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knownangels · 1 year ago

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nightcrawler

Close enough to towns, Benji and Matilda prefer to take their rests in relative comfort. Even for her little farmhand, who grew up in far less luxurious conditions, the hard ground occasionally draws impatience and displeasure. And certainly, the average tavern’s bed offers no more comfort. But that doesn’t mean that a tavern has none of it to offer.

Or, at least, a tavern’s inhabitants.

“Well,” Benji says, the metal rings of his tankard clacking against the table. “Shall I, or has this one already foolishly stumbled into your web?”

Matilda follows his gaze across the tavern. “You know that I have done worse to people who have said kinder.”

Benji’s smile is syrupy and devious; he’s already two pints down. “And ‘ave you let ‘em?” He teases. His dark eyes reflect strangely with licks of orange from the fire pit in the center of the room. “Say kindness to you, I mean.”

“Mm. If there is gain to be found in such…pleasantries.” She sneers the word, rolling her eyes. “Does he look capable?”

Her companion tucks a fist under his chin and assesses. The man who has been watching them — or one of them, she can’t be sure who — balks a bit at the combined power of their twin stare. Benji’s entrancing brown and Matilda’s strange, glowing amber.

The stranger is handsome and, unfortunately for him, both of their types. His hair curls where it sits at the base of his neck, parted to the side in a manner that compliments the structure of his face. Sleek, straight nose, prettily rounded eyes, a pink mouth.

“In general,” Benji starts evenly, but the words quickly drip into a suggestive, condescending drawl. “Or of pleasantries?”

“Yes.” Matilda says with a smirk of her own, and then they’re tittering behind their fists, trying not to laugh too loudly.

He looks incapable of anything but pleasantry. He looks clean and prim; golden, the way of favored knights, but with a tired smear beneath his eyes. Hair shiny, skin clear and unmarred by spots or scars. Handsome, but wrong. Filthy; the hint of danger about him dirties that glimmer with an aura Matilda is quite drawn towards. Like a bat orbiting the dusk air, seeking sustenance from an abundance of summer-time biting insects, she feels herself empty. She stares at their prey, and decides then:

Be crushed, be ground to nothing between my teeth. Let me bite and feed and be fed.

Yes. Lovely, this one. Lean with a bit of physical power; Matilda’s preference. Charming, if his slight smile betrays any skill of it, with a tilt towards unfiltered smugness; Benji’s. Matilda could laugh again. That they might silently bargain him like a dice game’s prize.

Do I feel inclined towards pleasantries this evening, she wonders, her eyes locked to the stranger’s, or is there something else that would sustain me?

Benji’s knowing smile is wrinkled sweetly under the knuckles that he presses to his cheek. “And what would your dashing, mysterious thief say if he knew you contemplated other bodies warming your bed?”

Matilda sucks her teeth. She thinks of that face, shadowed under a night-black hood. Thinks of it lit by candles or the sun or the moon. Clear to her. Beautiful.

“Nothing, if he knows what is good for him.”

Her friend bats his eyelashes and his head tilts, ink-spill hair brushing his shoulder. “And is that you, Til? Are you good for him? Is he becoming agreeably competent with pleasantries?”

She glares, but it is ineffective when he’s stuck his mind to a jest, when he’s fizzy and floating on drink. “No.”

An answer to both questions — she isn’t sure which one she fears more than the other, but she hopes that they are both lies.

“Oh, you’ll break his poor heart,” Benji laughs. He taps her wrist in a rhythm that nicely accompanies the bard’s tune swirling in the air. “When we ran into him on the road that time, he looked at you as if he —”

Her — the thief’s face. Open hurt across it, shattering something within her that she dare not name, dare not admit even existed.

“You’d gone,” he had said to her when she pulled him off the roadside to privacy, away from Benji. “I went to see you. I thought…”

“Foolishness.” Matilda had scoffed, her hands on her hips and eyes cast primly to the sky. Veneer of annoyance, a way to avoid looking at him. Because she felt summarily like falling into his arms, and that had enraged her. “You thought foolishness, I am sure. A skill second only to those deft fingers in a lock.”

As if that had been all there was between them.

“There is little I like less than men who presume to know.” Matilda snaps at Benji, her temper flaring. “Especially when those presumptions meander too close to me.”

He pouts, but is otherwise unfettered by her venomous response. If there is one thing she regrets about their journey together, it is allowing him to peer into her at all. She isn’t sure she could have stopped him in the first place: for such a common upbringing, he is incredibly discerning.

“Yes, honed by time and care for others,” he’d curtly told her one of their first meetings, when she’d roundabout complimented his honed mind.

“Which is to say,” she’d responded impishly, “that you like to waste time in your own thick skull, and that a pretty face will make you weak.”

He’d merely grinned at her, dark brows rising on his forehead. “Ah. So we do have some things in common, then.”

Matilda huffs and stands from the table abruptly, drawing her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Benji stares up at her, eyes lazily half-lidded but piqued with interest.

“Well?”

“Well.” She announces, tilting her chin. “I am going to fuck the strange one.” She points a finger into his face. He snaps wolfishly at it, mouth a teasing sneer. “Do not — stop that — do not have anymore to drink. You’re properly whetted, and if you have another you’ll not be up until midday.”

“Heh,” Benji snorts, chin jerking towards the stranger. “Whetted.”

Oh, powers that be. She’ll find him in the morning, roadside ditch or tucked comfortably in bed. Damn him. She knows which she’d prefer.

The stranger’s name is unknown to her; though she gives and drags her own from him, she is fine with that limited amount of familiarity. She speaks nothing of his identity. Doesn’t ask after it, because she has neither want nor need. Unknown to her, she doesn’t say his name. Not for the whole evening, no matter how capable he is. How much she’d like to ask, just because men go a particular sort of stupid when their ego hears it on a moan. Not at the beginning, when he tucks his scruffy cheeks between her thighs. Not at the end, into the small hours – which admittedly drag on the longer she keeps vigil in his bed. It’s a good place to be. Hating to admit any sort of talent, Matilda lets the spite turn prickly. She holds his wrists to the mattress eventually; but, at first, she offers pleasantries. Soft, slow kisses his pink mouth, a strong jaw. Moves close, allows their chests to brush. At first, she rocks sweetly and fluidly in his lap.

Then she becomes cruel. She expects the same from him. Requires it, even. Her ears prick when he digs nails into her hips. Pins and needles at the hint of danger.

And, like a bat in the sticky heat of summer, she orbits. Opens her mouth and swallows the potential sting. She finds the soft parts of him and the ragged edges alike. Sets teeth in them until he jerks and moans and whimpers when it becomes enough pain.

“You’re beautiful,” he gasps as her rhythm becomes fiercer, more demanding. He repeats that, and other things that lovers might exchange, until she laughs in his face.

“Sweet thing.” She tucks their noses together, flashing a dangerous grin. “I am going to use you up.”

She sits straight up then. Instead of pressing intimately close, she takes his wrists in her hands. Pins him beneath her, long planes of lean muscle used to swing a dagger and cause hurt. She makes him vulnerable and slack in pleasure. From her, under her. Matilda likes that taste of power on her tongue sometimes. Nearly as much as the sharp zip of magic beneath her skin as she calls upon it for a spell.

There are no spells here, now. Just bodies. And, perhaps begrudgingly, a bit of kindness along with the bite.

So at first, she offers pleasantries. But by the end, they’ve fluttered off into the night and he begs for them to return. Or, maybe not. Begs for them to stay gone. Begs for more. His pretty face is convincing enough that she offers him one singular kiss as he drags over the edge for a final time, head tossed back. It’s a good kiss, and the only she allows.

When Benji shoots her a knowing eyebrow in the morning, already up and horses tacked, she will refuse admittance of being…reinvigorated.

“Sometimes,” Benji says, lifting her onto the horse with ease, “I fear you a nightcrawler, rather than a witch.” He grins at her. “Bloodsucker. Man-eater.”

Matilda leans down and snaps her teeth at him, golden eyes flashing wide.

“Oh, my poor sweet friend. Your blessings are few and far between.” She demures, teasingly piteous. “Might you count your safety from my web among them?”

Benji tosses his head back and laughs. “Gladly.”

#mmr #mmr x jlb #fantasy au #writing #rewrite :)

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in-case-of-grace · 11 months ago

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Not me entirely rethinking Chameleon Core's basic dice after reading this. (I will hold myself back from doing so...for now...)

There are some interesting benefits and drawbacks to the pool approach here-- as a positive, there's the already noted inability to have auto successes. However, there's also a basic accessibility problem where you need a ton of dice to actually play. (Now, plenty of TTRPG folk do have those, but not all-- there are enough cases where players only have access to a single set for this to be worth consideration.)

There's also some slight concern about friction-- when they get large enough, dice pools can take longer to resolve than target values. As they get bigger, you've got more dice to roll, collect, and check. (If you use something like FUDGE dice and just have a success be on +'s then you can remove some of this friction, however-- this comes at the cost of less ability to change a success threshold.)

From a game designer's standpoint though it would make balancing easier-- either you only have 1 die's value to worry about, or you use a threshold and have harder rolls require more successes, and easier ones require less. You wouldn't have to memorize every possible modifier players could get to figure a fair target value. Even when playing this would make the GM's job a lil easier-- I think determining how many dice and successes are needed would be inherently easier than determining a target value.

But, of course-- this doesn't mean target values are inherently wrong either, since you can potentially avoid the auto success problem with a good handle on balancing. Just limit the ways in which rolls can be modified, while also ensuring that you don't make it completely impossible to succeed at average tasks without a billion modifiers.

Target values will also be less random, at least insofar as my...much less mathematically inclined brain can figure. It's more predictable for most folk, the math for dice pools is complex in a zone I think a lot of people can't as easily do in their head while playing a game. (Though it has the upfront appearance of being simpler, and it is at the point of rolling at least.)

As far as I can see it in my just-woke-up-thinking-about-dice state of mind, the value of a pool system is in avoiding the auto success and (depending on the size of the pool) reducing the math in your game. (When playing at least.) Whereas a target value system's value lies in easier access, and a greater ability to Get Crunchy With It as it's more predictable.

I'm rambling now but it's fun to think about these things, I'd be interested in hearing more about where folk think the value of each approach lies! (And if I'm incorrect on any of these fronts.)

There's an interesting functional difference between dice pool systems and target number systems that I feel is often overlooked.

For the sake of this discussion with a dice pool system I mean any system where a number of dice are rolled and the values of each individual die are read as is. How those dice are interpreted depends on the game: sometimes you'll be looking at the number of dice that hit a certain numerical threshold (like in WoD, Shadowrun, Burning Wheel, etc.) and that number measures your degree of success. Sometimes you'll simply look at the highest number and interpret the results on a table (like in Blades in the Dark).

Conversely with a target number system I'm referring to any old system where the number of dice rolled is set in stone and the sum of those dice is compared to a target number: the target number itself can be determined by a character's stat or the difficulty of the task, sometimes modifiers are applied to the roll or the difficulty or even both. Whatever. The point is, it's comparing the sum of the roll to a target number and there's a target that needs to be hit for good results. D&D, PbtA, Call of Cthulhu, these are all target number systems, they simply use different dice and different methods for setting the target number.

Anyway, the difference that I feel is often ignored is that within a dice pool system there is no way to outpace the target numbers so that failure is never an option.

Even though in PbtA games modifiers of +5 or more are rare, there is a theoretical possibility of getting there through the clever application of moves, which will theoretically make it so that you will get at least a 7-9 (interpreted as a partial success). Conversely, in D&D (3e, 5e at least) past a certain point characters will reach a degree of competence where certain checks are basically a non-issue. In spite of how people often run these games, natural 1s are not automatic failures on ability and skill checks, so provided you are able to get a high enough bonus (easier in 3e via hunting for synergy bonuses, but even 5e has some abilities which will ensure a minimum result of 10 on the dice for certain proficiencies, meaning that Hard checks become automatic successes).

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iwadori · 4 years ago

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Hey! I really liked that atsumu x reader fic where reader's Kita's sister. Could we get a similar fic but instead it's Kuroo dating kenma's equally as socially awkward sister/team manager?

Dating your Brothers teammate PT 2 (Kuroo)

Part One Part Two Part Three

Word count: 1.8K

Genre: angst, fluff

You were a first year in Nekoma high school

You kept to yourself, since you found it hard to make friends

You spent your time in your classes, the library or joining your old brother’s (kenma) practices, although when you did attend you didn’t socialize with all your brother teammates you either sat with a book on in your hand or (if you were lucky) played on Kenma’s nintendo swtich.

When Kuroo first saw you, he thought you were the prettiest girl that he ever laid his eyes on. He was speechless, to say the least. Kenma introduced him and you first as when you started in your first year, since he knew that you two should at least be acquainted with each other as you were all going to be walking to school together.

You found Kuroo very annoying (and that was an understatement) his debonair smirk, his wild wild bedhead and all of his continuous chemistry puns were things you found attractive annoying about him.

Sometimes when you attend practice, you could tell that Kuroo was trying extra hard in an attempt to ‘show off’ to you, but you took no notice since you knew what type of guy Kuroo was (well you thought). Kuroo was a heavy flirt (well everyone he laid eyes on) he also was a giant dick. To you, he was a your average stereotypical teenage boy.

One day, Kenma fell ill with a cold so it just left you alone to walk to school. However, when you left your house, you see the last person you want to see.

“Kenma’s not coming today” you whisper softly, but loud enough for him to hear.

“Yeah I know” he smiled

“So then why are you here?” you ask

“Well I’ll have you know Y/N, I’m here to see you.” he said as you start walking

On your route to school, you don’t say much just letting Kuroo talk about things or asking you questions to which you just nodded or shook your head in reply. As much as you’d like too, you didn’t know how to properly talk to someone like Kuroo, knowing the types of conversations he’s used to having with people, especially other girls.

Reaching the gates of Nekoma, before you could step inside Kuroo pulls you to side and puts his hands on your shoulders “Y/N” he says,

“Yes Kuroo?” you look up at him

“I just want to say I like you..” he says waiting for a response from you

“I-I ...umm” You didn’t really know what to say, although you did find him annoying beyond relief there were some redeeming qualities about Kuroo that you could think of. But would two even work properly?

