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paperbodiesamongthestars · 3 years

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You matter. Or whatever.

Happy Valentine’s Day! I wrote something for the Harringrove Heart-On!

Read it on AO3 and check out all the other phenomenal works in the collection, too!

"Valentine’s Day is an abomination."

"Wow, Hargrove, don't hold back. Tell me how you really feel." Billy and Steve are in the parking lot, smoking before school starts, and Billy is in a mood. His shoulders are tense and there’s a tightness around his eyes that Steve is starting to recognize.

"This day is the fucking worst."

"Oh no," Steve says sarcastically, "you're going to spend your whole day getting cards and gifts from people who like you." Billy snorts.

"Giving someone heart-shaped shit on a pretend holiday invented by greeting card companies does absolutely nothing to convey that you actually like them. It's performative bullshit." That checks out, Steve thinks. He loves Valentine's Day. Well. Loved.

"I hate to break this to you," he says, "but your day is going to be chock full of heart-shaped shit." He drops his voice like he's sharing a secret. "I don't know if you know this, but Billy Hargrove still doesn't have a date for the party at the quarry on Friday. It's, like, open season." Billy rolls his eyes.

"Maybe I don't want a date," he says. "Gotta keep those options open. Besides," he adds as he watches their classmates streaming into the building, "those people either fear me or they want my dick. Or both. Like doesn't really enter into it." Steve doesn't have anything to say to that, but it doesn't really matter; their silences are pretty comfortable by now. Steve watches a girl walk past them with a cluster of pink heart-shaped balloons. He sighs a little before he can catch himself. When he looks up, Billy's staring at him. He has a look on his face that usually means Steve is about to be mocked. Mercilessly.

"You love this shit, don't you?" Billy asks, a little incredulous. Steve looks back at the balloons. He does. Well, he did. He would have done something like that, before. He's not sure what insanity compels him to say that, though.

"I used to, yeah."

"Yeah?" Billy reaches over to bump his shoulder, smile sharp. "You liked getting all those cards and flowers and balloons from admirers?"

"No. I mean, sure, but that’s not why I liked the day. I liked thinking of special things to do for N...for people." Billy snorts.

"Making sure everyone knew what a great boyfriend you were?" The question is maybe a little mean, but Billy's tone, surprisingly, isn't. Steve just shrugs. He stares at the entrance to the building, not really seeing it. He likes to think that he wasn't entirely bullshit.

"I mean, sort of? It was more about showing the person that I put some thought into it, you know? Like, I cared enough to do that because...because they mattered." He catches himself. "Or whatever," he adds lamely, but he knows it's too late. His soft underbelly is already on display. He risks a glance at Billy, who is watching him with an unreadable expression. He finally shakes his head and smiles, a little genuine, and that's not at all what Steve expected.

"You’re hopeless, Harrington." If Steve didn't know any better, he might describe Billy's tone as affectionate. Steve smiles back, tentatively and shrugs.

"Yeah, probably." And then they finish their cigarettes and they go to class.

Billy doesn't take a date to the party, but he does check with Steve twice to make sure he's going to be there.

Steve shows up at Billy's apartment for their weekly movie night with takeout, two aggressively unromantic movies, homemade sugar cookies, and a stack of Valentine's Day cards from the kids. Billy looks at them, a little bemused, when Steve hands them over.

"I tried to spare you, but they insisted," Steve says. "They made me open mine before they would let me leave. There are also heart-shaped sugar cookies in here somewhere. I have strict instructions about which ones were decorated specifically for you." Billy cocks an eyebrow in surprise and Steve shrugs.

"They invited you because they actually wanted you to come, you know." Billy looks down and doesn't say anything. He's a lot better physically, but sometimes larger groups are still a little much for him. Steve's voice goes softer. "It's also fine that you didn't go. Just...they actually do care about you. Despite the fact that you are a bitter cynic who cannot appreciate a holiday dedicated to love." His smile and tone soften the words. "And, as I have learned from personal experience, those nerds are absolutely relentless when they decide they like you, so. Probably best just to let them." Steve continues unpacking the bags and starts setting out boxes of takeout on the coffee table. He slides a plastic-wrapped plate of cookies across the table toward Billy. Billy glances at the cookies, and then looks again. His brow furrows.

"At least one of these appears to have a dick frosted on it. And that looks a lot like a hand holding up a middle finger." Steve smirks at him.

"I guess the kids know you pretty well." Billy tosses a throw pillow at him, which Steve dodges easily. He's laughing, and Billy can't suppress a laugh himself.

"Did you have a good time?" Billy asks, and if there is the tiniest thread of wistfulness in his voice, Steve knows better than to act like he hears it.

"It was surprisingly enjoyable, yeah," Steve admits. "Although I suspect I'm going to be shedding random glitter for months." He pauses, and then grins. "Max is a menace in the kitchen. We had to ban her just to get any decent cookies made. Haven't you ever taught her anything?" Billy shudders.

"I tried; it's impossible. No one could teach Max to cook. She and the kitchen just do not mix."

"Harsh, but probably fair," Steve says. He pulls an envelope out of one of the bags and tosses it on top of the pile. "That is for you," he says. Billy eyes it and then looks back at Steve. "Aren't you going to open it?" Steve prompts. Billy does, a little cautiously. It's a card made out of a folded piece of red construction paper. The front features a frowny face traced in glitter, two angry slashes for eyebrows. Billy looks up at Steve.

"Glitter is the devil," is all Steve says. Billy opens the card. Inside is a poem in Steve's messy handwriting.

Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

You think Valentine's Day is an abomination,

And that's why I made this stupid card for you.

Billy snorts a laugh despite himself. Steve smiles, flushing slightly. He claps his hands together once.

"Alright. You will delighted to know that that concludes the 'celebrating Valentine's Day' portion of our evening." He pulls out the slasher movies he picked. "Ready to watch some idiots make terrible choices and promptly get murdered?"

"Sounds perfect," Billy says. They curl up in opposite corners of the couch. Steve watches Billy out of the corner of his eye as he casually opens the rest of his cards, catching a tiny, crooked smile and the way he gently traces a fingertip over the lace edging on one of the cards. Steve smiles a little to himself and goes back to watching the movie.

After Steve leaves that night, Billy puts the cards up on his fridge. Most of them come down, eventually, but the one from Steve stays up.

III

The smell of coffee is almost enough to overcome the smell of burned pancakes, but not quite. Steve sits at their kitchen table, staring glumly into his coffee cup.

"What possessed you to try making breakfast, sweetheart?" Billy asks him as he slides another perfect pancake onto the growing pile.

"It's Valentine's Day," Steve says. "I just wanted to do something nice for you." There's a long pause.

"Ok, but why not just make dinner?" Billy asks. Steve huffs and tries to think about how to articulate this.

"You hate Valentine's Day," he starts, and Billy glances over at him for a second and hesitates.

"I do," he finally says, slowly.

"And dinner is...I don't know...it's more serious. The stakes are higher." Billy cocks an eyebrow at him.

"Is this you trying to tell me that the meal that you're good at cooking is somehow better than the meal that I'm good at cooking?"

"No," Steve says, starting to get frustrated. "Breakfast just felt like...like less of a commitment to the whole day. Like I could do a little thing in the morning, and if you hated it, we could just move on." Billy's expression softens.

"Baby," he says. Steve waves him off.

"It's fine. I fucked it up anyway, so."

"You did," Billy says, and Steve scoffs, burying his face in his hands. Billy just cannot fucking help himself sometimes, he knows, but still.

"But," Billy continues over Steve's scoff, "I think it's sweet that you tried."

"You do?" Steve asks, looking up. The word sweet is not typically a part of Billy's vocabulary, at least not as a compliment. Billy drops a kiss at the corner of his mouth and slides a plate piled high with pancakes in front of him.

"Eat your pancakes," he says, instead of responding. Steve looks down at his plate and freezes. The stack of pancakes is topped with a smaller, heart-shaped pancake. His eyes snap up to Billy's face. He starts to say something, but Billy cuts him off before he can speak. "Eat your pancakes," he repeats, waving his fork threateningly for emphasis. Steve does, but he can't suppress the little smile at the corner of his mouth.

He can't suppress it for the rest of the day either. Eventually, Billy resorts to kissing it off of his face, and they go to bed much earlier than usual.

Billy is at his desk, collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, curls a mess. He's clearly been running his hands through his hair, so he's stressed. The stack of papers in front of him is truly staggering, and there are more on every flat surface in his tiny office. Billy appears to be organizing them into binders. Steve isn't really sure what his internship at this law firm entails, but this entire week he's been 'preparing exhibits' late into the evening. Steve takes a minute just to gaze at his boyfriend, who still hasn't noticed him. Billy looks exhausted, which is fair. He's juggling a double major, a T.A. job, and this internship. It's usually fine, but apparently oral arguments for some huge case start on Monday, so it's all hands on deck this week. Billy has only been home to get a few hours of sleep each night.

Steve knocks on the door jamb to announce his presence. Billy looks up at him and smiles, and some of the tension drains out of his shoulders.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Billy says, coming out from behind the desk. He draws Steve in for lingering kiss. "What are you doing here?" Steve holds up the bag in his hand.

"I figured if you couldn't come home for dinner, I could bring dinner to you." Billy cups Steve's face in his hands and kisses him again.

"I don't deserve you, baby." He grimaces. "I know this week has sucked. I'll make it up to you." Steve smiles at him.

"I know you will." He kisses Billy one more time and steps back. "I should let you get back to it so that you can come home and get at least a little bit of sleep at some point." Billy closes the distance between them and buries his face in Steve's neck.

