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lonelyreputation · 4 years ago

Text

Arpeggio

A/N: Woooo a long one! The idea has been on a stick note for three months and it’s finally here 🤧 It was a very fun one to write! I hope you enjoy it & let me know your thoughts! Ahh! 💥🥰💗

Summary: You’re a ghostwriter for a famous singer and Shawn is head over heels in love with the singer who he thinks writes her own music…But little does he know it’s you.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: Few swear words

WC: 13.7K // Angst & Fluff

You sat on the edge of your seat, legs crossed, as you stared intently at the “famed” singer-songwriter who was reading over your lyrics. She shuffled papers back and forth either humming in distaste when she didn’t like a particular lyric, or slamming a lyric sheet down on the table for a song she wanted to keep.

This was the third album cycle you had done this for her––writing songs and pitching them for her to sing. All while you sat in the background and collected royalties off the copyright you owned.

When you were sixteen, you wrote a song that circulated around a publishing company, and she––Zilla––did whatever she could to have the song be put on hold for her. She was a newer artist, but you heard whispers that she bought out Kacey Musgraves in order to record your song.

It started with one song as a work for hire, which grew to an EP where you had copyright ownership, and then to a full album…Which led you to sign a contract with her management team as her ghostwriter.

You remember it clear as day––you in their office, with your own entertainment lawyer, as Zilla and her manager slid an NDA across the table. You remember the manager trying their best to not outright say that Zilla wasn’t talented in songwriting––She just spends so much time making sure her vocals are perfect that she doesn’t have time to write and everyone wants personal songs nowadays.

Zilla’s real name was Willow––but in order to keep the artist name the same as the songwriting credits––she picked a stage name. So, her stage name was just Zilla, and your songwriting credit would be listed as Zilla Greene.

While the public knew that Zilla was a stage name for Willow, they thought that she also wrote her own songs under the pseudonym Zilla Greene…But nobody knew how far from the truth that was.

The sound of papers slamming down on a wooden table snapped you out from your daydream, “None of these work,” Zilla leaned back on the couch and crossed her arms over her chest, “I want to change my sound.”

You had spent months crafting the songs in front of her. Carefully crafted rhyme schemes, imagery that was similar to the second album you wrote for her that won her three Grammys, it had an even mix of upbeat songs and ballads…And she didn’t want any of them.

Your mouth dropped, “But what––You want––Why?”

Zilla shrugged her shoulders and picked at her nails, “The last album was so…Pop,” she cringed, “Too colorful. I need to change it up––Keep listeners on their toes––I’m seeing this album aesthetic as more black and white.”

You picked up your little notebook and scribbled down aesthetics and moods she wanted to match. With each sentence she rattled off, you wrote down key words––songs that connect in a story, feeling lost, black and white, heartbreak––a bit of your soul crumbled as you saw the songs you worked so hard on lay abandoned on the table without a second thought.

“Give me an album that gives me a perfect score on Pitchfork.”

The pen you frivolously scribbled down ideas on dropped from your hand, “That’s––I can’t control Pitchfork!”

Zilla rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Then you better write a damn good album.”

“But you––Red!” You shouted out to grab her attention as you saw her packing up her bag, “That’s a nine. Literally one point away from a perfect score.”

Hiking her back over her shoulder, Zilla flicked her perfect loose curls over her shoulder, “Red was a good debut album, 1989 was a good Grammy album, I need something great.”

And with that, the “famed” singer-songwriter walked out of the room. The clacks of her heels were as loud as the sound of your heart shattering as you continued to stare at the songs on the table…That’ll never have the chance to see the daylight.

---

It was a new day and the sun shining through your half-opened window as the thin white curtains softly blew with the breeze. You were sat crossed legged on the floor in a little corner of your apartment that you claimed as your “writing room.” It wasn’t much of a room––because you literally sat on the floor––but it was where you wrote the best.

You sat in the corner, right under the window, on a small pink and teal woven rug, with a few throw pillows, and lyric sheets scattered all over the floor.

How were you supposed to create a whole new album when you had a perfect album already written?

With your head buried in your hands, you were at standstill, never having writer's block hit you this hard. You had songs already written––An album that was hopefully a 7 on Pitchfork’s scale––but it wasn’t good enough for her.

Nothing seemed to be good enough for her.

Your phone dinged with an email and you read the preview that it was just a Google Alert for Zilla. You ignored the notification, not wanting to think about how angry you already were at her…even though you were currently writing for her.

A melody slowly came into your mind as you started humming into a voice note. But it was quickly cut off short when you heard the stomps of Mia––your roommate––come running from the kitchen to where you were.

“Did you see this interview?”

You raised an eyebrow at her and directed your eyes to the strewn papers on the floor, “I’m a little busy?”

She waved you off and couldn’t stop smiling, “Shawn Mendes is like in love with you.”

The phone dropped from your hands, and you cringed because you knew that was going to sound horrendous when you played back the voice note. But that wasn’t what was on your mind.

“What?!”

Mia nodded at your shocked reaction, but then backed up with her explanation, “Well, not you––Zilla,” she made a little throw up noise, “But he loves your songwriting.”

“How––”

Mia shoved her phone into your face and you saw a paused YouTube video. In the video you saw Shawn Mendes sitting on a chair, holding a white poster board, as he was in the middle of ripping a paper off. He was doing a Wired Autocomplete Interview. You skeptically looked up at Mia, and she gestured with her hands for you to hit play.

So you hit play and immediately cringed at the sound of his nails coming in contact with the poster board as he ripped off the blocking.

“Did Shawn Mendes write a song on Zilla’s last album?” Shawn let out a small laugh as he shook his head, “I wish she would write a song for me.” His smile only seemed to grow as he continued talking about her, “She posted an acoustic clip of this new song she was working on––I’m hoping it’s on her new album.”

You felt a flutter of butterflies swarm your stomach because you knew exactly what song he was talking about. It was the chorus to a song called Cardigan, the first song that Zilla hadn’t turned down for the new album.

The video Zilla posted on her Instagram was dimly lit as she sat on the ground with her guitar. And while she frustrated you to no end…You couldn’t deny that she had a beautiful voice.

And apparently Shawn Mendes thought so too.

“Ever since her self-titled EP, I’ve been obsessed with her,” at Shawn’s words you looked up at Mia who mirrored your smile, “There’s just something so personal about her songs and I…” he looked down at his shoes before looking back up at the camera, “I’m fangirling, but I really admire her songwriting. I hope to write with her one day.”

He went to rip off the next question, but you paused the video, not wanting to hear the scraping sound again.

With the phone slightly shaking in your hands, you slowly picked your head up to look at Mia with a wide smile, “Oh my God.”

Mia nodded excitedly and jumped around in a circle, “Shawn Mendes likes––no loves––your songwriting! He’s so in love with you––He wants to write songs with you––He––”

You started to feel an overwhelming sense of pride as a jolt of joy was sent from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Shawn Mendes––an artist that you admired for his work ethic––admitted to fangirling over your songwriting.

You were about to get up and dance around with Mia because it felt like a celebration, but with one look at the lyric sheets scattered on the floor…Your excitement slowly diminished. Because all of these songs––all of your feelings, your poetry, your deepest regrets and highest of loves––were going to her.

Zilla got the credit for your art.

People told Zilla that she inspired them to write songs.

And Shawn admired what he thought was Zilla’s songwriting.

You picked up the pen and twirled it around your fingers, clenching your jaw, as you casted a regretful look at the songs on the floor…They were your pride and joy, even the ones you didn’t like very much, because each song took a little bit of your soul and was then shared with the world.

“He’s in love with Zilla’s writing,” you sucked in a deep breath, “Not mine.”

----

Instead of your safe writing spot at your apartment, you were in the studio for a change. Since the only people who knew about Zilla’s secret were you, Mia, your lawyer, her manager, and Zilla herself…The record label still booked sessions for Zilla to write. So you found yourself in the studio a few times a month whenever it came time to write her a new album.

“How’s the album?”

You had been writing for hours and felt so exhausted that you should’ve been surprised when you didn’t hear a door open. But you were absolutely dreading this album writing process, you were creating emotions––trying to draw from real experience––but nothing was working.

You stretched your arms over your head, squinting an eye when you heard your back crack, and looked up at Zilla with tired eyes, “I have a few songs.”

Her mouth dropped, not liking the progress you were making, “A few?”

“It’s been two and a half months since you said you wanted a whole genre switch,” You snapped at her, “You’re going from pop to some sort of folk alternative––”

Zilla scoffed, “You did this before. Red was country and 1989 was pop. This shouldn’t be a problem.”

The two of you were in a glaring match as you set your pen down, “You demanded a seventeen song album––Do you know how hard that is with the soft deadline Columbia gave you?”

“You had songs written before––”

“Then why didn’t you take those songs?” It was a genuine question, but also a question you knew the answer to. And you were right when she spurted something off about wanting to change up her sound.

“People love me because I’m not predictable,” Zilla walked over to where you were sitting and picked up a lyric sheet, humming in approval before letting it slowly fall to the ground, “And the songs you wrote before weren’t good enough.”

“What do you mean––”

“It’s just writing a few songs,” Zilla huffed out, “I don’t see how you can’t do that between now and the soft release date.”

You closed your eyes and let your head fall on the back of the couch cushion. You brought your hands up to rub the inside corners of your eyes, “You want a heartbreak album––I’m not in that headspace and you also need to record the songs.”

You opened your eyes and immediately glared, “Do you remember how Rob Stringer nearly flipped because I still had to finish writing Clean but you lied and said it was just the backing vocals that needed to be done?”

As much as Zilla wanted to refute you, she knew she had no place, because what you said was absolutely true. That was not a fun phone call to be a part of with the C.E.O. of Sony Music––even if you were on mute.

“It won him Album of the Year at the Grammys,” Zilla said in an unsympathetic voice, “And this album is going to be better than that.”

You let out a very loud and exasperated sigh, “That won’t cut it this time around! At least I had some inspiration for that album, because I have none––”

“You’re crazy,” Zilla narrowed her eyes, “Just find a random person and have them break your heart.” You had your mouth open for a rebuttal to tell her that that’s not how songwriting worked, but she picked a piece of lint off her sweater, “You’re pretty…enough.”

You squeezed your eyes tight as you felt yourself begin to seethe at her. You started to feel a slight pain in your jaw with how hard your teeth were clenched together, but your eyes were still shut as you tried to simmer your anger, as your voice came out dangerously low, “Out.”

“You can’t kick me out!” Zilla laughed and you opened your eyes to look at the woman who had no respect for your artistry…Even though you were the one to give her a career in the first place, “I’m paying for your studio time.”

“No, technically,” you glared over her shoulder at the door, “Columbia is paying for the studio.”

Zilla huffed as she crossed her stiff arms over her chest, “No need to get so angry––”

You felt yourself becoming more angry at her presence. Her presence was driving you insane and you knew that she was being a nuisance on purpose––poking you like a bear until she got her desired reaction out of you.

“Out!”

She looked at you with shock written all over her face. You were never one to raise your voice at anyone, and you always bent over backwards to comply with whatever Zilla wanted. But not now. You only felt angry and crazy in her presence, and those feelings only intensified in you when she pointed out how crazy and angry you were acting.

Zilla left––you don’t know if it was after you screamed at her or if she stayed for a few moments longer––because for the first time in writing this album for her…You felt inspiration for a song hit.

You heard the light piano keys first, humming the pitch in your head, as the light sound of finger picking on a guitar creeped into the back of your mind. Fresh off your argument with Zilla, the chorus of the song came first. You channeled your anger into inspiration as your hand gripped the pen until your knuckles hurt.

You don’t know how long you were writing the song for, but it was almost finished––I’m taking my time––Oh, how you wished you could take your time with this album––Taking my time––Well, maybe you will take your time with this album and get her in trouble with all of her deadlines, even though it would technically be breaking your contract too––Because you took everything from me.

She took your songs away from you.

“Oh, Sorry I––I might be in the wrong room?”

You dropped your pen and slammed your writing journal closed because no one was supposed to be in this room. With eyes wide, your heart stopped, because there were papers all around the room of potential songs for Zilla’s album.

Lifting your wrist to look at your watch, you saw that you were eleven minutes past your allotted amount of time Columbia reserved. Immediately, you scrambled to get off the couch as fast as possible, crunching your lyric sheets in the process.

You shook your head, still not looking up at the person because you wanted to make sure all of the songs were in your possession, “You’re probably in the right room. I––I’ve stayed past my time just a little and I––This is most likely definitely your room––”

“Wasn’t Zilla in here before?”

You froze and gripped the song sheet that you were currently stuffing in your bag.

Shit.

Slowly, you took a deep breath, and looked up at the person who had the room reserved after you. And your already wide eyes doubled in size when you saw that it was Shawn Mendes standing in front of you. The guy you saw on Mia’s cracked iPhone screen a few months ago––fangirling over songs you wrote.

His knuckles were white as he gripped his guitar case––in what you assumed to be excited nerves––as his head darted around the small studio space, hoping to catch a glimpse of the singer-songwriter.

“Oh, yeah she––She was done like forty minutes ago,” you spewed out a lie, “And then she let me use her remaining time.”

Shawn’s shoulders sunk in disappointment, and his smile faltered just a tad, undoubtedly disappointed that he missed his chance to meet a songwriter he admired. But little did he know that songwriter he actually admired was standing right in front of him.

You never wanted to be in the spotlight, never liked having attention on you, and it’s part of the reason why you agreed to work as Zilla’s ghostwriter. But with how her career took off, her songs––your stories––were gaining much more recognition than you ever thought. And it was times like these that you wished you could tell someone––other than your roommate––that they were your songs.

“So…” Shawn rocked on his feet a few times, quickly breaking eye contact with you to look at the remaining papers on the ground, “Are you friends with her?”

You nodded your head as you bent down to pick up the remaining songs, stuffing them deep in your bag, “We’re like––Uh––Yeah, pretty good friends.”

How else were you supposed to describe your business relationship with her? In the beginning, you hoped it would be more of a collaborative experience––Zilla telling you stories about her that you could write into songs––but that wasn’t the case.

She didn’t want to do any work besides reap the benefits of traveling the world and having millions of people adore her.

He ran his free hand through his curls, following your every move of cleaning up your mess, “Do you sing?”

His question caught you off guard, “Pardon?”

Shawn let out a small laugh and gestured to the recording studio the two of you were in, “Are you a musician?”

You immediately shook your head, “Oh no, I’m––I write.”

“Ah, a songwriter,” Shawn softly smiled in appreciation as he went to set his guitar down by the other couch in the room, “Without people like you, us singers would be useless.”

“You write your own stuff. Not many people do that anymore,” you rolled your eyes at his compliment, “That’s a redeeming quality.”

Shawn shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, I…I do write my own stuff. With some help obviously, but it’s rare to find that nowadays.” You nodded in understanding as the two of you stood in silence. He slipped his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans as a smile lit up his face, “Except for Zilla. Now she…Wow,” he whistled low, “She’s a once in a lifetime artist.”

You felt your throat tighten up.

“Yeah, that’s…” You let out a fake laugh as you bit the inside of your cheek, “That’s one way to put it.”

Shawn eagerly nodded as he continued to talk about your least favorite topic, “Her words––Her experiences––It’s all so personal. Sometimes I feel like I’m eavesdropping or reading her diary,” He plopped down on a black rolling chair and his smile grew wider, “Now she’s someone I respect.”

And while you knew he was complimenting your work, he didn’t know it. The person who he thought he respected so much was in the music industry for all the wrong reasons. The person he thought so highly sent you a text on the day she got her first Billboard number one––a song that you wrote––and demanded a new song in a few weeks time all while she popped open a bottle of champagne on her Instagram.

You nodded your head, knowing that if you said something, it wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear.

“I’ll let you get to work,” you picked up your journal from the couch cushion and slipped it in your bag, “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

You turned to walk out the door but Shawn’s voice called you back, “Hey––You, um…I think this is yours?”

Turning around, you saw Shawn looking down at a familiar white piece of paper with words scratched out and arrows changing up verses, “This is…This is really good…” he looked up at you, “I didn’t catch your name?”

“Y/n,” you rushed out as you snatched the paper out of his hold.

Shawn nodded his head and stood up from the chair, leaning over your shoulder to continue reading the lyrics, “Centennial park…” he scratched his chin, “Nashville?”

You folded the paper in half, shielding your story from his eyes, as you lied, “Different park.”

Still stuck on the song, your mouth dropped as Shawn yanked the piece of paper out of your hands, opening it back up to skim over, “Maybe in the bridge––The last line…” you reached out to grab your paper from him, but he held it over his head, tilting his head back so he could still read the lyrics, “Change string to thread? Change up the lyrics like you did with the chords.”

Once he got his thought out, he lowered the piece of music and you grabbed it back, glaring at him as you stuffed it deep into your bag, “These aren’t mine,” you said bitterly, because while they were your words, they would eventually belong to Zilla, “They’re Zilla’s. So I’ll let her know.”

Shawn’s eyes bugged out of his head, mouth wide open in shock, “You––You have her lyric sheets?!” His eyes quickly darted down to your bag. You pulled your bag closer to your side out of protection, “The things I would do to have whatever job you have. I mean––To be able to read her songs before they’re out? That’s––I will literally trade places for a day with you.”

You let out a weak laugh, wishing that you got out of the studio on time, “I’m sure your job pays much better than being her…assistant.”

Shawn’s eyes glistened with excitement, “You’re her friend, assistant, and you get to read her songs?” Shawn ducked his head as he let out a chuckle, “I’d do anything to be you for a day.”

You pulled your eyebrows together, but tried to keep your face neutral, “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” But his smile only widened as he daydreamed about being so close to someone you thought was cousins with the devil, “I should really get going.”

Shawn nodded in understanding but called your name out, “Y/n––I don’t know if this is too forward, but…I mean––You don’t have to do it––But could you give Zilla my number?” He didn’t get a chance to look at how everything about your appearance dropped.

You were stunned as your mouth hung open, your eyes drooped in sadness, shoulders deflated…But he couldn’t visibly see the weight that you felt like was dropped in your stomach. He picked up a pen you left on the table and scribbled his number on a sticky note and you couldn’t remember a time where you felt so defeated.

He tore the sticky note off the pad and handed it over to you as he blushed, “I’d really love to write with her.”

You’d love to write with me, your brain screamed at you. But outing yourself as Zilla’s writer wasn’t worth all the lawsuits you would face.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and numbly nodded, “I’m sure she’d love to write with you too.”

----

Two and a half weeks later you found yourself writing in the same studio. And while you normally felt cooped up when in the studio, it was better at being at your apartment. Ever since you told Mia about your run in with Shawn it was the only thing she talked about.

She told you that it was the perfect time to tell the truth about your career––bring that witch down once and for all––were her exact words. But you didn’t want to deal with the mess of breaking an NDA.

So the next time you saw Zilla, you told her about your run in, and unenthusiastically handed her the sticky note with his number. Her smile was as wide as his when you told him you worked with Zilla. And while Zilla portrayed herself as a down-to-earth singer who transcended all genres of music…She was nothing but the opposite.

And from your brief run in with Shawn, you knew he was completely opposite of Zilla in every way, shape, and form.

The sound of your phone ringing brought you out of your songwriting process, without looking at caller I.D., you answered, “Hi, this is––”

“Y/n.”

You sucked in a breath when you heard her voice, “I have half of the album written. I’ll send you the songs and then you can record them,” You doodled in the margin of your journal, “So that way we don’t get in trouble again––”

“No, stop––Shawn is on his way to the studio.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your grip around the pen tightening as it scratched a hole in the paper, “I’m sure the fans will be happy to see pictures––

“No. Shut up for a minute,” at her strict tone you straightened your posture, not liking the way she was talking to you, “He’s coming to you. Where you are.”

You were about to make a quip about how she should talk to you with a little more respect, but when you heard the news of Shawn, your mind went from lyrical songwriting to ultimate panic.

“What?!”