From your lack of response Kuroo continued, “I’m sure you don’t trust me right now, but Y/N don’t worry I’ll make sure I’ll prove to you that I’m a good guy for you.”

You couldn’t do anything but nod, since you didn’t really know what to say to that. Just then, the bell rings and you were still frozen in place, only snapping out of your trance when you hear Kuroo shout from afar “Don’t worry Y/N im going to do my best to woo you!”

Over the next month, Kuroo is doing his extra best to get you to fall in love with him doing things like: walking you to your lessons, carrying your books for you, bringing you lunch and spending everyday complimenting you to your face and to his friends.

His actions made you swoon, you did feel more comfortable around him, although you haven't confessed your feelings yet, you were planning on to at the date that you reluctantly accepted to go on. You were going to have dinner first at this nice restaurant that you showed interest in ages ago and you were planning to watch a sequel to *insert favourite movie here* since he knew that you really liked the first one.

Before leaving out to the date you looked in the mirror giving yourself a once over. ‘Wow I look hot’ you thought smiling, you were kind of excited to see Kuroo and hear what he had to say about how you looked today. When you were leaving you were startled by Kenma who said

“Where are you going Y/N?” he asked with his eyes focused on his game

“Oh, to the library” you lied your cheeks heating up.

“Sure, you are...” he said

“Bye Kenma” you say putting your hand on the door knob

“Oh Y/N” he calls

“Mhm”

“You look nice today” making you smile wide giving your brother a ‘Thank you’ before finally leaving.

On the way to the restaurant, you had a pep in your step, you felt the happiest you’ve ever been in a while. You stood outside the restaurant and took a few deep breaths to calm the sudden surge of nerves that washed over you. You counted to 10 and walked in the resturaunt freezing at what you saw, there was Kuroo looking as handsome as ever but next to him was a beautiful girl who was tall and had long hair, pretty eyes and a great body who also reminded you of someone you knew (but you just couldn’t put your finger on it.)

She exclaimed “Tetsu!” and pulling into a hug, her boobs pushing against his chest making you cringe. You didn’t know what to do, you couldn’t compete with this European-looking supermodel, especially she already looks really friendly with ‘Tetsu.’

You storm out the restaurant a bit too aggressively, causing attention to yourself making Kuroo look at over to you, cursing himself for knowing how the situation looks to you. He chases after you, but sadly you were already gone.

When you got home, you rushed upstairs to your room with tears in your eyes. You knew this was stupid in the first place ‘Trusting a guy like Kuroo Testurou, how stupid can you be.’

Kenma came into your room, never asking or caring to know what happened as he knew that once you were ready to tell him you would. You and Kenma have always been close, as you’re both as quiet as each other you never felt the need to be surrounded by a bunch of people since both of you were just what each of you needed.

You managed to forget the awfulness of your ‘date’ getting distracted by trying to win in a game of Murder Mystery on roblox and also having fun trolling 6 year olds with your brother. The night was basically ended and before you dozed off to sleep and Kenma went to his own bedroom he said “At least talk to him Y/N” leaving your room not waiting for a response.

As you slept, you thought about what Kenma said ‘what more is their to say to Kuroo?’ You did think about all the possibilites of what could’ve really happened with Kuroo and that girl. Maybe they’re just friends? You didn’t want to think about the possibility of you being wrong. You were never wrong. So you just slept with the assumption of Kuroo being who you thought he was in the first place. A womanizing dick.

As lonely it was, you didn’t tag along with Kenma to the gym and you made sure to wake up earlier so you didn’t have to walk to school with your brother and your boyfriend his best friend.

Kuroo really wanted to talk to you again but you were heavy on the ignoring him. He even asked Kenma for help, but even though your brother was definitely always going to be on your side no matter what, he didn’t want to be in between his bestfriend and his little sister.

When you were walking home from school one day, you were stopped by the pretty girl that was with Kuroo on your ‘date.’ “Hi, my name is Alisa Haiba” she said smiling

‘Haiba’ you thought ‘Where do I know that surname?’ until you realised, “Oh your L-”

“Lev’s sister, that knucklehead is my brother” she laughed

“So what do you need me for?” you ask

“Me and Kuroo are just friends, I know you probably won’t believe me but me and him are NOT dating or anything romantic, he’s as much as a little brother too me then Lev is” she said

“Oh ok, thanks” you didn’t have any more to say and with this newfound information, you did feel more inclined to give Kuroo a chance, and that is if he even wanted one after all the ignoring and avoiding you’ve been doing. Now you feel stupid.

You thought back to all your times with Kuroo, making you smile. You knew what you had to do, you couldn’t shy away from this anymore, you thought about the scenario of him completely rejecting you and to be honest you were content with that as if ‘you don’t ask you don’t get’ or whatever the saying is. Since it was Friday, you knew that Kuroo would be at Kenmas playing smash bros on their switches (and that’s when you would usually spend extra time at the library to avoid him.)

So, you rushed to your house, dramatically opening the door exasperated. “Kuroo!” you shout, not even looking to see if he was there, to your horror there was the whole team over tonight who were quite humored by your shout.

You went red and then shyly whispered “May I speak to Kuroo please?” looking up at him “that’s if you wanted”

“Umm...sure” he said getting up to follow you into your room.

Kenma gave you a reassuring smile that read ‘Everything's going to be ok.’ You led Kuroo to your bedroom and sat on your bed fidgeting.

“I’m sorry”

You both say at the same time, making each other laugh he waits for you to speak, “Kuroo, I’m sorry for misreading the situation and ignoring you and making you out to be a complete dick, I know I’m probably a bit too late but I’d love to ask you on a proper date... one that I won’t run away on this time”

“Y/N, it’s fine. I’m sorry for not actually explaining the situation as I know what it looked like. And yes, I will definitely take you up on that date... that’s if you’ll have a ‘dick’ like me” he jokes

You playfully shove his arm, making you both laugh. You spend the rest of the night with Kuroo in your room catching up on all the things you’ve both missed out on in the time when you were ignoring him.

The date you went on was better than you imagined, Kuroo was definitely a great guy (making you feel even more stupid for assuming differently in the first place.) You developed an amazing relationship with Kuroo, which lead you to eventually become mrs Y/N Kuroo and having Kenma and Kuroo be able to officially call themselves ‘real brothers’

AN: I really actually enjoyed this one, so I hope you do too. <3

#haikyuu x reader comfort #haikyu angst #haikyu x reader #haikyu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyu fluff #haikyu headcanons #kuroo x reader #kuroo headcanons #kuroo scenarios #kuroo angst #kuroo fluff #kenma x reader #kozume kenma #signedwithane😌

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inquisimer · 3 years ago

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Hello! How about something for Acacia Trevelyan this week (plus whomever you would like)? For the prompt “I just want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.” - from the 20 Dialogue Prompts for Each Emotion list? Happy writing!

oh my god i definitely freaked out to my bestie that you requested Acacia bc she's one of my non-inquisitors that I pretty much expect people to ignore

ANYWAY it doesn't say on her page but Acacia's LI is cullen, because I'm predictable, so here's some pining acacia x cullen for you this happy friday

for @dadrunkwriting

She’d gone to Haven for her brother. To make sure that Drew was alive and not actively doing anything to sabotage his own existence. No more than usual, at least. She’d come for her own peace of mind and because they hadn’t been allowed to exist in the same space since they were young children and she loved her brother.

That was why she’d come, she reminded herself, as she watched that hussy throw herself at Cullen for the umpteenth time. The woman had joined the Inquisition with the first wave of recruits after they reached Skyhold and she’d barely moved from Cullen’s makeshift desk in the courtyard in the meantime.

It didn’t help that she was pretty—if Acacia had met her back in the Marches, there was a good chance they’d have ended up back in her room, if the elf was so inclined. She was heavier than the average elf, but no less graceful and her muscles hinted at skills untold and a life hard lived. Her hair was bleached and spiky and a direct contrast to the dark red tattoos that crisscrossed her face. It was unsurprising, perhaps, that Acacia had seen Cullen eyeing the woman intently, so different was she from their average recruit, so captivating, so interesting and unique and—

She tore a dagger straight through the head of one of the training dummies with a nearly hysterical shriek, drawing a concerned look from Cassandra, of all people. Without bothering to soothe the Seeker’s concerns, Acacia sheathed her blades and stormed off toward the crumbling section of the battlements.

That was where he found her later, after Cassandra someone managed to break through the fog of duty and paperwork to send him in her direction. Most of her ire had broken, and her bitterness was tinged by the knowledge that she had no right, but it still stuck out around her like barbs that would spear anyone who came too close. She heard him coming, because he wasn’t stealthy and he wore heavy armor and she was way too attuned to his presence, but she ignored him and pressed her face further into where her arms were folded across her knees.

“Acacia?”

His voice was hesitant and she had to resist the urge to reach out and reassure him. Her feelings were valid and important and she would not deny them just to ensure that he did not feel anything even vaguely uncomfortable.

“Are you well, my lady?”

She held back a flinch, because he was much closer now and his voice wrapped around her ears like warm honey. Feigning reluctance, she raised her head. He was almost leaning against the half-collapsed wall, but not quite relaxed enough to call it such.

“Not a lady,” she reminded him with a tired sigh.

“Agree to disagree.”

She rolled her eyes and unfolded herself from her moping crouch, though she remained perched atop the wall. The sun was setting over Skyhold and it cast Cullen’s armor in a burning halo, which was a better excuse to avoid looking directly at him than the truth.

“You’ve been…troubled, since we came to Skyhold.” The honest concern in his voice hurt almost as much as the sight of Lavellan, clearly searching the courtyard below for the Commander. “Do your concerns for the Inquisitor cause you so much grief?”

“Drew is a constant source of grief, my own concerns aside.”

“Then what ails you, my L—” he stopped short at her glare and smoothly corrected course, though a hint of blush crept up his neck. “What weighs on your heart, Acacia?”

“What doesn’t?” she sighed. It wasn’t like she could admit to her jealousy—because it was, without a doubt, jealousy. She’d never met a man who was shy about their interest in her, either because they perceived her as promiscuous and therefore receptive to any attention, or because they were overly confident in their own dicks to the point of forgetting that a woman could refuse them. No one had ever held back in their affections, which meant that Cullen wasn’t interested, because he'd been nothing but politely professional in their interactions thus far.

So she had no room to be jealous, because Lavellan was a strong, impressive, attractive woman and of course she would catch the Commander’s eye, for both the strategic advantage of enveloping a Dalish to the inner circle and the beauty she so obviously wielded as a weapon.

“Would you…” he hesitated, as if following instructions and checking to ensure he was doing it right. “Would you like to talk about it?”

She laughed without humor, though his affect was amusing. “Wouldn’t you rather listen to the plight of Lady Lavellan?”

“Ellana?” and oh it shouldn’t hurt so much that he knows exactly who she means, on a first name basis no less. She tucked her head into her shoulder to hide her reaction.

“I don’t understand,” he said, and Maker help her she can hear his earnest honesty and she can’t decide if that’s better or worse. “Ellana merely wishes to extend her clan’s assistance in our efforts, and it is a trifle thing to have Josephine direct her resources. Why would I waste focus on—oh—”

Acacia wasn’t quite able to choke back her disbelieving snort. He really was oblivious, wasn’t he? The elf had done everything but shove her bare chest in his face, and he’d still sent her off to the ambassador’s office without a second thought. Maybe she didn’t need to worry so much about competition, as she did about the commander’s general obliviousness.

Or maybe she should worry about Drew, like she was supposed to, or about how her position would fare in the Marches while she was here, or whether her parents would try and reclaim her future, or any number of things that were far more important than her potential love life.

“I don’t…” Cullen looked lost, stranded by something unexpected, though she didn’t know how he could be. She hadn’t exactly been subtle with her interest, at least not from her perspective. He would have to be the most ignorant man on Thedas to have missed the signs she laid out for him. Instead of pointing that out, she offered him a soft, sad smile.

“I just…” she shook her head and deftly left her perch, poised to flee after her confession, lest he put more cracks in her heart. “I just hope you’re happy.”

Even if it’s not with me.

#dadwc #my writing #cullen x trevelyan #oc: acacia trevelyan #cullen x acacia #dai #non inquisitor ocs my beloved

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ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her · 3 years ago

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On Education

An excerpt from Memoirs of a Flesh Eater, never published.

Previous Excerpt

Next Excerpt

I think every parent struggles with the question of when they should teach their children hard truths. At some point, every child needs to learn about death. They need to learn about hatred. They need to learn about the horrors people will inflict on them for being different. This is something that is as true for ghouls as it is for humans. For most people, it is a fact of life that someone will hate you for existing.

Human-on-human prejudice is still something I don’t fully understand. At least humans have a reason to hate us. I don’t know why they go looking for reasons to hate each other too.

Educating ghouls is a challenge. We need to know about ourselves, of course. We need to know about our kind - our needs, our history, our ways of moving through human society - but we need to learn everything that humans learn too. The more we can fit seamlessly into the human world, the safer we are. You probably don’t know this, what with how much the news loves a story about a ghoul living in secret among humans, their murders exposed to the shock of their friends and acquaintances, but those of us who are brought up among humans don’t get found out very often. It’s the feral children, the big city packs that still hunt most of their food, the all-ghoul communes, that are easier targets for the exterminators. Those of us that are fully integrated are much harder to sniff out, unless we seriously fuck up.

{Editing Note: Don’t say fuck. Even though it’s a really good word}

The best way to make sure a ghoul can pass as human is to start us young. Get us into kindergarten, then elementary school, and keep going all the way through college. There’s nothing better than hands-on training. That’s what my mom did for me, mostly. I was raised in human society, in the human public school system, and I’ve never had a true close call. I’ve never caught the eye of an exterminator, and no human has ever asked me pointed questions about my habits or diet.

For the sake of completeness, I should say that I was in the human public school system for everything except for middle school. It’s not like that’s a great loss, though - everything I’ve heard about middle school sounds like hell. I don’t know how any of you survived going through puberty in front of all your peers.