"But I don't want you to go," he says, more than a little petulant. He's so obviously tired. Steve huffs a laugh and wraps his arms around Billy's shoulders.

"And I don't want you to have to be here anymore. If I'm not here to distract you, maybe you'll get to come home at some point." Billy sighs dramatically.

"You're right and I hate it," he says into the side of Steve's neck. Steve rubs his back.

"Just keep reminding yourself that you love this internship."

"Not right now I don't."

"But usually you do. And you're trying to turn it into a job offer. And oral arguments are going to go really well next week because of all this prep, and they're going to beg you to work for them." There's a long pause.

"Ugh, just shut up," Billy finally mutters. Steve laughs. They stay there for a minute, just breathing. Finally, Steve steps back.

"Drink some water in between all the coffees, ok?" He kisses Billy one more time and then he's out the door. Billy stares after him, wanting nothing more than to follow, but he has more to do tonight. He goes back to work.

He only realizes what day it is half an hour later, when he finally opens the tupperware container Steve brought him. He stares for a long moment. It's his favorite meal. There's steak, and the fancy green beans with the slivered almonds, and garlic mashed potatoes. The potatoes are in the shape of a heart. Billy looks at the calendar next to his desk and groans, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Fuck," he says with feeling. "Fuck," he says again, as he stares at the piles of documents he still has to get through.

It's after midnight when Billy finally gets home. He leaves his pants and his fucking tie and his button-up in a heap on the floor and slips into bed, wrapping himself around Steve. He nuzzles into Steve's neck.

"Baby," he says. Steve makes a sleepy noise. "Baby, I need you to wake up for minute."

"Mhmm," Steve says. "'m awake." Billy knows better.

"Can you sit up for me? Just for a minute, sweetheart." It's the only way to be sure. Steve grumbles about it, but soon he's sitting up in bed facing Billy. He rubs his face with his hands, and then his brow furrows with concern.

"Is everything ok?"

"I'm sorry I missed Valentine's Day dinner," Billy says. Steve just stares at him, confused. Then his face relaxes a little.

"Is that why you woke me up? It's okay. Besides, you didn't miss it. I brought it to you."

"You know what I mean," Billy says. He takes a deep breath, and then he leans forward and cups Steve's face in his hands. "You know I love you, right?"

"Of course I--" and that's as far as Steve gets before his eyes go wide. Because he does know, Billy shows him all the time. He brings Steve coffee every morning, and he curls around him in bed every night and presses the softest kisses behind his ear, and he listens to the things that Steve says and actually remembers them in a way that nobody ever has before, but Billy's never actually said the words before. It's a whole thing for him, and Steve has tried so hard not to care about it that much, and it's fine, really, because Billy shows him all the time, but--

"I love you so fucking much," Billy says, and Steve thinks he might cry. Billy kisses him, and when they separate again Steve sneaks a look at the clock behind Billy. Billy catches him, of course he does, and he laughs and leans back in.

"Valentine's Day has been over for a while," he whispers against Steve's lips.

"You did that on purpose," Steve accuses after another kiss, smiling as he says it.

"I wouldn't do that to you, baby," Billy says. Steve pulls back to look at him.

"Because you love me," Steve says, thrilled by the words.

"Because I love you," Billy agrees, and then Steve lunges at him and they're too busy to do much more talking.

The law firm kicks ass at trial the following week, and Billy gets his job offer, and Steve makes his favorite meal again to celebrate. The next morning, Steve wakes up to mimosas and bacon and waffles with a frankly concerning amount of whipped cream. They spend most of the rest of that weekend in bed.

"I have to go," Billy says as he knots his tie. "Don't forget that we have that work thing at six tonight."

"Ugh," Steve grouses, still only half-awake. "Who schedules a work party on Valentine's Day?" Billy shrugs.

"It's not a real holiday, baby. We have to leave around 5:30 to give ourselves time to find parking, ok?" Billy seems nervous, which means this event is a big deal. He crosses the room to kiss Steve goodbye.

"I'll be ready," Steve promises. He leans up for the kiss and then reaches for the mug of coffee Billy has placed on his bedside table. "Have a good day!" he calls out as Billy heads for the front door.

"You too, baby!" he hears, and then the front door opens and closes. Steve stares at the tux hanging from the door of his closet. Who schedules a black-tie work event on a Wednesday? he wonders, but it's a fleeting thought. He reluctantly drags himself out of bed to get ready for work.

By 5:30 Steve is dressed and ready to go, hair looking particularly good, if he does say so himself. He leaves the bathroom and gets a look at Billy, who is also in a tux. He smiles appreciatively.

"Damn, B. You're just as gorgeous as the day I met you."

"I could say the same for you, pretty boy." They grin at each other, and then Billy closes the distance between them to run his hands up Steve's sides. He pulls Steve into a kiss, a slow, unhurried press of his lips. When he pulls back, he reaches up out of habit to tuck Steve's hair away from his face, but he stops himself before he touches it. "Don't want to mess up your party hair," he says, smiling. Then his eyes darken and his smile goes a little predatory. "Well," he corrects himself, "not yet, anyway." Steve shakes his head, smiling.

They're halfway to the restaurant--a fancy steakhouse that the law firm has apparently rented out for the evening--when Billy takes a wrong turn. Steve glances over, but Billy seems unconcerned. He takes a few more turns before Steve starts to recognize the route.

"Aren't we going to be late to the party?" Steve asks tentatively, not sure what's going on here. Billy grins back at him, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

"We've got time. I wanted to make a stop first." Steve gets out of the car, bemused, when Billy parks in a familiar lot. He follows Billy along a short trail to an overlook with a weathered wooden bench. The view out over the ocean is a familiar one--they come out here often in the evenings or on weekends to sit with snacks or coffee. Sometimes they talk, and sometimes they sit in silence, just letting the sound of the ocean smooth over sharp edges and frayed tempers. Steve wonders if Billy is having one of those kinds of days. He seems fine, but that isn't always a reliable indicator with Billy.

They stand there for a moment, watching the sun sink toward the horizon, and Steve feels himself starting to take deeper breaths. The sound of the ocean, the warmth of Billy's shoulder against his, the smell of salt in the air--it's all familiar and beloved and soothing.

And then all thoughts of calm desert Steve entirely because Billy drops to one knee next to him. Steve looks over, confused for a split second, and then immediately overwhelmed because Billy doesn't have his sunglasses on anymore, and his eyes are big and so goddamn blue and full of affection and hope and a little bit of fear, and he's reaching for his jacket pocket and taking out a box. Steve tries to remember how to breathe.

"Baby," Billy says, and his voice wobbles a little and his hands are shaking just a tiny bit and it is so incredibly endearing that Steve feels his heart overflow. He's pretty sure he's crying already. Billy clears his throat and tries again. "I've never been the best with words," he says, steadier this time, "but I hope you know by now that I can't imagine my life without you. I love your big heart and your terrible taste in music and your ridiculous, beautiful face. I want to bring you coffee every morning and trip over your goddamn sweats because you never manage to actually get them into the hamper." Steve laughs a little through his tears, swiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his tux. Billy's expression goes soft and serious. "I want to make you breakfast, and eat your incredible dinners, and fall asleep next you, and wake up next to you, and know that I can come home to you at the end of a bad day and you'll make it better just by being there. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Steve Harrington." Billy opens the box to reveal a simple gold band. "Say you'll marry me?" Steve hauls him to his feet and into a kiss, so happy he can hardly contain it. He cups Billy's face in his palms when he finally pulls back.

"Of course I'll marry you, you romantic bastard," he whispers as Billy takes his left hand to slide the ring onto his finger, and then they're kissing again. A few moments later, a thought occurs to Steve. "Did you just propose to me on Valentine's Day? On purpose?" he asks, a little incredulous.

"You know what?" Billy says, as though it's just occurring to him, "I think I did."

"But you hate Valentine's Day," Steve murmurs in his ear, amused. Billy pulls back far enough to make eye contact with Steve.

"I used to," Billy says, unable to suppress his smile.

"And then what happened?" Steve asks, smiling back.

"Then I met this boy and he taught me that love means showing the most important people in your life that they matter. Or whatever," he adds with a grin. "And it can be real, even if you do it on a pretend holiday invented by greeting card companies." Steve is a little surprised that Billy even remembers that conversation.

"Really?" he asks softly, touched. Billy huffs a laugh.

"Steve, I've had a Valentine's Day card from you on my fridge for years. In multiple apartments. A card that you made for me before we ever even got together, by the way."

"Yeah, but you were already into me by then," Steve teases.

"I was into you pretty much the first time I saw you," Billy says, and Steve knows that, has known that for a while, but he is still definitely crying again. He tucks his face into the side of Billy's neck. He's never been happier. They stay there for a while, just breathing and listening to the waves in the distance.

"We're definitely going to be late to your work party now," Steve finally says.

"About that..." Billy starts to say, and Steve pulls back to look at his face. Billy is grinning at him, clearly pleased with himself. "It's actually more of an engagement party? I rented out the restaurant, and everyone flew out for it." Steve is speechless, and then he's kissing Billy again.

"I guess it's a good thing I said yes," Steve murmurs eventually. Billy snorts.

"Oh, like you were ever gonna get a better offer."

"How dare you?" Steve says with mock outrage. "I'm an incredible cook and I look like this." He gestures toward himself. "I'm a fucking catch."

"Counterpoint," Billy says, grinning. "I make the best breakfast and I look like this." He gestures in the general direction of his abs. He may not be quite as cut as he was back in high school--Steve really is an incredible cook--but Billy still spends enough time in the gym to make damn sure that he looks good.