“And I’m like an hour away from you,” you heard a car horn beep on the other end, “God, I hate L.A.––But he––He wants to write songs with me––”

“But you don’t write your own songs.”

“Don’t I fucking know,” she sneered through the phone.

A victorious small smile crept on your face, “Then why did you agree?”

“We had lunch and I told him I had a studio time slotted and he just texted me that he’s ten minutes away,” Zilla said all in one breath as she honked her horn twice, “because he wanted to surprise me.”

“Not much of a surprise if he’s texting you.”

She honked her horn again, “Y/n.”

“Sorry, sorry…I just,” you looked around at the mess you created in the studio. There were your usual papers strewn around, empty coffee cups, some takeaway food containers on the table that you were too lazy to throw out, “I’ve been here for like seven hours and there’s no way it’ll be clean before he comes.”

“Well do something––”

“Y/n?”

At the sound of your name being said gently in the same room as you, instead of it being yelled at through a phone, you quickly hung up on Zilla and threw your phone to the other end of the couch. You snapped your head up, and like the first time you saw him, he had his guitar case clutched in his hand, knuckles white.

“Shawn,” You said his name carefully as you looked wearily at him, “Hey.”

He slowly nodded his head, “Is…” and you cringed when you saw him looking around the mess you created in the studio, “…Is Zilla here?”

“Oh she––she just––” you had to think of something quick, “Had to pick something up at the pharmacy and it’s a bit out of the way––and she––so she called me and wanted me to uh––keep watch.”

Shawn looked at you, letting out a confused laugh, as he tilted his head, “Keep watch in a highly secure recording studio where the rooms lock?”

You nodded your head, keeping up with your lie, “She’s very very protective of her work space.”

Again, he nodded his head as he took another look around the messy studio, “I can…see that.” He shrugged his shoulders at the mess and took a seat on the ground.

You gathered up some of the papers that were on the couch around you, and on the table, and on the floor, “She had to go across town so she’ll be some time,” you shuffled the papers together until they all lined up. You set them aside and flipped to a clean page in your notebook, “So like––Make yourself at home.”

In the midst of gathering your stuff up to leave, he called you back in, “Y/n,” you lifted your head up to see an amused smirk on his face, “Leaving your watch position in her studio?”

Your eyes widened, “Well, uh––You’re here now so like––I think it’ll be fine if you’re here, and if you have stuff to work on, I don’t want to get in the way––”

Shawn shook his head, “Stay.”

As if you were trapped under a spell, you set your bag down on the couch and sat on the ground across from him. You sat with your legs criss-crossed as he opened the lid to his guitar case, “So…” you started off slow as you watched him carefully pull out his guitar.

Once he got in a comfortable sitting position with his guitar, you saw him pluck some strings and adjust the tuning pegs. There was one string that sounded off and you couldn’t hide your cringe.

“That B is flat. It needs to be higher.”

Shawn moved on to tune the E string, “I think it sounds fine.”

Even though he was looking down at his guitar, you still shook your head, “Get your tuner. It’s flat.”

Shawn let out a playful sigh and picked his head up to look for his tuner. Once he found it in the case, he clipped it on the head of the guitar, “If it’s not perfect, I buy you a coffee,” he smiled at you, “And if it is perfect, you buy me a coffee.”

You only offered him a smile as your response, already knowing that he would be the one buying you coffee. And when he got everything set up, plucked the string again, he looked at the tuner and frowned. He started twisting the peg as he continued to pick at the string until the B string sounded like music to your ears.

Shawn lifted his head up, a small smile toying at the edges of his mouth, as he looked at you through his eyelashes, “Do we have perfect pitch over here?”

You smiled and shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to brag because you did have perfect pitch, “I like a cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso.”

Shawn laughed at your response and rested his arm along the body of the guitar, “Working on anything exciting?”

You saw him eye the small stack of papers to your left, “Um…” self-consciously, you moved the papers further behind you so they were out of eyesight for him, “No…Not really.” Shawn gave you a look saying that he didn’t believe you, but you flipped the question to him, “What about you? Getting some inspiration for new songs?”

On the outside, you wiggled your eyebrows in a suggestive manner, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of joking. But on the inside, you felt your heart squeeze and your lungs collapse.

And it crushed you even more when he ducked his head and blushed, “I’m sure she’s told you plenty.” You laughed, pretending like you knew he was talking about, but Zilla hadn’t told you anything.

“She’s just so…Not what I expected,” a part of your spirits lifted, hoping he had seen her for who she truly was, but that was diminished when you noticed the far off dreamlike look in his eyes, “I think it makes me like her even more.”

You breathed out a silent laugh, twisting your hands together, “She’s a tricky one. Always…always surprising people.”

Shawn nodded his head and slowly strummed the guitar, “I think I like being surprised.”

This time, you threw your head back in genuine laughter, but when you saw his confused stare, you coughed in the crook of your elbow, “Stick with her if you like to be kept on your toes.”

Shawn tried to conceal his smile, but you knew he was already enamored with Zilla, too far gone to be swayed by anything you could say, “I’ll take that advice.” The two of you sat in another silence, as he softly strummed some chords on his guitar.

“Enough about her,” Shawn offered you a friendly smile, “I’m having trouble with something––Partly why I wanted to see her in the studio––” he leaned over to his backpack to grab out his sheet music and handed it to you, “See, I wanna do this,” he tried playing a chord, “But it’s not––I want it to sound different.”

You snorted and laid the sheet of paper on your knee, “That’s a good way to describe something you want changed.” Shawn glared at you, and you rolled your eyes, “How about…Have you tried an arpeggio?”

“You definitely went to music school.”

You waved off his comment, “I’m sure you know what it is––just maybe not it’s technical name,” you pushed yourself off from the ground and walked over to grab your guitar. Having already tuned it when you got in the studio, you sat down and situated the guitar on your lap.

“It’s like; do, do, do, do, do…” You tried humming, but when his face was still confused you started to play one of the most recognizable guitar riffs, “House Of The Rising Sun, the opening is an arpeggio,” you continued to hum along with the notes as you saw everything click in understanding in Shawn’s head.

You continued to play the opening chords on loop, “It’s a broken chord. So that way you can hear the individual notes,” you explained, “Say on piano, you would play an arpeggio by just playing each individual key, and it’s the same on a guitar. So when you play it slower,” you slowed down your strumming, “You can hear them more individually.”

Shawn nodded his head in awe of his little music lesson.

“They’re usually played in either ascending or descending order,” you picked up the pace of your strumming, before placing your hand flat on the strings, over the sound hole, to stop playing completely, “They’re also pretty common if you play them in a triad.”

Again, Shawn only nodded, enchanted by the sound of guitar.

“How much do you charge for music lessons?”

You let out a loud laugh and set your guitar over to the side, “I think you’re probably good in that department, but just buy me coffee then we’ll call it even.”

Shawn eagerly nodded his head, “I’m holding you to that––So like, with an arpeggio, is it always obvious that it’s there? Or do you have to listen to it really really closely?”

“I mean…” you tilted your head to the side, trying to find wording for the answer, “I think they’re more common than people realize? It’s a bit technical, because you're consecutively picking notes on different strings, but if you listen really closely, you’ll pick up on the broken chords.”

Shawn nodded, eyes seeming to be unfocused on something behind you, “Broken chords…” he mumbled under his breath a few times.

Feeling a little unsettled with him staring off into space, you cleared your throat, and that did the trick to snap him back to reality.

He smiled and then nodded his head toward the lyric sheet he handed you, “And these lyrics…I can’t––” He leaned over and slid the lyrics across the floor so that they were placed in between you two, “Something’s off.”

You nodded your head, biting your bottom lip in concentration, trying to figure out the root of the problem. Because while the lyrics were good, and you were able to hear the melody he had written down in your head, there was something off about them.

“Your rhyme scheme,” you mumbled, eyes still concentrated on the lyric sheet, “It’s a bit all over the place. So I would just narrow that down, figure out if you’re doing an arpeggio or not, and you should be golden.”

When you looked up, you saw Shawn look at you with the same admiration he had in his eyes during your first conversation when he said how much he respected Zilla’s songwriting.

You broke eye contact with him and scratched the back of your ear, “But only if you want––I don’t––Zilla is probably the person you should ask about this––”

Shawn shook his head, “She keeps blowing me off whenever I ask for her opinion,” and when you brought your gaze back up to him, he looked unsure of himself, “I know I’m not up to her level, and she’s…nice, but she always seems too busy to write.”

The insecure downcast of his eyes, and shrunken up body language, was a look you knew all too well. He didn’t think he was good enough to write songs with her. And what killed you was that he thought that way because she kept giving out false hope to him. It angered you because if only he knew that he was actually writing songs with the person he admired, he would have a different perspective on everything.

You let out a sigh, knowing exactly how rejected he must feel, and slid the song sheet back over to him, “For a cup of coffee I’ll give you music lessons.”

Everything about Shawn’s demeanor switched like a light. His posture straightened out, eyes beamed with joy, and his smile looked to be a little too wide after just offering him music lessons, “Please.”

You shyly nodded your head, feeling heat raise up to your cheeks, as you pulled down your phone from the couch and handed it over to him, “You can put your number in and then we can find a time.”

“I really appreciate this,” Shawn said as he swiftly typed away on your phone, “I can’t even––”

“Shawn?”

The voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to you, but you regained your neutral composure before Shawn had the chance to notice any change. You looked up to see Zilla in the doorway, glaring down at the two of you––with your guitars out and a music sheet in between you. Shawn quickly handed your phone back to you, his full attention captured by Zilla.

“Hey, Z,” Shawn waved at her, still sitting, “Y/n was just helping me write––”

“Was she?” She gave you a pointed look that was meant to be a silent yell at you to not help him whatsoever because it could blow both of your covers.

You nodded your head, standing up with your guitar, putting as much distance between you and Shawn, “I only helped a little. I told him you were the one he should go to.”

And with that answer, you still received a glare from her because of course she was useless in helping him with anything music related. You could never win with her.

He handed his lyric sheet out toward Zilla, “If you want, you can look at what I have––”

“Actually,” Zilla cut him off with a smile, “I thought we could get some lunch.”

Shawn looked down and tapped the screen on his phone, the light illuminating a small portion of his face, as he looked up with eyebrows scrunched together, “It’s five fifteen?”

Zilla clapped her hands together, “Early dinner then.”

When you looked over at Shawn, you could see that he was disappointed that Zilla––once again––brushed off his attempt to write. With a slump of his shoulders, you heard a barely audible exhale of annoyance come from him, as he packed up his guitar with a nod.

Once his guitar was packed away, he stood up and offered you an apologetic smile.

“Come on,” Zilla reached out her hand for Shawn to take, “There’s this really good sushi restaurant we can go to before it gets too crowded.”

And even though you could tell that all he wanted to do was sit down and write songs, when he looked at her, his smile was genuine. He melted right at her touch and his eyes softened.

His eyes flooded with admiration for her because he thought she was the one who wrote the music she sang. He looked at her like she was his inspiration to keep writing better music. He’s looking at her the way he should be looking at you, your mind screamed.

His eyes only added insult to the injury that started the day you signed your contract agreeing to be her ghostwriter.

“I’ll see ya for a music lesson later, Y/n.” Shawn smiled over his shoulder as Zilla dragged him out of the door.

Before Shawn looked back at Zilla, she shot you a smirk, as if she was claiming Shawn in victory. And in a sense, she had won whatever contest she made up in her head.

She won by becoming a household name, she won by not doing any of the grunt work of composing music, she won by having people do the work for her, and she won the heart of the second most famous pop singer-songwriter in the world because he thought she wrote all her own songs.

And just like that, with the slam of the door, you were left exactly in a position you found yourself in plenty of times before. You were left alone in a studio, with all of your songs, while Zilla pranced around with the newest person who caught her attention.

But this time, instead of both of you not caring about what the other one did, you could feel yourself being exiled from any part of her life that revolved around Shawn. And you knew she did it purposefully. She was threatened that your songwriting could easily sway Shawn away from her. She was threatened because she knew she couldn’t give Shawn exactly what he wanted; a partner to write songs with.

And just like every other time Zilla left you aggravated with too many feelings, you began to write a song.

----

You took your sunglasses off and squitend your eyes as you scanned the outside patio of the coffee shop. You were about to take your phone out, but when you saw Shawn stand up from the table and excitedly wave his hands above his head, you smiled and weaved through tables.

When you approached the table, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and your smile widened as you brought your arms around his waist.

“My favorite music teacher,” Shawn hummed as he pulled away from the hug.

You were a little disappointed he cut the hug off short, but you had to keep in mind that he was somewhat kind of seeing Zilla. You tried to get her to define her relationship with Shawn, but she would just wave you off and say it was nothing serious or kept asking if you were jealous.

While you might’ve been a little jealous whenever you saw a low quality paparazzi picture of them out in L.A, knowing that Zilla kept lying to Shawn about her songwriting “ability” always made you sleep with a smile on your face.

Just like the past month and a half when you met Shawn for coffee for one of your “music lessons,” he was always there first. And like every other time before, he had your cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso––at the spot across from him.

Not wanting to waste any time, Shawn eagerly took out his songwriting journal and flipped open to a random page. He slid the journal over to you and a laugh escaped your lips every time you saw how chaotic his journal looked.

He had different color post-it notes sticking up from the top, corners of pages that were worn down because of how frequently he dog-eared them, and the occasional loose leaf paper that was folded up and stuck between two pages.

Taking a sip of your coffee, you leaned closer to his journal, trying to decipher the messy script that was his handwriting.

You leaned back in the chair, nodding as you took another sip of coffee, “I like it.”

“Just like?” Shawn wrinkled his nose.

Shrugging your shoulders you took another look at the lyrics, “I mean…It’s a compliment?”

Shawn let out a sigh and buried his head into his hands for a moment before looking up at you with a pout, “Something’s not right.” He leaned over the table a bit and pointed at the second verse, “I don’t know what it is, but something isn’t right.”

“I like it.”

Shawn crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair, “No, there’s something you’re not telling me,” he glared at you, “You ripped apart my song last week and now you’re too quiet.”

You took another sip of your coffee to cover up the fact that you did think something was wrong with it. But like he said before, with the way you tore his song up last week, you felt a little bad. You didn’t want to make him feel like he wasn’t a good songwriter, because he had a way with words that you found yourself learning from.

He didn’t have quite as many songwriting awards as you, but you knew he wasn’t too far off.

With a sigh you offered him a weak smile, “You’re too vague.” And with your first point of criticism, Shawn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he took out a smaller journal and began to write down what you said, “You’ve already had songs that have touched on feeling lonely, and you’re really specific in the first verse, but too general with the second verse…” you trailed off your sentence and pointed at some scribbles on the paper, looking up at him, “Why’d you cross this out?”

Shawn stopped his scribbling to see what you pointed at, and when he saw the lyric, his cheeks turned red and he let his curls shield his embarrassed face, “It’s nothing,” he grumbled, “What should I change it to?”

You shook your head, “Nuh-uh,” you gave him an encouraging smile, “What did you write?”

He shook his head and looked down at the table, “I don’t like it.”

Under the table, you lightly brought your foot up to tap his shin. You didn’t stop nudging his leg with your foot until you saw a small smile grace his lips when he shyly looked up at you, “I’m wondering.”

Shawn rolled his eyes at your poor pun and retaliated by nudging his foot against yours in order for you to stop teasing him, “It’s…” he shook his head, “It’s too embarrassing.”

“I’m sure it’s really not as bad as you think,” you smiled at him again, “If you tell me what the lyric was, I’ll tell you what I think you should do music composition wise at the end.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and stepped on your foot, “You’re evil.”

You let out a small laugh as you rounded your hands around the hot coffee, “I see your three starts next to it, I know that’s your little ‘I need help’ symbol.”

Shawn flipped you off and it only caused the small amount of butterflies in your stomach to grow even more.

With a deep breath, he looked down at his hands and started picking at a loose piece of skin, “I wonder…” He peered up to see your anxious gaze, but then diverted his stare back down to his hands as he tore up the paper napkin in front of him, “When I cry into my hands, I’m conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man.”

You were in the middle of lifting your coffee mug up for another sip, but when you heard the rest of the lyric your hands froze mid-air. You felt rooted to your seat as you stared at his face that still hadn’t looked up from tearing little pieces off the napkin.

How did he think that that lyric was not good enough? That was something that you wished you wrote.

It was so vulnerable and honest and most of all, it was true to who he was. In songwriting, no matter how personal a person thinks their experience is to them, there will always be hundreds upon thousands of people who will resonate with your story.

That was something you learned and used to your advantage.

On Red, you fought hard for one particular breakup song to stay on the album that Zilla thought was too personal. She kept saying––No one will care about leaving a scarf at his sister's house…No one will connect with dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light…And absolutely no one has had anyone ever call them up again just to “break them like a promise.”

But you fought hard and it was the song that solidified Zilla as this generation's greatest lyricist. And it was also the song she performed on the Grammy’s when her debut album was nominated for Album of the Year.

Nervously, Shawn peaked up and saw the neutral expression on your face as you sat frozen. He ran a hand through his hair and reached a hand across the table to pull his journal back, “See? You think it’s stupid. I––That’s why I crossed it off. It’s too vulnerable and if people heard me say that?” He let out a somber chuckle, “They would think of me as less of a man.”

You pulled his journal back toward you and snatched the pen he had laying next to his other notebook, “That’s…Shawn that’s an incredible lyric.”

You re-wrote the lyric on top of where it was originally scratched out, “There’s so much strength in vulnerability. Not enough people––especially male artist’s––are comfortable with their vulnerability. It’s refreshing and amazing and what you wrote––That lyric…”

When you looked up from re-writing the lyric down in his journal, you saw that he was trying to contain his growing smile by biting his bottom lip. And this time under the table, when you brought your foot up to his, you gave it a single tap in reassurance, “It might be my favorite lyric ever.”

His voice cracked, “Really?”

You nodded your head, “It fits so well with the theme of self-discovery and being honest with yourself,” his smile widened with every compliment you offered him. You leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over your chest with a proud smile on your face, “I think you knocked it out of the park with that one.”

Shawn ducked his head again and went back to ripping small pieces off the napkin, “That…That means a lot coming from you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt an electric current jolt through your veins, “If that lyric doesn’t make the song I won’t listen to the album.”

With a laugh so loud that it caused a few coffee shop patrons to look at your table, you let a smile overtake your face as you admired how the corners of Shawn’s eyes crinkled in joy.

“I’ll keep that promise,” Shawn scratched the bridge of his nose as he came down from his laughter, “So…” He briefly looked down at his songwriting journal with a smirk before looking back into your eyes, “What should I do with the end?”

You noticed a new flame of confidence in his eyes as he pushed his journal toward you more. You let out a laugh as you looked at him with your eyebrows raised in excitement, “I’m thinking of a choir and horns…”

----

As your “music lessons” with Shawn continued for the next few months, so did your writing for Zilla’s next album. And unfortunately, Zilla and Shawn also continued to see each other. And while it was always a punch in the gut whenever Zilla brought it up, your conversations with Shawn were solely on writing and experimenting with different synthesizers for his new album.

With your contract that essentially hid you from the public, it was so refreshing to be able to collaborate with someone instead of writing by yourself. Even though you mainly just helped Shawn with a bit of writing and composing some music, it was an experience that gave you new inspiration.

You always thought you worked best alone, but collaborating with Shawn opened your eyes to everything you were missing out on.

It was all fun until Shawn approached you saying that he wanted to give you credit on his upcoming album. That was when reality hit you because there was an exclusivity clause in your contract with Zilla stating that you could only write for her. You tried to politely decline Shawn’s offer, but every time you saw him he brought it up.

It wasn’t until you told him you would stop your music lessons with him if he kept asking you.

The times after that, you could tell he wanted to bring it up, he was fair in wanting to give credit where credit was due, but you told him not to worry about it. Someone had been taking credit for your songs for years.

And soon enough the end of July came around and the album you wrote––Zilla’s album––folklore, was released to the world.