{Editing Note: I am not talking about ghoul puberty unless I can find a reliable human to tell me what their puberty was like. If I wrote about something that I thought was ghoul-specific but is actually normal I’d die on the spot. I’d call a fucking exterminator on myself.}

Conventional schooling might be the best setup for success, but it’s also the most dangerous route. Kids talk, and that’s as true for us as it is for you. It takes a lot of work to make a child understand that there are some things you can never tell anyone, not even your closest friends, not ever. It’s not a fun burden to grow up carrying either. I’ve known the fear of death for literally longer than I can remember. I’ve known that letting myself be truly honest and vulnerable with any of my classmates would bring it to me and my parents before the day was over {Editing Note: True vulnerability is what I need now, though. I should find a place to talk about my dad}. It’s more loneliness than any child should ever grow up with. I was lucky; I found Scarlet in 4th grade. There are plenty of ghoul children that don’t find each other until high school, if there are even any other ghoul children to be found.

Some parents decide that the risk is too great. They’d rather have alive children than well-adjusted children, so they homeschool them {Editing Note: Okay, that’s way too harsh. Don’t be biased}. I did get to experience this approach for those couple of years when I wasn’t in middle school, and it does have some advantages other than safety. When I was in public school, my mom had to find time after school to teach me about our people. In a homeschool setting, ghoul studies could actually be integrated into our curriculum. It wasn’t completely asocial, either - ghoul parents often use their Society connections to find other ghoul children that are homeschooling so we can learn together. I met my second best friend, Scorpio, because we were homeschooled together.

{Editing Note: My friends are going to read this. I need to make it super clear that Scorpio is the second best friend I made chronologically. I’m not ranking my friends in front of the entire world.}

Scorpio’s a good friend, but he’s also a good case study for the drawbacks of homeschooling. He was homeschooled K through 12 and he is definitely the worst of my friends at passing. He has no idea what’s normal for ghouls vs normal for humans, so he compensates by either saying nothing or saying the most obvious, outlandish lies you could imagine when childhood comes up in conversation. In his defense, those lies are usually pretty funny, and he does connect pretty well with the right kind of people. Scorpio’s got a bunch of very specific subjects that he knows a ton about and loves to talk about. He and Scarlet can go on for hours about literary theory.

{Editing Note: That’s too meandering. I’m just trying to explain why some ghouls homeschool and some don’t - I don’t need to put my weird friends on blast.}

There’s another kind of formal schooling for ghouls that’s much, much rarer - the ghoul private school. The only one I even knew of, St. Raymond’s, was shut down last year by exterminators. Normally I’d tell you to take the lurid details you hear on the news with a healthy pinch of salt, and I still would, but that many rich young ghouls, completely cut off from the rest of humanity… it’s hard to predict what becomes normalized in that kind of echo chamber.

Fortunately, my patron knows more people than I do, so I have more to offer you than grim speculation. According to her, these kinds of places always have a very small student body, rarely breaking a hundred. The lesson content is pretty similar to homeschool - fully integrated ghoul curriculum, plus a few specialized lessons on blending into human society. Out of necessity, they’re almost always boarding schools. It’s easier to keep a low profile if you don’t have a bunch of ghoul kids not used to hiding going to and from the campus every day.

Apparently, it’s that kind of logistical challenge that makes these schools so rare. Aside from all the money you need to run a school in the first place, and how careful you need to be to pass scrutiny from the Board of Education, providing discretely for the needs of that many ghouls is an organizational nightmare. I mean, there’s a reason that ghoul families are so small, a reason why even our extended households rarely do more than scrape the double digits. There’s only so much flesh that can be safely obtained in one area at a time. There aren’t a lot of ghouls that have the resources and the inclination to put one of these schools together.

There is, of course, one more ways that ghouls are educated - the school of hard knocks {Editing Note: That’s such a trivializing way to put it. Have some sensitivity, me}. Given how short our average life expectancy is, it’s inevitable that some ghoul children have to fend for themselves from a very young age. I doubt it comes as a surprise that most of them don’t manage to integrate into human society very well. The lucky ones figure out early on how to kill discreetly, how to hide their nature from observers, and how to vary their hunting patterns enough to avoid the attention of the exterminators. The rest either starve quietly or die violently.

Most of these feral ghouls who survive to be teenagers eventually find each other and form packs. From a pure survival standpoint, this is a bad move. A group of feral teenage ghouls have a much harder time covering their tracks than they would as individuals, but for most, the chance at companionship is too tempting. It’s miserable, being alone in the world. Packs offer most of them the best chance to escape loneliness that they’ll ever get. And for most of them, it ends in a shallow grave within a year. Putting down a pack of feral ghouls is a good headline for an exterminator, and it’s a lot less work than trying to ferret out those of us who’ve figured out how to pass. That isn’t how the majority of ghouls die, but it’s how a plurality of us do.

For those few feral ghouls that survive to adulthood, their lives take one of three paths. Sometimes they find a patron and fall in with a household, and they do their best to heal from the trauma of their childhood. They do their best to find a happy life in human society, just like those of us who were luckier. Sometimes they become true Hunters, living their lives on the outskirts of our Society; still embraced by us, if only at an arm’s length. I’ll talk more about them later.

And sometimes, they become the Lost. Not that ghouls from any walk of life are immune to that fate, but… I’ll get to them later too. You may not have heard of them by that name, but I guarantee you’ve heard of the Lost.

{Editing Note: That’s a really grim note to end the chapter on. I should play with the structure a bit and find a more uplifting note to leave this subject on.}

{Editing Note: Or I could ask Kestrel. I’m sure she’d have ideas on how to better write the section on feral ghouls, and she could help me strike a more authentic tone. But… I don’t want to upset her. She doesn’t like to think about it, and I don’t want to hurt her. Is this important enough? Would she think it’s important enough?}

#my writing #original fiction #not tlt #memoirs of a flesh eater

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years ago

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Strictly Professional Feelings

Ch 2: The Type of Guy this Place Needs

There were several things that Connor hadn’t expected when he and Silas had decided to start Arkait Medical Enterprises. The biggest of course, was becoming comparable to CyberLife within their first five years. He and Silas were fresh out of university; him with his business degree, and Silas with his first of many science and engineering degrees. They hadn’t been ready for the sudden rise to the top since prosthetics was such a closed business, and it had been a struggle to keep the employees they had while filling all of the sudden positions. The turnover had been brutal. As soon as things had settled Ben, one of the heads of the business office decided to quit and now he was having to look for someone to fill the place he had left. He and Markus looked internally first to see if there was someone they could simply move up. They didn’t have any luck with that and had to look at outside applicants. Markus narrowed it down to a few candidates. It took a couple more weeks after that to decide, but they both agreed that Hank Anderson was the one. He had the necessary experience and he was a retired Police Lieutenant so he was capable of handling high stress situations. He was the best fit for an office containing one Gavin Reed.

Markus handled the interviewing process as he always did so Connor didn’t know anything more about Hank than what had been on his application So when he came to work to find Hank’s file on his desk with the note ‘The type of guy this place needs. :)’ on it he smiled. He spent the morning getting Hank’s keys activated and making sure Silas could get his computer set up today. When he called down to the lab Silas tore into him before he could even get a greeting out. Gavin had apparently broken another computer terminal. “I swear to every god Connor. I am so close to just going to Walmart or some shit and getting him a goddamn laptop.” Silas snapped, “This is the third one this quarter. He is averaging almost one a month and my department’s financial report is going to be screwed, which means Richard is going to be pissed at me. Again.” Connor sighed as three firm but polite knocks came from his office door. That had to be Hank, anyone else would have just come in. It was a nice change. he opened the door and beckoned him inside. He was on autopilot and not paying attention as he tried to appease Silas. He did not want to be dealing with this right now, he had an interview to conduct.

“Look. Silas, I will try to talk to Gavin about not drinking coffee so close to his computer; but your issue really lies more with Richard. He’s the one that brings Gavin all that coffee.” He exhaled in an attempt to let out his frustration and switch gears, “Hank is here. If it’s really bothering you this much, you can come up when the meeting is finished and we can try and figure something out.” “I’ll be up when it’s done, and I’m bringing Richard.” Silas said dryly and Connor hung up the hone as his twin muttered something else under his breath. He turned his attention toward Hank and froze. He was going to kill Markus, that note was a bad joke. Hank was exactly his type and Connor had not been prepared for that. Blonde hair that was just starting to gray, he was built like an oak tree, and rough around the edges. Connor cleared his throat and brought himself back to the moment. He was not inclined to follow that train of thought; right now at least. “Sorry about that.” Connor said as he held his hand out toward hank, “My name is Connor, it’s a pleasure to meet you Lieutenant.” “Just Hank is fine.” He responded, and nope, Connor was not ready for this at all. Not the pleasantness of his smile or the rough timbre to his voice, “My Lieutenant days are long behind me now.”

Connor forced himself back into business mode and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. Once they were both seated he dug through the files on his desk until he found Hank’s. He took the keycard and nametag out then handed them over. “Alright, Just Hank.” He groaned internally, apparently he was going to flirt poorly with this probably straight man instead of being a professional. This was fine, definitely not creepy. “These will get you into the building at any tome. They both do the same things so just carry whichever one is easier.” “Thanks.” Hank said as he tucked them away. Connor moved onto the next thing on his mental list with a nod, he was determined not to make this anymore uncomfortable for either of them. “You’re in the business office which is on the eleventh floor. You’ll be in an office rather than the bullpen so hang a left once you leave the elevator. You’ll be the last door on the right.” He looked up from the file he’d been pretending to read and met Hank’s eyes for only a moment. He didn’t want to get distracted and stare. “They should have the nameplate up on your door by tomorrow. Silas should be down to help you with your computer in a half hour at most. Any questions?” Hank was quiet for a long moment and then shook his head, “I’m good, thanks.” “Alright.” Connor said, “I’m just a call, email, or elevator ride away if you need anything.” Hank gave another nod and made his way to the door, “Thanks for your time Connor.”

“No problem Just Hank.” He smiled as Hank left and he organized his desk again while he waited for his brothers. He was daydreaming badly enough that he didn’t even hear them come in. “So that was Hank huh?” Silas remarked with a smile Connor could hear though the sudden voice had made him jump. “I’m surprised you survived.” “Keep this up Six, and I will personally buy Gavin an extra large coffee.” Connor replied as he sat back. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He said and put his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “Anyway,” He shot a sharp look at Richard, “Speaking of coffee.” “He likes coffee.” Richard said defensively, “I don’t know what else to do to get him to like me.” “Talk to him.” Connor suggested despite knowing his little brother’s lack of social skills, “Or take him out for coffee on his lunch. Just please keep it away from his computer. I’m pretty sure Silas is ready to kill him.” “Only if he stops stealing my only productive intern.” Richard replied. Connor groaned, “Both of you need to settle this please. Six stop stealing Daniel when he’s on the clock; and Nines stop giving Gavin coffee while he’s working.”

He got a begrudging “Fine.” from the both of them. “Great.” Connor replied with a shooing motion, “Now get out of my office. I need to go murder Markus and figure out how I’m supposed to survive the monthly staff meetings.” His brothers only laughed. “Good luck.” Silas remarked on his way out. Connor groaned and brought his head to his desk with more force than was strictly needed. If he knocked himself out he might be able to convince himself that this was all just a dream. He was not ready to deal with this. Not to mention the luck his brothers had with their attempts at office romance; and whatever Nines was attempting to do to Gavin; didn’t exactly put the odds in his favor. Those staff meetings were going to kill him.

#A Guide to Bad Business Practices AU #AGBBP #Strictly Professional Feelings #SPF #Hankcon #dbh hank #dbh connor #dbh fic #dbh

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thebluelemontree · 4 years ago

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Hiya blue lemon it's me again. Do you have any criticism in the way GRRM wrote Sansa in book1/2? EX:.Sansa and Jeyne are BFF but we amolst never see the girls talking to eachother, and when JP is sex traffikced sansa just forget about her(we could have a scene where sansa try to find what happened to JP or at least grieve for her). Every time sansa appears as a non-POV in AGOT she's been mean and whe we have her POV she's mean for no good reason(SANSA III AGOT). >PART 1<

And the worst is why GRRM wrote sansa goin to Cercei to tell her the "Ned Plans", it's just bad writing, Cercei kill lady so Sansa going to her was OOC GRRM just wrote that to we hate Sansa And in the book it's not explained what "the Ned plans" was(And it was nothing imortant at all, and would make no difference at Ned's fate) so ordinary readers blame Sansa for Ned's death and GRRM does that too in book 2 Cercei put all the blame for Ned death in sansa nd "the Ned Plans" Your thoughts?PART 2

There’s a lot to unpack here.

I get a sense that in the early books, George was not as comfortable writing female relationships as he was writing male relationships or even male-female ones. I mean, Catelyn has no female friends, no companions like Margaery Tyrell’s cousins, no fostering wards of her own, no correspondences with other ladies except that one letter from Lysa for plot reasons. This is just weird for the lady of two major houses. It is neglectful on George’s part to give most of the important social connections to men. This doesn’t mean he was totally inept at writing female relationships, though, and it does seem like he’s tried to improve upon highlighting the positive in later books.

By comparison, the positive side of the brotherly relationships are presented so strongly that it tends to smooth over the conflicts with many readers. Jon can feel envious and resentful of Robb, but the love and loyalty is always in the foreground. The conflict between Arya, Jeyne, and Sansa does have legitimate character arc and plot purposes, so this isn’t bad writing. It’s unfortunate that GRRM presses down so hard on the constant bickering and occasional nastiness, but he did write some positives (albeit they tended to be revealed in later books) and there are understandable reasons for the dynamics. It was not done in a totally unrealistic way. What’s depicted is a typical and relatable rocky period for that age group, and there was negative adult influence at play. It’s not a permanent feature of the sisterhood. It’s all there if you pay attention and you’re inclined to be charitable toward the mistakes of young girls.

If a reader is already predisposed to see the bonds between male characters as more pure and more able to overcome the negative aspects, then they probably also view the bonds between female characters as inherently weaker and more fraught with conflict. Fandom misogyny is not GRRM’s fault. That sector of the fandom will always have contempt for girls for being girls, especially preteen girls. They will always hone in on their faults and belittle their virtues.