"That's true," Steve says, nodding thoughtfully. "And you did propose to me on Valentine's Day. You're a total sap. It's adorable."

"You take that back," Billy demands, horrified. "I've never done anything adorable in my life."

"That's not true at all. You're the absolute cutest, B."

"Cutest? Oh my God, I take it back. I'm un-proposing," Billy says, reaching for Steve's hand. Steve snatches it away.

"Nope, too late, you're stuck with me forever," he says, drawing out the last word. It’s a joke, Billy knows it is, but he also hears the tiniest thread of anxiety in Steve’s tone. Billy looks at him for a moment.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, baby," he says quietly, smiling as he pulls Steve in close to kiss him.

They are absolutely late to their own engagement party, and Steve's perfect party hair is a distant memory by the time they finally arrive. They receive an enthusiastic, slightly tipsy round of applause from all of the people who matter the most to them when they walk into the restaurant. It's the best Valentine's Day either one of them has ever had.

#harringrove #harringrove heart on #my writing #fluff

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iluxia · 4 years

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Unsolicited writing advice???

A ton of you have commented with such kind and complimentary words about my Naruto fic Hiding in the Leaves and its characterization through the shifting POVs. Thank you all! I’m gratified to hear that you’re enjoying it. Some are asking how I shift perspectives and still manage to keep the characters in line. Actually, a fair number of readers have asked for actual advice, so here we go. This is a lot of writing babble, I hope it makes sense but feel free to drop me an ask if anything is unclear!

(1) I read a lot. I read all the time. Easily a book a day, maybe two days. And when I do, I practice critical reading—or as they say, reading like an editor, so I can pick at techniques other writers use. Writing is an art you learn largely by example. A lot of what I read influences what and how I write, so when I need to change my tone or voice to fit a different character, I usually read something that matches what I want my prose to sound like, on top of using techniques like changing tenses and playing with vocabulary choices.

I recently had the chance to flex these writing muscles because I went from writing two very distinct human voices (Tony Stark & Stephen Strange) to writing an alien voice (Loki). It was fucking hard; those in the Marvel fandom might know what I mean. Tony and Stephen are both human, born and raised in America, with specific life experiences that inform their daily decisions and personalities. Loki, on the other hand, is an alien: raised in Asgard, stolen from Jotunheim, well-traveled throughout the Nine Realms, and moreover raised as a prince. Just stop and think about that. When your characters do not have the same experiences that you do, they’re bound to not have the same earthbound concerns that you do. Anthropomorphizing non-human (or even non-living) beings is an age-old practice, but to be faithful to his character, I tried my best to twist my writing voice into a different shape—a shape that more befits the prince of a realm that is somewhat humanoid but very different from what we know on Earth. And in order to do that, I did four things:

I changed my prose from past to present tense; it sounds more immediate and assertive

I read three books, written in present tense, where the prose mimics what I imagine Loki would sound like in his own head

I made a huge spread of everything about Loki (both canon and my own orginal additions) that would inform his motivations, internal concerns, emotional responses, and decision-making processes

I drowned myself in Loki fanwork

Immersion is key! If you saturate your brain in a specific type of rhetoric or style, that’s what’s likeliest to come out of your productive process at the end. So controlling what you read/watch/listen to will help control your writing style too.

(2) This further breaks down what I just said in the third bullet point above. Before I start writing from a specific character’s perspective, I’ll take the time to brainstorm and build that character from the ground up. This might take a day or two and includes a staggering amount of detail—just as much detail as mine or your life might comprise. Silly little things like favorite colors and foods, hobbies, dislikes. Oftentimes, if you’re a fic writer, this is easier because canon gives it to you. Those amazing wiki-pages exist to make your life easier in this regard. (Bless.) What canon doesn’t give you is where you can dig in. Go deeper. Pin your character down. Think about more serious considerations like emotional triggers, conscious motivations, subconscious motivations, coping and defense mechanisms. When hurt or under stress, are they the type to lash out or curl in? Are they the type to hold on to a grudge, or do they prefer to forgive and forget? Do they get hurt easily or do they have a thick skin? I imagine the character’s relationships in life, I rank them and network them in my head. Who do they run to when they need advice? Who do they like hanging out with when they’re happy? Who annoys them, who inspires them, who scares them, who do they want to be like? Even if these questions aren’t necessarily things you might discuss in your fic, it helps inform this person you’re writing about, so it helps you keep a clearer and more consistent mental picture of them as you go.

But most critical of all, I sit and imagine myself in their shoes and think of how they perceive themselves. That is a major factor when writing, because that’s what their head-voice will sound like. And if the story is written from their perspective, then that means you, writer, are writing in that head-voice!

Here’s a more HITL-specific example (I’ll try not to spoil too much lol):

Sasuke

How he sees himself:

Ordinary; not very impressive as a shinobi, but not absolutely terrible either – just ordinary

Average looking

A slow, impatient learner

Awkward with people, but polite and with good intentions

Emotionally stable

A good reader and listener

How he actually is from someone else’s POV:

Incredibly skilled for his age and level as a shinobi

Actually quite handsome

An intuitive learner, very tenacious and will keep at a task forever until he gets it just right; perfectionist much

Quiet, polite, notices a lot about how others act

Absolutely does not handle emotions well

Selective listener; sometimes only hears what he wants to hear

Rationales:

He’s surrounded by a clan of perfectionists and overachievers who constantly laud his aniki for being a genius while paying him no attention. Of course he thinks he’s ordinary.

No one ever compliments him for his looks in the clan compound, and what he sees in the mirror looks just like a younger version of everyone around him. Of course he thinks he’s average, even though he actually has looks.

Because he’s largely self-taught (except for when Obaa-sama teaches him), he thinks he’s slow. (Ever learned a new skill or maybe even a new language by yourself? I have. I can tell you that my perception of how much time I spent learning ‘basics’ was skewed.) He also holds himself to a higher than normal standard because that’s what gets him positive attention (or attention at all) within his family. Add the fact that Itachi was there blazing through everything before him, and it’s suddenly easy to understand why Sasuke thinks the worst of himself as a student. But he (and Naruto) are actually fast learners—we see this even in canon—and both of them boast high levels of natural intuition, or as I (the neuroscientist) likes to call it, pattern recognition. Some people are naturally better at this than others; there have been extensive tests done to show it. But we also know intuition can be trained, so the more Sasuke works at something, the better he gets, and the faster he learns the next skill—as long as the learning is patterned. Which is why Orochimaru, who has picked up on this trait, walks them through learning each jutsu in a stepwise manner every time.

Sasuke doesn’t have a lot of social interaction outside of his family. The Uchiha clan in this fic is very segregated from the rest of the village, so if you’re not active as a shinobi, you probably don’t get out of the compound much. Interacting with people probably intimidates Sasuke a lot so he feels awkward about it and reverts back to habits of politeness and silence that he was taught from childhood. That doesn’t mean that he’s not paying attention, however; Sasuke is naturally observant and remembers a lot about how people act (and not so much what they say). I have a theory about this related to the Sharingan but I won’t go into too much here because it would be a straight-up spoiler, sorry. :D

He thinks he’s emotionally stable because he doesn’t remember many incidents of severe emotional upheaval in his life. That’s because he hasn’t had them; apart from the whole thing with Itachi, he’s been fairly sheltered his whole life. But he actually doesn’t handle emotions well—something he’s about to find out soon enough—and for the same reason! He hasn’t been exposed to an extensive range of it.

Because he’s largely self-taught, he has confidence in his reading skills. He also remembers all of Obaa-sama’s stories so he thinks he’s a good listener. Well, he is—to an extent. If he wants to listen, he will. If he doesn’t, he’s just as proficient as Naruto at pigheadedness. (I think it’s an Uchiha trait too lmao.)

That was a lot, right? But you can see that if I’m writing from Sasuke’s POV, I have to keep a different set of pointers than if I’m writing from Naruto’s POV about Sasuke. The way I think of it is like changing lenses or shades depending on the light outside.

A few more techniques/guidelines I use:

Stay consistent with vocabulary. Orochimaru is far more verbose than the rest of them, Shikamaru right behind him, and Naruto uses shorter, simpler words. You can even assign particular words to a character, a word only they would use when referring to something. This applies to how your character addresses other people too, i.e. Orochimaru calls them ‘little ones’; Shikamaru calls his dad ‘oyaji’ in front of his peers but ‘otou-san’ in front of his sensei; Naruto is quick to give people nicknames and most of the time it sticks.

Watch the adjectives; different people describe things differently. Orochimaru uses more nuanced words that can mean different things depending on the situation and mood; Naruto thinks in terms of emotions, a lot of how does this make me feel; Sasuke is very visual and notices a lot of colors.

Use speech habits wisely; how your character talks should reflect their life. Just like accents, speech habits can tell a lot about a person. Sasuke always speaks politely because it’s how he’s supposed to talk at home, otherwise there’d be trouble. Naruto grew up in a poorer district and had no one to really teach him how to talk politely, so he’s very casual. Shikamaru cusses at age eleven because his parents and family are incredibly laissez-faire and honest around him, so he thinks it’s acceptable and normal (and he was never reprimanded for it).

Play with your tenses. Writing in past tense sounds and feels very different from writing in present tense. Depending on your character, one or the other might sound more appropriate. There are some expressions and figures of speech that sound fine when written in past tense but awkward when written in present tense, so that will end up inadvertently changing your prose a bit, which can be useful.