The public’s reaction to this album was more than you could’ve imagined. It started off as an album with no inspiration, just meaningless stories, but it morphed into an album that you held close to your heart. It had your true feelings, real experiences––that might’ve been exaggerated just a little––but it was still an album based on personal experiences.

And while it only got an eight on Pitchfork––two points off from a perfect album––Rolling Stones gave it a 4.5 out of 5 rating with possibly the most beautiful review Rob Sheffield ever wrote about your songwriting. You made sure to hound Zilla to send him a thank you basket.

It might’ve been your favorite album you’ve ever written, and while you sipped on a glass of red wine at the album release party, all you had to do was look over to see Shawn’s laughing face to know why it was your favorite album.

He was still clueless that you wrote the album.

He still didn’t get any of the signs you gave about being the true songwriter. It was always you writing with Shawn while Zilla pulled him away to go out to an expensive restaurant. And while he still looked at Zilla like she was the most inspiring songwriter of today’s generation…He was starting to look at you the same way.

The inspiration behind the album came from everywhere. It was mostly centered around your frustrations with Zilla and how most of your regrets lied with signing that contract at sixteen. No matter how hard you tried, it still felt like you wasted most of your potential writing for her instead of yourself.

But then Shawn came into the studio that one day. He came in and your perspective changed.

You took another sip of red wine as the opening chords of the 1 started to play around the small venue ZIlla rented out to celebrate the release. Bitterly, you took another sip of wine, as you looked at the boy who inspired the song and threw an arm around the person you despised most in the world.

If one thing had been different…If you were the person who rightfully got credit for your work…Maybe it would’ve been you he threw an arm around and pulled in close to his chest.

Your wine glass was still half full, but you tossed your head back to finish it off. And when you brought the glass down, you saw Shawn turn his head toward you and offer you a wave.

You tightly smiled back at him and whirled around to the bar to get yourself another glass of wine.

You took full advantage of the open bar Zilla provided and another glass of red wine was placed in your hands. And as you tasted the alcohol hit the back of your throat, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of them.

If only all of your wishes came true.

----

“And we’re back!” James Corden cheerily smiled at the camera before turning to face the three guests sitting on the couch.

You were backstage watching with Shawn as the crowd clapped at the “return” from the commercial break. While you never went with Zilla to any of her interviews, you started tagging along to them to fit your “assistant for Zilla” cover story you told Shawn.

And with folklore released just a few weeks ago, you had accompanied Zilla on more than enough of the press tour. You were back in L.A., which eased your spirits a little, but it didn’t ease the bubble of animosity that you felt toward Zilla every time she talked about her experience writing folklore.

“So, Zilla,” James started off, “Congrats on the new album––folklore.” Everyone cheered and a smile lit up her face as James continued to praise her songwriting, “I’ve got to say, it’s probably my favorite album of yours. It’s so different than anything you’ve ever written before.”

Zilla crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knees, “It was…It was a totally different experience writing this album, and when inspiration hits you just have to get it all out…”

As Zilla went on about her fake inspiration for the album, you tuned her out. You could care less about what she thought the songs meant, but when you heard James bring up a little segment he wanted to do with Zilla, you felt your heart jump to your throat.

James deviously smiled, “As one of the greatest songwriters of our generation––Oh, stop blushing you know you are––I think we should play a little game.”

Zilla let out a small laugh, “Oh?”

Even though you couldn’t stand her, you knew when she was nervous. Her foot started to bounce and she ran a hand through her hair as she quickly looked down at the ground.

And before James explained his little game, you felt someone rush past you with an acoustic guitar in their hands. You felt your stomach churn with anxiety because Zilla had already performed on the show, and she was the only musical guest on the show.

The crew member rushed on stage to hand the guitar to James and then quickly ran off. Your eyes widened and you felt your breath come out short.

“We here at the Late Late Show are obsessed with folklore––and even more obsessed with your songwriting.”

Oh no.

James handed the guitar to Zilla who took it with shaky hands, “And we challenge you to write a mini-song. Right here,” The crowd cheered, “Right now.”

Oh no.

Your jaw dropped the same time as Zilla’s and she whipped her head to look backstage at you with petrified eyes.

“Oh, James…” Zilla nervously laughed as one of her hands gripped the neck of the guitar, “You can’t just write a song in that amount of time.”

One of the guests spoke up from the couch, “But earlier you said that it only took you seven minutes to write the chorus of hoax.”

But there was a small little detail that everyone was missing. It didn’t take Zilla seven minutes to write the chorus to that song…It took you seven minutes to write it.

Zilla glared at the guest, “It needed some tweaking after––”

James let out a loud laugh and waved her off, “Oh stop being modest,” he then turned in his seat to face the audience and speak into the camera, “After the break we’ll have a brand new little song from singer-songwriter, Zilla!”

The crowd erupted in cheers while both you and Zilla stood frozen in place. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think Zilla would be in this position. Before every single interview or T.V. appearance, Zilla had her manager carefully pre-screen all of the questions and segments she would be part of to make sure nothing like this happened.

“This is exciting,” Shawn bounced on his feet, and for a moment, you forgot that he was standing next to you, “She always changes topics whenever I try to talk songwriting with her.”

This was definitely not an ideal situation for either her or you.

“That’s…” you looked around to see the audience excitedly talking amongst each other. You heard one girl in the front row say how she couldn’t believe she was going to witness the Zilla write something in front of her. You were beginning to feel increasingly hot with ever second that passed, “That’s one way to put it.”

“And we’re back!”

Zilla’s head whirled around again to look at you, but you turned your head to the side to try and find the nearest trash can in case you threw up.

“Zilla…” James started off with a smirk, “You just sat here looking off to the side…I’m hoping you heard the music in your head.”

The audience laughed, Shawn laughed, and Zilla just sat there in silence.

“Well, go on then,” James gestured to the guitar, “Play us what you wrote.”

At least Zilla knew how to play the guitar, and she started off strumming a random chord as she let out a shaky breath before singing.

“Oh…You make me feel like the sky…So…Blue,” you visibly cringed at her lyrics and were reminded as to why you were hired. But as she continued to sing, you started to feel more and more nauseous, “Oh…I wish you made me feel like…The sun, so bright and…Yellow.”

Everyone was silent.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off her as she still had her eyes shut tight. You knew exactly how she was feeling; embarrassed, nauseous, and utterly humiliated. You took a peak at Shawn and saw that his mouth tugged down in a frown, lips slightly parted, with his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

James’s stare was blank before he let out a forced chuckle, side-eyeing the audience, before he turned his attention back to Zilla, “Nice warm up, but now, let the magic flow and sing us the real song.”

Zilla opened her eyes and took in a deep breath, “That––I told you––You can’t push inspiration.”

James nodded his head, eyes wide in surprise at how Zilla snapped at him. Zilla was always poised, always charming everyone in the room, and never had she ever snapped at anyone in public before. Her jaw was clenched and you saw her shoulders tense up.

“I––I get that,” James tried his best to de-escalate the situation, “But you––your songwriting––You’ve always been so vocal about how you can write so fast, even without inspiration––”

You were surprised Zilla hadn’t snapped the neck of the guitar in half with how strong her grip was on it. She glared at James, “Well, I’m just not feeling it today––”

“I could’ve written something better,” the guest next to her laughed, which caused the audience to laugh along with them, as they continued their teasing, “Might need to take away your songwriting achievements––”

Zilla snapped her head to her right, turning her anger away from James, to the unknown actor who sat next to her, “I hired the best songwriter in in the business. She writes only the best for me––”

“––Because what you just sang was horrific.” They finished off their sentence.

For the third time tonight, you froze. All of the second-hand embarrassment you felt when she sang disappeared and was replaced with absolutely nothing. You had no thoughts––You just felt empty. You only had a feeling of absolute devastation, paired with a slight ringing in your ear, as your throat closed up.

You thought that her revelation couldn’t be heard by the actor talking over her. You thought that no one caught her slip up. But with the stunned look James had on his face, a few audible gasps of confusion from the audience, and Shawn stiffening up next to you…You knew that she blew her own cover because she didn’t know how to keep her cool.

James cleared his throat, “Your…Songwriter? You have someone else write songs for you?”

Zilla’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as she realized her mistake, and her face lost color, “Well, no––Of course not––It’s me––I’m my own songwriter––”

The other guest to Zilla’s left let out a snort, “There’s no way you wrote exile––”

“And we’ll be back after the break!” James interrupted the trio on the couch before Zilla completely lost her head.

Right as the studio lights lit up more of the room, Zilla tore off her mic and stormed off the stage. Her hands were balled tight into fists as you could visibly see her face turn a darker shade of red with each stomp she took toward you. You felt your heartbeat stop as you noticed her fiery glare was tunnel visioned toward you.

“She––You write her songs?”

Oh, shit.

For a moment, you forgot that Shawn was standing next to you because all you were focused on was the death glare Zilla continued to shoot your way as she walked toward you. You had been at the end of many of her glares, but nothing compared to how she looked at you now. Everything she had built her career on was crumbling and you knew she was going to blame you.

You rapidly shook your head, and when you looked up at Shawn, all you saw was betrayal and sadness, “No––Of course not––How’d you ever come to that conclusion––”

“You’re always in the studio when she’s supposed to be there,” Shawn cut you off, “She never wants to talk about songwriting while you––we’ve––been writing songs together,” his eyes widened as you saw something click in his mind, “Invisible String…” His voice tapered off as he mentioned the song, “You––You said you were just holding onto it for her.”

As you felt your heart plummet down your throat and into your stomach, you continued to shake your head, “I was just holding it on for her––It’s not––I––”

“I gave you a suggestion to change a lyric and it…You changed it,” his eyes that were full of despair suddenly narrowed at you.

Your voice cracked as he took a step away from you, “Shawn––”

He shook his head, “You lied––”

“This is all your fault,” Zilla shouted at you as she took hold of your elbow, spinning you away from Shawn to face her wrath, “If you could’ve––”

“How is this my fault?!”

Zilla shook with anger as you saw fire in her eyes, “It’s just––You,” she stomped her foot as she continued to throw her tantrum, “It’s all your fault! If you hadn’t been so caught up in writing with Shawn you would’ve been more focused on me. Because newsflash,” she took a step forward, “You still work for me.”

“You––Y/n? So she is your ghostwriter?”

Zilla’s eyes widened because she forgot that Shawn was also backstage with you. And she basically just confirmed everything she tried so hard to deny when she was on stage.

You were long forgotten as Zilla turned to face Shawn. She tried to take hold of his hands, but he shook her off and took a step back, “It’s––We have a partnership––We both write–––”

“You take credit for the songs that Y/n writes,” Shawn said it more as a statement than a question, but his voice was still one of disbelief.

Zilla’s face crumbled. She knew the only hold she had on Shawn was that he thought she wrote all her own music, “Shawn––”

“Zilla,” her manager came rushing toward her with panic written all over their face, “This––This is bad. We need to do some serious damage control––”

“The show––It’s pre-recorded,” Zilla hastily said, “Can’t we––Is there any way we can pay them to edit it out?”

Her manager grimaced as they shook their head, “Someone had their phone out, recorded the whole thing, and posted it to Twitter.” Zilla let out a noise that was a mix between a cry and whine, “Billboard already has a whole article written. TMZ is having a field day…” Her manager rubbed their temples, “It’s really not looking good.”

This time, Zilla did let out a soft cry as she tilted her head back to look at the ceiling. Everything she built her career on––The authenticity of songwriting––It was over.

“And you,” her manager gave you a disinterested look, “You should probably leave. If people saw you two together they might think––”

“Loud and clear,” you grumbled at them, not feeling the least bit sorry that Zilla had a meltdown on television and that it was all on video. This was the Zilla you knew. This was the “famed” singer-songwriter you had to deal with for years. She was rude, nasty, and the most self-centered musician in the industry.

With a deep breath, you were about to turn around and leave, but if this was how they were treating you after everything you gave up for her, you wanted to make one thing clear, “Don’t ever come to me asking for another song again.” You angrily breathed out, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer as I expect that she,” you glared at Zilla, “Violated some term in the contract by admitting to having a ghostwriter.”

You whirled around, hoping that would be the last time you saw Zilla until you had to meet again to officially terminate your contract. When your back was facing her––all you heard was her crying––but you couldn’t find the one person who deserved an apology.

Shawn was gone.

----

Two months after the public meltdown Zilla had on James Corden, people were still trying to figure out who the ghostwriter was. But unlike the day you signed the contract at sixteen, there was an extra person who knew that you were Zilla’s ghostwriter. Shawn was added to the list of you, your roommate, your entertainment lawyer, Zilla’s manager, and Zilla herself that knew your secret identity.

Zilla had come out with a tearful apology less than twenty-four hours after multiple music publications came out calling her a fraud. And the next time that you saw her in person was with your entertainment lawyer to terminate the contract. When the contract was labeled “null and void” it felt like the chains Zilla had around your wrist were broken.

And ever since Zilla confirmed she’d been working with a ghostwriter in her tearful YouTube apology video, the internet had not stopped searching. In her video she said, “out of respect to the writer I worked so closely with over the years, I’m not revealing their identity.”

It was a low blow. Because everything about that sentence was a lie. The two of you never worked close together on any songs and you knew she had little to no respect for you. She made that clear during the years you worked for her.

Even after everything…You still liked the anonymity that came with the deal. Especially now, if you were to come out as her ghostwriter, you would have the attention of the world. And while you wanted credit for your work, you didn’t know if you were ready to be put on that stage yet.

But the thing that killed you the most was not being able to explain everything to Shawn.

He hadn’t responded to any of the messages you left him. You felt a pang of pain in your chest whenever you pulled up your messages with him and read back through your texts. You listened to the voice notes he sent you a three in the morning when he was struck with inspiration and you mourned the ridiculous selfies he sent you.

You had taken up a hobby of cooking complicated recipes, that needed your full attention, to keep yourself from hyperfocusing on the regret you felt by not explaining the situation to Shawn sooner. As you put the beef wellington in the oven, coming to a painful understanding that you would probably never hear from Shawn again, your phone dinged on the counter.

Two months after not hearing from him…He sent you a text. It was simple, and to a stranger looking in on your friendship, they wouldn’t know what it meant. But you understood it loud and clear.

Music lesson in twenty?

You yelled out to Mia––telling her to keep an eye out on the oven––as you grabbed your keys and dashed out the door. After you buckled up, you sent him a response––of course––and broke about every traffic law in the book as you raced to the coffee shop you always had your “music lessons” at.

Your park job was pitiful, but it didn’t matter, because you made it to the coffee shop in a record thirteen minutes with only one person on your mind. Automatically, your feet carried you through the coffee shop and to the back patio. You were about to sit at an empty table when you saw that your music partner was already sitting at one.

He was slumped down on the chair, arms tightly crossed over his chest, and even though he was wearing sunglasses you knew that he saw you enter. But unlike all the other times you had your music lessons, he didn’t jump up and wave his hands above his head.

Like routine, you weaved through the tables until you got to him.

You stood in front of him for the first time since the James Corden incident, and even though you could feel the irritation he felt toward you…You noticed two cups of coffee on the table. He had his usual black drip coffee and there was a cappuccino.

“Light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso,” Shawn mumbled.

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t say anything. You promptly sat down and circled your hands around the mug. Because even though it was October, you still felt cold in California.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments longer; Shawn was still slumped in his chair while you sat with perfect posture, wanting to be ready for anything that came your way.

It was a silence that came when two people understand each other.

You let out a sigh as you looked at the latte art this particular coffee shop was known for, before you looked up at him with wide apologetic eyes, “I––I know saying sorry isn’t enough of an apology.” Shawn stayed slumped as he nodded his head. You saw your reflection in his sunglasses and gulped, “And not telling you because I was contractually obligated to keep quiet about being her ghostwriter…” you let out a pathetic laugh, “Just sounds shallow and shitty.”

“Why’d you do it?”

Why did you do it?

Truthfully, you didn’t think you had it in you to captivate the attention of record labels and you didn’t think you were interesting enough for a fanbase. Your plan was to hopefully get a publishing deal, write songs for that specific music publishing house, and have various artists cut your songs for their albums. But then you caught Zilla’s attention. And just like how she was with everything else in her life, she was selfish and wanted your talent all to herself.

Wanting to stall before you answered, you picked up the cappuccino and took a sip, but even beneath his sunglasses, you could feel his hard stare on you.

You sighed, “I––I didn’t like the idea of being in front of people. I was sixteen, didn’t want to be pulled away from home, and I felt like I was better suited for writing and not performing.”

You tapped your fingers on the side of the ceramic mug, “And before I knew it…Zilla heard one of my demos floating around a publishing company, liked it enough to cut it, and then it turned into signing a contract with her to be her ghostwriter.”

Shawn shook his head as he leaned forward, taking off his sunglasses, tired eyes staring straight into yours as he rested his elbows on the table, “Why’d you let her pretend that she wrote your songs?”

Shawn briefly covered his face with his hands, before looking at you with a pained expression, “As a songwriter, I can’t…Just thinking about someone else claiming my feelings as their own?” The look he gave you made you want to hide in a cave for the rest of your life, “Why did you do that?”

You sucked in a breath and shrugged your shoulders, “I––I’m not sure.”

He nodded his head, not because he understood your answer, but in understanding that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of you.

“How’d you do it?” He stared straight into your eyes, not backing down until he got this answer out of you, “I looked at the songwriting credits and they were all under her name. I searched every performing rights organization database and saw that she––you––whoever––was with B.M.I. And I called the people I knew there and they said that they didn’t have anyone by your name.”

He let out a defeated sigh, “The only person they had registered for her songs,” the fact that he couldn’t even say Zilla’s name had you smiling just a tad, “Was a Zilla Greene.”

You nodded with a sad smile, “That’s me.”

Shawn tilted his head and scrunched his eyebrows together, “No, that’s not––Zilla Greene––That’s Zilla, not you––”

You shook your head and held up a hand to him, he quickly stopped talking and let you explain, “When Zilla approached me to be her ghostwriter, it was her manager’s idea to have Zilla––whose real name is Willow––perform under a stage name that synced up with a pseudonym for me.” Shawn slowly nodded his head, “So that way if anyone were to look at the songwriting credits and search her up on a database,” you gave him a pointed look, “It would just look like it was still her stage name. First name, last name, and all.”

Shawn let out a small laugh of disbelief, “I can’t believe you pulled it off for years.”

You shared his laugh and took a sip of your coffee, feeling a small sense of dread in your stomach, “And it would’ve kept going on if she didn’t practically admit it on James Corden.”

The atmosphere went back to feeling tense.

“So, are you…” Shawn lifted his head and looked at the people sitting around them, before he leaned into the middle of the table, whispering, “Still her ghostwriter?”

You let out a small laugh as you shook your head, “She technically broke our contract so, no,” you genuinely smiled for the first time when talking about Zilla, “I don’t write for her anymore.”

Shawn took a sip of his coffee before he mirrored your smile, “All this time…” He looked at you with a hint of remorse, “Whenever I told you how much I wanted to write with Zilla,” he smiled sadly, “I was actually writing with her.”

You nodded your head, “Don’t feel bad,” you waved him off, “I knew the whole time that it was me you wanted to write with.”

Shawn rolled his eyes and lightly nudged his foot against your leg under the table. At the gesture, you didn’t try to hide the blinding smile that overtook your face.

“I was literally fangirling over you in front of you,” he briefly looked down at the table, letting out a chuckle, before looking back up at you with soft eyes, “And I didn’t even know it.”

You smirked, “Don’t worry, it still boosted my ego all the more.”

Shawn let out a loud laugh as he flipped you off just when you were about to take another sip of the drink he bought for you.

“So…” Shawn started off slow, briefly breaking eye contact with you, “I’m not sure if you’re comfortable with it yet, but I…I’d be honored if I could credit you as a songwriter on my next album.”

After years of being brushed under the rug, years of someone taking advantage of your feelings for their own monetary benefit, having Shawn saying he would be honored to credit you––actually you––for your work…You felt yourself get choked up at the thought.

You sniffled, trying to hold back the small tears of joy you felt behind your eyes in, “I would really appreciate that.”