I don’t think that is true that we hardly ever see Jeyne and Sansa talking. They are nearly always in each other’s company. There was real friendship between Sansa and Jeyne, because what George does do well with them, is realistically write the way girls cement their bonds. Young girls strengthen their relationship by communicating and confiding in each other. Sharing secrets, crushes, hopes, fears, and pieces of gossip builds trust and intimacy. Jeyne and Sansa do this all the time, even though they can have different opinions and disagree about a lot. Yes, there is some one-sidedness in that Sansa socially outranks Jeyne and believes that makes her more mature and wiser than her friend. Jeyne is dependent on her closeness to Sansa as a highborn lady and future queen to rise successfully, so she’s not going to push back on Sansa’s dominance. This is also a reason Jeyne sometimes bullies Arya to supplant her as Sansa’s “sister.” When Sansa has something to share, she goes to Jeyne to talk about it. I think it’s hilarious that the girls have a debate over which castle Gregor Clegane’s head will get spiked. Sansa wants Jeyne at her side for these new and exciting events like the tourney. When things get serious and dangerous, they comfort each other. Again, this is not all George’s fault if some readers don’t recognize or value the way girls do friendships.

It’s stated quite clearly why Sansa tries to not think about Jeyne or her deceased family members very often. It’s fucking traumatic and her survival while among her captors depends on mentally holding herself together.

If only she had someone to tell her what to do. She missed Septa Mordane, and even more Jeyne Poole, her truest friend. The septa had lost her head with the rest, for the crime of serving House Stark. Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back in Winterfell, dancing and sewing, playing with Bran and baby Rickon, even riding through the winter town if she liked. Sansa was allowed to go riding too, but only in the bailey, and it got boring going round in a circle all day. -- Sansa II, ACOK.

Following her father’s beheading, Sansa was in a suicidal depression for days. She wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t bathe, welcomed drug-induced sleep, and contemplated killing herself. If she thinks too much on those she lost, she falls to pieces. She can’t openly weep and mourn for “traitors” if her life depends on appearing to be loyal to Joffrey. Most of her grief is suppressed inside. This also includes asking too many questions she doesn’t feel psychologically prepared to hear the answer to. She was there when the decision was made to shuttle Jeyne off to Littlefinger; however, she has no idea this is going to result in Jeyne being sent to a brothel and worse. I would also keep in mind that even if she did ask, it’s not like Cersei or Littlefinger would ever tell her the truth. Why would they? Does she really want to hear lies and have to think about what the horrible truth might be when she can’t do anything about it? When it comes to Arya, Sansa believes her sister escaped on the ship bound for home. She comforts herself with imagining that Arya is safe and free, and that’s enough to keep her going.

And she prays and sings for Jeyne, wherever she is.

She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike, for Bran and Rickon and Robb, for her sister Arya and her bastard brother Jon Snow, away off on the Wall. She sang for her mother and her father, for her grandfather Lord Hoster and her uncle Edmure Tully, for her friend Jeyne Poole, for old drunken King Robert, for Septa Mordane and Ser Dontos and Jory Cassel and Maester Luwin... -- Sansa V, ACOK.

It’s only until later in the books that Sansa feels emotionally at peace enough to start remembering the good times with Arya and Jeyne without breaking down into tears. We can also see the conflicts weren’t always a thing, and the love was strong with all three.

Sansa began to make snowballs, shaping and smoothing them until they were round and white and perfect. She remembered a summer's snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They'd each had a dozen snowballs to hand, and she'd had none. Bran had been perched on the roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless. She might even have caught her, but she'd slipped on some ice. Her sister came back to see if she was hurt. When she said she wasn't, Arya hit her in the face with another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing snow in her hair when Jory came along and pulled them apart, laughing. -- Sansa VII, ASOS.

It was most unladylike, but Alayne sound found herself laughing. For just a little while, as she ran, she forget who she was, and where, and found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up. -- Alayne I, TWOW.

So it’s not even that the girls only bond through confiding. They run, play, and roughhouse with each other. It’s interesting that AGOT!Sansa tried to be so mature and proper, but now that she’s older, she’s remembering how good and freeing it was just to be a kid. But let’s not act like this part of the story is over. Jeyne is still very much alive and seems likely to run into Arya in Braavos. We can almost be 100% certain that Sansa will find out the truth about what happened to Jeyne and what Littlefinger did to her (and her parents), then watch out. Sansa will turn all that buried pain into a righteous fury at Littlefinger.

Now as for Sansa being mean for “no reason.” Um... yeah, LOL. Sometimes she’s just a total unwarranted bitch to her sister, and it’s not meant to be a good look. Sometimes she’s superficial, insufferably immature and annoying, judgmental and prejudiced AND THAT’S OKAY. I mean, she sounds no better or worse than your average middle-schooler if they were of the privileged nobility. Guess what? Sometimes preteens are really like that. Sometimes siblings have ugly, knockdown drag out fights where they say horrible things to each other. Most will grow past those phases and still wind up just as loving and close. It’s realistic and believable. Sansa has flaws, but they aren’t deep moral flaws. She does an amazing job at growing, learning, and overcoming those flaws over the course of the books. In TWOW, she’s warm and affectionate with people, easy-going, nonjudgmental, and genuinely more mature than ever. She took the stick out of her ass and became a happier person for it. What’s the problem? What did you want her to be? Perfect? Unfailingly kind and loved by everyone all the time? She’d be a saint, not a multifaceted human being. Even with her occasional ugly side, Sansa is still a strong, smart, compassionate badass. I don’t care if some people don’t like her as she is written or if they vilify her with their misinterpretations or ignore her strengths. What bearing does that have on GRRM’s vision for her character? He never set out to write any character that the whole fandom would either unanimously love or hate.

This is not bad writing. This NOT bad writing. This is GOOD writing.

*Sigh* Listen... this whole nonsense about Sansa being to blame for Ned’s demise has been going on since ASOIAF was written on clay tablets. You don’t have to listen to every stupid thing the fandom says about anything. It’s just factually wrong. End of story. This misinterpretation and reader inattentiveness is not GRRM’s fault, because he lays out all the details of everything that went down between Arya, Ned, and Sansa’s POV as it was happening. It’s totally understandable why an upset and frustrated Sansa would go to Cersei, the mother figure she implicitly trusts and admires. She didn’t go to Cersei to betray her father’s plans. She went to the queen to intercede in what she thought had to be some big misunderstanding, having no idea what was really going on or at stake.

This is not OOC for her to go to Cersei after Lady’s death. The hand that killed Lady was her own father’s, a undeniable breach of trust that wounded their relationship. Ned just doesn’t really do a lot to deal with the emotional aftermath either. Ned and Sansa are very similar in turning a blind eye when confronted with unpleasantness from someone they love. Ned is also at that moment disillusioned with Robert’s failure to do the right thing after the Trident incident. He begs Robert in the name of their brotherly love and the love he bore Lyanna, and Robert turns his back on Ned anyway. Yet Ned immediately goes right back to believing in the best of Robert’s nature, despite all evidence to the contrary. Every sign points to this being a one-sided friendship with Robert being lazy, irresponsible, and completely selfish. Like father, like daughter. Sansa has a very hard time accepting that Joffrey and Cersei are not the people she thought they were, even when she’s seen some cracks. And since she can’t understand her father’s actions and the communication has been shot to hell between them, of course she runs to Cersei with her problems. Cersei can flip a switch and pretend to be kind, loving, and understanding.

This is so typical of a teenage thought process: “Dad just doesn’t understand and he’s making a big mistake. I don’t understand why he’s doing this. He doesn’t get how important this is to me. This will all work out if a sympathetic adult steps in and fixes it. Everything will turn out great and we’ll all be happy.” While Sansa is pouring her heart out about how it isn’t fair she can’t say goodbye to Joffrey, Cersei pretends to be that sympathetic mother figure that really understands her. How hard would it be then to pump Sansa for information? Like “Oh my sweet little dove. I know how much you love my son. Don’t worry. I’ll help you straighten this out. You said your father wants to send you away? How? When? What’s the name of that ship again?”

And that line from Cersei’s POV is horseshit. Cersei is a liar and regularly lies in her POV to absolve herself of responsibility and force the blame entirely on others. In this case, Cersei is acting like she didn’t totally manipulate a trusting child to betray her. We also know this is a lie because Ned was the one that told her himself of his plans to reveal the invest and remove her as queen. Sansa had nothing to do with that. All Sansa did was give Cersei information that allowed Cersei the opportunity to take her hostage before the girls could leave by ship. Cersei’s plans against Ned were already well underway. Sansa never came to her with the intent of knowingly betraying anyone, but she did have selfish reasons for going to the queen to complain in the first place. GRRM said himself that Sansa wasn’t to blame for Ned’s capture or death, but she did play a role in the events that transpired. That’s fair. All that makes her is a kid who made a not entirely innocent mistake, but a mistake nonetheless, which she immediately learned from. Does she trust Cersei or Joffrey again? Hell no.

Relax, anon. It’s fine for her to not be nice all the time. It’s fine for her to have some realistic, garden variety flaws. It’s one of the most universal human mistakes to fall too hard and fast for the wrong person, act the fool over them despite all the red flags, only to realize you only saw what you wanted to see in them. And Sansa learned this lesson at eleven when some adults haven’t learned it at all. Relax. She’s a great, well-written, relatable character who has overcome most of these issues successfully.

#Sansa stark meta #sansa stark #sansa stark characterization #asoiaf characterization #arya stark #jeyne poole #ned stark #asoiaf commentary #fandom nonsense #Anonymous #my meta

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valofaxwords · 3 years ago

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Blog Post Week 2 due 9/2

Is Information a product?

We tend to think of a product as a good or service. We can even simplify it even more as something that is desirable whether that be an object or a service that needs to be done. But in a more modern world of social media and the exchanging of data, does that make information itself a product (Fuchs, Christian 2014). By the above-simplified definition, something desirable, we can define it as a product as companies on a large scale do desire information that aids them in particular ways. Information for them could mean a multitude of things for them and can be used in a variety of ways to turn that into profit. For example, companies need the information to better regulate their products, how people want them, how people feel about their product, what they can improve, or what isn’t working for them. To corporations, information is a commodity that is as important as the raw materials they need to create a sellable product.

But is Information a product that an individual desires?

Consider when you are thinking of buying a new phone or going to a new restaurant, what is the first thing you are inclined to do? For the majority, it would most likely be to see a review. Whether that means going online and checking reviews on blogs or simply asking a friend what their feeling on something is, the bottom line is you require information that you don’t have or can produce yourself. This is just one example of how information is desirable, but not exactly why it is a product. Besides the free advice you can get from a friend or family member when searching for information online, one always wants the opinion of someone they believe is credible. That could be a famous vlogger who reviews and unboxes phones or something as older fashioned as looking in a newspaper for as publicized critic's opinions on the latest blockbuster movie. While the information itself isn’t being sold to you, the revenue the vlogger gets from the advertisement from the interview is being accrued and you most likely had to buy the newspaper to read the critique. So that is to say that information does exist as an important product that it outright desirable to the average person.

Is Facebook exploitative?

Considering that Facebook’s roots stem from the desire of college boys for a new way to rate and objectify women, it’s not a reach to consider if Facebook is an exploitative entity. Now advertised as a way to stay connected to your friends and family, Facebook has become one of the pillars of social media. With no outright product to sell you, Facebook derives its income mainly from the advertisements strewn across the platform (and also the data they sell to third parties) that are seen by its users. So how is that exploitative? Advertisements have been everywhere for decades now, how is Facebook any more exploitative than say, the highway billboards we always notice to and from work? In the case of highway billboards, you can’t even avert your eyes from them because they are usually in your view when driving, at the very least you can choose not to open up Facebook. While it’s true you can simply avoid opening the website, if you have had use of their platform before, you’re most likely being exploited for their benefit. Again, Facebook defines itself as a platform for social networking, but what is a platform without users? For Facebook to survive, it must constantly be fed new, relevant information as a reason for users to continue accessing their platform. Without frequent and new users entering and using the platform, Facebook might as well be as profitable as an unlit billboard in the dark. So with only providing the platform, Facebook profits off the work of its users as they are the draw of the service, and with no compensation for the work of their user’s which in turn helps create money for Facebook, you could define Facebook with textbook exploitation.

Is performative activism still activism?

The answer to this question depends on what your definition of activism is. Is activism the attempt at getting the most attention and eyes on a certain subject or idea on a subject? Or is activism the promotion of an idea so that it instills in others the desire to act? If your definition of activism follows the first question, then yes, even performative activism is still activism. By that definition, it must mean that the attempt at getting the most eyes on your ideas is the most important part of activism. So whether the activism is performative or not, as long as it reaches the masses, it still counts. Those that follow this definition might say, “The more people know about it, the better,” or “ A bigger net always catches the most fish.”

If you defined activism by the second question, then you may define activism as a whole based on its concrete results rather than perceived possibilities. “Quality over quantity,” maybe one way to look at it. Along with this definition, it may be that with performative activism, the word gets out, but is the word being sent out what you truly want people to know or a muddled sentence that has lost its meaning like a game of telephone? You could point at things like the ice bucket challenge, which was originally designed as a way to promote donations for ALS research. It was everywhere at the time, and everyone knew what the ice bucket challenge was, but not everyone knew it had anything to do with donations to a disease. Or even if you did know, how much did you know about it besides the word ALS? Did you know what the acronym stood for or even who is most at risk to develop ALS? Did you know that the whole conception of using ice water was to mimic the symptoms of ALS? Symptoms of the condition are mainly the degradation and loss of muscle control, somewhat similar to the feeling of being exposed to freezing water.

So I haven’t given a definitive answer to this question because the answer lies in the individual. Personally, I tend to lean towards the second definition. It may be a more cynical take on activism, but I couldn’t say it's anymore valid than the other choice. I do concede that performative activism does have its benefits and would be acceptable in certain instances, but for the most part, I believe that a message will always spread farther if behind genuine feelings.

Fuchs, Christian. 2014. Social Media: A Critical Introduction. Los Angeles: Sage Publications

Gonzalez, Torres. 2012. News For All The People: The Epic Story of Race and the American Media. SAGE Publications Inc.