Read your work out loud. Cardinal rule of prose-writing. What looks good on paper doesn’t always sound good when read out loud. If you read it and it doesn’t sound like how your character talks, time for a vibe check. You might need to change a few words and move sentences around, or you might need a complete overhaul… an editor (and I mean an editor, not just a beta-reader) can usually help you out.

A note about editors vs beta-readers:

There is a cardinal difference! A beta-reader is usually not professionally trained but should be experienced enough to point out things that aren’t right. In fandom, I’ve found that beta-readers mostly focus on a story’s general feel, flow and readability, sometimes character consistency, sometimes they point out typos and mistakes. An editor goes further than that. I’m fortunate to have Tria (aventria) who has edited my work for, gosh, 14 years now, fuck, we’re old! I call her my editor because when she goes through a piece, she will fix everything and make my draft bleed and I love it. (I actually get a little upset when she doesn’t fix anything, even if that means everything was good.) As an editor, she does a vibe check and looks for typos/errors, yes, but she also critiques the prose extensively. She can rearrange phrases or entire paragraphs for better flow. She will cut out entire scenes or make me rewrite them if they’re that bad. Like a copy editor, she looks at stylistic inconsistencies, grammar errors, and iffy word use. She’ll usually suggest or replace the offending word altogether. She has a lot of freedom with the work and can actually kick a piece to the curb if it’s really that shitty. She also questions plot progression, character development, and the relevance of a scene. (She’s made me cut out many, many scenes.) – That all being said, it’s not easy finding an editor, much less a good one. It also has to be someone you trust to have this much power over your work. It’s worth it, however, and my writing has gotten so much better because of the help.

If you’ve read this far, wow, thanks! You’re also probably thinking, “Shit, she takes this too seriously. It’s just a fic.”

I have… gotten into fights in the past before because of this. I feel strongly about the stuff I write. Just because it’s fanfiction doesn’t mean it isn’t a labor of love. I’m a perfectionist by nature, so that’s why I put so much time and effort into what amounts to ‘just a fic.’ And you know what? At the end of the day, writing it gives me satisfaction and happiness, so I will keep pouring into it as much as I can. It’s just a bonus to hear that other people are enjoying it too. (Yes, I’m one of those weirdos who intensely enjoy reading my own work…)

Aaand the final point:

(3) I double-majored in psychology for undergrad and have by now accumulated thousands of hours of clinical hours spent using the theories and techniques I learned from those classes on real people. I’m also specializing in neuroscience, so a portion of my time is spent in psychiatry. Characterization was actually not one of my writing strengths at first, but I definitely noticed leaps in improvement after my clinical rotation started. People skills are just that: skills which are honed with practice. It’s amazing how much you learn about how people think and what make them tick when you interact with a whole spectrum of examples: from your neurotypical everyday well-adjusted person, to high-functioning neurotics and obsessives, to patients who have suffered complex stroke syndromes, to encephalitic brains burning under septic fevers, to druggies stoned so high they’ve breached the atmosphere, to patients whose brains are growing insidious tumors, to schizophrenics and catatonics and the depressed. My job also allows me the rare opportunity to interact with people from all walks of life. All I need to do if I wanted insight about how life is for soldiers who served in an active warzone, for example, is to hit up Bill at the ICU and ask for stories about Korea and the Gulf and Vietnam. Or if I wanted to know about how to survive the Rwandan genocide, I could sit down with Amida, who survived it as a barely-teenager with her brother and sister in tow while only “losing my innocence and an eye.” Or I could talk to Heather, who is building a life with her husband and two rambunctious children, for a perspective on the daily concerns and delights of a ‘perfectly normal and ordinary’ working mother. (Her words, not mine; Heather is amazing even if she eats the doctor’s lounge out of Tita Annabel’s cookies.) Anyway, you get my point. When I write, I almost always write about people, so it makes sense that a lot of my inspiration comes from people too. A lot of my original characters—and even some that are not—often speak with the voices and inflections of people I know in real life. You probably have people with interesting stories to tell in your life; you just have to work up the courage to ask and take the time to listen. You’d be surprised at what you learn!

A few helpful writing resources: (most of these are classics)

The Elements of Style by Strunk & White

The First Five Pages by Noah Lukeman

How to Read a Book by Mortimer Adler and Charles van Doren

And more books that helped me get into people’s heads:

Hallucinations by Dr. Oliver Sacks

The Noonday Demon by Andrew Solomon

Far From the Tree by Andrew Solomon

The Lucifer Effect by Philip Zimbardo

Admirable Evasions by Theodore Dalrymple

I hope you got something out of that. Again, feel free to drop me an ask if you have any questions or want to chat!

#fanfic #on writing #fandom: naruto #answers

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every1studio · 5 years

Text

SERIES: “stages of love: attraction” [ateez: seonghwa]

genre: fluff + slight angst

ficstyle: bulletpoints + series [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [END]

prompt: inspired by “Day 1″ by K.Will

note: this is a continuation of stages of falling in love with ATEEZ; each fic will be about another member so if you want a permanent happy ending by the end of this series... this is not the series for you ),:

you couldn’t stop thinking about your encounter with that random guy at the bar as you were walking around campus trying to find a new place to get coffee

since going to your usual spot would have a higher chance of meeting Hongjoong and/or Aurora

you noticed how much you were thinking about it when you saw those two

there were a block away from you and they haven’t seen you yet

they were in that honeymoon phase you always wrote about but seeing them in that phase made you sick

you frantically tried to find a place to hide

you didn’t want to “bump” into them and hold a conversation

as they got closer, all you could think of was to use your guitar as a shield

but you felt someone pull you into a shop and you had no choice but to hold your breath and be quiet since Hongjoong and Aurora were passing by the shop

the person’s chest was beating a little faster than average and it was making you super nervous

when the couple was out of sight, you lightly shoved the person off of you, thinking that he was a creep and hurriedly tried to open the door of the shop

but you felt a hand wrap around your wrist

“wait!”

you looked up and it was him!

it was the guy at the bars!

he quickly let go as he made eye contact with you

he turned his body so that he would hide his reddened face from you, “I.. um.. noticed that you were trying to hide.. and although it was a cute effort, you weren’t going to hide from anyone like that...”

now your face was red, but from embarrassment

“well... thank you..”

you turn to leave the shop again, wanting to leave due to embarrassment, “I’m Seonghwa... Park Seonghwa...”

why did he want to talk to you so much? is he a naturally chatty person?

he didn’t seem like a bad guy, in fact, he was a VERY good looking guy

“I’m Y/N..”

Seonghwa wipes his hands on the side of his pants, making sure that you don’t feel how clammy his hands are

“um.. would you like to join me? I’m just studying... well me plus a friend..” he points over to his friend waving back to Seonghwa

you looked around the shop for a bit before answering

big windows with beautiful scenery? check

large selection of coffee and cafe specialties? check

had lots of background noises and faint cafe music? check

wifi? check

you smiled and nodded as Seonghwa smiles widely

he leads you to the table and gives his friend a secret thumbs up

Seonghwa introduces you to his friend and gives his friend some time be a wingman for him as he goes and gets you coffee

“what do you think about Seonghwa?” his friend asks as he leans into his cupped hand, as if you he was ready for some casual girl talk

“I mean I just met him... he seems like a nice guy...”

“nice guy huh?”

you thought it was weird that his friend repeated that part of your sentence but you just nodded and brought out your notebook

you were planning to people watch and write lyrics

being accompanied by some flower-looking boys was something you weren’t used to

Seonghwa came back with a latte and two americanos

“I know you said you didn’t care what kind of drink you got.... but I thought you’d like a latte”

“what if I liked americanos?” you asked calmly

he became frantic, “then you can absolutely have mine!”

you burst out a smile and shook your head, “I was just kidding, I’ll take the latte”

seeing Seonghwa hold his chest to exhale was a cute sight to see

the WHOLE TIME, Seonghwa asked you questions about yourself, like; what got you into music? or what is your biggest inspiration?

he’d throw in a couple of questions regarding your dating status and what you were looking for (in a guy)

you felt bad for his friend; it was like he was third-wheeling

so when you asked him a question, Seonghwa would sulk a little

you tend to notice the little things so this was another cute sight to engrave in your head

Seonghwa made you completely forget about Hongjoong as he did heart fluttering things

fixing your hair

picking dust from your clothes

and as you were talking about how the fundamentals of investing a vocabulary list was important, he reaches over to wipe some foam from your lips with his thumb

you froze there for a bit before continuing the lecture

this time, Seonghwa was taking in how cute you were

your short time with Seonghwa made you like him

was it so quick to say that when you were just fawning over Hongjoong?

it was like that until the shop was closing up

you didn’t notice how late it was

Seonghwa insisted on walking you home

his friend told him that he’ll head back to the dorms first and left

Seonghwa continued to talk to you, making you giggle

he noticed how you were fairly shy, so he took it upon himself to make his stories longer so that you would listen instead of responding every other question

you told him where you lived and it was pretty far from the cafe

so he asked to carry your guitar case and wouldn’t leave even if you insist that you could carry it

he switched it with his jacket and placed it over your shoulders

“you’ll get a cold,” he smiles through his chattering teeth

you snorted at his body language, “are you sure?”

he closes his eyes and nods like a kid

Seonghwa reaches over to hold your hand, “see? I’m warm enough”

you were getting warm enough that you wanted to give him his jacket back

but the whole way home, he never let go

“um.. this is my place..”

he whistles as he looks at the apartment complex and hands you back your guitar, “I tried to get this place last year but all the rooms were taken..”