Shawn’s smile was wide as he nodded once at you, before he leaned over to reach for something under the table.

He pushed his songwriting journal over towards you and opened it up to a page with music notes. You looked down and his messy note placement as you heard the composition in your head.

“So, I’ve been practicing arpeggios,” you looked up from the journal to see a sheepish smile on his face, “And while the sound of broken chords sound really cool,” and again, under the table, he brushed his foot on top of yours, “I’d like it better if the chords were together.”

You smiled as you felt a familiar warm feeling in the pit of your stomach cause a shiver to run through your whole body.

“Together,” you repeated his words that most definitely held a double meaning, “I think I’d like if the chords were together, too.”

taglist (add / remove yourself!): @adelaidestreets, @alilovesshawn, @alina--jpeg, @fallinallincurls, @lights-on-mendes, @mendesficsxbombay, @now-that-i-saw-u, @particularnarry, @shawnmendez, @shawnsreputation, @turtoix, @vinylmendes, @5-seconds-of-mendes, @pupsandducks @musicalkeys, @madatmendes @im-salt-but-not-salty @sunkisseddreamer, @crossedties @fortheloveoftheaussies, @illuminatepotter , @par_r, @perfectlywrongsm

#Shawn Mendes fanfiction #Shawn Mendes imagine #Shawn Mendes fan fiction #Shawn Mendes writing #Shawn Mendes x reader #Shawn Mendes fanfic #Shawn Mendes imagines #Shawn Mendes fluff #Shawn Mendes x y/n #Shawn Mendes x me #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn mendes writings #Shawn Mendes blurb #Shawn Mendes oneshot #Shawn Mendes oneshots #Shawn Mendes one shot #Shawn Mendes angst

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kaizokuou-ni-naru · 4 years ago

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The Voyage So Far: Dressrosa (Part Two)

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

wild how this is upwards of 750 chapters in and yet i still get a big dumb smile whenever luffy declares he’s going to be king of the pirates. one piece is a series very much driven by its main characters and their goals and dreams- i don’t think it would be nearly as good if the main character was anyone but monkey d. luffy.

personally, i always just feel kind of proud whenever he says this, because- yeah!! he is!! that’s luffy, he’s going to be king of the pirates, and we’ve known that since day fucking one.

i really think there’s something to be said about usopp never taking credit for saving luffy and law from sugar. it’s arguably his greatest feat in the entire series thus far- an impossible, perfect shot across an entire country, with an angry mob inches from his back- and he never even tells anybody he did it. he’s come a long way from someone who tells tall tales about heroic acts he never did to someone who doesn’t even feel the need to take credit for ones he really did, so long as his friends are safe.

i really like how corazon’s introduction and characterization throughout the flashback is handled. at the start of law’s flashback, we know a few things about him already: that he’s someone law loved very much, and that he was killed by doflamingo. we know how this ends.

but then cora is introduced as a clumsy mute weirdo who nearly kills law as one of the very first things he does, and we as the audience aren’t really sure how to reconcile that- and then the rest of the flashback is us, along with law, slowly discovering what a complicated and contradictory but ultimately good person he is. something very similar happens with the asl flashback- we know the endpoint of luffy and ace’s relationship, but the flashback is all about how they got there, from attempted murder to willing self-sacrifice.

i think it’s really cool the way law and doflamingo’s backstories are layered together. they’re characters who exist with a lot of parallels and similarities between them already, which is something they’re both clearly aware of- i’ve mentioned before i think the only real difference between them is that law got corazon where doflamingo got the executives- and presenting their backstories simultaneously only makes that more obvious.

i’ve always found it so interesting that we get what’s pretty much our only substantial exposition about the will of d direct from a former celestial dragon. it makes sense- cora’s basically the only character we’ve met who both has this information and is willing to share it- but i don’t know, there’s something that feels very poetic to me about him having this information that’s clearly been suppressed and hidden by the dragons and willingly choosing to share it in order to help protect law, a D, who should technically be the very enemy he was once taught to hate and fear.

i really like corazon.

it fucks me up that we can tell the exact moment cora dies from the moment law starts making noise again.

this might be a controversial take? i’m not sure. but i like baby five. i think her and sai’s relationship is really sweet, and people might complain about her getting off easy or whatever but i’m honestly glad she gets a happy ending after being thoroughly emotionally abused and broken her entire life. and on a lighter note, she’s also just a fun character to watch through the whole arc- the running gag with her crying whenever law glares at her is still one of my favorites in the whole series.

the shot of robin’s bloody back is a favorite of mine, because it’s a reveal that doesn’t get lingered on at all, and yet at once it gives the entire proceeding scene a lot more weight when we understand just how much pain she must’ve been in the entire time. and yet she never even flinched or faltered while protecting rebecca. nico robin is very, very strong.

there’s something so deliciously fitting about diamante’s final fall ending with him cracking his head on scarlett’s grave, and something so lovely about kyros and rebecca finally getting their proper reunion there, when neither of them ever really got a chance to mourn.

law’s line about the strawhats trailing nothing but miracles in their wake is one of the first ones i always think of when i think about the strawhats in general and luffy in particular, mostly because it’s so true. from the very beginning, the strawhats have been doing the impossible, from sailing to the sky to breaking in and out of the world’s greatest prison, and law saw that and staked all his hopes on it and they did not let him down.

also i think it’s very cool of law to, when held at gunpoint and down an arm, grin, flip doflamingo off, and tell him to eat shit and that luffy is going to kick his ass. love that for him.

i think dressrosa does a very good job of making the victory against doflamingo equally law’s and luffy’s. they cooperate and trade off fighting him throughout the arc to great effect, and i think it’s pretty clear that neither of them could have tackled the massive challenge of dressrosa alone.

while the final fight is luffy’s, it’s made clear that that’s only after law’s done absolutely everything he could and spent the majority of the arc distracting doflamingo, keeping him occupied, and even fucking shredding his insides with pure radiation before finally needing to tap out. i think it’s a good balance, given that luffy is the protagonist but law’s grudge against doflamingo is the driving force behind the entire arc.

conqueror’s haki clashes are always very cool, pretty much regardless of who or where or why, but the one between luffy and doflamingo is a favorite.

one of the things that’s always impressed me about one piece in comparison to other shounen series is how it handles its powerscaling- in that it does it well with a gradual increase and villains who vary widely in strength instead of every arc necessarily needing to be bigger and better than the last- and i think the way it handles powering up the main characters is a big part of that.

through the entirety of one piece thus far, i’d say luffy has had three major power-ups- second and third gear in enies lobby, haki at the timeskip, and gear four here in dressrosa (an argument could also be made for ryuuou in wano, but i think that’s less major than these others). this helps prevent runaway powerscaling and also makes new power-ups feel like a genuine event, which i really like.

i once referred to luffy as ‘hopebringer’ in a conversation with friends, and it’s a descriptor for him i think sums up really well how he manages to save so many people while insistently not being a hero. luffy inspires people, inspires whole countries, starting all the way back with coby in romance dawn. it’s one of the reasons i think it’s fitting how thoroughly he’s associated with the dawn.

doflamingo is very, very scary. which is interesting, because he’s indisputably less powerful someone like kaidou, but at the same time i find him a much scarier villain, and i think it comes down to doflamingo’s gleeful, wanton cruelty. not that kaidou is in any way shape or form a nice person, but our first introduction to doflamingo is him forcing marines to attack each other just because he’s a little bored. he hurts people just because he can, and finds it funny.

relating to my earlier comment about hope, i really like how the whole country comes together at the end to cheer luffy on and count down to his return. it makes it feel all the more triumphant when it does, especially for the citizens of dressrosa who’ve been suffocating under doflamingo’s rule for years and can finally, finally see freedom.

other people have put a lot more thought of the symbolism of doflamingo’s eyes and glasses than i intend to, but i’ll settle for saying that it’s the breaking of the glasses, before anything else, before the birdcage even vanishes from the sky and everyone is safe, that shows us that, at long last, doflamingo is well and truly defeated. his glasses break, and so does his power.

i’ve written a longer post about it before (here) but it’s a recurring motif that one piece’s worst villains are those that steal people’s freedom, including, in the cruelest cases, the freedom to express their emotions openly. we see it with koala and the celestial dragons, with the failed smile fruits in wano, and here, too, with kyros. and, much like koala, triumph for him means finally being able to cry.

i mentioned it back in the first post, but i’m so, so happy rebecca and kyros get the happy ending they deserve. they’ve both been fighting a war that they never should have had to for years and years, and they both deserve to get to just live, now, peaceful and quiet and together and surrounded by flowers.

i really dig the note dressrosa ends on. it’s happy, of course, obviously, with the liberation of the country, kyros and rebecca’s happy ending, the creation of the grand fleet, even law getting some degree of closure through his talk with sengoku, but it also leaves this massive, gaping question- what now?

in a way, doflamingo’s speech here follows up on law’s new era speech from punk hazard. luffy and law have just thrown a major wrench into the delicate power equilibrium of the entire new world, and we have all these characters out there who might be affected, who might want to take advantage, who might try to seize the throne.

#the voyage so far #one piece #opmeta #arc: dressrosa #long post #not japanese

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recurring-polynya · 3 years ago

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Your thoughts and headcannons on Nemuri Hachigou because I don't think she gets talked about enough, when in reality she's pretty interesting, she's essentially, a blank slate, Mayuri's second chance that I don't think he feels like he deserves. She's Nemu but she isn't and I think people(especially Mayuri) forget that a lot, that's a fascinating position to be in.

Puttin’ this under a cut because I’m gonna say some unkind things about Mayuri and I do not want to cause any distress to the many lovely people on this website who delight in his horrible antics.

This is not so much a headcanon so much as a thing I came up with for fanfiction purposes, but it’s all I got.

Right. So, like I said, I despise Mayuri. I just hate him. I understand that he appeals to some people, but I strongly dislike the dude and go to exorbitant lengths to avoid him ever appearing in my fanfic.

Additionally, I do not vibe with Nemu 7. She registers as not-a-person for me, she’s basically an extension of Mayuri himself. Don’t get me wrong, I find Mayuri’s treatment of her to be vile and I wish someone would take her away from him, but she comes off as very robotic to me. She is conscious, but she is not an independent being, if that makes sense. She is not a real girl. It’s funny that Mayuri keeps talking about how advanced she is, because clearly he means only her cognitive and fighting abilities. In terms of recreating a person, she’s incredibly primitive compared to the other mod souls we see. Take Kon, for example, who has a fairly limited powerset, but is never presented as less of a soul than any of the other characters. An even more interesting example is Ururu and Jinta. Ururu is described as being older than Jinta, and she is clearly “less human” than him-- she has less affect, she shifts into a distinct “attack” mode, etc, which implies that Jinta represents advances in mod soul technology. It’s notable that Urahara and Tessai and even Renji, in the canon scene where he protects the Shouten kids, never treats them as anything less than people. The contrast with the way Mayuri treats Nemu is stark. He likes that her feelings and personality are limited, he sees this as a feature.

I was completely unmoved by the entire chapter where Nemu died. Her sacrifice did not come across to me as anything indicating growth or humanity-- in every battle she's ever been in, she nearly dies because Kurotsuchi tells her to. She simply prioritizes Mayuri over herself. She always has. It’s simply the logical extension of her programming. A lot of people say they would have preferred Nemu to live and Mayuri to die and for sure I would have *preferred* that, but I have never seen Nemu as enough of a character to be worth rooting for. Like, at least Uryuu would have gotten some satisfaction form killing his clown ass, and that might have convinced me for at least half a second that he actually was on the side of the Quincy.

Caveat: if some talented fanficcer wants to write a short novel on Nemu discovering her humanity etc etc, I’m all for it, I’m just saying that canon hasn’t given us anything to suggest she would do more than just shut down without Mayuri to tell her what to do.

Onto Nemuri 8. I can’t believe they let Mayuri have another one. It makes my blood boil. The dude is an on-screen abuser and Kubo had the gall to try to make me feel sorry feel him (I did not) and then gave him another one.

So, I took her away from him.

I mentioned earlier that I go to great lengths to keep Mayuri the hell out of my fanfic, and usually the way I do that is to have my characters go through Akon whenever they have to deal with Squad 12. I think I started doing this because Akon is sort of weirdly familiar with Renji and Rukia in the TYBW, but I have projected all over him and he’s mine now. The way I assume Squad 12 functions, based on my career in scientific programming, is that Mayuri is like a primary investigator-- he's the Big Ideas guy and he spends a lot of time doing wholly self-directed research. He’s the face of Squad 12, so he has to go talk to the Captain-Commander and beg for money and defend blowing things up, but when it comes to science stuff, he does what he wants. Nemu is the lieutenant, and I think she handles most of the usual lieutenanting-- paperwork, meetings, etc., but I think Mayuri takes up a lot of her time by using her as a personal lab assistant on his wacky projects. There's nothing wrong with this, but I think in a lot of squads, the lieutenant is responsible for the day-to-day running of the squad and spends a lot of time dealing with their subordinates and other lieutenants. Nemu, instead, focuses on her captain. Now, the rest of the Gotei counts on Squad 12 for a lot actually-- gigai, Hollow tracking, Dangai monitoring, etc. etc. From the point of view of most science people, this stuff is mundane-- it’s all application, not development, and all the difficulty is in the twitchy little details. It’s frustrating and it’s unrewarding and you never get credit for it, and it is vitally important. There is a certain kind of science professional that makes a career out of this. They usually have master's degrees instead of PhDs, and they are usually tragically underpaid and underappreciated for what they do. In the real world, without these people, you wouldn’t have mass vaccination sites or weather data on your phone or cute li’l robots landing on other planets. In Bleach, these are the people keeping soul reapers alive in the field. And in my mind, this is Akon’s department.

So here’s the headcanon:

After Nemu’s death, Mayuri has so much sad clown pain about it that he wants another robot child poste-haste, but can’t bring himself to do the actual work, so he shoves it off onto Akon, with a list of the design specs he wants. The last one was pretty good, Akon can handle a few minor upgrades, it doesn’t need his personal hand in it. Thinking about going through all that work again just pisses him off, honestly. What a waste!

And Akon's like, yeah, cool, fine. It was heavily implied that he did a lot of the work on Nemu 7, it's just a matter of digging out his old notes and cleaning out some vats.

Except that, right around the same time, Rukia and Renji decide to have a baby.

Babies are super rare in the Gotei, and it’s not like those stuffy nobles are gonna let Akon look at their precious offspring. But Rukia is a rank weirdo, and Akon is their pal, so she’s always like “I hear they have these things in the Living World where you can pee on a stick and tell if you’re pregnant, can you make me one?” and Akon’s brain goes, “Wow, what even is the first detectable sign of a newly formed soul, this is very interesting.” So, at the same time he’s trying to grow a new and improved Nemu, he’s got access to the developing fetus of two captain-class shinigami. So when he has to pick between eight good candidate embryos to move to the next vat, he picks… not the one with the strongest reiatsu signature, like they did last time, but the one whose reiatsu looks the most like a real baby.

Akon reminds me of a lot of programmers I know, so I always sort of headcanon him as particularly interested in whatever passes for programming in Squad 12, and I think he takes special interest in revamping Nemu’s artificial intelligence system, which is primarily based on taking in information about the world and building up a realistic personality based on people she observes. In particular, it gives extra weight to “people who resemble her”. Nemu 7 was raised by Squad 12, so she came up very Squad 12, just like Mayuri wanted. Unfortunately, toddler Hachigou Nemuri’s algorithm unexpectedly decides that she has much more in common with toddler Abarai Ichika than any of the adult soul reapers around her.

Nemuri 8 is a very successful sample in terms of power and intelligence but she’s also very boisterous, and the rest of Squad 12 is like “Akon do something” so Akon takes drastic measures: he asks Renji for parenting advice. Distressingly, Renji is full of useful ideas like “tire her out” and “only fight the important battles” and “we’re signed up for baby yoga, you wanna start comin’ to baby yoga? Your back is gonna thank you.”

Akon didn't mean to let them hang out so much, but Ichika is a very useful data point and also if he takes Nemuri over to the Abarai house, the girls will entertain themselves (i.e. chew on each other) long enough for him to have a beer with Renji and Rukia and honestly my man really needs that beer.

I don’t think Akon thinks of himself as Nemu’s dad past the first time when she calls him ‘Daddy’ and he corrects her (she only did it because that’s what Ichika calls Renji, very predictable quirk of her programming). She’s just a work project. She’s not even his project, she’s Mayuri’s project, he’s just handling the little details. Fathering just happens to be an adjacent field of study that he’s found to contain a number of very useful best practices.

I would prefer not to get into the detail of the physical abuse that Mayuri uses against Nemu 7, but I would like to think that Akon finds ways to protect Nemuri 8 from the same, or barring that, maybe this is what finally drives Akon to murder Kurotsuchi and become Squad 12 captain himself.

Other Nemuri Headcanons:

Her favorite book is Rejection of the Twin Fishes!, Captain Ukitake’s posthumously published children’s book.

She prefers to be called “Nemuri” over “Nemu.”

Nemuri’s second favorite person in Squad 12 after Akon is Rin, because he always has candy. Rin actually likes having someone to share his hobby with and helps her make a World of the Living Snack Bucket List. When other shinigami come in for gigai, Nemuri constantly tries to con them into bringing something back for her.

Rukia teaches her to cuss, but tells her never to do it around Akon. Nemuri never actually cusses around anyone, but really enjoys having Forbidden Knowledge.

Speaking of Forbidden, she is mildly obsessed with Urahara, even though she’s never met him. She’s constantly on the lookout for thumbprints of his work in modern Squad 12 technology.

The one thing she does have in common with Mayuri is an absolutely batshit personal aesthetic. She starts painting her face as a tween and is somewhat inconveniently both into piercings and inflatable outfits.

The true proof that she has surpassed her predecessor, at least in terms of humanity, is that she is able to learn the name of her zanpakutou.

Oh, if you want to read any of my fanfics with Nemuri, here's one where she and Ichika play football and here's one where she tries to con Byakuya into buying her shaved ice. I really like writing Nemuri hanging out with Byakuya because I think an adult man who navigates social settings via rigid system of etiquette and class hierarchy and a small child with a pile of Markov chains for a brain would be natural friends.

#nemuri hachigou

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depressedacadamia · 3 years ago

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How do you passive aggressively say ‘Fuck you’ in flower? Part III

Summary: New owners, new friendships and new beginnings... but maybe there's a linger of old history there aswell.

A/N: Helloooo!! It's writers month starting August so I've posted all the prompts and there are also the fandoms you can request. Please send a request, its always fun to interact with the readers and hear what content you want to see!! That said, here is chap 3!! I hope you enjoy and make sure you comment and enjoy!! <3 from phi phi!!

Read on A03 Read part I on Tumblr Read part II on Tumblr

Will couldn't believe his luck. Of all the things he could have been told, it had to be this.

He held the printed note in between his thumb and forefinger as he grumpily read aloud the note hidden inside the fortune cookie. Calypso looked excited as her hands gripped the side of the table with passion.

“So? What does it say? Are you going to marry skull boy and live happily ever after with a cat?”

Wills scowled. “ No, that’s ridiculous. I hate cats. Maybe a dog. Or a goldfish.”

“Yeah, but goldfish don't live for as long as a cat could,” Calypso pointed out, her pinky finger pointing towards Will. “Now read. I want to hear your fortune.”

“Ugh. You aren’t hesitant to take what you want but sometimes you lack intuition; try and be more intuitive."

Calypso looked at him, with disappointment ranging across her face before shrugging and returning to her food. Will, who was expecting a much larger reaction, was offended.

“Excuse me? You begged to hear my fortune and now you just ignore it? You’re a terrible friend. I bet you wouldn’t run into a fire to save me.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

Will gasped. Calypso continued her sentence, with an overall sense of coolness. “ I’d send the fucking fire patrol, police, moutaion resucuers, heck, I’d send the grandma next door to me if she had even a slim chance of getting you out of there.”

“Awwww, You do love me!”

