amuses le troll sur patte. Continue....Combien a publier? 20/30/40??? Tu es tres drole...."Osez Josephine"....Mais viens me parler en face....Demande mon telephone ou mon Skype. Plus simple que tes conneries....Que rien ne justifie..Un peu de courage monsieur! Ta vie est un film adolescent..Et bien justement il est temps de parler avec moi...Rien contre, au contraire...Rencontrer son ennemi de sang, c'est toujours constructif...A toi de voir. J'utilise ton email a La Face Cachee?

2. j'aimerai que nous parlions. Ne t'inquietes pas, pas de violence, loin de moi l'idee. Ce serait deja bien mieux que de passer par ce type de connerie via internet...Au moins, nous serions entre personnes humaines et vivantes....cela fait 8 ans que nous nous connaissons. Entre 2 connards que nous sommes tout les deux, nous avons tisse une forme de lien. Mais je prefererai en parler de vive voix. Fais moi signe et je te passerai un tel ou mon Skype...J'aimerai beaucoup crever l'abces.

3. il te manque des emails pour ton message de demain??? Tu me demandes?? Cela concerne quel artist ou groupe???? Pauvre con...Meme pas les couilleU Tu bandes lorsque tu ecrits ces merdes??? Tu peux avoir le courage des gens biens et prendre contact avec moi? Ce serait tellement mieux. Un Skype ou email et tellement mieux qu'une rancoeur...Je t'ai enleve ton Facebook et tu viens pleurer comme une fille...Tas de merde..Un jour cela se finira mal Florian Schall. A force de prendre les gens de haut.

4. Bon, on parle du concert de Lio? Tu m'as propose pas beaucoup de sous, non??? Et pour le reste,que se soit Holden, le roi du punk anglais, perdu dans sa planete, en tout respect, J'etais juste le tourneur pour le France a l'epoque...Ne t'inquietes pas pour lui, il a joue en Angleterre avant et apres ta date..Ben oui...Il joue beaucoup, 13 dates en UK a l'epoque...Oui, il s'est tape la route, mais tu ne m'as envoye aucune avance, non??? Ce fut juste son choix....Et a lui d'assumer...Non???

5. Holden, Autre detail, avant ton concert, 1 jour ou 2, ils avaient eu un concert beaucoup mieux paye Ils t'en ont parle??? Et 2 jours apres cette date. ils avaient aussi un contrat plus de 900 euros, un cafe concert...Bref...Et Lio,....L'Emile Vache, c'etait un cafe...Et tu ne proposait pas assez, soyons realiste. Un peu d'honnetete...J'ai essaye de defendre le projet, en esperant que tu proposes une autre salle, ce qui ne fut pas le cas.Me concernant, je continue le booking...Et je t'emmerde....

6. par exemple, aujourd'hui, cette annee, je fait quoi? En Autriche, juillet, j'ai un super festival pour un groupe reggae plutot connu, qui jouera aussi a Bath et Londres...Apres, J'ai quoi? Un groupe metal culte qui va faire 8 dates en Espagne et 7 en Angleterre, 4 en France et 9 Allemagne, etc....Tu perds ton temps camarade... Tu peux balancer ce que tu veux, le reste, c'est ton probleme, ta concience de mec pas mal dans sa peau mais tres aigris...

Voilà.

Merci mec. Surtout ne change rien.

Pour finir, j’aimerais poster deux témoignages qui me semblent importants pour comprendre un peu mieux le personnage.

Le premier est un simple message posté par un certain Dan le 19 janvier 2015 sur le forum de Peter Perrett, le chanteur des ONLY ONES dont notre ami ****** se targue de les faire jouer partout tout le temps à des prix de foufous :

“So yes, apparently this is a date that has been arranged by a dodgy booking agent in France called ****** ****** without the knowledge of anyone in the band - to scam promoters and venues. Apparently the promoter in Bristol is now in contact with Peter and is trying to arrange something proper.”

Le second est beaucoup plus violent. On le doit à Ben, l’administrateur de la page Facebook Boycott Shitty Venues; Bookers, And Promoters From All Around The World, un patronyme relativement explicite ne laissant pas trop de place à l’interprétation hasardeuse, qui parle de notre ami dans sa section “à propos” en termes peu flatteurs :

“ --Biggest nightmare on earth.-- "He works out of Spain but is an "international" agent but all he does is spam people with bands that he doesn't even have contracts with, then tries to get enough gigs from them and THEN sends emails to the management, so he promises them to venues for a certain fee without even checking how much they really cost. He has fucked over at least 5 big bookers I know, and personally tried to sell me a million bands and for the past 5 years I have been getting booking mails from him and have repeatedly asked to be removed form his mailing list but the fucker NEVER listens and keeps writing idiotic, juvenile answers back instead of removing me from the mails. Just check out this article that went out a while ago:"-- www.projekt.com/store/bands-dont-be-scammed-by-pascal-alliot-daydream-booking-in-spain”

Je pense que le mec a totalement saisi l’essence même de notre roi des trolls.

Voilà.

C’est fini.

Salut.

#Violent Moods Swings #booking #Pantera

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