“yeah it’s a nice place...”

at this point, you both were just giving an excuse not to be the first one to leave

but you had to get up early the next day, so you had to break the chain

“I gotta get up early tomorro-”

Seonghwa leans down to give you a peck on your cheek, “text me once you get inside?”

“oh-uh yeah..” you nodded trying not to make eye contact with him

you texted Seonghwa right when you got in

should you have waited a little bit? you thought after sending the text

- now that you’re safe and sound, I can rest better tonight (:

- you’re exaggerating, well good night

- sweet dreams, y/n (:

you felt like the main protagonist of a typical high school romantic movie; it sent you straight to la la land

days became weeks, you constantly met up with Seonghwa

at first, he brought his friend along with him

but as you and Seonghwa got closer, he stopped bringing him

one day, Seonghwa asked you if you were free for the whole day

usually you were only with him for a lunch or dinner date or got coffee; never one whole day

you dressed up nicer than usual; a white dress that wasn’t skin tight but form fitting that was long-sleeves but off the shoulders

your makeup was inspired by white nectarines

and you accessorized with dainty gold rings, a pair of tear drop earrings and some comfortable nude platform shoes

the first thing Seonghwa said to you was, “Y/N.. you look absolutely breath-taking..”

you blushed as you nudged him, “you’re always exaggerating..”

he gets closer to you and hands you a bundle of flowers, “breath-taking like these baby breaths..”

you couldn’t help but smile at his cheesiness

“thank you..” you said softly

“don’t thank me yet, sweetheart, “ he put out his hand for you to take

he had the whole day planned out

first, you went to a music store; where you found out he knew how to play the piano and accompanied you as you picked up a guitar

across the music store was a fancy luncheon place

you would never step into that place as a broke college student

you felt bad so you told him to split the bill

but mid-meal in, he got up to go to the “bathroom” and came back saying that he paid the bill

you were sulking the rest of the lunch until he reached over to give you a piece of his medium rare steak

you took exhaled sharply as you pouted, “you can use food to win me over”

taking that as a challenge, Seonghwa leaned over to kiss you on the lips and then proceeds to feed you

you could help but be a blushing mess

when you two left the lunch, he clings onto your arm

“are you still mad at me??”

before you continued, your eyes had fallen onto someone you forgot about up until this point

“oh hey Y/N!” Hongjoong waves at you

“h-hey..” your hands suddenly went clammy

Seonghwa was also getting fairly uncomfortable at the sight of this guy

“how’ve you been? it’s been a while..” Hongjoong tries to make conversation with you

“good... how are you and Aurora?”

Hongjoong shoves his hands in his pockets, “we broke up..”

“..oh. I’m sorry...”

there was an awkward silence and Seonghwa decides to intervene, “I’m Y/N’s boyfriend..”

he had got both you and Hongjoong’s attention

Hongjoong looks at you then back at Seonghwa, “you’re a great person.. what was I thinking that you’d still be single.. didn’t think you would be with someone like him though...”

you couldn’t believe that he even said those words but Seonghwa got mad before you even did

he poked at Hongjoong’s chest, “Y/N isn’t some rebound, alright? she deserves the best and you would never be able to give her that. she’s not for you to take...”

these guys definitely know each other but you couldn’t pinpoint it; they didn’t seem close

he tightly held your hand and left the area

he stopped in front of the waterfront park

“my boyfriend huh?” was all you could ask after that whole incident

“I crossed the line, did I?” Seonghwa let go of your hand and grabbed his arm with it

you shook your head but his head was lowered; eyes were on the ground

you gently used his shoulders as leverage to get up onto your tippy toes so that you could kiss on his plump lips

Seonghwa looked at you wide-eyed, he always had to initiate the skinship and he never went as far as to kiss your lips

“I guess that makes two of us..”

he gently caresses your face before kissing you

it was like the whole world stopped for the both of you

“can we call this our Day 1?” you asked with sparkly eyes

and all Seonghwa could do was smile and nod

both of you had hit realization

before you knew it, the starry skies were out and Seonghwa made it a routine to walk you home

“need me to walk you to your bedroom too?” he was getting cheeky and you jokingly shoved him

“save it, mister”

he chuckles as he leans down to give you a good-night kiss

“text me-”

“once I get inside. I got it,” you smiled at him and gave him a little salute

he pinches your cheek and gestures his head to the door

once Seonghwa got home, was when he received a text

but it wasn’t from you

once you got home, you forgot that you had homework to do so you went straight into study mode

the text that Seonghwa received was from Aurora, asking him if he still wanted to get back with her

his friend peered over Seonghwa’s shoulder and asked, “are you gonna respond?”

Seonghwa shook his head but he kept on reading the text over and over

“this thing you have with Y/N.. you told me you were just using her to get Aurora back...” his friend said as he laid down on the couch and started to toss a ball up into the air and catching it

“the thing is.. I think I actually like Y/N...I think I fell for her.. hard”

his friend stopped tossing the ball and gripped onto it tightly

“she deserves to know the truth... you know she doesn’t deserve this..”

Seonghwa ruffles his hair in frustration, “I just know.. the moment I do... she’ll leave me...I know she deserves better... but can I just be a little selfish”

without another word, his friend leaves the room quite angrily and slams the door to his room quite loudly

but why was his friend so frustrated at this situation?

WHO IS THIS FRIEND AND WHAT’S HIS DEAL WITH THIS SITUATION?

[ masterlist + guidelines ]

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pikapeppa · 5 years

Text

FenHawke and Cullavellan pirate AU: Silver Lining

Chapter 27 of Where The Winds Of Fortune Take Me is up on AO3!

In which there is a HINT of plot, and some more Fenris/Rynne Hawke smut, because I’m trash. Also, in which @schoute spoils us with TWO pieces of art, one of which you’ll have to go to the chapter to see in full... 😏❤️❤️❤️

Read on AO3 instead! ~6100 words.

- FENRIS -

Light was filtering through Fenris’s closed eyelids. He took a deep, slow breath, and his back pressed into something warm. Someone warm.

Crowded quarters – other slaves’ dirty bodies pressing close as they tried to sleep – stench of sweat and fear and sour vomit – A bolt of panic forced his eyes open.

He scrabbled at the arm that was draped over his waist, but before he could throw it off, he realized where he was and who was pressed against him. At the same moment, she spoke in a husky, sleep-laced voice.

“Fenris?” She shifted against his back, and he released the breath he’d been holding. It was just Hawke. It was just her arm around his waist and her lips now pressing against his scarred skin.

He closed his eyes and breathed carefully while he waited for his heart to slow. Hawke stretched behind him, and then her hands were sliding down his back.

Her fingers stroked the base of his spine before trailing slowly up toward his shoulder blades, and Fenris smiled. She really was incapable of keeping her hands to herself.

He rolled over so he was facing her. “Hawke,” he murmured.

“Top of the morning, sailor,” she said. She smiled and gently pinched his chin.

Her eyelids were heavy with sleep, and Fenris silently studied her beautiful face. Four mornings they’d woken up together now, and this was the first one where he actually felt rested. He may have had a moment of disorientation at first, but he hadn’t yelled at her or pushed her away.

It was better than the night before. He was getting better.

He reached out and ran his hand over her hip. She was naked beneath the plain cotton sheet, and Fenris hooked his arm around her waist to pull her closer.

Her smile broadened, and she pressed her palm to his bare chest. “Good morning to you, too,” she said.

He smiled faintly at her. Her voice was a roughened early-morning purr, and her exploring fingers were moving slowly down his chest, and Fenris held his breath as the tips of her fingers trailed over his navel and below.

She curved her palm over the bulge in his breeches. “My my, this is a very sturdy mainmast indeed.”

He released a slow and steady breath. “I would hope any mainmast you see is sturdy,” he deadpanned. “Otherwise the ship is not seaworthy.” He flexed his hips to meet the heat of her hand.

“Hmm,” she murmured. “I wonder if the sails are tightly trimmed.” She ran her palm slowly along his shaft, lifting a slow wave of lust through his abdomen.

He raised an eyebrow. “That… that doesn’t make sense here.” Then he inhaled sharply; her fingers were creeping into the waistband of his breeches.

She wrapped her fingers around his cock and squeezed, and his eyelids fluttered shut with pleasure. A few blissful strokes later, when Fenris could hear his own breathing through his parted lips, Hawke spoke again in a playful tone. “Well then, I hope the rigging is, um… properly rigged.” She grinned at him, then started laughing.

He exhaled shakily, then smirked at her and pulled her hand out of his breeches. “Was this your attempt to impress me with your vocabulary?” He rolled onto his back and started unlacing his breeches.

“Something like that,” she giggled. “Is it working? Are you impressed?”

“Not at all,” he said. He pushed his breeches down and took hold of her arm. “Come here.”

She beamed at him as she straddled his hips. “Ooh, you’re taking the helm, are you? Will you be sending me straight to the crow’s nest?”

“Shut up, Hawke,” he drawled. He pulled her hips toward him and carefully parted the curls between her legs.

The catching of her breath lit a thrill in his already-buzzing belly. He licked his fingers, then slipped them between her legs to stroke her cleft.

She was wet already. Fenris carefully spread the dampness over her folds, and when she was thrusting her hips to meet his hand, he moved his thumb up to stroke her swollen little bud.

She gasped and braced her hands on his thighs. “Fenris,” she whined. She rocked her hips toward his thumb, sliding her slick heat over his shaft in the process, and it wasn’t long before his breathing was as erratic as hers.