Calypso grunted. “It’s only because I refuse to let anything other than myself kill you. Now stop hugging me and scram; you’re ruining my course of digestion with how hard your arms are wrapped around my stomach.”

But Will refused to oblige as he wrapped his arms around his best friend's stomach, listening to her complaints and completely ignoring them.

“What do you think it means?” Calypso spoke over a mouthful of food.

“What?”

“The fortune cookie thingy. What do you think it means?”

“It means I should be more intuitive, that's what it said.”

Calypso facepalmed, now understanding why the fortune cookie told her best friend what it told them. Even to the most oblivious person, it was obvoius that what the fortune cookie had told Will was not to simply be more intuitive but instead to -as the author would say- Open your fucking eyes and see what’s in front of you . But, as the author, I can tell you that William Andrew Solace is such an oblivious character that if I were to shout that at him, he would simply stare at whatever was sitting in front of him.

The next Saturday

“Are they coming?” Meg tugged on Will’s sleeve. “ Will, are they going to come today?”

It had seemed that, surprisingly enough, Meg had taken a great liking to Will’s so-called new ‘friends’ and in particular- Nico, which just so happened to be perfect for Will. It was already terrible that Will had to deal with them showing up only once in his beloved shop, let alone the idea that they may come again the next weekend and ruin it entirely for him, like the previous.

“I don’t know Meg, why do you care?” Will asked, his tone slightly agitated, out of all the people who had visited him at the shop, Meg just had to take a liking to these.

“Because that Nico guy is super cool. But don’t tell him I said that- and you guys can’t make out in my shop, no matter how cool he is.”

“This isn’t your shop and it isn't Calypso’s either, Dya know that, right?” Will reminded Meg as she went on about the new customers.

A sharp jab, that Will could now confidently identify to be Calypso’s elbow, hit his side. “Oi, What do you mean it ain't my shop- it basically is. It’s not like the previous owner ever cared about it.”

Will’s ears perked up at the words ‘previous owner’. “What do you mean Previous owner? Do they not own it anymore?”

“Did you not hear?” Calypso stopped braiding the rose into Will’s hair after seeing his surprised expression. “ We have a new owner. They offered the old one loads, and I mean loads of money for this shop. Apparently it’s this young sophisticated woman who just throws money whenever she wants.”

“Why do you sound so happy?”

Calypso’s finger’s in Will’s hair stopped braiding for a second. “What do you mean why do I sound so happy? We have a new rich owner. That means we will get better conditions. Imagine all the better quality wrapping we can get for the bouquets!”

“But if they're the kind of person to just throw money about, will they really take care of what's theirs? Or will they just send their own cronies to keep everything tidy, while paying them the minimum possible? And in this case, those cronies are us!”

“You’re imagining the worst of the new owner.”

“No, I’m not! Why am I the only one who hates the idea of a new owner!” Will yelled, grabbing the rose in his hair and ripping it out, throwing it at the entrance of the door. Will wasn't one to raise his voice but he couldn’t help but feel frustrated- why was everything changing so much!

Maybe it was fate, maybe it was destiny, or maybe Will was just that unlucky, but in that very moment, Nico and his friends all walked in.

It seemed they had all been causally conversing as they walked in.They were quickly silenced by whatever was occurring within the florist; Percy was halfway through grinning and dropping his jaw at Will's sudden outburst. Afterall, the last time he had seen Will this agitated was in middle school when he stole Will’s plastic stethoscope that his father had supposedly gotten him.

“Are we interrupting?'' Frank asked. He may have been on Nico’s side but he figured that perhaps barging in on an argument wasn’t the most respectful thing one could do.

“Trouble in paradise?” Nico smirked as he picked up the ruined rose that Will had thrown to the floor in a rage. He twirled in between his fingers and looked at the shade of pink; he glanced back at Will and decided it greatly complimented his skin tone and the cute blush he’d get whenever he was angry.

He frowned at the ruined rose and placed it on the counter before walking back to Will.

“The trouble only started when you set foot into this shop,” Will retorted, very much unappreciative of his presence at this moment. He still couldn't believe that the shop was getting a new owner! Sure, the old one had barely shown up and basically left Calypso entirely in charge but how could Calypso be so casual about it?

Nico ignored his attempt at a snide comment and walked past him, gesturing with his finger to follow behind him. “I want a flower. The one you threw. What was it, a Rosa Ausrumba?”

Will, slightly surprised that Nico had managed to identify the binomial name for the rose, raised his eyebrow. “Yeah.. how did you know?”

Nico shrugged, not offering an explanation as Will went ahead and fetched him a packaged gentle hermione rose. As he handed it over, he couldn’t help but let his mind wonder who the rose was for. It was a soft pink, the same type of rose that Calypso insisted he wear everytime he worked at the shop. Will knew that pink roses symbolised a lot of things but the question was, what exactly?

Was there anyone Nico knew who he’d give that rose to? It wouldn’t make sense for it to go to Leo, afterall, it wouldn't compliment his hair or skin tones: rather, it could work with someone like Hazel- since she was his sister, it would make sense for Nico to give it to her.

Calypso had always forced Will to wear that species of pink rose because she said that he had the hair for it and his blush and the colour of the rose were indistinguishable but most of all, it was the friendly gesture she had made when he first started working there.

He felt Nico’s fingertips brush against his as he handed the rose and a jolt of electricity sparking between them.

Shit, static shock.

“Ow!” Will jerked back, dropping the rose and rubbing his hand. He was about to ask Nico what the hell before he realised that the rose was on the floor. It wasn’t like the rose was going to be ruined or destroyed now it was on the floor or that it particularly angered Will to see the rose there. It simply saddened Will so much that he felt compelled to pick it up; maybe it was because he was so used to being forced into wearing it everyday or maybe because it was meant to be Nico’s, either way, he bent down to retrieve the flower.

It seemed that Nico had the same idea because their heads collided and Will was sent stumbling backwards onto his butt.

“Ow!” He cried again, rubbing his head. Nico felt his eyes widen at Will’s words and quickly he grabbed the rose and kneeled in the space between Will's legs, with his hand scanning Will’s face of any injury.

“Are you okay?”

Will frowned at the considerate question, wondering if Nico was mocking him or not. “Why do you care?”

That question threw Nico off guard. Why do you care? Why did he care? That was a good question he had yet to ask himself. Why did he care so much about Will? Why did he decide to come back? Every week nonetheless.

“No reason.” Nico shrugged. ” I just wanted to make sure your clumsy ass didn’t break anything.”

“Your head hit mine!”

“Yeah but it was you who decided to go after my flower,” Nico argued, clutching the rose in his hand. He started peeling off the wrapping until he had the rose alone in his hand.

“What the hell are you doing? You haven’t paid for it yet!”

Nico ignored him as he handed Will the rose. Obviously, Will took the rose from Nico’s hand and held it. Why did Nico want him to hold his flower for him?

“What?” Will was confused. “Why am I holding your flower?”

“Because I gave it to you.”

“To do what with?” Will inquired, his eyes oblivious. For someone who slept around, Will was not one who knew much about romantic rituals.

Murmuring something under his breath, Nico tilted his face away and let the loose strands of his black hair fall over his eyes elegantly. Will didn’t know if he had hit his head too hard but he could have sworn that Nico was slightly blushing.

“What? I didn’t catch that.”

“I said,” Nico took a dep breath, “The flower is for you and your stupid hair.”

Will must have looked relatively confused because Nico kept on talking. “Because you wear one whenever you work here? And when you threw a fit, you also threw your rose and it got ruined.”

Will, dumbfounded, simply stared at Nico. It wasn’t like he could braid his hair right here; Was this where Will was meant to thank him?

“Uh… thank you? I mean I could have easily gotten Callie to do my hair again but thanks anyway.”

Will realised that he was still sitting on the floor and immediately got up, still clutching the rose firmly in his hand, like he was afraid that the wind may just carry it off and he may never see it again.

In silence, him and Nico walked back to the counter, where surprisingly enough, everyone was getting on quite well. Percy and Frank were challenging Piper and Hazel about some vague petty thing,while Leo and Annabeth spoke to Calypso and Jason told Meg about Nico.

Annabeth had noticed quite quickly that Calypso had a crush on Leo and it seemed that Leo was aware as well. However, despite that, he didn’t let it get in the way of the conversation or the potential for a very beautiful friendship. He didn't like Calypso in that way. It was true that he had many previous lovers both men and women but Calypso was his friend, nothing more.

Nico noticed that Will was simply holding the rose and not wearing it like he intended him to.

“Why aren't you wearing the rose?”

Will stuttered, his face burning up slightly from embarrassment. “I..uh,well...I can’t really, um, braid my hair.”

Will was waiting for the insult. For a laugh, maybe a jeer. Instead he was surprised by the reaction that met him.

“I do. Give me the rose and sit in that chair.” Nico pointed to the chair behind the counter. Will, oblivious as ever, took a seat. He didn’t expect to feel familiar hands working on his hair. It felt like deja vu, feeling Nico’s fingers weave themselves into his hair, it felt like they were in that storage room all over again, making out on the small couch.

Wondering if Nico was also reminiscing that moment, he turned his head ever so slightly and caught Nico’s eye.

Nico turned Will’s head. “Stay still, I can’t do your hair if you keep on moving.”

Do my hair? He’s going to do my hair?

Will anxiously sat in the chair, fiddling his hands as Nico sectioned his hair into 3 parts and slipped the stem of the rose into one of the sections. He began braiding Will’s hair, slowly softly, dare I even say- Lovingly.

Will almost shivered when he felt Nico’s fingertip graze his scalp. His fingers braided like magic and within a matter of seconds, it felt like he had finished. Nico walked in front of Will to have a look at his handiwork from the front and reached forward. His finger brushed the side of Will’s ear and for a second, Will thought that Nico was going to gently cup his cheek and kiss him.

Instead, he reached and pulled free a small lock of hair from the front of his face so it dangled elegantly and complemented the rose that lay in his hair.

Will gulped. “ How did you learn to do hair?” His voice was extremely hoarse.

Nico’s voice seemed lower when he spoke. “My sister. I used to do her hair sometimes when we were at camp.”

Will nodded absent mindedly and focused on why his heart was beating so fast. The only reasons he knew why his heart would ever beat fast near a person would be if they scared him, forced him to exercise or if he had just slept with them.

Since Nico hadn't made him run, and they weren't sleeping together and Nico didn't make him fear for his life (yet), he was purely confused as to why his heart felt like it was a butterfly fluttering and any second, his ribcage may burst open and let it fly away and with it, his heart.,

He stared at the back of Nico’s head as he walked back to his friends who were now arguing about the difference between a white and an ivory rose.

Will did not not see Nico on Sunday at the flower shop. Nor did he see any of his friends.

Friday, Next week.

“Will, put that beer bottle down!” Calypso yelled, her entire state chaotic. There was flour everywhere and Will couldn’t tell where the kitchen started and where the mess ended.

This is what happened when he offered to babysit.

It was one thing to babysit a teenager or perhaps a 10 years old but a 7 years old? A seven year old and a 5 year old? A combination from hell itself. Overly energetic, disrespectful and disobedient, seven years olds were the worst kind of children to babysit.

It had started a while ago when his mother’s friend who’s name actually was Karen had to leave in a rush for some emergency (although Will had highly doubted it) and left her kids with Will's Mother. Being the wonderful woman she was, Will’s mother held onto them for as long as she could but she had a job, as most people did and unfortunately it was a job that required her to not enjoy her Friday nights.

This had led to her leaving the children with Will. Afterall, he was a responsible adult.

Okay fine, scratch the responsible part. She had left the children with Will because Calypso had promised to be there and in all blatant honesty, it was obvious that without Calypso, Will would be the biggest mess out there.

It seemed, however, that babysitting children was harder than both of them had anticipated.

“Callie, I give up. These kids are the devil's spawn. If they die, then tough luck for them.”

Calypso groaned and slammed her head onto the table before perking up with excitement. She grabbed her phone and dialed a number. Will overheard a vague conversation and simply watched, very confused.

Calypso set her phone down. “Okay so I have figured out how to fix this.” She pointed to the massive mess in their apartment.

“How?”

“You’ll see.”

Will didn’t trust the mischievous smile that came across Calypso’s face.

Nico was chilling on his bed with his phone in his hand, hovering above his face. He did not really have much to do so here he was, scrolling through social media. He was meant to be doing something with Percy or Jason or maybe Hazel- he really couldn’t remember and he couldn’t care less.

That was until he overheard a conversation from Jason that he could only describe as interesting. Only a few minutes later, Percy showed up very begrudgingly muttering I’m only coming because I wanna see where the little fucker lives.

As far as Nico was concerned, there was only one person who Percy called ‘the little fucker’ and why were Jason and Percy paying him a visit?

“Wait-” Nico threw his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up.”-Where are you guys going?”

“Calypso’s place. She needs some help babysitting? Or something like that. Annabeth’s call was kinda vague.”

“You’re going to Calypso’s place because Annabeth told you to?” Nico tilted his head, confusion evident in his voice. Jason took a deep breath before explaining.

“Calypso called Piper who gave the phone to Annabeth who called me to tell us and Hazel to go to Calypso’s place and help her and Will with whatever they needed help with.”

“Why is Will at Calypso’s place?”

Percy quickly interjected. “ They live together.”

That statement alone was enough to make Nico choke on the air he was trying to peacefully breathe.

“They what?” He managed to wheeze from in between the heavy coughs that racked from his chest.

“They live together,” Jason repeated innocently. “ Why?”

“Yeah,” Percy smirked, figuring out the reason behind Nico’s coughing fit. “ Why do you care, Nico?”

“No reason. It’s just a bit out of the blue.”

“So you don’t deny that you care!” Percy yelled excitedly pointing his finger at Nico. Nico grabbed it and twisted it with such ferocity, there was a crack and Percy let out a cry and pulled his finger back pouting, blowing on it like it was a hot dish.

“I twisted your finger, stop blowing on it like it’s a hot potato and let's hurry up and go please,” Nico groaned, rolling his eyes at Percy’s dramatic overreaction.

Percy, under his breath, murmured,” Somebody’s desperate.”

Nico slapped his shoulder.

When Will opened the door to his apartment, he didn't really know what he was expecting. Maybe someone like Thalia Grace or Reyna- a close friend of Calypso.

He certainly was not expecting his arch nemesis and his cronies to show up. He wasn’t in the best state of mind and he felt like any moment now, his feet may fail and he’d be out cold on the floor.

What was worse was the fact that Hazel had already arrived- without Frank as he said he ‘wasn’t the kind who liked children’. So now Will was here having to behave himself as if he were some host and they were his guest

His brain told him that this was exactly what this was.

But another part of Will didn’t agree. It was more, there was some more sinister motive behind why they were here. Sure, Annabeth had told them to come and god forbid someone disobey Annabeth but they clearly came here with their own reasons. Whether all their reasons were the same or not, Will did not know.

“What do you want?” Will deadpanned as he held the door halfway open- just like his eyelids. He was already considering shutting it in their faces. However, it seemed that Nico wasn’t having any of it as he simply pushed his way past Will, into the half cleaned up apartment.

“Oh, Nico! You’re here!” Hazel whisper-called out from the living room . She had the 5 year old’s head resting on her lap as it dozed off and the seven year old lay next to her, their eyes drifting off to sleep.

“Yeah, I’m here. What about it?”

“I thought you might want to cook something? I’m really hungry and I’m pretty sure Calypso’s been running around on an empty stomach trying to keep 2 children and a drunk person under control.”

Nico paused before wrinkling his nose. He walked forward to Will and moved his blonde hair out of his face to get a better view of his eyes.

“You’re drunk?” Nico looked around the kitchen and spotted the beer bottles. “Jesus, are you a lightweight or something? This shit ain’t even strong,” Nico grunted as he grabbed a very much incoordinate Will to the kitchen and sat him down at the counter. He got him a glass of water and rolled his sleeves up before quickly sifting through the fridge and cupboards.

“What happened to him?” Percy asked, walking slightly at the blushing Will sitting at the counter sipping water out of a straw.

“Hehee, Nico has very warm arms.” Some water dribbled out from the side of Will’s mouth as he giggled.

“He’s… wasted?” Jason squinted his eyes. “ I thought people with blue eyes were meant to have the highest tolerance to alcohol.”

“Nooooo,” Will whined. “ That’s not it. Blue eyed people are moree likeleyyy to have a dependency on alcohol. We did this in class-”

He was cut off by his own hiccup.

“Fucking hell,” Nico muttered as he pulled out ingrediants. Hungrily, Jason and Percy eyed the food.

“Whatcha making?” Percy asked, slinging his arm over Nico’s shoulder. Immediately, Will got out of his seat, objecting to this. However, before he could do this, he tripped and fell on his butt and in turn knocked his head into the floor. He was out cold within seconds.

“Did he just pass out?” Percy asked, poking at Will’s body with his foot only for Nico to be outraged and push Percy with such vigour, he ended up splayed onto the floor. He quickly kneeled beside Will and shook him gently, trying to wake him up.

“Flower boy? Hey, wake up. Will? Get up. Get up right now Will.” Nico began shaking him, his voice starting out in small quiet whispers. The alarm in Nico’s voice called over Calypso who batted her hand and laughed.

“Oh you have nothing to worry about. He does this everytime he gets too drunk. He’s a real lightweight, trust me.”

After much chaos and argument, everyone calmed down and Nico got cooking. As someone who was majoring in food tech, Jason and Percy would always make him cook meals for them. While Nico always pretended to be bothered and annoyed by this, he secretly loved it, meaning that he could make his friends smile with something he also loved- food.

Sure, he sometimes skipped meals or didn’t have time to actually eat, but he was constantly surrounded by food and making it was so chaotic but he enjoyed it and he enjoyed the rush of serotonin he’d get when he tasted the final dish.

“Food’s ready!” Nico called from the kitchen. Will had been moved to the sofa because Calypso had been told that under no circumstance was anybody to ever go into Will’s bedroom. Jason came in to the table and started laying it, as their usual routine went. Percy brought cups and Hazel, who normally did not dine with them, was talking to Calypso. They took their seat at the table and waited for the boys to finish laying it and serving food.

Nico glanced at Will who was dozing off on the couch peacefully. “ Is he not going to join us?”

Calypso shook her head. She knew when Will was feeling the way he was today, the only thing he could do was sleep it off. Nico had to admit, he was disappointed; he was hoping to see Will’s reaction when tasting the food. In fact, he had put extra effort into making it perfect just based on the possibility that Will may have been joining them for dinner.

They ate silently, with only the sound of the occasional collision of the fork against the plate echoing into the apartment.

“This is a nice place…” Percy started, trying to ease some of the tense silence away. Calypso gave him a short nod.

“Yes. It’s mine- Will and I share it.”

“Why?” Nico asked, his jealousy overtaking his actions. Was he really at liberty to ask such a question? No. Was he going to anyway? Absolutely.

Calypso raised an eyebrow at the question, while she slowly raised the fork to her mouth. “Does it matter why?”

Nico, staring at his food, paused. “No,” He sighed. “ I guess it doesn’t.”

Hazel, who wasn't allowing this, quickly intercepted. “It doesn't matter but that doesn't mean we wouldn’t like to know? Right guys?”

“Yeah!” Percy agreed a bit too passionately. “Tell us Calypso. How is it that you- someone of your high standards is living with somebody like… Will.”

Percy's abrash statement was rewarded with a hard smack to the back from the Italian boy sitting next time, glaring at him enough daggers for Percy to become Pinhead. Percy, midway swallowing, began coughing frantically which despite the urgency of the situation earned no sympathy from Nico who sat there as Percy choked and Jason gave violent slaps on his back.

“Ugh, well. We’ve known each other…” Calypso stopped. “ Are you sure you’re okay?”

Percy, almost red in the face, nodded frantically and mimed with his hands to keep talking. Jason reached over and poured Percy another glass of water.

“Uh, well… We work together but we’ve known each other for a long time.”

“How long? I don't remember Solace ever mentioning you.”