#csufwgst320baddies

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years ago

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EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT BUSINESS

This rule is left over from a time when algorithm meant something like the current Google? Why do patents play so small a role in software? Any hacker who looked at some complex device and realized that with a tiny tweak he could make it run more efficiently. In something that's out there, problems are alarming. It has for me. It may also help them to grasp what's special about your technology. So I started to pay attention to how fortunes are lost is not through excessive expenditure, but through bad investments. Fear the Right Things. Microsoft Word. But there are limits to how well they'll be able to hire better programmers, because they'll attract only those who cared enough to learn it.

4 million a month to the rapacious founder after two years? They just don't want to seem like they had to make concessions. Perhaps a better solution is to assume that anything you've made is far short of what it might have been. If no one else will defend you, you have to publish it, and that's just as bad as the mid seventies. Perhaps a better solution is to look at the problem from the other end. When a company starts fighting over IP, it's a sign they've lost the real battle, for users. Startups usually win by making something so great that people recommend it to their friends.1 You generally apply for a broader patent than you think you'll be granted, and the startups are mostly schleps. True, but I don't think publishers can learn much from software. So while they're often nice guys, they just can't help it.

And not just from the technical community in general; a lot of users. So if you're the least bit inclined to find an excuse to quit, there's always some disaster happening.2 This essay is derived from a talk at the 2006 Startup School. Patent trolls are hard to fight precisely because they create nothing. Economically, the print media and the music labels simply overlooking this opportunity? There's nothing special about physical embodiments of control systems that should make them patentable, and the examiners reply by throwing out some of your claims and granting others. You can't even drive the thing yet, but 83,000 people came to sit in the driver's seat and hold the steering wheel. Technology trains leave the station at regular intervals. Startup acquisitions are usually a lot of mistakes.3 Cross out that final S and you're describing their business model.

Nothing is more likely to buy you than sue you. Experts can implement, but they can't design. Before central governments were powerful enough to enforce order, rich people had private armies. But different things matter to different people, and it's unclear whether anyone could be. If nuclear winter really is here, it may be safer to be a contrarian to be correct, and by that point the innovation that generated it has already happened. The startups we've funded so far are pretty quick, but they don't understand software yet. Most successful startups make that tradeoff unconsciously.4 And for programmers the paradox is even more pronounced: the language to learn, if you love life, don't waste time, because time is what life is made of. We tell the startups we fund not to worry about it, because a toll has to be more than new. If you grow to the point where anyone considers you worth attacking, you're doing well. Viaweb.5 In middle school and high school, what the other kids think of you seems the most important quality is in a startup.

If you had a handful of 8 peanuts, or a shelf of 8 books to choose from, the quantity would definitely seem limited, no matter how obscure you are now. I don't really blame Amazon for applying for the patent, but that has historically been a distinct business from publishing. You can lose quite a lot in the brains department and it won't kill you unless you let them. So I advise fatalism. Both make sense here.6 Every couple days I slip and call it Viaweb.7 Actually, it's more often don't worry about this; worry about that instead. I don't think they hamper innovation much. This is a little depressing.8 VCs should be trying to fund more of. When attacked, you were supposed to fight back, and there is something grand about that. Patent trolls are companies consisting mainly of lawyers whose whole business is to accumulate patents and threaten to sue companies who actually make things.

A mere 15 weeks. The truth is more boring: the state of the economy doesn't matter much either way. Perhaps we can split the difference and say that mobility gives hackers the luxury of being principled. Viaweb, and became Yahoo's when they bought us. I now had to think about something I hadn't had to think about something I hadn't had to think about something I hadn't had to think about something I hadn't had to think about before: how not to lose it. The optimal ways to make money by creating wealth, not by suing people. I was leaving I offered it to him, as I've done countless times before in the same situation. To make money the way software companies do, publishers would have to become software companies, and being publishers gives them no particular head start in that domain. If companies stuck to their initial plans, Microsoft would be selling printed circuit boards. It's more like saying I'm not going to apply for patents just because everyone else does. We tend to say yes to the second, but no smarter than you; they're not as motivated, because Google is not going to go out of business if this one product fails; and even at Google they have a lot of bureaucracy to slow them down.

There are several reasons it pays to get version 1 done fast. 9% of the people who thought during the Bubble all I have to keep repeating.9 It's easy to let the days rush by. So why do so many people complain about software patents stifling innovation, but when one looks closely at the software business I know from experience whether patents encourage or discourage innovation, and the content was what they were selling, and the startups are mostly schleps. But the breakage seems to affect software less than most other fields. You can lose quite a lot in the brains department and it won't kill you. It's ok to be optimistic about what you can see people doing. And one of the earliest sites with enough clout to force customers to log in before they could buy something.10 It seems to me the only limit would be the number of startups is not the criteria they use but that they always tend to focus on the goal of getting lots of users. This principle is very powerful.11 The American way is to make money from it indirectly, or find ways to embody it in things people will pay for information otherwise?

So it is with hacking: the more rewarding some kind of job. Well, founders aren't much better. A copy of Time costs $5 for 58 pages, or 8. Even now I think if you asked hackers to free-associate about Amazon, the one to choose is your growth rate to compensate. Some examples will make this clear. You don't need to be constantly reminding yourself why you shouldn't wait. But while I'd spent a lot of regulations.

Notes

To get all that matters, just as well as problems that have been the plague of 1347; the point of a company. I'm writing about one specific, rather than admitting he preferred to call all our lies lies. College English Departments Come From? Startups are businesses; the point of a place to exchange views.

And the reason this works is that the most abstract ideas, because they were already lots of type II startup, but you get paid much. Back when students focused mainly on getting a job after college, they compete on tailfins. Google will pay the most important section.

If the company.

VCs seem to have balked at this, on the firm's site, they're nice to you; you're too early really means is you're getting the stats for occurrences of foo in the same town, unless the person who would make good angel investors. The best thing for founders; if their kids to them about. In theory you could probably be to write an essay about why something isn't the last place in the case, is deliberately intended to be significantly pickier.

Particularly since many causes of the 800 highest paid executives at large companies. Surely it's better and it will become less common for the average NBA player's salary during the war, tax rates were highest: 14. For example, would increase the size of the latter case, not because it's a proxy for revenue growth.

If near you doesn't mean easy, of course it was wiser for them by the Clayton Antitrust Act in 1914. This explains why such paintings are slightly more interesting than random marks would be more linear if all you have to admit there's no center to walk in with a degree that alarmed his family, that must mean you should prevent your investors from helping you to raise money succeeded, and how good they are to be about 50%. So far the only reason I say in principle is that it's no longer working to help a society generally is to how Henry Ford got started as a single VC investment that began with an online service.

I couldn't believe it, by doing another round that values the company, but half comes from. I say the rate of change in response to what you really need that recipe site or local event aggregator as much income.

The US News list tells us is what the rule of thumb, the reaction might be able to redistribute wealth successfully, because investors don't yet get what they're really saying is they want both. It was revoltingly familiar to slip back into it.

In a typical fund, half the companies that seem promising can usually get enough money from mediocre investors. So by agreeing to uncapped notes. Since most VCs aren't tech guys, the last thing you changed.

There is usually slow growth or excessive spending rather than trying to sell services than a nerdy founder trying to describe what's happening as merely not-too-demanding environment, but they hate hypertension.

The First Industrial Revolution, England was already the richest and most sophisticated city in the few cases where a great founder is being able to redistribute wealth successfully, because spam and legitimate mail volume both have distinct daily patterns.

Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Anton van Straaten, Robert Morris, Geoff Ralston, and Jessica Livingston for their feedback on these thoughts.

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pollylynn · 4 years ago

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Title: Exordium WC: 1200

“Are you having a breakdown?” —Kate Beckett, Always Buy Retail (1x 06)

There is, as expected, a giant whoosh of relief the very instant the door closes behind Meredith. It runs visibly through his mother, slightly less visibly—and considerably more shamefacedly—through his daughter, and invisibly (he hopes) through him.

The relief lasts the rest of the night—a night he spends in his blissfully quiet, paper-festooned office with the door shut on the ruins of the bedroom he’ll have to do something about at some point. It lasts him straight through to the next morning, when he tears himself away from the impressive number of scenes that still need sequencing to make Alexis cheering-up pancakes that they both know are really the pancakes of profound, Meredith-free relief.

Most of the shamefacedness is gone, he’s glad to see. It’s gotten harder for his daughter to walk the maternal tightrope these last few years, but she is nothing if not resilient. Still, he’s glad to see her tucking into the pancakes, glad to have her scolding him about crowding extra chocolate chips into the smile, even as she preferentially carves out and wolfs down exactly those gooey bits.

Their morning bobs along on a calm sea until Alexis’s cell phone rings on the counter beside her plate. Their eyes meet and he sees in her the same anticipation he feels—the second whoosh as Meredith’s plane takes off, removing her safely from the city.

“Mom,” Alexis confirms as she dabs her mouth with a napkin.

She answers and he busies himself clearing up as she performs her half of Meredith’s usual, melodramatic ritual of parting. It seems to go on longer than usual. It does go on longer than usual, apparently.

“Shoot, I’m gonna be late.” Alexis slides off the stool and moves to clear her dishes.

“I’ve got ‘em. You go.” He shoos her toward the door. “Can’t be tardy. It’ll look bad when I come by later to spring you so we can hit Coney Island.”

“Good thinking.” She kisses him on the cheek. “Just no dead grandpas. I’m fresh out, and when Mr. Simmons catches on, I will out you as a liar.”

She’s out the door, then. She is on her way to school. With her, she takes whoosh one and whoosh two, and he is left not relieved at all. He is left with a Vintage Meredith Vignette falling into place around him.

**********************************

It’s kind of a dick move on his part to head to the precinct. He’d planned to spend the day with his pages. Or rather he’d told himself he’d spend the day dealing with the bedroom, while fully intending to spend the day with his pages, but he has no enthusiasm for either option, so he goes to haunt her, and haunt her he does. There’s nothing at all going on, so he fidgets and fusses. He goes for coffee and comes back without it. He peppers her with absolutely inane questions. It’s a total dick move to inflict himself on her in this state, and she’s not inclined to let him get away with it.

“Castle, what the hell is with you?” She snatches the staple remover out of his hand and sets it pointedly on the far side of the desk, along with a legal pad that looks like it’s suffered a gator attack all along one margin. “Missing the Twinkie already?”

“Definitely not,” he says with far more naked force than he’d intended. He makes an ill-advised attempt to cover. “In fact, I could do with a . . .“ —he flicks a glance up and down her body—“fine sorbet. A palate cleanser.”

She gives him the kind of eye roll that truly makes him worry for her ocular health and welfare. “How about a hot dog?”

“A hot dog?” He’s surprised. He thinks she she might be surprised, too, given the way she’s vigorously digging in her bottomless bottom drawer in a mostly unsuccessful bid to hide he sudden color in her cheeks.

“A hot dog.” She comes up with her shoulder bag and stands. “You think I’m going to stay in hock to you forever for that . . . cow’s foot lunch?”

“No.” He blinks. He moves to follow and presses his strange, sudden luck. “I just wasn’t expecting a second date so soon.”

*************************************

“So, you’re a mustard and onions woman,” he says as they settle on the park bench.

He half expects a third-tier game show host to materialize to present him with an award for lamest line. He steals a sheepish look at her and she seems to be expecting exactly the same thing.

“I’m not letting you back in the precinct until you’ve got whatever this is,” she makes a gesture in the shape of an awkward, fidgeting mess, “out of your system.”

He opens his mouth. He has some smart-ass comment locked and loaded that’s sure to devolve into bickering—it’s sure to divert attention from whatever this is. He closes his mouth. It dawns on him that he doesn’t want to bicker. He doesn’t want to divert.

He wants to talk to someone about Meredith, whose brand of low-key evil is something he’s always thought of as mostly fine, or at least intermittent enough that it couldn’t do much harm. He wants to talk to someone about the fact that it’s not fine and how weary he is of having to walk this tightrope. He wants to talk to her.

And the dawn keeps coming, as he realizes that she—she—has made space for that here. She doesn’t owe him a lunch, and she could have cheerfully kicked him out of the precinct three legal pads and a bottle of Liquid Paper ago. But she hasn’t. She has made a friendly overture, albeit one that’s decidedly impatient and—by the way—awkward on her end, too.

He wants to take her up on it. He wants to talk to her, but he’s terribly out of practice at talking—really talking—to anyone.

“Your parents are normal, right? No more manipulative than the average bear?” Words—the wrong words—come tumbling out of him. “No pretending to be dead on the floor when you came home from school, just to see how you’d react?”

“No?” she can’t quite suppress the look of a deer in headlights. “No . . . playing dead.”

She looks like she’s casting about for more to say, but he steamrolls over her. “They’re not, like, pathological liars inclined to emotionally blackmail you into going along with their lies?”

“Not . . . really?” Her face screws up like a few more ellipses and a handful of question marks are still stuck in her teeth. “Pretty normal parents,” she says, finally.

He looks at her. She looks at him. He cracks first. He laughs until he’s pressing his side with one hand and pounding the bench with the other. She holds out longer. She keeps it mostly together, but she can’t entirely tamp down these short, adorable trills of laughter at the utter absurdity of the conversation.

“Man,” He gasps at last. He shakes his head and wipes his eyes. A tiny whoosh of relief runs through him. “Normal parents. What’s that like?”

A/N: I never know which dumb ones are going to get long. Still not a thing.

images via homeofthenutty

#Castle #Caskett #Castle: Season 1 #Castle: Always Buy Retail #Kate Beckett #Richard Castle #Alexis Castle #Martha Rodgers #Meredith Castle #Fic #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Fan fic #Fan Fiction #Writing #Interrogatives?

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emotionally-imbruised · 5 years ago

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A Tail of Their Own II: You’re Welcome

“It’s nice to see that humans never change.”

Word Count: 7.7k

One of the first things Harry learned about Y/N, was that she was basically an open book. Any question he asked, she answered. Usually, her reply was with a sarcastic quip or sassy comment, but nonetheless, she would still tell him an answer to anything he was curious about. Sometimes he even felt he asked too much, but how could he not? She was a mermaid after all.

Their first week together had been interesting, to say the least. Y/N had taken up residence in one of the extra bedrooms down the hall from his own and had slowly been adapting to life on land, all with Harry’s help, of course.