A little sob of pleasure escaped her throat. “Fenris, I want – can you fuck me and touch me at the same time?” she begged. “I don’t know if – can you–?”

“Yes,” he breathed. He repositioned her hips, then slowly and carefully, he pulled her down onto his length.

His breath escaped through his teeth in a pleasured hiss. She was so warm and slick as she took him deep, and when she settled herself fully on his lap, he burst out a gasp of ecstasy at the perfect tightness of her body’s embrace.

She immediately started grinding her hips to his, but Fenris placed a bracing palm on her belly. “Be still, Hawke,” he groaned. “Stay still. Let me…” He reached between her legs once more.

She panted fitfully as he caressed her clit, and Fenris watched avidly until she was holding her breath. Her fingers were clutching his hand that was on her belly, and he breathed slowly to control his pleasure as he watched her nearing her own, her lips parting and her face twisting with rapture as her climax surged closer–

Someone pounded on the door, and Fenris’s heart seized in alarm.

“Fenris,” Dorian yelled. At that moment, Hawke came undone.

She jammed her fist against her mouth to stifle her own cries, and Fenris gritted his teeth as the pulsing of her enraptured body unwittingly pushed his pleasure higher. Dorian, meanwhile, was obliviously talking outside the door. “Piper wants us in her quarters in two minutes. She says the last one to arrive will get a cockroach in their coffee. I don’t know about you, but I’m not looking for that exotic Afsaana flavour in mine.” Then, thankfully, his footsteps moved away.

Venhedis fasta vass, Fenris thought furiously. Hawke was trembling from the end of her climax, and somehow he was still hard despite his racing heart, and… kaffas and curses, he had to leave for that blasted officers’ meeting.

Hawke shifted sinuously on top of him, and he groaned. “Hawke,” he begged. “I… I can’t…”

“I know,” she breathed. “Just another minute.” Her seductive hips continued to roll against him with all the lovely rhythm of an ocean wave, and Fenris ceded to her exquisite body for a minute. Just one more minute – a glorious, heated, mind-numbing minute…

There was another knock at the door, and this time it was accompanied by Varric’s voice. “Hey elf,” he called, “Piper is–”

“I’m on my way,” Fenris barked. Then Hawke cut him off with a hard kiss.

She clasped his neck and moaned into his mouth, but he still heard Varric’s reply. “Heh. I thought romance made people less grumpy. Guess I’ll have to change my book.” Varric’s footsteps faded away.

Hawke broke their kiss and started laughing silently against Fenris’s cheek. He dragged in a few desperate breaths, then pinched her waist until she squeaked. “I’m pleased that one of us is amused,” he said snarkily, and he shifted her off of his lap.

“I’m not laughing at you,” she gasped, and she fell about laughing again. “I’m just – oh, Fenris. I’m so sorry.”

“It is not your fault,” he grunted. He pulled his breeches over his pulsing cock, then hastily grabbed a tunic from the chest in the corner and pulled it over his head as quickly as he could despite his wounded side, careful all the while not to look at Hawke’s infinitely tempting naked body sprawled across his bed.

“Don’t forget to get some elfroot tea,” she giggled. “For the wound–”

“Yes, I know,” he said distractedly. He strode toward the door, then briefly glanced at her before he left. She was lounging on her belly with a grin on her lips and a tuft of dark messy hair half-covering her face, and she was the most appealing thing he’d ever seen.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she purred.

He dragged a hand through his hair. “I will hold you to that,” he said, and he left his cabin before her bright mischievous grin could tempt him to stay.

He stalked toward Piper’s cabin, then gave the door a cursory knock before pushing it open. He strode over to the table, noting vaguely that Merrill was also present, then bad-temperedly dropped into his usual seat across from Dorian.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Someone woke up late and cranky. You shouldn’t frown so much, Fenris, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

Fenris glared at him. “Vishante kaffas. Keep your unwanted beauty advice.”

Dorian chuckled unrepentantly. Then Piper rapped her knuckles on the table. “Hey,” she snapped. She pointed at Dorian. “You. Be nice to the grump. And you.” She pointed at Fenris, then folded her arms. “Cheer the fuck up. And next time you want to not be disturbed, tie a kerchief on the doorknob. That’s common knowledge, Fen.”

Fenris glared at Piper instead, but she only raised an eyebrow. Dorian, meanwhile, clapped his hands. “Ah, of course! Morning glory, how splendid. It all makes sense now.”

Varric shook his head in amusement, and Fenris scowled at the table while silently cursing his burning ears. Cullen, meanwhile, cleared his throat delicately. “Should we, er, carry on with this meeting…?”

“Yes,” Piper said. She opened her arms grandly. “By my power as the grand and glorious captain aboard this here vessel, I declare this meeting of the Lady Luck’s officers officially begun!”

Dorian turned to look at her incredulously, and Varric raised an eyebrow. Cullen, meanwhile, blinked in surprise. “Is that how you usually start these meetings?”

“No,” she said breezily. She grinned at him and plopped down in her chair at the head of the table. “That was for your benefit, Golden Boy. A little pomp and circumstance to ease you into our casual ways.”

“Ah,” Cullen said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Er, thank you, I suppose.”

Fenris grunted. “Don’t encourage her. She’ll only continue with even more terrible antics.”

Piper selected a peanut from the dish on the table and flicked it at his head. “All right, boys and girl,” she said with a gracious nod to Merrill, who was sitting next to her. “Let’s get to it. We’ve got a lot to discuss. Merrill and I have an idea, and it’s a pretty bold one. I’m going to let her take the lead in explaining it.”

Merrill smiled at Piper, then stood up and looked at them all with wide eyes. “I’ve been doing some research,” she said eagerly. “Finding books during our travels and artifacts during our trips outside of town, like the camping trip I took with Fenris and Hawke – thank you for having me on that trip, Fenris, it was very educational–”

He waved a dismissive hand. “No need for thanks. You were there to guide us, as you’ll recall.”

She beamed at him, then placed her fingers delicately on the tabletop. “I think I’ve discovered something grand. Something potentially lucrative, as well, since I know it’s been some time since our last raid.” She looked at Varric.

He winked at her. “Hearing you loud and clear, Daisy.”

She smiled, then pulled a large scroll of parchment out of her apron pocket. She rolled the scroll out on the table, and Fenris instantly recognized it from their Sundermount trip.

Sure enough, Merrill began to explain its origin to them. “This is a rubbing I took from a cave in Sundermount. It’s ancient Elvhen, unfortunately, so you won’t be able to read it, but this is what I wanted to point out.” She pointed to a somewhat blurry-looking character toward the middle of the page. “This says Vir’Tualthalan. In Elvhen, it means ‘The Way of Renewal’.”

Dorian looked up with a grin. “You mean the Fountain of Youth.”

Merrill nodded. “That’s another term for it, yes.”

Dorian chuckled and elbowed Varric. Fenris, on the other hand, was unamused. He raised an eyebrow at her and sat back in his chair. “That is just a story. A legend told by the greedy and the idle.”

“Hey,” Piper said playfully. “Watch who you’re calling greedy and idle.”

Fenris shot her a sardonic look and folded his arms. “The Fountain of Youth is not real.”

Merrill nodded earnestly. “It may not really be a magic fountain, no. But according to the rubbings I found, there is something there that was important in the times of the ancient elves.” She widened her eyes even further, as though that would convince him. “There was something there to start the legends, don’t you see? Whether it was a magical home of the gods or a temple dedicated to their worship, there was something there.” She straightened and lifted her chin. “And I – Piper and I – we would like to go exploring there and find out what it is.”

Cullen stroked his chin slowly, then turned to Piper. “This is the adventure you were proposing?”

She nodded. “It is, yes. I will say outright that this is what I want to do next. But only if everyone is in agreement.” She looked directly at Fenris.

He frowned. Why was she looking at him? Before he could ask, Varric spoke to Piper. “Interesting that you’re not vetoing it, then, if you want to go that badly.”

Piper snorted in amusement. “Since I’m usually such a tyrant, right?”

Varric smirked at her. “You know what I mean, Cap. If you wanted to go looking for the Fountain of Youth, you know we’d have your back. What’s different this time?”

Dorian stroked his mustache slowly. “Yes, what is different this time?”

Piper raised her eyebrows at Merrill, and Merrill took a deep breath before speaking. “The Vir’Tualthalan is in the Arlathan Forest.”

Fenris instantly spotted the problem. “No,” he said.

Merrill held out a placating hand. “Fenris, before you say no–”

“I already said it,” he said. “That forest shares a border with the Imperium.”

“I know,” Merrill said hurriedly, “but the Arlathan Forest itself is a neutral zone.”

Fenris waved off her words. “It is unclaimed territory, not a neutral zone. That is not the same thing.” He could hear the hardness in his own voice, but he couldn’t help it. Merrill and Piper were proposing to sail back toward the mouth of Tevinter, and they thought he would agree to this?

“Actually,” Merrill said breathlessly, “it is a neutral zone.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows in surprise as she pulled more papers out of her apron pocket. “I looked around in the bookshop in Afsaana, and I went to the law office with Kaaras, and I found – Elgar’nan, you wouldn’t believe the strange laws I found there! There was a copy of one old Kirkwall law about how many chickens are allowed to travel on a single rowboat for a distance of–”

Piper cleared her throat. “Merrill?”