Calypso smiled slightly. “ If I’m correct, you two weren't and still aren't really on the kinds of terms where you discuss your personal life.”

“Still… I would have thought that… forget it.”

The awkwardly silent dinner continued with the clanking of cutlery against plates. Secret glares were passed along with uncomfortable shivers but all in all, the dinner managed to run smoothly. The guests helped clean up and finally, late into the night, they stood at the door awkwardly, as Calypso dismissed them.

“Are the children… staying?” Hazel innocently inquired, her eyes falling on the small children who lay asleep on the sofa behind Calypso.

Calypso scratched her head- slightly unsure herself. “Uh, I guess. Until they get picked up at least.”

“Oh… I guess I should stay to help out then?”

“No! Please, I don't want you to ruin a good night's sleep over this. I’m sure I can handle this. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Calypso reached for the door. “Get home safely.”

Jason and Percy, who realised that they were no longer welcome, did not hesitate to leave- the same couldn’t be said for Nico.

He didn’t know why he was hesitating- it wasn't as if Calypso and him were friends in any way. However, it seemed that for some odd reason there was a connection between the two that they both strongly cared for a certain blond headed lightweight. But they also both cared for a certain grinning engineer who spoke Spanish.

With his hand shoved in his pockets, he slowly turned his heel as if a magnet from afar was tugging on the metal heartstrings with his heart. His head was bowed towards the floor as he muttered the words under his breath.

“Tell him to call me when he wakes up tomorrow… We should probably talk and get everything out of the way.” Nico’s hair fell in front of his face, his eyes darting anywhere but Calypso’s face as to avoid her seeing his expression.

“Are you dating Leo?”

The abrupt question had Nico’s head snapping upwards so fast that I- the author- feared that he may have broken his neck had he moved any faster. The obvious answer was ‘no’. They had broken up long before Nico had even known someone like William Andrew Solace even existed; however, he didn't know if he could give such an honest answer so freely.

It was clear that Calypso was not just asking Nico this question for the sake of fun. She liked him.

And for some reason, Nico did not like that.

Leo wasn't his. He had his own feelings and decisions to make. But Nico didn't think she could handle the idea of Calypso being able to have both Will and Leo in her life- whether any of the relationships were platonic or not.

He had Leo, she had Will. It was only fair that it should stay that way.

But that said- If, if, he ever dated Will… would he give up Leo for the sake of fairness? Life isn't meant to serve everyone with equality. You get what you get and the rest you must fight for; Life was clearly a capitalist.

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Because,” she paused as if her reasoning was obvious. “If you are, I can’t let you play with Will or Leo like that.”

Nico snarled. “ Who said I was playing with either?”

“Isn't that what it's called? When you date two different people behind their backs?”

“I’m not dating Leo!” He yelled in frustration. Perhaps it was the wine. Or watching Will pass out on the floor and Percy poking him with his foot like an animal. Or maybe it was the fact that Will never tasted the food, but for some reason whether it was unbeknownst or not, Nico snapped. “Happy?”

Calypso smiled. “Very.”

27 notes · View notes

yaz-the-spaz · 4 years ago

Note

So I’m new to the Ziam fandom, I’m a strong larrie but I also couldn’t help to notice that there was something between Z*yn and L*am too. Could you tell me about the tiger tattoo? I keep hearing that its an iconic Ziam tattoo and I’m a little confused. Also, do you think Ziam is still together right now in 2020 and could you explain why? I hope this isn’t a bother.

hey nonnie, welcome to this side of the fandom! and please don’t worry, you are not a bother at all, and we are always happy to have new members! please accept this adorable gif of ziam waving hello as your welcoming gift into the ziam fandom lol! 😊🌈

now onto your question about the tiger tattoo...

hooo boy, nonnie

idk if you know what you’re asking because this is a BIG life-altering question.

BIG.

...are you ready for this?

are you ready to die? are you ready to have your soul ascend from your body up to the gay ziam heavens for all eternity?

i mean it’s pretty nice up here and all but you may just wanna get your affairs in order before you continue, cause once you discover all the ways zayn javadd malik has professed his undying and eternal love for liam james payne all over his goddamn body there is no coming back.

are you absolutely sure you’re ready?

ok, here we go!

so. once upon a time way back in october 2013 zayn debuted a new tattoo of a tiger on his arm. at the time it seemed like just another tattoo in a quickly growing long list of (random) tattoos, and went by relatively untalked about among fandom (at least afaik) for a couple of years. but THEN, in early 2016 zayn followed that tattoo up with the addition of the full title of his m.o.m. album spelled out around the tiger...

seems normal, right?

first off, notice how the tiger’s tail is shaped suspiciously like an L?

well, that’s not all that’s gay i mean odd or interesting about this tattoo lol...some have also noticed that the muscles of the tiger’s back quite remarkably appear to resemble the muscles of a certain boy whose name also starts with L

(and no i’m not talking about louis lol)

but here’s where shit really gets real because guess what? you may have noticed that the letters of the ‘mine’ part are kind of shuffled in an odd/not really consecutive order to spell out the word mine in a way that’s clearly or easily readable...that’s because zayn’s extra ass arranged it specifically so that only the i, e, and m, are all directly around the L-shaped tiger tail, while the n is just off to the side like a lonely forgotten reject

by now you might be saying to yourself okay, well that’s not really all that significant to liam, and the L could just be a coincidence/not really mean anything, couldn’t it?

wrong again!

because once more, zayn ‘i live to be as extra as humanly possible about my love for liam james payne because i don’t know any other way to live’ malik made sure to put a little tail/extra line on the side of the letter ‘e’ to make it interchangeable with an upside down letter ‘a.’

now again you might be thinking i don’t know if that’s really intentional or all that meaningful. but look closely.

there is clearly an additional connected piece on that e that cannot be explained away or mistaken for just a weird blot of ink. it’s not just an error on the part of the tattoo artist (if it was i’m sure zayn would have had it fixed by now given that he’s had that tat for over 4 years at this point) and there’s also no letter ‘a’ in ‘mind of mine.’

so why is it there? and why does it just so happen to be right next to the i, the m, and the L-shaped tiger tail. why did zayn choose to arrange the letters of the word ‘mine’ in such a weird order instead of a more normal/easier to read format like the rest of the album title? and why did he choose put those exact letters all near each other? because it’s intentional. and because it’s meant to have a very particular double meaning.

if he was going for just a random order he could’ve put those letters anywhere. but he didn’t. and more than that he went out of his way to make sure that that additional piece on the e was added and distinct so that it could very clearly double as an (unnecessary) a.

there’s no way you can argue that all of those things are just coincidence or that the random letter ‘a’ means absolutely nothing lol. that tattoo was clearly meant as both an homage to the album and to liam (who the album is largely believed to be about lol). and the fact that the muscles seem to match quite closely to liam’s is a nice added bonus that just helps confirm that imo. (plus there’s also the lovely little tidbit of knowledge that the tattoo is positioned in such a way that whenever zayn wears short-sleeve shirts the ‘Liam’ part is the only part clearly on display 😏😏😏)

BUT GUESS WHAT??

THAT IS NOT EVEN WHERE ZAYN’S TATTOO DEDICATIONS ENDDDD

never mind that he already had all of us ziams sobbing ourselves to death and morphing into withered soulless husks over this tattoo after he debuted the full thing in 2016, but there’s so! many! more!

boy’s body is literally a giant ass open love letter to liam and i am NOT OKAY. (have i mentioned i hate these extra ass romantic saps with every fiber of my being? no? well i do. and you’re about to find out all the reasons why)

reason #1 - all. the. goddamn. mandala. tattoos. (there are multiple but i’m only linking to this post featuring/talking about the main one, i.e. the very first one he got cause that’s the one that kills me the most but if you wanna see the others peep my ziam tattoos tag or my zayn’s tattoos tag)

reason #2 - love & marriage poem tattoo (read all the posts in this tag starting from the bottom first for full context)

reason #3 - red wolf & bat wings chest tattoo

reason #4 - wolf leg tattoo (more background details here too)

reason #5 - liam’s silhouette leg tattoo

reason #6 - smoking lips hand tattoo (which literally matches the album art for liam’s debut single exactly and was debuted on zayn’s hand months before the single’s release - scroll down to the part where you can see the red lip pics)

reason #7 - the snake tattoo (aka the snake habitat tattoo)

reason #8 - motherfuckin 25!! idk what it means but it clearly means SOMETHING important to the both of them and it still drives me insane to this day and probably will to my dying breath 🤬

bonus - it’s not a tattoo but: zayn’s nose piercing. which along with the mandala wrist tat is literally a desi bride declaration of marriage; fun fact - tan france, a gay married british-pakistani tv personality who is part of the queer eye crew also has a mandala tat on his left hand that some have speculated may also be to symbolize his dedication to his husband)

anyway there are more tattoos of zayn’s that seem to also be related to liam (though more loosely imo) but this post is already beyonddd long enough so i figured it’s best to just stick to the main ones/most obvious ones here lol

(side note: liam also has tattoos that are clearly dedicated to zayn/his and zayn’s relationship as well, but that’s for another post and also if my recall is correct i think zayn might actually have more?? well that we know of anyway lol)

(side note 2.0: one other thing that adds to the theory of the m.o.m. tiger tattoo being a dedication to liam/liam’s name, besides the obvious lettering thing described above, is that zayn is known to have a thing for tattooing the names of his closest loved ones on his body. the only person in his immediate family whose name he doesn’t appear to have tattooed on him is trisha’s and i’d be willing to bet that’s either because she specifically asked him not to, or he does have one but it’s just in a very hidden place. but we know that he has his father’s name, grandfather’s name, and all of his sister’s names tattooed on him so when you combine that with the weird lettering of the m.o.m. tiger tat and the fact that the album was very likely about liam/closely followed the story of the beginning of his relationship with liam, it becomes even less plausible imo that that tattoo is meant to be about anything else but liam. ain’t science grand?)

(side note 3.0: zayn’s whole left arm/left sleeve of tats seems to be specifically reserved for tattoos dedicated to liam and/or related/connected to liam’s own tattoos, and there’s a couple of good posts here - x, x, x, x - that go through some of the more specific parallels between their tattoos and how certain ones seem to mirror or directly pair with each other’s)

ok i promise that’s it for the side notes lol!

lastly, to your final question, i do believe that they are still together currently, especially considering this most recent soft outing/confirmation from one of zayn’s songwriters (who is also not the first to do that either btw lol) but that is not the only reason - see my post here for some of the biggest reasons why i believe ziam remains real and strong :)

#asks #anons #ziam #ziam tattoos #zayn's tattoos #ziam declarations of love #ziam is real #ziam remains real #obvious husbands are obvious #ziam masterposts #mine #this post took me over half the goddamn day wtf #i hate my inconsistent ass tags #why am i like this

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snarkwrites · 4 years ago

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mine | tim speedle | csi:miami

Notes:

Okay, so here’s the thing.. Those smutty one shots and the one shot I wrote at Christmas about Tim Speedle and an ofc who was an old girlfriend? They were originally part of this huge backstory I came up with years ago too and like.. Given that I’m posting the backstory in bits for Greg, I thought why not do the same for Tim. So, if you were ever wondering where the OC from the christmas one shot came from.. This is her. A little more thought out and less vague. Anything not explained there, or in the smut I’ve already posted and plan to post eventually, will be explained here.. Because fuckkit.. Might as well make this a chapter thing too...

Pairing:

Tim Speedle x OFC, Sylvie.

Warnings:

Uhh.. Angst and unresolved feelings at first. Filth you’ve all already seen but more to come.. Maybe a little action and suspense? because I have plans for this one, mhm.

Oh. Right off the bat.. Ya’ll are not gonna like Ryan Wolfe in here at first if I’ve done my job properly. Because as it went on the show, he’s gonna be... hard to warm to here. I chose to keep him in and have him, as well as Cardoza and others, working on the shift opposite of Tim.

Tagging:

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@twistnet

[ faq | tag list doc | soundtrack ]

ONE.

“Damn. Are you even gonna open this and humor a thought of going?” Eric waved around the class reunion invite that Tim had gotten in the mail and tossed on the counter. From across the room, Tim continued to dig around in the fridge, trying to find the case of beer he’d picked up on his way in.

He was refusing to answer the question.

Grabbing the case of beer, he sat them on the folding table they’d set up in the living room to play poker at and he took a beer out for himself, popping it against the counter, taking a long sip from the bottle.

Eric was already in the kitchen. Throwing together the traditional go to sandwich for their poker nights.

“Hey, that new guy’s not comin, right?”

“Wolfe? Yeah.. I think Walter with his big mouth invited him.”

“Goddamn it.” Tim swore, grumbling. “There’s just something off about the guy, I’m telling you.”

“Either way, it’s not our problem, man. He’s on the other shift, remember? Are you gonna answer my question, Speed, or do I have to drag the answer out of you, buddy?” Eric asked, giving Tim a pointed look.

Walter stepped into Tim’s apartment with Ryan coming into view right behind him. Tim’s jaw set and when Walter asked “Drag what answer out of Speed, man? What’d I miss?” as he wandered over to grab himself a beer and take a seat at the table, Tim shrugged. “It’s nothing, Walt. Forget Eric here ran his big fuckin mouth.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothin, you grouch.” Eric remarked, chuckling when Tim gave him what he thought was a silencing glare. As per usual, it did not work.

Ryan, the new guy, spoke up from over nearby Tim’s fridge, nodding to a photo booth strip held on by a magnet. “Is this your girl, Speed? Damn… you never mentioned you were seeing a model.” as he shook his head and let out a low and appreciative whistle.

Eric’s gaze settled on the photo strip and then back on Tim. Tim was all but trying not to explode. Getting defensive and touchy as he tended to whenever that particular strip of photos came into a conversation. He tried to give Ryan the subtlest shake of the head no, but it was too late.

Tim was already lost to thought, dwelling on the past.

Ryan eyed him, a brow raised. “Sore subject?” he questioned. Eric glared at Ryan and grumbled, giving Tim a silent look of agreement about the new guy. Tim nodded and smirked, mouthing back “Told you so, idiot.” before fixing his gaze on Ryan and shrugging. “Not really, no. We dated for a while.”

“High school and college.” Eric spoke up, ignoring Tim’s glare. “What? It’s true, right? That’s not just a while, Tim. That’s literally almost a decade, man.”

“Are you going to let me answer the guy Eric,or nah?” Tim asked, giving Eric another pointed glare as he took the worn deck of cards and shuffled them a few times, starting to deal. When Eric went quiet, Tim continued. “I took the job here. We broke up.”

“The man is lying. What happened was he didn’t ask her to come with and she didn’t try to stop him. So they never actually broke up. They just lost touch. And if you got that invite man, maybe…”

“Invite to what?” Ryan asked, an amused look as he fixed his gaze on Tim. So far, he got the suspicion that neither Tim nor Eric were particularly warming up to him, but it didn’t really matter. He was there because Walter asked if he wanted to play a few hands. And given that of everyone they worked with, so far Walter was the only real welcoming member of the forensics team on either shift, he wasn’t about to turn it down.

If nothing, he figured, he could show Eric and Tim up in a game or two and then leave… Unless the current conversation and it’s effect on Tim Speedle proved to be too interesting and amusing to continue to pass up.

“Class reunion. If I wanted to go back and listen to a bunch of douchebag jocks talk about their glory days, I’d go.” Tim answered, grumbling and shifting around in his chair, wondering when in the hell they were all going to get off the subject.

“She might be there man, you never know.”

“Eric, if it were going to work out in the first place, one of us would’ve said or done something. We wouldn’t have just left it the way it was.” Tim pointed out. Turning his attention to his hand as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, brown eyes carefully surveying the other men around the table.

He smirked when he realized that of them all, the only one who was really good at keeping a consistent poker face was Eric. Then again, Tim thought to himself, Eric knows me too well. He knows I learned how to read him like a book years ago.

“She’s in Miami right now, actually. I saw her in the lobby of that high end hotel earlier today when our team got called to work that double homicide.” Ryan smirked as he just casually dropped the bombshell. Holding Tim’s gaze a few seconds. Trying to get a read on the guy, see if he might have a winning hand this round.

Tim nearly choked on the sip of Michelob he’d taken and eyed Ryan. The guy had to be trying to bullshit him. Probably to cover for his lack of a poker face, Tim mused, smirking at Ryan as he did so. “She lives in New York, buddy. You probably saw somebody who looked like her. I doubt you saw her.”

“Oh trust me… You don’t see a girl like that a time or two and confuse her with somebody else.” Ryan smirked right back, waiting on his words to hit the intended mark before dropping the bigger bombshell. “Her name is Sylvie, right? Because that’s what the frat boys hounding her for selfies and autographs called her.”

Just the slightest drop of Tim Speedle’s jaw was enough to make Ryan’s entire night. At this point, he was just genuinely enjoying having a rib at the guy. It wasn’t a secret around the lab that Eric Delko and Tim Speedle were nothing if not tight knit. That’s why it surprised more than a few people when the two seemed to just welcome Walter with open arms and no hesitation. And yet, they went above and beyond to cop snide attitudes with both himself and another man he worked with, Jesse Cardoza.

Tim eyed Ryan, a brow raised. Then he just shrugged. “It’s your play, Wolfe.” he barely managed to unclench his jaw enough to say it, but he did. He hoped that his tone would clearly indicate that for tonight, the topic was over. Even though he knew already that no thanks to Ryan’s words, tonight was going to be a long one for him…

Was she really in Miami? Or was Ryan just being an asshole as per usual?...

,, he’s gotta be saying it to get a rise and more of the story outta me… that’s it... unless she’s here. She does travel a lot, man.. Your ma is always real quick to tell you about every single move she makes when you call back home every Sunday.” Tim shoved the intrusive thought out of his head and it was immediately followed by another. ,, It’s been years and nothing but silence. Neither of us tried to keep in touch and it’s not like we couldn’t... But.. she did come to you in the hospital that first few nights... if she wanted you to know she was there, she would have stayed, just drop the what ifs or you’re going to lose your goddamn mind.”

Ryan made his call and Tim smirked, shoving some more chips into the middle of the table. “I see your King and raise you.”

Eric nearly spat his drink. He eyed Ryan, wondering if the guy had any idea of the wrath he’d probably just unleashed on himself by pushing buttons as openly as he had been. And he felt bad for the guy. Just because he worked with Cardoza, it didn’t necessarily make him the same.

He leaned in and offered up a quiet warning into Ryan’s ear when Tim got up to go and grab himself one of the Cuban sandwiches sitting on a plate near the stove. “You might want to lay off, Wolfe. Tim’s still hurting and bitter as hell about her, but too damn stubborn to do anything.”

“Which is fucking stupid, if you ask me.” Ryan answered, gazing across the room, smirking as he called out to Tim, “Hey, can I get another beer, man?”

Tim gave him the finger and flopped back into his chair, taking a few bites of his sandwich. “If you get up and get it, yeah. By all means.” Tim chuckled as Ryan gave him a dirty look, but after a little grumbling, he got up and grabbed himself a beer.

“What would you do if she was in town, man?” Eric was the one who asked the question.

Tim pretended not to hear him, but it wasn’t something that he wasn’t already wondering about himself. Did he even really need -or deserve for that matter, to do anything?

XXX

“6 am, sharp.”

“Rex if you remind me one more time about this stupid photo shoot, I swear to fuck, I’ll cancel. I came to Miami to relax. Not be hounded and have gigs booked for me. This was supposed to be my vacation, you’re literally not even supposed to be here.” I rolled onto my stomach on the hotel bed. The patio doors were open and the breeze blowing in off the ocean was relaxing.

Or it had been until Rex felt fit to show up and ruin things.

To be fair, I thought to myself, you’re the one who won’t just tell the guy that you’re not re-signing with his agency when your contract ends. But he seriously couldn’t take a fucking hint when I left on a red-eye and didn’t think he should know?

I was flipping through the television when I happened on a local news show. And they were showing an interview at Miami Dade PD about a pending case that was pretty huge in the media right now.

But that wasn’t what was catching my attention at all.