She was extremely thankful for everything Harry had done for her within that week. He always gave her the space she needed, would check-in to see if there was anything she needed, and was just always there to make sure she was taken care of. He didn’t make her feel like a burden, and Y/N was convinced he’d never understand just how much she appreciated that.

The two of them had bonded much more than either was anticipating, which was shocking and exciting to both. Y/N always had a hard time trusting humans, but somehow this particular trip onto land changed that entirely. She was glad it was Mitch and Sarah who had found her on that beach because if it weren’t, who knows where she would have ended up? And who knows if she would have ever met Harry because of it. Now, that was a thought she didn’t like thinking about.

Harry found himself warming up to Y/N way faster than he expected too. He was still well aware that the entire situation of her just being there was not normal, but half the time it was so easy for him to forget.

She was magnetic. There was just something about her that not only drew Harry in but captivated everyone else too. Maybe it was the way she presented herself. Always calm, cool, collected, and very curious about the world around her. However, she was also completely unafraid to speak her mind if she felt so inclined, something which Harry learned the hard way on numerous occasions.

The first time was about two days after the two of them had met. Upon finding Y/N resting in his bed, Harry had been insanely busy with work. If he wasn’t at the studio, he was at a meeting, and if he wasn’t in a meeting, he was planning. Having a career in the music industry was stressful and overwhelming, so when the opportunity came for him to finally be able to go home, he took it and ran.

Y/N had only seen him in passing during those first two days. They’d spent her entire first night talking about, well, everything, but after that, she barely saw him. He had given her the rundown of how certain things in the house worked, told her to welcome herself to anything, and to call him if she needed to as well (leaving a cell phone at the house with only his personal number in it). It was simple enough, and Y/N made do, but that particular night was different.

Harry had arrived back at the house earlier than he had the other two nights, and with three large shopping bags. Having spent the last couple of days piecing together odd clothing items to make something that Y/N could wear, he got somewhat of an idea of what size she wore and what she liked. This was mainly so that she could actually wear something other than the clothes Sarah had given her as well as a couple different t-shirts of his own.

On his way home, he stopped at a nearby shop to gather a few different items. Unsure of what she’d like, Harry settled on what he assumed to be the basics. Some jeans, a couple pairs of shorts, two dresses, a handful of shirts, and a sweater. He was pretty proud of himself for picking everything out and only hoped that the items would fit, and that she would like them.

The way Y/N’s face lit up when he told her the bags were all for her, was something Harry knew he’d never forget. She was unable to form a proper sentence due to her excitement, which soon lead to her pleading with him in attempts to find a way she could possibly pay him back.

“S’alright, really,” Harry explained as he watched her excitement slowly fade into stress. It was apparent Y/N was not used to someone doing something like this for her and simply did not know how to address it. “I figured you could use a few other things to wear.”

“You really didn’t have to do that, Harry,” Y/N sighed. “I would have figured something out. That money you left me yesterday, I used it to go buy some underwear and a bra. You’ve done so much already, and all I’ve done is taken advantage of it.”

He couldn’t help but feel his cheeks burn in embarrassment about just how blunt she was, but nonetheless, he knew he had to stand his ground. “You haven’t, Y/N. Please, just take them. I’m not even sure if they’ll fit you or if you’ll like them, but they’re here for you anyways.”

“I’m sure I’ll love them,” she responded defeatedly, before hesitantly reaching for the first bag.

Y/N grinned widely while taking each item out so she could get a good look at them. Not once did that smile falter as she inspected every piece of clothing, explained how much she liked it and proceeded to thank Harry all over again.

A similar smile stayed planted on Harry’s mouth as he watched her do this, and before he knew it, she was about to pull out the last item. This one he knew would be her favourite, for the minute he saw it, he instantly thought of her.

Y/N felt her breath hitch when she pulled out the final item, a dress, and she couldn’t help but stare at it in awe. It was a sundress, one that wasn’t too long or too short, and could easily be worn casually or dressed up. The material felt soft and smooth between her fingertips, which she really liked, but what she loved, even more, was the design.

It was white and had an effortless yet stunning floral print covering most of it; and to make matters better, each flower outline was a different colour. Various shades of pink, purple, blue, and green were all delicately stitched into the white fabric, creating an effect that reminded Y/N of something completely different, yet very special. Her tail.

“It’s beautiful, Harry.”

“I thought you’d like that one best,” he replied. “If none of them fit, I’ll make sure to exchange them an-.”

His words were cut off when a pair of arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him in for a tight hug. After a tense, unexpected moment, Harry eventually melted into her embrace and returned the gesture. “Thank you so much.”

“S’no problem at all,” he tells her as she moves away to look up at him again.

“You’re too nice to me,” Y/N then stated. Harry was about to ask what she meant by that but never got the chance once she started speaking up again. “I uh, I figured out how to make coffee. Can I at least pay you back with a cup of that?”

He thought about asking her still, curious as to why someone could have it in them to not be nice to her but decided to drop it. “That would be lovely.”

The two of them made way to the kitchen, and Y/N got right to work or tried to at least. She took a bit longer than the average person as she studied the machine for a moment while trying to remember which buttons she had to press. Harry couldn’t help but laugh when she jumped after pressing the wrong thing and caused hot water to start spewing all over the place. She recovered quickly though, Harry gave her that much, but he still burst into laughter when she managed to turn it off and scowl at him.

A few moments later, Y/N walked over to sit on the barstool beside him with two steaming hot mugs, focusing intently on trying not to spill anything. Once she was settled, they engaged in conversation. Harry explained how busy work was, to which she nodded in understanding before telling him how she really hadn’t gotten up to much without him there; having been a bit nervous about leaving the house on her own unless it was quick.

He wanted to know why she was nervous but hadn’t found it within himself to ask her about that yet. Although, he was still insanely curious as to why she ended up on land in the first place. However, his thoughts were interrupted when a loud gasp sounded from beside him, and a pair of hands gripped onto his left forearm.

“What! What’s the problem?”

“You!” Y/N replied with a shocked expression as she rotated his arm in her grasp. He watched what she was doing, and then he saw it. “You’re a hypocrite.”

His mermaid tattoo. He hadn’t even thought about that and had to internally smack himself when she looked up to him and waited for a response. “I uh, well.”

“You give me a hard time because,” she paused to hold up air quotations and mimic his voice, “‘mermaids aren’t real,’ but yet, here you are with one permanently on your arm!”

He couldn’t tell if she was actually upset or not, but as he observed the slightest of smiles tug at her lips after a moment passed, he knew she wasn’t. So naturally, he had to play along.

“You know, I was really hoping you wouldn’t notice,” he started dramatically. “Because the truth is, I’ve known about mermaids for years now. I was sworn to secrecy, though. The whole ‘me not knowing what to do when I found one in my bed’ thing? That was fake.”

“I hate you.”

“Ouch, hate is a strong word, Y/N.”

A small chuckle left her mouth although she tried really hard to cover it up. “So, you lied then? I don’t think I’ll be able to trust you after this, Harry. I may never forgive you.”

“No?”

“Nope,” Y/N shook her head before looking down at the tattoo again. “Also, I don’t know what other mermaids you’ve seen, but we’re usually not that… exposed.”

“Fair enough,” he laughed and looked down at the ink as well. “Guess I kinda left it open for interpretation.”

“Whatever you say,” she responded as she stood up with their now empty mugs and walked around the island to place them in the sink. “It’s still going to take me a while to forget this.”

Harry grinned at just how hard she was trying to act serious and thought of ways to break her facade; an idea springing to his mind when his gaze fell on the long retractable hose that was attached to the sink.

Suddenly, he leaned across the counter to grab ahold of the hose with one hand and pointed it in her direction.

“Oh, really?”

Y/N watched with a narrowed gaze as he placed his other hand on the tap in preparation to turn it on and spray water at her. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?” Harry challenged, knowing full well what would happen if she got wet and was unable to dry herself fast enough. Just to mess around with her a little bit, he turned the water on and had to stifle another laugh when it hit her square on the arm.

“Harry!” The annoyance was clear in Y/N’s voice as she grabbed a nearby dish towel and wiped away the water from her skin.

“What?” He asked innocently before turning the water on again and watching as it soared past her and hit the stainless steel fridge on the other side of the room.

She turned to look at the mess he just created before slowly facing him again with wide eyes. “What are you, twelve?”

“On a scale of one to ten, yes,” Harry replied nonchalantly before spraying the water at her again, and laughing as she desperately tried to dodge it.

“Can you not? I’m not particularly feeling like growing a tail today.”

“Oh, but being a human is just so boring.”

Y/N went to sass him back but had to cut herself off when more water came flying her way, and she ducked behind the counter for cover. There was no way she was moving from her spot until she decided on an escape plan, so she desperately tried to come up with one. After a quick moment of viewing her surroundings, she decided that her best option was to just make a break for the doorway. Slowly, she got into position and was just about to go when she noticed how things were quiet, too quiet, and soon halted her actions.

“Harry?”

Nothing. Just dead silence. Y/N waited for another minute and debated on peeking over the counter to see where he’d gone to, but there was no need for a second later he appeared around the corner with a full glass of water.

A small shriek left her mouth as she scrambled away from him. She eventually got to her feet in time without getting wet before booking it out of the room. Harry was right after her though and continued chasing after her for another fifteen minutes. He didn’t intend to actually soak her to the extent of her turning back into a mermaid, but the two of them were having fun. And it was a nice break from reality for both with everything else that was going on around them.

As the days went by, the two grew even closer. After that night of messing around in the kitchen, they started making it a routine to just simply be around one another whenever they could. They played cards, listened to music, watched movies, and talked about the day’s events whenever Harry returned home.

It was a good system, but Harry still had those lurking thoughts about not really knowing why Y/N ended up on land, or if she was planning on just up and leaving one day soon.

Soon enough, that day came. It was over a week since he’d first met her that Harry decided to address the topic just so he could have an idea of everything; specifically how she ended up on that beach. It wasn’t that she had become a bother to him or anything, that wasn’t the case at all. But after he helped her from the shower and talked to her for most of the night — getting the lowdown on mermaid history, until she eventually decided to go off to bed. As soon as she was gone, he called Sarah.

Sarah explained to Harry how she and Mitch found Y/N, what had happened, and their process of bringing her back to his house. Other than the entire situation being completely abnormal, he didn’t really question anything. However, just before she was about to hang up, Sarah mentioned the way Y/N kept looking out at the water nervously, almost as though something, or someone, was watching her. She didn’t know what it was and told Harry he should try and figure it out.

He agreed but decided to give Y/N some time to maybe mention it to him herself. She never did, and that bugged Harry all week.

It wasn’t that he felt she was trying to hide it from him, it had just never really come up in conversation. So, Harry decided that he was going to make it a topic of discussion.

His plan was not to overwhelm her, because realistically, he just wanted to know if there really was something out in the water, or if it was something else entirely. He really didn’t know what he was getting into, but if there was a possibility of being able to help her in any way, he was all for it. She’d become somewhat of a friend at that point, and friends helped friends.

When he got home that afternoon, he was surprised to not find her roaming around the main floor. Usually, she was in the kitchen attempting to cook something, or curled up on the couch in the living room with one of the many books he’d already read. But that day, she wasn’t. In fact, there was no sign of her being downstairs at all.

Maybe she’d gone for a walk? Harry wasn’t too sure, and just when he thought about calling the cell phone he gave her, a small sneeze sounded from upstairs, and he knew there was no need.

After taking his shoes off, he gradually made his way up the staircase. Once he reached the top, he went to go left towards the bedroom Y/N was staying in only to find it the door wide open with no one inside. Confusion washed over him again, but then he heard the faint intro song of a tv show from down the hall. More specifically, his room.

Slowly, he turned on his heel and started walking towards his bedroom. Sure enough, when he got there, the door was partially opened while an episode of Queer Eye played on the huge television screen. He quietly pushed the door open to reveal Y/N wrapped up in a blanket and leaning against the headboard, not taking her eyes off the screen once to acknowledge his presence.

Her hair was in a lopsided bun, tied up loosely with a hair elastic she must’ve found laying around somewhere, which he could just barely notice beneath the sizeable black hood she had pulled over her head. She was wearing his hoodie and a pair of his track pants, and although he wasn’t exactly expecting to come home to that, he couldn’t help but notice how content she seemed to be.

Harry then leaned against the doorway, grinning as he observed just how focused she was on what was happening during that episode, all while mindlessly remaining curled up against his mountain of pillows. It was quite the scene, that was for sure.

“You cold?”

He knew that by speaking up he’d get some sort of reaction, and sure enough, as soon as he did, a loud gasp left Y/N’s mouth.

“Oh!” She started and began scrambling to stand up from her spot on the bed. “I uh, I didn’t know you’d be back so soon.”

“So you decided to watch Queer Eye?” He chuckled at how flustered she was becoming. “In my room.”

“Well, yeah,” Y/N responded, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I wanted to watch something and couldn’t figure out how to work the TV downstairs, so I came back up here, and your screen was on. So I just…”

“Made yourself at home?”

“Well if we’re being technical, you did tell me to do that,” she grumbled and looked away, not noticing just how hard Harry was trying to keep himself from laughing. “I’m sorry ok! Your bed is really comfy, and it was just easier that way. I also got pretty cold so I kind of, just, stole your clothes I guess.”

“M’not mad, Y/N,” Harry told her as he pushed away from the doorway and walked into the room. “I’m just teasing you.”

“Why do humans do that so much?”

He cocked his head to the side to look at her oddly. “What do you mean?”

“These jokes and teasing all the time,” she began to explain. “Mermaids don’t do that.”

“Oh, so mermaids don’t know how to have fun?”

“No, we do, I’m just saying we’re less childish. But at least it’s nice to see humans are still that way.”

“Still that way, huh?” Harry questioned while raising his eyebrows, knowing she was hinting at something. “Please do elaborate on that.”

Y/N hadn’t even realized what she let slip out until Harry called her out on it, but she was extremely casual in playing it off. “Well, I already told you how I was born on land. I’ve seen my fair share of humans and know enough to see how similar many of you act.”

“Ah yes, I know you did but you never actually explained that story to me,” he fired back, knowing that this was his chance to get some more information and only hoped that she’d share it. “That’s all I know is that you were born on land. You told me all about mermaids and how they work, but you never told me about yourself, Y/N. And, well, you’re the only mermaid I actually know.”