Merrill tittered. “Right, yes, I’m babbling. Um, I – I found a legal document from thirty-two years ago, signed between the Tevinter Imperium and the qunari’s Arishok.” She smoothed one particular page out on the table and looked around at them all once more. “It states that the Arlathan Forest is a political neutral zone. I transcribed a copy.” She pointed at the page. “It says right here: ‘no man or qunari shall set a claim in the Forest of Arlathan, nor establish habitations for longer than two nights for urgent situations only, after which he will be forced to–’”

Dorian sighed. “All right, we get the point, legalities and so on.”

“I want to hear it,” Fenris said fiercely.

“I would too, actually,” Cullen interrupted. He smiled sheepishly at Piper, who smiled fondly back at him.

Merrill nodded eagerly, then continued to read. “‘...after which he will be forced to vacate the territory, staking no claim and bearing no ownership over any part of the land or any items found therein. This agreement binds all men of the Tevinter Imperium and all agents of the Qun until renegotiated between the Emperor of Tevinter and the Arishok of the Qunandar.’” She stopped and looked at them expectantly.

Fenris frowned. “That’s it?”

“Yes,” Merrill said brightly.

Fenris frowned more deeply, and Cullen verbalized his thoughts. “That can’t be all. There is no end date to that contract.”

“Exactly,” Merrill said excitedly. “That means it’s still in effect!”

Fenris folded his arms. “If it’s undated, it might be a false document.”

Merrill shook her head. “It was verified. Kaaras witnessed it,” she said. “You can ask him if you don’t believe me.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. Merrill knew full well that Kaaras was the one other crew member not in this room that he would trust about something like this.

Very strategic, he thought suspiciously. It seemed almost as though she’d put together this entire proposal to sway him specifically.

Thankfully, Cullen was also skeptical. “Even if the document was verified, that strikes me as extremely odd that there was no end date,” he said. “I have never encountered a contract without a date for renegotiation.” He looked at Dorian. “Is that common in Tevinter?”

“No, actually,” Dorian said. “We Tevinters may sacrifice goats to the Old Gods in order to climb the social ladder over our neighbours’ sons, but we also like end dates on our contracts just like any other civilized country.”

Varric grinned at him. “You don’t actually sacrifice goats, do you?”

“No,” Dorian said casually. “Funny story, though–”

Fenris interrupted them. “So this contract states that the Arlathan Forest is a neutral zone. What is your point?”

“Don’t you see?” Merrill said brightly. “It’s a safe place. Tevinters can’t enter it!”

“Just because they are legally forbidden doesn’t mean they won’t,” Fenris retorted.

“But they don’t!” she exclaimed. “They don’t go there, Fenris. I looked at the historical records at the legal office, and we spoke to the friendlier tal-vashoth in the town, and everything I’ve found indicates that both the qunari and the Tevinter Imperium respect this contract.” She hugged the papers to her chest and gazed at him pleadingly. “People don’t go to the Arlathan Forest, Fenris. It’s uncharted territory. I haven’t even been able to find accurate maps of the forest. It’s… it’s marvelous.”

Cullen grimaced. “It sounds dangerous.”

“Yes, it does,” Fenris said. “Recklessly so.” He was increasingly grateful that Cullen was here. At least someone else in this room had a modicum of self-preservation.

Piper spoke up. “Dangerous indeed. Exciting, right?” She shot Cullen a debonair grin.

“No,” Fenris said flatly. “It is just dangerous. Tevinter on one side, the qunari guarding the mouth of the canal–”

Piper leaned forward in her chair. “The qunari won’t touch us if we don’t antagonize them. They’re too busy warring with Tevinter.”

Fenris pointed accusingly at her. “I swore I would never go back to Tevinter,” he said forcefully. “That place is a cesspool of slavery and murder!”

Dorian tutted. “Ah, we’re not all bad.”

Fenris scowled at him. “You are not. Your countrymen, on the other hand–”

Merrill cut him off. “It’s not the Imperium, Fenris,” she said calmly. “It’s the Arlathan Forest. It’s completely different.”

He gazed at her in rising frustration. “How can you know that? How can you be so sure that a land directly adjacent to Tevinter is safer than Tevinter?”

“Because it’s ours,” Merrill said insistently. “The Arlathan Forest is ours, Fenris. It’s one of the ancestral homes of our people. Why do you think the Tevinters and the qunari won’t go there? There’s something there protecting it, that’s why!”

At this, Piper grimaced and tugged one of her braids, and in Fenris’s opinion, the gesture was very telling. If this was the point of the plan where even Piper was skeptical, then it was foolhardy in the extreme.

He folded his arms and pinned Merrill with a sarcastic stare. “Ah. Of course. Elvhen magic or gods or something of the like is protecting the forest. That is your explanation?”

“That’s what I think, yes,” Merrill said firmly. “But that’s not why Piper wants to go.”

Fenris turned to Piper. “And why do you want to go?” he demanded.

“Because it’s an adventure, of course,” Piper said. “A new place we’ve never been before, that possibly no one has been in decades. And if we’re being pragmatic, there’s the potential for loot, which is very high. You all know how much I love booty.” She winked at Cullen, who promptly flushed.

Fenris gave her a chiding look, but she simply smiled in that obnoxiously confident shit-eating way of hers. Annoyed, he looked at Varric and waved at the documents on the table. “What do you think of this?”

Varric shrugged affably. “I’m just along for the ride. If the captain wants to go, and she and Daisy think it’s safe… eh, why not.”

Fenris frowned, then jerked his chin at Dorian. “And you?”

Dorian shrugged as well. “I’m as partial to booty as the next man. Or woman,” he added with a polite nod to Piper, who did a little dramatic bow from her chair.

Fenris snorted. “Of course you are.” He looked at Cullen. “You have your doubts, however.”

He sighed. “I do,” he said. He gave Piper an apologetic look. “This is… this strikes me as needlessly risky, Piper.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I will confess I have never gone somewhere uncharted before. I don’t see how we can safeguard against the risks if we don’t know what we are facing.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand. “‘Uncharted’ is just another way of saying ‘ripe for discovery’. Even Fen can admit that going to new and unknown places is part and parcel of the pirate life.” She shot Fenris a challenging look.

He shrugged bad-temperedly. On that front, she wasn’t wrong.

Cullen studied the papers on the table for another moment. Then he squeezed Piper’s fingers and nodded. “All right. If this is how things are done, then… then I am willing to try it.”

Fenris frowned. Piper released Cullen’s hand, then leaned back in her chair and kicked her dirty bare feet up on the table. “Fenris, it’s down to you. But listen: the Arlathan Forest is not Tevinter, all right? And we’ll all be going there together. Part of the ship, part of the crew.”

Her voice was brisk and businesslike, but there was a certain softness to her hazel eyes that annoyed him for some reason. He frowned at his lap and plucked at the red ribbon on his wrist, irritated at being put on the spot.

For a few awkward seconds, no one spoke. Then there was a knock at the door.

Piper looked up. “Come in,” she called.

The door opened, and Fenris’s heart did a little flip. It was Hawke, and she had a cup and saucer in her hands.

“Morning, everyone!” she chirped. “Sorry to interrupt, I’ll be in and out so quickly you won’t even realize I’m here…” She hurried over to the table, and to Fenris’s surprise, she placed the cup and saucer on the table in front of him.

He blinked. “What–?”

“It’s elfroot tea,” she said. “You forgot.” She winked at him.

“Ah,” he said blankly. “I… thank you.” He picked up the cup.

She stroked the back of his neck affectionately, and the gesture sent a shiver of contentment down his spine. Then she perked up as she looked at the table. “Oh, is this the rubbing we took from Sundermount?” she asked Merrill excitedly.

“Yes!” Merrill chirped. “We were just discussing if we’re going to go to the Vir’Tual– er, the Fountain of Youth.”

“Really?” Hawke gasped. “That was an actual option? I thought you were just telling me stories.”

“It is just a story,” Fenris protested.

Merrill’s shoulders drooped slightly. “But I already told you, there must be something there that started the stories.” She sounded faintly exasperated now, and Fenris shot her an exasperated look in kind.

Then Hawke spoke up. “I would love to see an ancient elven ruin,” she said with relish. “I mean, I would love to see everything since I’ve barely seen, well, anything, but can you imagine how exciting it would be to find a lost temple in the middle of the forest? Exploring an untouched forest on an epic adventure?” She clapped her hands and beamed at everyone.

Then her face fell. “Oh fuck. I’m interrupting.”

Piper folded her hands behind her head. “Technically yes, you are.”

Hawke’s cheek’s started to pinken. “Fuck. Maker’s balls. I mean – my apologies, Captain, officers, everyone.” She did a little curtsy, then looked at Fenris. “Drink that up, all right? I’ll – oh my, is that Anders calling me? Must go, very busy, organs to dissect, you know how it is…” She laughed brightly, then hurried away.

From the corner of his eye, Fenris watched her go. Once the door was closed behind her, he sipped from his cup of elfroot tea.

Silence fell over the room again, broken only by the soft ticking of Piper’s stolen Antivan clock. Fenris drank some more of his elfroot, and when the silence was so heavy that it started to make his teeth hurt, he plonked the cup back in its saucer.

“Fine. Fine,” he grunted. “We will go on your blasted adventure.”

Merrill whooped in delight and clapped her hands, but Fenris wasn’t finished. He pointed threateningly at Piper. “If we cross any slavers–”

“No mercy,” Piper said shortly. “That will never change, obviously.”

He stared at her intently. “I mean it, Piper. I will not be chained again.”

Piper replaced her feet on the floor and rose from her chair. “No one who travels with me will ever be chained again,” she said seriously. “You know that.”

Her expression was hard and uncompromising, and Fenris relaxed at the sight of it. At long last, he sat back in his chair and nodded.