My eyes fixed on the five seconds glimpse I got of Tim as he hurried into the station. So handsome that I could feel my heart breaking all over again at the sight of him. I sighed and turned off the television.

I wound up on the balcony, staring down at the streets below. Wondering what he was doing right now.. Trying to imagine just how differently everything might have actually gone if I’d been braver back then. If I’d spoken up. Told him that I loved him and I didn’t want to lose touch or for us to be over.

I could’ve come with him.

And then I remembered the fear I felt the night my mom called me, fresh off the phone with his mom… The night I almost lost him.

And I remembered the feeling I felt when I finally made it to his side, a whole two days later. Seeing him lying there in that bed, hovering between life and death. The fear that he’d wake up and he’d want me to leave over-ruling every basic instinct in me that was telling me to stay. Take care of him. At the very least, get some closure. I didn’t deserve him then and the fact remained.

I don’t deserve him now, either. And too much time has gone by... I’d lost any right to tell him how I felt now. He probably had his own happy life. A better one. Who would I be to come in and lay it all on the line and destroy that?

If I’m being truly honest with myself here, I’ve never actually deserved Tim Speedle. And I’ve always known it. It’s why I had to let him go back then and a big reason why I was fighting myself so hard to keep from going to him now.

But I wanted him so badly. I needed him.

Everything felt wrong without him. I tried to move on, I tried convincing myself he was a high school and college boyfriend and my best childhood friend before that, but deep down, I knew.

Tim Speedle was, is and will always be, the man I love.

But I’m not good enough for him and hopefully, he’s moved on by now. God I hope he’s happy.

The thought had me taking a few shaky breaths and wiping away a tear that had been lingering in my eyes, threatening to roll down my cheek. I wandered back inside and even though I knew it wasn’t a good idea… I found myself searching his name.

Biting my lip as my heart skipped a beat or two when I realized that his phone number was still the same. And it was listed, not private.

I’m not exactly sure why, but I went to my contacts. And for a good ten minutes, I hovered over his name… I actually went as far as to pull up the conversation box and read over the last conversation we had. Before I realized it, I was crying again and that empty feeling was creeping back in…

,, you came all the way to Miami. You can’t keep living like this…” my brain taunted me. And then, another thought crept in, ,, if you wanted him, you shouldn’t have just let him leave without saying so. All you had to do was tell him you wanted to come. What, were you expecting some flowery proposal? For him to drop the chance of a lifetime for you? And what if he had, huh? What then? You know he would’ve hated you and by now, you two would be over… Nobody ever stays...Your own father couldn’t even be bothered to stick around, Syl… The man has probably forgotten all about you by now.” and before my mind got any darker, I slipped off the bed and grabbed my favorite jacket. Maybe taking a ride down to the Keys would help me get this off my mind. Or driving a few blocks over, going to the beach to look at the stars.

All I did know was that suddenly, it felt like the very vast and open space in this 5 star hotel room was rapidly closing all around me.

#tim speedle fanfiction #tim speedle fanfic #tim speedle fic #tim speedle imagine #tim speedle imagines #my writing ; tim speedle #my fanfiction ; tim speedle #my fics ; tim speedle #// so.. here we go.

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whitegirlrevert · 3 years ago

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Are reverts adequately supported by other muslims?

Recently, a sister reached out to me and asked whether reverts receive adequate support from other muslims. No. No, we don’t. I am a member of a muslim women’s convert group on Facebook and we often have discussions about how reverts are treated in the ummah.

Here are a few of the characterizations:

The unicorn

I’m going to speak about my personal experience as a white revert. There aren’t many countries with significant white Muslim populations (although they do exist) which adds to the rarity factor.

We are seen as the ultra-pious ones. Bonus points if you have blue eyes. It becomes a fetishization in Muslim communities to be white and Muslim. After every Eid prayer I get a couple marriage proposals from men who know nothing about me other than how I look. The fetishization of white male reverts is also prominent (see ft note) but, in contrast to their female counterparts, this can actually make it harder for them to find a spouse.

Tourage, Mahdi, Performing belief and reviving Islam: Prominent (white male) converts in Muslim revival conventions, 2012, vol 1:2 at 207-226 Intellect Ltd.

One to take advantage of

There are countless stories of religious leaders taking advantage of reverts, particularly female ones. This is both grotesque and unacceptable. What’s even more disgusting is that we as a community prefer to unconditionally support these “religious leaders” rather than believe the victims. This is aggravated by the low support that reverts receive from other Muslims. Imagine finally working up the courage to out a religious leader only to be shut down because the alleged perpetrator is part of the establishment. The amount of support for these men – using Islamic themes to give them the benefit of the doubt – is truly discouraging. Islam teaches us to stand with the oppressed not the oppressor.

What does being a woman or being a white woman have to do with her experience of sexual assault being invalidated. Does this mirror existing cultural stereotypes of white woman = slut? How can we pretend that this doesn’t have a negative impact on our later treatment in these conservative circles? This is not to say that women of color don’t experience sexual assault, they certainly do.

Religious leaders hold all the religious knowledge and these sisters feel compelled to stick close to them to gain this knowledge. We need to provide safe spaces for reverts as well as sources for sisters to seek knowledge themselves.

We don’t know anything about Islam

I’ll keep this short. There is a huge difference between communicating information and haram policing. The line between them, however, is not clear.

This becomes especially problematic when you follow a particular madhaab or were taught Islamic practice through culture. Why? Because there may be perfectly legitimate alternative views and interpretations on the issue.

This makes it both confusing for new Muslims and alienates those who disagree with your practice but are made to feel that if they don’t follow your tradition, that they aren’t being a good muslim.

Instead, consider informing them about your view by clarifying that it is from your perception.

No reply to our salaams

A common theme running in discussions with other reverts is that whenever we say our salaams to Muslims we don’t get a reply. It’s like saying hello in a respectful, acknowledging way. Do we not deserve that from you?

Normally, when I bring this up people tell me not to worry and remind me that it is a Muslim’s duty to reply and some version of getting the passerby’s potential blessing in addition to mine. I don’t care. This doesn’t make us feel better.

Some people have hypothesized that these Muslims who don’t reply are simply in shock at hearing a white person say salaam (particularly if, like me, they don’t wear hijab). Others say that they weren’t sure if they misheard me. Regardless of the reasoning, I think the fact that most reverts don’t get a reply is troubling. EVEN if we weren’t Muslim why wouldn’t you reply…? If a non-Muslim is saying salaam to you then they are obviously trying hard to communicate their respect to you. Why would you respond by ignoring this?

One sister from the revert group mentioned that men make excuses about not saying salaam back because they are trying to avoid zina…Ugh. First of all, not supported by hadith. Second, surely you can keep it in your pants for long enough to say the equivalent of hello back. Or are muslim men inherently more fragile than other men? I think not. You can also say salaam back while lowering your gaze. It’s really not that difficult.

Non-Muslims treat us better than other Muslims

I plan to have a full post on this at some point in the future. This is a bit difficult to explain as I have only recently recognized this irony. Basically, the way I figured this out is that prior to telling a non-muslim about my religious orientation I would preface it by saying, “this is going to be really weird but…” The thing is, they never looked shocked or surprised when I told them. Contrast this to my experience with muslims, and it usually takes them a few minutes and multiple questions to confirm that yes, I am in fact muslim. And you could say it’s the lack of scarf thing, but honestly if non-muslims can accept that there are muslims who don’t wear hijab than so can you.

It’s really ironic considering that prior to conversion every muslim is all like welcoming and whatnot and then when you convert you almost feel like you need to prove that you are muslim.

I am going to give an example of something that happened to me while I was shopping in a muslim area of Singapore.

I stopped at a shop and asked about this smaller prayer rugs. I told the shop keeper that I am looking for a smaller rug to put my forehead and face on during salah when I am at the masjid for a long time. Literally no idea.

Next store over, I asked this shop keeper about a prayer rug. He, in his sales pitch endeavors said “you can give it to your friend, you can use it yourself”. So I’m thinking, great, this is off to a good start. I continue asking about this rug and am repeatedly using the word salah. He then says, “do you know any muslims?” I replied, “yes, myself”. Then (note the pattern) he says, “you are muslim?!” with a shocked expression.

To summarize, here are some things Muslims could be doing better to support us.

Say your salaams back to us.

Believe us when we tell you that a community religious leader has assaulted us.

Stop forcing your particular madhab down our throat.

Don’t assume we know less than you about Islam.

Don’t assume that we are going to whip on a hijab, now or at any point. Focus instead on teaching us how to pray and what to do at a mosque.

Do not tell us that you are making duah for our family to become muslim. I’m not sure how people think this is a great thing, but I personally find it incredibly offensive.

Don’t be mad if we can’t attend Islamic events. Sometimes we are busy, and sometimes we are just dealing with a bit of trauama from negative experiences from the muslim community. We appreciate the invite regardless.

Positive things Muslims do.

Invite us for iftar, Eid, other Islamic events.

Encourage us by being supportive regardless of whether we share the same views as you islamicly.

Empathize with our challenges.

Motivate us by sending us duahs or ayat.

Make duah for us and our families to have ease.

Instead of saying “In Islam X is forbidden”, try: “most people agree that in Islam X is forbidden”. An excellent example of how this may play out is where a Muslim has an assumption that all reverts will follow the Sunni school and that only the Sunni school is legitimate. This isn’t a Sunni/Shi’a debate, but the very fact that there are conflicting opinions indicates that diversity of opinions exists.

#islam #muslim #revert #convert #muslimah #reflections

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knightofameris · 4 years ago

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—𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬—

◦ 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ◦ 𝑠𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝𝑠! ◦ 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠! ◦ 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒! ◦ 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠!! (𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠!)

𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠' 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒: blacklist “ameris 500 celebration!” if you don’t want to see any of my posts about this celebration! also if this flops i will cry. jk i won’t but it’ll definitely take a hit on my heart u__u (and if it does flop, you didn’t see this post)

—𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍—

Ahhhh! I’m so amazed that I got to 500 followers despite the fact that I barely?? Post?? And sometimes I just talk about random shit but even then, I still appreciate all of you guys so much? I have a few options on what I have to celebrate and I am so excited heheh. But before I get started I just,,, Have a few more things I’d like to talk about (cus I like to talk LOL). Feel free to skip though!!

content continued below the cut!! (warning; introduction is long because I just have a lot of thoughts I want to share LOL. seriously, feel free to just skip)

I know that I only really started posting Haikyuu!! around my 300 mark, and I feel like the people after my 300 mark are the one’s who are active because of how much I come onto tumblr and then disappear.

If you don’t know this, I’ve actually been writing on Tumblr since 2015/2016. I’ve just changed blogs so many times that it’s like, hey, this is my new blog. Or like, I would write for a few months, disappear, come back but then everyone who followed me was dead so I was like eh I’ll just start again or whatever. And I think this makes me very very soft because out of all the communities I’ve been in, I’ve truly felt more welcome/at home even?? With everyone in Haikyuu? Like yeah there’s shit that goes down every few days or whatever but it’s always so fun to see people interact with each other and though I was hesitant at first (because before this the only writer I’ve ever interacted with was Scout for marvel oop) I’m really glad I reached out to a few of y’all and vice versa.

But despite that, Marvel will always hold a place in my heart and to everyone who followed me from my Marvel days, thank you for supporting me way back when. And even to my Narnia days (AHAHAHA). I don’t think I would’ve continued writing on tumblr without your guys’ support. I know that younger me appreciated you all for reading those old works (even if I hate my old writing now).

And to everyone now, thank you for sending in asks or commenting on my works. I actually think I would’ve disappeared by this time from this blog if you guys didn’t interact. I’m not saying I’m writing for the follows or the notes, if that makes sense. But it’s more like, I feel less of a robot that people expect to churn out works. Idk, it makes me feel like a person? And it just gives me a lot more serotnin than you might think!!

One last thing though, it’s not me saying I expect you guys to always read my work and always comment. It’s more so, I’d actually rather have you guys comment or whatever because you want to and you want to read it. Like on one hand yes it does make me feel appreciated but I also don’t want you to feel obligated or feel guilty of you don’t read my things. No matter what, I will always be writing. It definitely does feel nice tho LOL

I promise in the future, if I ever do intros they won’t be this long lol.

Phew. Anyway.

For this celebration, this is only for Haikyuu!!

—𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒—

I love love love self ships SO much. So I want to hear about your guys’ self ships!

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

this will only be open from 12am september 23 — 11:59pm september 25 PST

any requests received before or after will be deleted (may be extended depending on how many requests I get!)

do keep in mind that i’m starting classes soon so it will take me some time to get through this.

send it in through asks or submissions!

send in as many asks as you’d like

if you use an emoji to show who you are, include it on all asks :3c

nothing nsfw for this, thanks!

since this is a follower celebration,,, i do have to ask that you be following me! honestly, i won’t check if you are, thats too much work on my part but it would mean a lot if you’re following me to participate in this celebration! );

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨 [example]

i will be creating two instagram posts with one of them having a comment section (3-4 screenshots)

i might also include a screenshot of your profile and/or your s/o if I can put in more pictures!

chats with your s/o ( heheh (; ) (1-2 screenshots)

chats with your s/o’s team! (1-2 screenshots) (this will possibly be with the entire team or just a select few)

take a look at the example as that’s what i’ve done for a friend of mine!!

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨

send in 1-2 headcanons about you and your s/o

send in a little bit about your personality!!

your pronouns! and a name you’d like to go by!

give me your instagram handle! (not your real one, but what it would be within haikyuu) otherwise, i’ll make a random one based off your name!

what are your ~aesthetics~

what phone nickname would u have for your s/o (or any other people on the team) so it can be more personalized! or if ur like me where everyone is just their name besides a select few

do u have particular texting habits?

what’s your favorite animal? this is what I will be putting as your profile picture! alternatively if you submit all of this through my submissions and give me a piccrew, I will use that!

you could give me the most BASIC description, you don’t need to do all of these points, and i’d be fine with that. It’s up to you how much you want this to be personalized <3

(also this one’s not necessary, it’ll just be more ~fun~ but lmk if u wanna be a manager of the team! or if u have ur own little AU so u might have other certain details u want to throw in. otherwise i’m gonna make it a sorta free for all lol)

𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒: hi! my name’s ameris and i ship myself with suga! my pronouns are she/her/hers and i like to think that suga and i have a sort of childhood friends to lovers trope. i also like to think that we go stargazing at least once a month no matter what! my aesthetic is definitely space heh. i’m a little bit like suga where i’m chaos and baby! i curse a lot and i have way too many interests to count but i always like trying new things! my instagram handle would be ameris_stars (dude idk lMAO) and suga’s name in my phone would be Koushi <3 i make a lot of typos and i like using a mix of emojis and emoticons/occasional kaomojis. my favorite animal is a fox or dog!

this,,, is a lot but i’m okay with that! heheh

to protect you, I won’t publish your ask! I will make separate posts titled w/ your name + s/o + emoji (if you use your emoji). If you do it off anon, I will tag you!

Request List!! If you don’t see your name on here, just submit it again :3c I will not be tagging for the sake of not spamming you guys lol.

—𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔—

I would love love love to get to know you! So tell me about yourself!

what’s your favorite color?

who’re your favorite haikyuu characters?

favorite haikyuu teams?

you got any writers you want to give a shout out to?

maybe a little self promo too?

adsfasdfasdflj i will keep bringing this up but like any,,, spice asks,,, about the haikyuu characters cus like,,, lol

horn knee asks will be tagged with: “ameris needs a drink” which honestly sounds like i need an alcoholic drink and at this point, yeah

please be 18+ if you do send in any spicey asks!!

This can go on for as long as y’all want really, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I’ll just answer these like normal and spread them out too lol

—𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐄—

I have a few ask games I’ve reblogged before, so I have a few linked for you LOL

intrusive asks 👁👄👁

~space~ asks! (this has a lot more!)

zodiac asks (just about my writing!)

writer’s asks

a little game I got from my friend which I think is absolutely so much fun

this is a version of fuck-marry-kill, but send in THREE characters (this one can be from any mix of my interests!) and I’ll choose which one I’d rather have a fanfic trope with:

“enemies-to-lovers”

“childhood friends-to-lovers”

and “fake dating”

would definitely prefer haikyuu characters

but doing a mix and match from all my interests is a lotta fun

things i used to or am currently into: haikyuu, marvel, bnha, demon slayer, rwby, sailor moon, voltron, dc, overwatch, tales of vesperia, legend of zelda, bungo stray dogs, narnia (lmao), one piece, uhm, i’ll add more if i can think of more, tbh u can even just say random characters and i’ll just google them

As always though, feel free to ask me any other questions!!

this will also go on for as long as whenever, i’ll probably spread out this one!

—𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒—

AH. It was lookin a little long so here’s the link to the post :3c (will edit post later!!! when I come back from my exam!!!)

to those who got to the end, omg i’m sorry. i talk so much. but thank you for your support and just getting through this block of words hakdfhkasf

#seriously #this is long #ameris 500 celebration!

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mellowmoonn · 4 years ago

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Character Sheets - Getting Started

Ah, character sheets. They’re annoying, I know, but it’s important to have them. When you have a lot of characters, as I, this comes in handy. It’s a place where you can stockpile all the important things about them, referencing back to it whenever you need to. Let me assure you, I can barely even remember the heights of my most used characters, so its good that I have it written down.

As you can tell by the title, this is going to be a series I’ll likely add to once a week. I don’t quite have a schedule yet but when I do this will be part of it until the series ends. I hope I can help a few struggling souls here and there!

Picking a Sheet

Picking a character sheet is the very first step. I have gone through a few sheets myself over the years, but I believe the one I have now will be permanent. It’s highly detailed, eighteen pages long to be exact (I’m serious, I promise). It has guided notes to help and takes weeks to fill out, but I like it. It also took weeks to make so let’s just say I had to like it.

Now I’m not saying you have to have an eighteen page sheet, but you should pick something that works for you, long or short. Sheets can be found online or, from my experience, on certain Amino communities. I like an aesthetic sheet, but again, do what’s best for you and will result in the most productivity.

Adding the Right Content

When making a character, there are some things that are more important than others. You should focus on what makes them, well, them, before adding in the quirks. By that I really mean that no one cares what their favorite food is. They care about their morals, their connections with others, and even their coping skills.

Going back to picking a sheet, if your sheet does not have some of the following things, it might not be the best.

Basics (name, age, gender/sex, sexuality, etc...)

Body Image (how they and others view them)

Good, Neutral, and Bad Traits

Ambitions and Dreams

Motivation

Physical and Mental Health

Relationships (all, not just romantic)

I also must note that if your character is supernatural, you’ll have to do a bit of extra work. That includes specific details about appearance (i.e. if they have a tail), and if it’s a lesser known or original species, maybe an entirely separate species sheet. I may talk about a species sheet in a separate post, but I haven’t finished mine and it’s been nearly three years. Oops.

Where Can I Get This Information?

Lots and lots and lots of research. Research is really important to me and I feel that being educated is even more important when creating new characters. Learning (and maybe even unlearning) is also fun, so don’t get lazy. It also helps you create accurate and properly represented characters that aren’t all like you.

I suggest creating a folder and saving said folder to your bookmarks bar, or if using a mobile device, having the links readily available. My bookmark folder is simply called “OC References” but you can name yours whatever you’d like. In the folder I have things as silly as “100 Things I Hate” posts and as useful as personality trait master lists. These links will be shared as I go through the series.

Conclusions

That’s it! I don’t want to ramble too much, but I’ll be sure to go into detail about particular things in the future. I hope this helps. Tune in next time for playlist making tips, the first thing I do when creating a character!

[Gif from The Secret World of Arrietty]

#writer #writers of tumblr #writing blog #creative writing #writers #writing #mellowmoonnwrites #writing advice #writing tips

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thekriseffect · 5 years ago

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Alone Part 1 (Liam x MC)

[Note: It’s been way too long since I posted anything (inspiration wasn’t flowing for me at all). I know this doesn’t really fit in with The Royal Heir’s timeline very well but I always imagined Freya’s pregnancy to be a surprise rather than something that was planned (I’m also not a huge fan of the demanded pregnant angle in general. Plus angst is just too much fun to write… which sounds kinda sinister when I put it out there like that...) Anyways! I hope you enjoy it! TRH continues to be my writing muse at the moment so expect more of these two from me.]