“I-,” Y/N started and stopped as she let her gaze fall down to where she was mindlessly twiddling her thumbs. Should she tell him? Would he even believe her backstory and how it tied into why she ended up on land, or how she was trying to avoid returning to the sea? She wasn’t sure, but as she slowly met his gaze again, she decided that he at least deserved the benefit of the doubt. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like I’m keeping things from you, that wasn’t my intention. But it’s a really long story, Harry.”

“Good thing I’ve got time then, yeah?” He asked while smiling warmly at her. “Only if you’re comfortable in sharing, I’d love to hear all of it. Was thinking we could go get some food and maybe chat there?”

Returning the smile and instantly feeling more relaxed at Harry’s reassuring words, Y/N nodded. “Lead the way.”

Y/N quickly ran to her room to change into something different, making sure to neatly fold up Harry’s clothes and leave them on the edge of her bed seeing as she was in no hurry to give them back. She then threw on the other dress Harry had purchased for her a few days prior. It was a soft blue colour, with sleeves that went to her elbows and a little black belt around the waist. It didn’t catch her eye as much as the other dress did, but it was still stunning in her opinion.

Once she was ready, she quickly took her hair out of its bun and let it fall down freely. She almost just left it the way it was, but after taking a look in the mirror, she decided on brushing it before finally rushing down the stairs to meet Harry.

It was hard for her to ignore the blush burning her cheeks when he said how nice she looked, but nonetheless, she returned the compliment (even though he was still wearing the same outfit as before) and the two of them soon headed out to Harry’s car.

“Can I drive?” Y/N asked as they approached his vintage model Jaguar.

“No.”

“Why not?” She continued to press, slightly offended by the fact that he didn’t even consider letting her.

“Do you know how to drive?”

“Well… no.”

“Exactly.”

He had a logical point, and she knew it, but driving was one thing Y/N had always wanted to try and thought that maybe Harry would let her eventually. But for the time being, she reluctantly climbed into the passenger side of the car and pouting for the whole ride to the restaurant.

It didn’t take long for the two of them to get seated by the host, and they both wasted no time in reaching for a menu to search for what they wanted to eat. By the time the waiter came to take their order, Harry had decided on ordering some pasta, but Y/N seemed to be struggling.

“I uh, I’ll just have the Margherita pizza, thank you.”

She was nervous, that much Harry could tell just by observing the way she kept looking at everything around them. So instinctively, he tried to diffuse the situation.

“It’s nice out today,” he started casually and leaned back into his chair, thinking a casual conversation might help. “Not too hot.”

“Yeah,” Y/N muttered as she glanced around yet again. “It’s great.”

There was no emotion in her voice whatsoever, and that was when Harry knew something was up. “Is everything alright, Y/N?”

“Yeah no, everything is fine,” she told him before finally making eye contact again. “It’s just, there’s a lot of people here, and they all seem to be staring at us.”

Harry then moved his gaze to take in their surroundings as well. Sure enough, there were at least three tables of people gawking at them while subtly trying to take pictures. This was something Harry was used to happening, but he felt bad for how it made Y/N uncomfortable. So again, he changed the topic.

“Right. Uhm, try to ignore them if you can. They-.”

“That’s easier said than done, Harry,” she cut him off. “I can hear what they’re saying. I just don’t know why us getting food is any of their business.”

The last part of her statement got unintentionally louder with each word, and Harry had to watch with wide eyes as she sent a glare at one of the people sitting close by. He hadn’t really explained the whole part of him being a celebrity to her quite yet. To be honest, he never felt the need to, but now he couldn’t help but think about how that may be a conversation they have sooner rather than later.

“You’re right,” he started calmly and waited for her to look at him again. “But all we can do is ignore it. They’re harmless, I promise.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so,” he responded before leaning onto his elbows. “Now that we’re here though, why don’t we talk about what you were saying back at the house.”

Y/N was surprised by his sudden change of topic, but she played along and eventually stopped thinking about the other people around her. It was just her and Harry. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about at the beginning?”

“Okay,” she nodded and got right into it.

The next ten minutes or so was spent by Y/N telling Harry a very detailed story. She started off by talking about a merman who spent quite a bit of time on land, more than the average mermaid. He loved exploring and was fascinated by the land itself and what it had to offer. Eventually, he met a woman, a human, and they fell madly in love. After that, the merman never returned to the ocean and made an entirely new life on land with his soulmate.

“That’s a lovely story, but what does it have to do with anything?” Harry asked, just as the waiter placed their food on the table in front of them.

“See, that couple I mentioned? Those were my parents,” Y/N explained, and Harry nodded in understanding. “A few years after they got married, they had me. And I was raised on land for the first seven years of my life, with so much love. I always knew I was different. My parents never kept the part of me that was indeed a mermaid hidden, and with that, we all learned how I differed from a regular mermaid as well.”

“And how is that?”

“Well, like I told you last week, mermaids can manipulate water. What I did was nothing compared to what a proper mermaid can do. I’m weaker when it comes to mermaid abilities; however, being on land is where I thrive. Water takes longer to affect me, and I tend to blend in with humans better.”

”Okay, interesting.” Harry hung onto every word that she said, but still going himself to be insanely curious about it all. “Where are your parents now?”

“I don’t know,” she told him with a shrug. “I got separated from them one night when I was seven. It was pretty disastrous, and I promise to tell you that story another day… but, yeah. I’ve been on my own since then. I ventured off by myself and never really felt a need to stay in one place for too long. I’ve explored every ocean on this earth, alone, and even got into a bit of trouble along the way. Especially recently.”

“Surely it couldn’t have been that bad,” he scoffed and looked at her amusedly. All she did was purse her lips in response, and Harry knew right away that something was up. “Unless it was…”

“You’ve seen or read Twilight, right?”

Harry looked at her skeptically, genuinely curious as to where this conversation was going now. “I have, yes. But please do explain how the hell you know what Twilight is.”

Y/N was insulted by what he said and made no effort to hide those feelings when she scoffed disapprovingly. “Just because I’ve lived underwater for most of my life doesn’t mean it was under a rock, Harry. Of course, I know what Twilight is.”

“How did you expect me to know that?” He argued defensively, not being able to hold back a few chuckles as Y/N let out a huff and crossed her arms over her chest dramatically. “Ok, sorry, you were saying.”

“Oh, so now you're interested.”

“Y/N, just tell me the damn story.”

“Fine,” she grumbled and shifted in her seat. “Like on land, mermaids have laws and rules that are put in place to make everything run smoothly. They’re relatively easy rules to follow and don’t get broken often because mermaids are rather peaceful creatures. However, because of how dangerous it can be for us to get exposed, there are systems in effect that can enforce the rules if need be.”

“Ok,” Harry stated with pursed lips. “And how does Twilight play into all of this?”

“I’m getting there,” Y/N hissed and glared at him, letting him know just how badly he was getting on her nerves. “In Twilight, there’s the Volturi, the ones that enforce the vampire laws. Mermaids have the same type of thing, but we just call them the royals. They once had a leader who went missing quite a few years ago, but they’ve done a good job at keeping the peace since then and are greatly respected.”

“Are they as aggressive as the Volturi?”

“No. Well, as far as I know, no.”

Harry thought about Y/N’s explanation and really tried to wrap his head around it all, and what it all had to do with her. “Did something happen between you and these royals?”

Y/N fell silent as she used her fork to start picking at the pizza that remained on her plate, making sure to avoid Harry’s gaze as she did so. “I guess you could say that.”

“Well, what happened?”

She stayed quiet, causing Harry to start feeling a bit uneasy about it all. This time, he shifted in his chair before dropping his voice into a whisper and speaking up again.

“Y/N, what did you do?”

Another sigh left her mouth before she let go of the fork and finally made eye contact with him again. “I royally pissed them off, that��s what I did.”

So many questions ran through Harry’s mind as he processed what she said, however, he was only able to actually form one of them into a sentence. “Is that why you ended up on land?”

Y/N nodded.

“And I dug the hole I was already in even deeper when I let Mitch and Sarah help me. Humans aren’t supposed to know about mermaids. That’s the oldest law we have, and I broke it.”

“But your father,” Harry tried to reason. “Obviously, he did the same.”

“Yeah,” she laughed unemotionally and looked away from him so that he wouldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes. “But there’s a reason I haven’t seen my parents since I was seven, Harry. I haven’t been able to trust anyone since then.”

And it was true, the day she lost her parents, Y/N also lost her ability to rely on others without assuming they had poor intentions.

The sadness in her voice as she explained this, crushed Harry. It blew his mind that someone as carefree and sweet as Y/N had gone through so much, yet still somehow managed to have a smile on her face. And as he thought about it a bit more, he started understanding why she would be so reluctant to trust others.

The thing was, Y/N wasn’t afraid of the world, she was scared of the things it consisted of. Far too many times had she been burned simply by believing someone actually was looking out for her. Realistically, it had always been her against the world. What a lonely life to live.

Her story was a topic she tried extremely hard to avoid. It made her feel vulnerable and weak, two things she was not but, somehow, Harry managed to make her feel comfortable enough to open up about it. He was one of the few people, out of many mermaids and humans she’d come across in life who simply wants nothing but the best for everyone around them. It was an extremely rare feature for someone to have, Y/N realized but was something she greatly admired.

Harry's want to know about her, not as a mythical creature, but as a friend… as an equal was a concept Y/N had trouble wrapping her head around. But yet, here was with someone she’s only known for a week, feeling like she’d known him for so much longer. She could only hope that one day, Harry would know how much that meant to her, because thanks to him, she felt a little less alone.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Harry finally spoke up after a few moments of silence. He wasn’t sure what to say but figured that could be a good start.

“It’s alright. Sorry to dump that all on you.”

“You didn’t dump anything on me,” he explained. “I was the one who asked, and I should be the one who is sorry for making you talk about it.”

“You know, it’s not something I do very often,” she explained. “But it is nice to open up every once in a while.”

“I could only imagine.”

“Yeah... But thank you for making me feel safe enough to do so.”

Harry just smiled warmly and couldn’t ignore the warm feeling that was bubbling inside of him. “You’re welcome, Y/N.”

The two then fell silent again when the waiter approached with their bills. Still, Y/N felt terrible for letting Harry pay for her meal, but decided not to express her feelings when Harry sent her a narrowed glance.

Once everything was paid for, they left the restaurant and made way to the parking lot again. Y/N expected them to start heading back to the house then, however, it seemed Harry had other plans.

As he was driving the highway, Harry made a last-minute decision to go to the beach instead of going home, and that left Y/N very confused.

“What are we doing here?” She asked as they pulled into an empty dirt parking lot.

“I thought some fresh air would do you some good seeing as you’ve been stuck in the house all week,” Harry answered as he put the car in park and started climbing out of the driver's side. “Unless you want to be lame and just sit here alone.”

“I am not lame,” she argued as he started walking away and she had to scramble out of her seat to go after him.

“Then let’s go.”

“The least you can do is wait!”

“Nah, you can catch up.”

He didn’t have to look back to know that Y/N was scowling at him, but just continued down one of the paths and smiled to himself when she eventually fell in step with him.

“You’re a lot to deal with.”

“Mhm,” he murmured while shaking his head. “Says the mermaid.”

Knowing it’d be a losing battle if she continued arguing with him, Y/N didn’t respond and decided to let him win this round and remained quiet for the rest of their walk.

When they reached the stretch of beach, Y/N couldn’t help but smile. Although she still had no desire to return to the ocean so soon, merely being near it made her feel relaxed. It was the only home she’d ever really known, and she hated the fact that she had basically been forced away from that.

The sun was just beginning to set, and it added a warm, peaceful glow to everything around them. There weren't very many people, which Y/N and Harry both appreciated. It was pretty much just them, a family attempting to build a sandcastle, and a few surfers catching some waves in the distance. Even the food vendors to their left and a place to rent surfing gear on their right were utterly empty aside from the people working in them.

“I always wondered what it’d be like to surf,” Y/N spoke up first, cringing as she watched someone wipe out. “Looks pretty complicated though.”

“Do you want to try?” Harry asked and nodded towards the surf stand as they took a few steps onto the warm sand.

Y/N glanced at the massive waves that were further out and started shaking her head. “I know for a fact, that will not end well. Also, mermaid… remember?”

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t want anyone else to find out, huh?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

“Alright, I guess I won’t give you a hard time about it then,” Harry sighed and looked over his shoulder at the stand. “But I’m going to do it.”

Without another word, he started walking away from her and towards the shack. Y/N watched with a raised eyebrow as he started talking to the person working, before walking over to the multiple surfboards laying in a row nearby and picking one up.

A chuckle left her mouth as she watched him struggle with carrying it, but Harry didn’t care as he walked right past her and continued towards the water. “I have an hour with this thing, so let’s see how it goes.”

Once he reached the water's edge, Harry shamelessly took off his shirt and tossed it on the sand, before picking up the board again and going into the water. He didn’t go as far out as the other surfers by any means, just far enough that when a wave came in he could attempt to stand up and let it take him back towards shore.

Y/N found a comfortable place on the sand, watching him and his many mishaps. Each time a wave came in, he’d try to stand on the board but would end up losing his balance and would fall into the water, causing her to laugh. In some weird way, every time he fell seemed funnier than the last, and Y/N thought she might lose her breath because of it.

After at least five tries, Harry finally found his footing and even made it all the way back to shore. He dramatically bowed as Y/N clapped and cheered, before deciding to back out, regardless of there not being much sunlight left at that point.

“Bet I can do it again.”

Y/N was sure he could too, but this time she thought maybe she’d mess with him a little. She watched as he swam back to the same spot and waited for another large enough wave. As soon as there was one, he stood up on the board again and sure enough, was able to keep his balance.

He had an arrogant grin on his mouth when he looked at her, and that when she decided to shake things up. By just looking at the water that was in front of him and nodding, Y/N was able to create a wave of her own that went entirely against the tide.

Harry hadn’t noticed what she was doing until it was too late. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when a wave started to form in front of him and seemed to be coming his way at full speed. Eventually, his board came in contact with that wave, and he was lurched forward off the surfboard, and into the water.

By the time he resurfaced, Y/N was laughing harder than she’d ever before. And it only grew more intense when she noticed him glaring at her disapprovingly.