[Summary: Freya, newly crowned queen with some unexpected news weighing down on her shoulders, struggles with the reality of their situation as her and Liam begin their honeymoon. Set in the first chapter of The Royal Heir. Part 2 can be found here.]

[Tag List: @lodberg, @cora-nova, @romanticatheart-posts @texaskitten30, @bbrandy2002]

It was a strange feeling, sitting across from Liam, eating our meal together in a comfortable silence with the sound of waves and the scent of salt, life, and wet sand surrounding us like everything was right in the world. So strange that I had no idea how to act, let alone what to say. You know your life defies normality when you aren’t sure how to act like an ordinary human being anymore.

What should I do with my eyes? Do I look at him while we eat or would that be weird? Do I look behind him or does that make it seem like I’m not paying enough attention? Maybe I should just look at the food? I think I’ll just look at the food…

It was the first evening of our honeymoon and I found myself more keyed up now than I did before our wedding. Shyly glancing down whenever our eyes would meet and exchanging uncertain, careful touches reserved for people who were still in stage one of their relationships. It was ridiculous, yet every time I looked at Liam I couldn’t hold back the wave of guilt that threatened to drown me. Because he still didn’t know.

It had been almost two weeks since I’d taken the test in that grungy, outdated bathroom with shaking fingers, one week since the attack at our wedding which threatened to take everything away from me, and eleven restless nights of seeing those two hair-raising pink lines every time I closed my eyes. And still I hadn’t told Liam that I was pregnant.

I’d exhausted every excuse imaginable for my reasoning's. The timing wasn’t right with the wedding coming up. Anton needed to be our main priority, not what was cooking in my stomach. Bertrand would go into mother hen mode which was exhausting to just think about. I didn’t want to stress Liam out more than he already was. Though the reality was much simpler; I was still floating blissfully in my own pool of denial and telling Liam would make it real, which was something that I wasn’t even close to being ready for. Call me selfish.

I studied him as he stared off into the horizon, the last of the day’s rays highlighting his cheeks and bronzing his hair before he turned to give me his private smile. The one that was so relaxed and so content that it made my ears burn like I was a bashful schoolgirl. The one that was reserved for me alone. I looked away.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“Hey.” The concern laced in his voice had me glancing up from my nearly full plate. “Everything alright?”

Taking a deep breath, I shook my head. “I still can’t believe that we’re actually here,” I dodged as I artistically rearranged the food with my fork for the hundredth time. “It doesn’t feel real.” It wasn’t a lie, not really.

“I know what you mean. I half expect the kingdom to be in chaos when we get back.”

“Their king is away on a remote island for a whole week, chaos is inevitable,” I teased.

“And their queen,” he corrected.

I blinked slowly as my mind came to a screeching halt at that reality. Oh, right. “It’ll never not be weird hearing that, will it?”

“You were always going to be my queen, Freya. From the moment you decided I was worth it.” He said it so nonchalantly, like he was making a simple comment about the weather, that I had to hide my smirk behind my hand. A silly grin lit up his face. “What?”

“You don’t even have to try, do you? You’re like a walking hallmark card.”

“I’m not sure what that means but it sounded like an insult,” Liam said while amusement made his eyes crinkle in the corners enduringly.

“Of the highest regard,” I shot back.

___

Time passed in a blur. We ate, laughed, and chatted about nothing in particular while the sun set behind us before seeing the staff off for the night, leaving us and the island to ourselves. Stars dotted the night sky as Liam and I walked the beach, my arm swinging his loosely with the rough grains of sand sticking to our bare feet. It felt so easy being here with him, just the two of us. I couldn’t remember the last time we were truly alone. I frowned. Have we ever been alone like this before?

His long fingers played with mine as we wandered. Brushing against the palm, tracing abstract patterns against its skin, tightly interlacing with my own. I loved Liam’s hands. Contrary to popular belief, they were hardened due to calluses with little perfect imperfections spotting his knuckles and thumbs. He had the hands of a man that worked hard which had come as a shock to me at first. You would think that a prince wouldn’t need to lift a finger for anything. Yet after getting to know him I decided it was perfectly in character for him, to be involved in the labor instead of watching from the sidelines. It was one of those characteristics that made Liam, Liam.

He was going to be a great dad.

The spontaneous thought had me stopping dead in my tracks with eyes the size of chargers. I tugged at his hand until he was standing at my side.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Everything’s going to change now.” It wasn’t a question.

He studied me for a moment before answering with a simple yet meaningful, “Yes.”

“What if I’m not ready? What if I ruin everything?”

“You won’t.”

It was meant to be comforting though instead it had anxiety creeping up my throat in the form of tiny little spiders. I broke away from him and squeezed the heel of my hand against my forehead so forcefully that I was sure it would leave a bruise. Maybe if I squeezed hard enough my problems would go away. “You can’t know that.”

I could feel when he stepped forward. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move to touch me, though he didn’t need to for me to know that he was there. I was constantly so aware of him that it sometimes drove me slightly insane. The commanding presence that followed him like a second skin wherever he went, the sound of his sleekly virile voice, that distinctive scent; fresh linens, mint, and something sharp that I couldn’t place. All attributes that I associated home with.

“Frey, I love you, but I also love my country.” Liam slid his palms down my shoulders to turn me around to face him. “If I didn’t think you could handle it we wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

“No, instead it would be Madeleine you’d be whispering sweet nothings to,” I murmured and his lips took a turn south. I sighed and pinched my eyes shut. What was I doing? This was supposed to be our honeymoon. It wasn’t his fault that I had the communication skills of a potato.

Drawing him closer, I circled my arms around his neck so our chests pressed together. My fingers twisted in the short hairs on his nape. “I’m sorry, it’s just a lot to take in at once.”

“Don’t apologize,” he told me. “Just tell me how I can help.”

You can’t help, not with this. Not right now. But I wasn’t going to tell him that, so instead I settled for something that I knew would defuse the attention from the topic. “Well… a kiss wouldn’t be unwelcomed.”

Liam smirked. “As you wish, my queen.” He leaned forward to bridge the space between our lips, his breath mingling deliciously with my own as he grew closer, and closer, and closer…

And just as his lips brushed mine, the anticipation so rich and solid that I could practically taste it, I pulled back smugly to meet his gaze. “That is if you can catch me first,” I said against his mouth before sprinting away with a giggle. He let out a shaky laugh before following me beyond the sands of the shore and into the cool, black water ahead.

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scribblewriting65 · 5 years ago

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Top 5 YouTube Channels

Intro

Communication is a powerful and ever-changing force; especially with the rise of the Internet in recent decades. And no online service knows this better than YouTube. Hosting thousands of channels and millions of videos, no website has sucked away our free time quite like Big Red.

Today I would like to acknowledge 5 of the platform’s strongest creators, in my eyes. Whether it be for their intelligent content or the sheer fun they bring, to me, these guys are some of the best of the best; and proudly hold some of my greatest respect.

Quick disclaimers: This is my first writing like this, and as you know, opinions can change over time; so please lower your pitchforks and know that there are plenty of channels I love. Also, when writing this, I don’t have a particular order in mind (Except for #1). Whether you find your favorite on the bottom, top, or nowhere at all, know that these guys deserve a watch (if my digital mouth has any impact on your choices, that is).

Enough talk though. Onward, to appreciation!

#5: JT Music

Art is mankind’s most unique unifier, and no art brings people together quite like music. Whether it be country, funk, or rap in this pick’s case, you can look just about anywhere for a good time. And while rock star NateWantstoBattle is a close second in this regard, no musician really does it for me quite like JT.

While most would look at the genre “Video Game Rap” with an upturned nose, those that stick around won’t find anything quite like what Skull and Pat bring to the table. Their weekly tunes always bring a fire to my subscription feed, whether they’re putting me into the role of a badass superhero, or dragging me into the darkest abyss, I can just about always have a good time nodding my head to the beat.

Not only is their work consistently fun, but it’s also wide in diversity, and constant in quality. Hits like Follow Father, No Hero, and Hungry for Another One capture their source material perfectly within a musical context. Even their cameo appearances in tracks like DAGames’ We Want Out and Zack Boucher’s Ultimate Super Smash Bros. Rap steal the show with their wild energy. I always find myself smiling when I find their newest song; getting a small amount of enjoyment even in my less liked tracks.

Consistent fun and passion can be felt in the notes, and I can’t help but rock my skull out when JT Music starts playing.

#4: GameXplain

Games offer a wide variety no matter where you look. No matter if you’re looking for a deep insight into 30 second clips, latest updates on a title, or general thoughts on an event, you can always find something, or someone, explaining the perspective for you.

I’m a funny guy, aren’t I?

GameXplain has certainly explored over the years. From Cool Bits and Missing In Action in the past, to their famous modern Analyses and Discussions, Andre and friends have always hosted an approachable place with a variety of outlooks from its diverse crew, like Andre’s obsession with Stunt Race FX and Ash’s knowledge and love of Mega Man.

Even if you aren’t super into any of their interests, you’ll still find a laid-back but insightful pool of content. Their discussions are a personal favorite of mine, bringing fun, thoughtful ideas to events or ideas occurring in the gaming industry. I can’t help but get caught up in their hype, especially for Nintendo Directs or the annual E3 Show.

Even if I don’t quite understand the excitement that something is receiving, I can always go to these guys for a solid explanation and platform to join the hype train.

#3: Mithzan

It seems that no matter where you go, Minecraft can be found there. Games, books, plushies, animations, even an entire convention; those familiar blocks pervade some space of modern culture. While this space has hosted some incredible creations, simplicity also has its own beauty.

Mithzan uses this simplicity to great effect. With his buddies Ross, Pooki, Jerry and frequent guests, Max is always there to give me a laugh. And while Minecraft holds a variety of fun games like Would You Rather and Never Have I Ever, Mithzan also offers experiences outside of the blocks, like Uno and Dead by Daylight.

Along with the wide content, the experiences and humor are also varied, sometimes employing puns or old-fashioned smack talk, to name a few. Even with the different conversations and games, the fun and heart are always there. Whether he’s playing a wacky or horrifying game, Mithzan is approachable and honest with his style of play.

#2: Mother’s Basement

Appearances can be deceiving, no matter where you look. Assumed bullies are victims themselves, ‘loner’ people are simply introverted, and the most stubborn ones find themselves lost in an unexpected niche. All it takes is a little looking around, and you’ll find a new lesson or friend more often than not.

And what better place to look for insight than in a Mother’s Basement?

While not all people can see the artistry that anime brings to the table, Mother’s Basement brings its potential to the limelight. With weekly insights and discussions on things like how animation enhances an atmosphere or what makes a fight extraordinary in Animelee, the ideas and thought put into these discussions is top-notch.

Along with this, Geoff (the host)’s voice is great support, staying calm but strong, adding great emphasis on major points. He even provides touches of comedy and actual life advice into his videos. I find myself especially entertained with his analyses on My Hero Academia and Fullmetal Alchemist, but Geoff also covers topics like best romantic partners and essential shows to watch (and avoid), and pointing out his reasons why. Even if anime isn’t your style, there are some videos dotted in discussing topics like the nuances of binge-watching in “Is Binge Watching Bad for Us? (Netflix vs. Disney+)” and other media like movies (“Spider-Verse: The Ultimate Spider-Man Movie”) and video games (“Insomniac’s Spider-Man is Truly Superior”).

While it took some time to grow on me, I’m glad to have been welcomed into Mother’s Basement. With plenty of insight and care put into each video, Geoff is just about always a good choice for fun education on how artistic Japanese animation can be.

#1:Fawful’s Minion

The world is full of stories; they’re simply part of human nature. Whether it be fantasy, drama, or comedy, all of us have the potential to weave tales that inspire. And none have inspired me on YouTube quite like Fawful’s Minion.

This mean bean gaming machine has the mouth of a divine artist. His videos always bring a bright smile and incredible awe to me for just how much quality and care goes into each video. Fawful’s Top 10’s have never let me down with their fun, reasons, and pure passion that is tangible in every project.

Not only are the videos fun, but they’re also inspiring too. Fawful’s linguistics is beyond captivating, even partially motivating how I speak and write. Along with constantly being a good time, I’m always inspired to write or gain a storytelling voice whenever I watch an FM video.

And the touches of insight into his personal life give Fawful an air of relatability. Now, I realize I may make him sound like some sort of Shakespearian poet, but he also dispels this through his more colorful language, bringing in modern terms (and curses) and joyful, nearly maniacal at times, laughter and emotion into his speech, making himself grounded and relatable.

Most of all, Fawful’s storytelling skills were, and still are, a big reason why I write and tell my own stories. I want to enrapture others with my words like Fawful does, so he gets a big thanks and respect in my book. Balancing fun, humor, emotion, and creativity, Fawful’s Minion has made a goon out of me, running towards the goal of becoming a true storyteller.

Outro

If you made it here, thanks for sticking around! I wanna maybe try these sorts of blog/list posts more often, so tell me what you think! If you like this and want to see more, feel free to check out my AO3 Page: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribbleWriting65. I hope you enjoyed this little list, and I’ll see you next time!

#scribblewriting65 #top 5 #list #jt music #mithzan #gameXplain #opinion

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freewheelen · 5 years ago

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1 YEAR REVIEW: 2018 Harley-Davidson Softail Low Rider (Sofia)

Whenever I read or watch motorcycle reviews, I can’t help but notice a heavy reliance on spec sheets. And I get it, approaching a subjective review of a product with an objective data set certainly helps set the playing field for all competing models. However, this post isn’t about the latest electric naked bike that just hit the market or the revamped scrambler that is being hyped as “game-changing”. This post is about my daily rider.

With that in mind, I could dwell on the dual-bending valve Showa forks, or my high-flow S&S air cleaner, or the 102 ft lbs of torque that the Milwaukee 8 engine produces. But bragging about your bike’s specs is like plastering a “Proud Parent of an Honor Student” on your bumper or boasting about how attractive your significant other is. They’re used to favorably reflect on you, not reflect how that person - or in this case, motorcycle - makes you feel. Sure, your girlfriend could be model material but if she treats you like shit, why does her “hotness” matter, right?

So I’m not going to take that approach in this review. Instead of flooding you with figures on compression rates, length of suspension travel, or lean angle**, I’m going to explain how all of those things contribute to the feeling she gives me.

**Please see the stock spec sheet here (if it interests you)

I purchased my Low Rider in April of 2018. I had to trade in my Sportster Iron 883 - which was heartbreaking for me at the time (see the story here) - but it was well worth the sacrifice. From the moment I rolled her off the lot, I knew I made the right decision.

She handled better than the Sporty. She accelerated WAY faster than the 883. And most importantly, she braked lightyears beyond the Iron.

Now, I know what you’re thinking:

I don’t want to know if it’s better than a Sportster, I want to know whether it’s a good purchase.

But I think it’s important for me to establish the bike I originally owned and how that shaped my assessment of the FXLR, and the first place I noticed an improvement was in the suspension.

The combination of Showa forks up front and the monoshock out back puts Harley’s past suspension offerings to shame. For 650 lbs., the bike feels responsive and surprisingly nimble. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the bike dives into corners and I’ve definitely put that feature to use. But the fork not only allows you to attack the twisties, but it also does a great job of keeping the rubber to the road. The wheel hop of the Sportster: eliminated. If you’re debating whether you should buy a new Softail, I could easily make a case with the upgraded forks alone, but that’s just the front suspension, you still have the brilliant monoshock in the rear.

While the fork provides improved handling, the rear suspension grants a new level of comfort. Those potholes no longer send shocks through my spine. Those railroad tracks no longer make my teeth click. Those road irregularities no longer buck my girlfriend off the seat. And if there’s any barometer of rear suspension performance, it’s your old lady’s ass...and mine loves the FXLR. But comfort isn’t the best feature of the monoshock, the stability it provides is. I’ve hit 120 mph twice on the Low Rider thus far, and the stability of the bike never faltered. The speed wobbles of the Dyna: eliminated. Are you noticing a theme here yet?

But don’t get me wrong, the suspension isn’t perfect. There’s no adjustability in the front and the rear doesn’t give you dampening or rebound settings. Also, you have to remove the seat to adjust the monoshock. Unless you’re planning on carrying a flathead screwdriver on you, I wouldn’t set my heart on changing the preload on the fly.

Now, I should note that I plan on upgrading to Ohlin’s suspension (front & rear) in the future, but the stock setup would be sufficient for 90% of those looking for a Harley.

Ultimately, the OEM suspension makes me feel grateful. Grateful for the safety it provides. Grateful for the responsiveness it adds to such a massive bike. Grateful that I get comfort and performance right out of the box!

Which leads me directly to the heart of the Low Rider, the Milwaukee 8 motor.

It shakes less. It runs cooler. It pulls harder (through all 6 gears). Compared to the Twin Cams I’ve ridden, the M8 outshines them in every way. To be honest, you’ll probably need to regulate your own speed if you buy a new Softail because they’re most comfortable at 85-90 mph. Every time I ride on the highway, I hit 100 mph at least once (unintended and intended). There have been many times where I unconsciously hit 70 mph on surface streets!

On the flipside, the M8 is very particular when it comes to modifications. My tuner/mechanic has told me that finding the right configuration of parts is crucial to any performance upgrades you install on the new mill. Luckily, I had some guidance, but if you’re considering customizing your Milwaukee 8, I suggest consulting a professional - or at the very least read some forum boards - before you slap on any old exhaust or fuel manager.

On the note of fuel management, if you want to maintain the maximum range (200+ miles per tank), leave the engine in stock form. After my numerous mods, I’m lucky if I can squeak out 150 miles between fill-ups. I’d be lying if I said I regret sacrificing those additional 50 miles per tank - because Sofia absolutely rips - but it’s something you should weigh before buying or upgrading an M8.

If I had to express how the engine makes me feel, I’d say it makes me feel spoiled. Spoiled by all that torque. Spoiled that she pulls through all 6 gears. Spoiled that I get the power of a Harley without all the shaking or heat.

Now, we’ve been dwelling on speed up to this point, but if you’re planning on going fast, you have to be able to stop as well...

When it comes to the brakes, I have to caveat that I ride my Low Rider harder than most Harleys are intended. I currently need new rotors, pads, lines (braided), and a master cylinder rebuild because I’ve run the brakes into the ground.

Though the front end is only outfitted with a single disc, the bite of the 4-piston calipers really help to slow down the 650 lbs. of the Low Rider. While the front brake lever loses feel over time - due to the rubber brake lines - it easily retains the forceful braking of those 4-pot calipers. However, the same can’t be said of the rear caliper, which lacks any responsiveness and is downright mushy.

Most riders say that the front brakes provide 70% of your stopping power while the rear covers the remaining 30%. On the FXLR, that ratio is more like 90/10. But in the end, you’re riding a Harley, and Harleys have never been known for their braking components. Now, that’s by no means an excuse, but if you’ve ridden a Harley before, your expectations are already set appropriately. If not, good luck!

With the vague feel of the rear pedal and the diminished responsiveness of the front lever over time, I’d say that the brakes make the bike feel sketchy. But hey, you’re riding a chopper, baby! Sketchiness is part of the package.

In the end, if I had to do it all over again, I would buy the Low Rider every time. The bike outperforms every Harley I’ve ever ridden and it’s one of the most aesthetically versatile platforms under HD. You can go Club Style, Bobber, Chopper. Hell, I’ve even seen Scrambler and Cafe Racer M8 Softails. It’s for that reason, that I didn’t cover the design of the Low Rider. I think my bike is the perfect example of the FXLR being a blank canvas for you to customize yourself.

Now the only question left is: when are you upgrading?

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jeff-stillcoolasazombie · 5 years ago

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The Waiter and the Hotel Heiress - Chapter 3

Rating: K+

Length: 1554 words