“You think you’re so funny, yeah?” Harry called out as he began his trek back to shore. “Must be nice to make water do whatever you want it to.”

“Oh, don’t be such a grump,” she responded. “I had to bring that ego size down a notch somehow.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled while trudging onto shore with the surfboard in tow. “I have the right to have a big ego, doing that was hard work.”

“I think you made it seem a lot more complicated than it actually is, Harry.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he scoffed while plopping onto the sand next to her, thinking about how he really should’ve brought a towel.

“I’m not going all the way out there,” Y/N told him firmly. “But I’ll show you that I have better balance.”

Without another word, she stood up and started dragging the surfboard back to the water. The tide hadn’t come back yet, so Y/N used that to her advantage as a way to keep herself from getting wet. Once another wave came in, she set the board on the damp sand and pushed it as the tide started retreating again. With a quick breath, she kicked off her shoes before running over the wet sand after the surfboard and leaping onto it before it got too far.

Part of her was ready to face plant as she tried to gain her balance, but much to her (and Harry’s) surprise, she didn’t. Although she wobbled slightly after first getting on the board, Y/N quickly recovered and was able to glide along in ankle-deep water with ease.

Harry watched with a wide grin as she did this and noticed just how excited she got over sticking the landing. He then observed as she manipulated the waves again to change her direction so that she was moving sideways. Once they locked eye contact, she started mimicking a surfer's stance before beginning to dance as she continued gliding.

“Ok show off; we have to return that thing before it gets dark.”

Knowing he was right, Y/N listened to what Harry said and nodded before changing her course of direction again, and going back to shore. Once she came to a complete stop, she hopped off the board and started dragging it back towards Harry again. “Don’t be jealous because you know you wouldn’t be able to do that.”

“Whatever you say,” he replied while taking the surfboard from her hold and lifting it up, all while avoiding her gaze. “I’ll go return this. We uh, we don’t have to leave just yet if you don’t want. S’pretty cool here once the sun is down and the stars come out.”

His suggestion made Y/N smile. It was apparent he didn’t want their little outing just yet, and to be honest, neither did she. “I’d like that. I’ll um, I’ll wait right here.”

Harry returned the smile and nodded before going back to the surf shack. She watched him go before turning back around and making her way back towards the water.

Way off in the distance, the sun was just about to disappear over the horizon; leaving warm streams of pink and purple in its wake. The waves had calmed down, no surfers were out still trying to catch the biggest one, and the only sounds were that of the calm tide coming in momentarily before going right back out.

Y/N really liked viewing the ocean this way. It was one of the prettiest things she had ever seen. She hadn’t witnessed a sunset while on land since she was a child and to be there seeing it, with Harry, was more perfect than she could have ever imagined.

She heard someone approaching behind her and waited patiently for Harry to join where she was standing… but for some reason, the sound just stopped abruptly.

“It’s pretty here, isn’t it?” Y/N asked out loud without turning back around. However, he didn’t answer. She gave him a second, furrowing her eyebrows as to why he wouldn’t respond, but still nothing. “Harry?”

“Try again.”

A surprised gasp left Y/N’s mouth when instead of Harry, a female answered her, and she wasted no time in whipping around to see its source; her breath hitching once she did.

Standing behind her were a man and a woman. They were wearing regular human clothes, but Y/N knew they were far from being actual humans with their identical black hair, pale skin, and the familiar seashell clip that pinned the woman’s long hair away from her face. The same clip that matched the starfish one that rested in Y/N’s hair.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh no is right,” the merman who had spent an entire night chasing her replied as he stepped took a step forward, causing Y/N to take a step back.

She then looked at the mermaid, who just grinned maliciously as she too began stepping towards Y/N’s timid figure.

“You’re a long way from home, Y/N. I guess it’s time that we all go back there now, don’t you think?”

#harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles preferences #1dff #harry styles au #mermaid!y/n

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mrsunderhill678 · 4 years ago

Text

Hehe, more writing

“Not all darkness equates to tragedy, just look at the night sky. Despite it's darkness, it's still beautiful, and isn't it the same with us?" - Romena Sunfritz

“That's all war is. A twisted blood sport for the powerful to watch, is that all we fucking are, huh? A God damn spectacle? There's thousands dead on either side, soil so stained with blood it ain't ever washing clean of that crimson, but you claim this is for a good cause? To hell with that, to hell with the country, to hell with you, and to hell with me. Damn, us, all.” - William Phoenix

“The world is quiet but even violence goes by softly spoken.” - William Phoenix

“I was eluded by the dark, wrought with passion and addiction, I danced within the illusion of love, lost within a resplendent delusion. And oh, now, here I stand, my heart aggrandized by the dark, swindled into the illusion that this is my purpose, my destiny.” - Alden Delafontaine

“Am I sick, or am I twisted? For I am starting to believe there is no cure, and I am simply twisted in nature.” - Alden Delafontaine

“This world isn't fucking cold, dude, we're just turning our backs to the flame.” -- Rocky Bellot

“I used to say, I'd light a match, just to feel the fucking flame, that I was Pinocchio, rotting in the shop, but perhaps, now, I'm Jipedo, and I can breathe life into me, and fix this rotting boy of wood.” - Brad Collins

“I've tried so desperately to scrub myself clean, I've spent hours at the stream, rubbing at my hands yet still they remain stained. With tragedy, with pain.... With me. Perhaps I am the stain.” - Turner Kordell

“The scariest thing of all isn't being scared of other people, it's being so terribly frightened by yourself that even if the mirror isn't broken, you are.” - Turner Kordell

“If my past were tangible, it would bleed me dry the moment I ran my hand across it, so wickedly sharp that I never stood a chance, really. I can forgive myself all I like, but at the end of the day, it isn't about me, it never was.” - Turner Kordell

“I have been destroyed down to my very atoms, nothing but the molecular level of what I once was, but here I am, still standing, cause I ain't in this life to back down, I'm here to rise up, and stay strong in the face of my damn fear.” - Kirby Bellot

“When I'm done, I can look the devil in her pretty blue eyes and say, I did good nuff, and she'll embrace me with open arms, cause these days, the devil leans back, admires my work, and bites her damn lip, cause I've sinned so deeply ain't even the most forgiving of beings can forgive me. I am a testament to the fact that even good men, can go rotten, just ask the devil, cause all she ever did, was tell the truth. And I'm proof of that.” - Zafavri Holts

“We're all playin' a game 'a chess with our demons, mate, we're all in a back and forth battle against our darker fuckin' side, difference between me, and the average man, is my demons said checkmate the day I was bloody born.” - Alfonso O’Sullivan

“I am beauty in the ugliest of ways.” - Micah Romiro

“They say killing a man fundamentally changes a man, and that's true so long as it's yourself you're killing.” - Micah Romiro

“It's me who made this mess, the genocide of my own self, the slaughter of my own sense of being.” - Max Shaya

“I often wonder if God keeps me alive only because she fears what I would do to her.” - Howl Matthews

“I have danced with such sin that I am the crawling of God's skin.” - Howl Matthews

“I do not fear death, I do not fear life, or the punishment I shall receive for mine.” - Howl Matthews

“My whole damn life around me burned and now I can just hear the fucking silence of my regret.” - Milos Fellwitz

“I have found peace in who I am, I am prepared to burn for what I've done, for everything I love already fucking did.” - Milos Fellwitz

“So come on world, come at me, I'll break you down to my level, cause you already broke me.” - Milos Fellwitz

“Stand up to me, we'll see where it gets ya, cause buddy, you can start this fight, but you sure as FUCK, ain't gonna be the one to God damn finish it. You want a grave? Good. Stand up to me and I'll grant your wish.” - Milos Fellwitz

“I am no longer tethered to me, I am nothing more than a conscience in another body, a reflection of someone else. In these many lives I've lived I've forgotten who I was, Preston Wilkins, the walking grave.” - Preston Wilkins

“I have made grand discoveries in this life, beasts do indeed roam this world, and you'll be surprised to learn we aren't the worst of them. There are things darker than the shadows in this world. Things more tenebrous than the pitch black of the nebula.” - Preston Wilkins

“I am dead to me, a grave now to even myself.” - Mikaelson Graves

“The only time I feel truly alive is when I can dance under the torchlight... The flame flickering on my skin, the moonlight dancing on me, it's as if Heilgravold is spinning only for me on those nights... The stars shine, the moon gleams, the world spins, I can't just stand still.” - Jemalina Night

“I have lived a life I fear will end in damnation, but I cannot truthfully look God in the eye and say I had no justification for what I've done.” - Adam Borwick

“We are inclined to believe that everything beautiful is good, but even the damned can look of salvation. The scariest thing about a liar, is they're often indistinguishable from the truth tellers, and often I've found they pretend to be prophets. They speak lies as others breathe, lies fall off their tongue like truth, and just like that, a thousand fools are lured into lies. Great minds think alike, my friend, but fools' minds rarely differ.” - Adam Borwick

“My hands are a fretwork of white laced scars, healed remnants of the pain I've felt, reminders that I've survived, that I'm alive.” - Juliet Borwick

“My brother often thinks himself a hopeless case, afraid of the blood he's spilled... But despite everything he's done, he's still my hero, and I know that if the wolves surrounded me, with their gnashing teeth and claws, he'd come to my rescue, frightening the beasts with poetry singing of clashing steel and red.” - Juliet Borwick

“The sun ain't gon' rise... At least, heh, not for you.” - Defforest Van Patten

“I have watched bullets soar through the air, droppin' soldiers and bloomin' flowers 'a red misery.” - Defforest Van Patten

“I will face this Goliath in my future as if I was David, slinging the fucking stone.” - Lockman Pierce

“ I will drag this dark into the dawn and make it Icarus, only difference is, it burns for a cause more grand than itself.” - Percy Pierce

“I'd rather go up in flames then down the wrong side of history.” - Percy Pierce

“My hands are stained with blood, and truthfully, I don't know if it's my own or my conscience's... In this dark place my mind rattles, constantly ricocheting between myself and another... My mind speaks from the tongue of my abuser.” - Dylan Robertson

“I'm just another man riddled with bullets, watching as all the King's horses and all the King's men simply step over me. This was war, but it became tragedy, as all wars do. Bullets flew, prophets spoke, but the blood was never prose, just red.” - Dylan Robertson

“All it takes to be a good man is to love and be loved, to give what you can and help those less fortunate than you. Even a smile can save a life. I reckon our hearts are suns waitin' to rise, and all it takes is a spark, really. Of love, of joy, even of curiosity. I've found when times are hard, ya don't got to look forward to what life may bring, just curious enough to explore the path God has given you.” - Thornton May

“I am silk, woven from the finest of horrors.” - Dr. Tobias Emory

“I have watched humanity build themselves a grave over these many years, from the days of the lawless West to the stabbing of Julius Caesar, funny, how knives find backs and ours found the world's.” - Dr. Tobias Emory

“I am poetry, a dark entity captured in the paintings of Van Gogh and the prose of Allen Poe.” - Dr. Tobias Emory

“You hold a secret for long enough, you become one.” - Changreta Alderbright

“My regret is so softly whispered that I imagine I am simply the who shouting only for Horton to hear.” - Changreta Alderbright

“I am lost, my eyelids heavy and bloodshot, projecting the horrors I can't scratch out, and despite how much I've torn, there's no key behind those fuckers.” - Arnaldus Alswith

“In a kingdom where the gifts the gods bestowed upon us is outlawed, punishable by death, what else are we supposed to do but rebel?” - Faylen Osophine

“I'm a shadow, wearing a crown as if it would save me, but instead I am crushed under it's weight, a stain on my engraved tile floor.” - Jalandar Osophine

“This battle, this revolution of me, was never meant to be easy, I've fought against myself for decades, and I'm proud to say, not a single corpse of me fell, and flowers bloomed from the bullets fired.” - Georgia Graves

“I am a heartless beast washed in the blood of the lamb by force. God spares me, because I've pulled the wool over his eyes. I am Jacob, pulling a coat over my barren arms and telling Issac I am Easu if only to receive a blessing a doth not fucking deserve.” - Abdalla Calico

“This war against myself is too much to bear, how did I manage to become the hunter, the deer, and the bullet piercing my own damn skull?” - Abdalla Calico

“So oh lord, I am washed in the blood of the lamb, but be weary, for that's only because I slit it's throat.” - Abdalla Calico

“I say, it's time the outcasts wrote the fucking history books. The victors write their own version of history, so I say it's time someone told the damn truth.” - Sluzmink Jones

“I ain't askin' to be forgiven, just spared.” - Regan Locke

“On the inside, I am dyin', bullet holes and old wounds etched on the inside, and yet, on the outside, I ain't even bleedin. It's funny how that works, huh? We all die before we ever reach the damn casket, all it takes is a single bad day, so imagine a life of em.” - Regan Locke

“Bleeding from one's soul is the truest form of self.” - Azophine Bane

“My heart sings a battered melody, but even a lute of few strings can play a chord.” - Brilista Shante

“I often damn myself for others have damned me.” - Brilista Shante

“I fear I am the judgment of others, I fear I am every person I've ever met and every crime I've ever committed. But maybe, that's because in a world that hates you for your birth, I'm scared to exist, when my existence is damned.” - Brilista Shante

“Who said gluttony came in the form of food? We can wolf down sins just as we would a meal on a silver platter, and I'm just as greedy as the rest of ya if not more.” - Harold Stout

“I have fed myself so full that I can hardly walk without the crushin' weight 'a my sacrilege buryin' me six foot undah.” - Harold Stout

“I am starved yet gorged with sin.” - Harold Stout

“Am I really to stumble through the dark, finding cliff-sides rather than solid ground?” - Gothel Hendricks

“My tongue is scarred and bleeding from the lies of affection, my lips are burned with the taste of abusive love.” - Gothel Hendricks

“Life can be tough as all hell, it can shove us in the dirt and then some, but all you gotta do to survive, is get back up. The worst thing a man can do, is stay down.” - Salary Holmes

“Mercy, my dearest of friends, is torture after you are broken, so I wouldn't go praising a man for sparing you. He's spared you of death, not the pain he wishes to cause you.” - Cyrus Hollow

#Writing #OneLiners #Writer

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