Piper studied him for a moment longer, then smiled. “All right, let’s be official about it. All in favour of going to Arlathan Forest?”

They all raised their hands, including Fenris.

Piper’s smile widened. “All against?”

Fenris sighed but didn’t raise his hand, and no one else did either.

Piper tucked her hands in her pockets and grinned. “That settles it. The Lady Luck is heading to the Arlathan Forest. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

Merrill clapped again and hugged Piper. Dorian stood up and stretched. “Excellent,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to put away before we set sail.”

Varric chuckled as he pushed back his own chair. “You’re still unpacking your new clothes?”

“Unpacking and admiring,” Dorian corrected. “You should come and inspect my new collection, Varric. I’m quite certain you’ll be green with jealousy.”

“With nausea, maybe,” Varric drawled. “Another time. Curly and I have work to do.”

Cullen nodded agreeably. “That we do,” he said. He stood up as well, then gave Piper a small half-bow. “Thank you for the meeting, Captain.”

She grinned at him and patted his arm. “You’re welcome, Golden Boy. Loosen up next time and put your feet up on the table, why don’t you?” She kissed his cheek.

He smiled bashfully, then left her quarters with Dorian and Varric, leaving Fenris and Piper alone.

Fenris stood up and eyed her appraisingly. “You did that on purpose.”

She blinked. “Did what?”

Fenris gave her a very skeptical look. “You didn’t make Hawke leave right away.”

Piper casually inspected her fingernails. “It’s the Captain’s prerogative to have extra opinions in the room as I deem fit. Like Merrill’s, for instance. Or Rynne’s.” She smirked at him knowingly.

Fenris harrumphed. “You’re trying to manipulate me,” he accused, but with much less heat than he would have a couple of months ago.

Her smirk fell away, leaving her face serious once more. “I would never,” she said to him. “You were on the edge of saying yes. You just needed a last little push. Something to remind you that everything doesn't have to be shitty.” She gestured at the door. “Hawke is the silver lining to your stormcloud.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, then snorted. “Poetic metaphor? From you? You must be in love. Either that or you are drunk.”

She grinned at him, but her bronze cheeks were deepening with a telltale flush of pink. “Are you saying I’m stupid?” she quipped.

Fenris smirked at her. “I didn’t say that. You said it yourself.”

She laughed and punched his arm. “Get the fuck out, you insubordinate shithead.”

He huffed in amusement, then turned away and sauntered toward the door. Before he could leave, however, Piper called out to him. “Hey, Fen. What’s my poetic metaphor with Cullen?”

He turned and raised an eyebrow at her. “Why are you asking me?”

“Fair’s fair. I told you yours,” she said. She folded her arms and lifted her chin. “What’s mine and Cullen’s?”

Fenris tilted his head. The answers was obvious. “He’s the port to your storm,” he said.

Piper grinned. “Are you calling me a storm, then?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “Do you disagree?”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Not at all.”

He smirked at her, then left her cabin and closed the door behind him. Then he turned and bumped into Cole.

He jumped in alarm, then scowled. Dorian’s blasted assistant always seemed to sneak up on him. “Fasta vass,” he muttered. “Cole–”

“Do you hear it?” Cole asked.

Fenris scowled more deeply. “Hear what?” he said suspiciously.

“The song,” Cole said dreamily. “It plays, pulls, pulling the old blood, prying open and plucking your hearts like fingers on a mandolin.” His pale blue eyes drifted slowly to Fenris’s face. “Do you hear it?”

A chill ran down Fenris’s spine, and he folded his arms defensively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cole nodded slowly. “You will. It’s all right. I’ll help.” He meandered down the narrow corridor to Dorian’s quarters.

Fenris glared at his back, then made his way up to the deck. He spent the next two hours maintaining the weapons inventory and sparring with Kaaras and Rylen, and when Hawke eventually emerged from the infirmary after her lessons with Anders, he was more than eager for her company.

She smiled and bounced over to his side, but her face fell into worry as she drew near. “Was Piper angry that I interrupted your meeting?” she asked. “I didn’t mean to start blathering like that. I’m just so excited at the thought of going somewhere new.” She gasped suddenly, and her face lit up. “Do you think I should start getting tattoos for every place I go, like Piper has? Or maybe earrings like Dorian? I could get two new piercings already for Afsaana and Rialto! But I wonder how long it would take them to heal…”

Fenris gazed at her with a swelling heart as she talked. She was so bright and optimistic despite her own painful past. She liked to talk – fasta vass, did she like to talk – but she listened just as intently, causing Fenris to tell her more than he had ever really meant to tell anyone. Her mere presence made his muscles relax, almost as though her nearness alone was as good as the stroke of her soothing hands on his skin, and…

And Piper was right. Hawke was his silver lining, the silver lining that shone on him and made him feel brighter with every day in her presence.

He swallowed hard, then placed one hand at the small of her back. “Come with me.”

Her smile grew cheeky. “Where to?” she said innocently.

He huffed. “You know exactly where,” he grumbled. He led her back to his quarters, and a minute later they were standing in the blessed privacy of his cabin once more.

Without giving her time to speak, he tipped her chin up with one hand and kissed her. He tenderly cradled her throat as they kissed, stroking the delicate tendon that trailed down to her collarbone.

She grasped his wrist and pulled his hand down to cup her breast, and Fenris broke their kiss to sigh against her lips. She was wearing no bustier or breastband, and her nipple was a hard little bead against his palm, separated from his skin only by the thin fabric of her shirt…

He rolled her nipple between his fingers, and she arched her chest. “I take it your meeting went well, then?” she gasped.

He pressed his forehead to hers and cupped her neck in his palm once more. “Hawke,” he rasped.

“Yes?” she breathed.

I love you, he thought. Hawke, I love you. He breathed hard for a moment and tried to force his frozen tongue to speak. Why was it so hard to say this? Why did this truth feel like foreign words on his tongue?

He gazed with growing frustration at her guileless coppery eyes, then kissed her hard and walked her back toward the bed. He pushed her down and pulled off her shirt, and a few rushed heartbeats later they were naked on the bed, and he was rocking against her slickness and spreading her warmth over them both.

He clasped her precious face in his hands. Her face was eager with lust, lips flushed and eyes wide as she returned his gormless stare. When Fenris flexed his hips and slid inside of her, her fingers tensed and dug into his hips.

She arched her neck and released a beautiful little mewl of pleasure. Surrounded by her heat and her scent and her pleasured cries in his ears, Fenris finally found his tongue.

“I love you,” he said.

She looked at him sharply. When he didn’t look away, a huge and beautiful smile lit her face.

She laughed breathlessly and tightened her arms around him. “Oh Fenris, you don’t… you don’t have to say it just because I said it so soon–”

He thrust into her once more, and she broke off with a gasp that he captured with his lips. He rolled his hips toward her, and when they were moving and breathing together in a perfect rhythm that made his pleasure pulse higher with every thrust, he broke their kiss and pulled back slightly to gaze into her eyes.

“It has nothing to do with being too soon,” he panted. “I mean what I said. I love you, Rynne.”

Her smile was like a firework of joy bursting across her face, and Fenris gently wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. He moved slowly inside of her again, watching carefully as her smile morphed into a beautiful painting of pleasure, and with her every cry and every clenching of her fingers against his back, his own pleasure rose higher, lifting and surging with every forceful thrust of his hips until it crested in a wave of ecstasy.

He shuddered and gasped into her parted lips. “Hawke,” he moaned. “I–”

She kissed him hard, and her arms enfolded him in a tight embrace. When his body was still and relaxed once more, she kissed his cheek, then pressed her lips to his ear.

“I love you too, Fenris,” she whispered.

Her fingers curled in a soothing scratch at the back of his neck. Fenris sighed against her throat and closed his eyes. In the wake of the meeting he’d just had and the endeavour they were about to embark on, he should be feeling anxious and tense with the dangers that would likely come their way, no matter what precautions Piper and their whole crew would take.

But here with Hawke, he didn’t feel tense. His body was sated and replete, and his chest felt deliciously full with all that he’d confessed, and this feeling of goodness and wellbeing was still so new and precious that all he wanted was to lie with Hawke and savour it.

And so he did. For the first time since Fenris had begun training her, he and Hawke took a break from their combat lessons. Instead, they lay tangled in his plain cotton sheets, and Hawke stroked his skin with her tender palms while he stroked the cries of ecstasy from her throat. And with every hour that they spent murmuring and moving together as the afternoon sunlight slid past his porthole window, Fenris’s perpetually-worried heart felt more and more at peace.

There were risks looming ahead that couldn’t be avoided; he was certain of this. But for the first time that he could remember, he didn’t entirely mind.

There may be clouds on the horizon, but with Hawke by his side, Fenris had a silver lining to brighten his way.

Please check out the art at the end of the chapter!! It’s amazing!!

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aficaria · 6 years

Text

Lucis in the Rain

I had decided to get myself back into writing. And in all honesty, I’m actually really trying. New styles here and there and maybe I might actually push myself to up my vocabulary game and also my word count.

Anyways, Happy 2018!

Yes, I know it’s 5 days late. But better late than never. And comments and critics are always welcome as I’m trying my best to improve! If anything, any opinions would be taken in seriously in time for my newest fic.

Title: Lucis in the Rain Pairing: Lightning Farron x Noctis Lucis Caelum Length: ?? I have no idea. AO3 ULR: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13276860

Without further ado;

Planning wasn't in Noctis' forte.

If anything, most of the planning work goes to Ignis. He is the beast of strategies, of accuracies and surprises. And if being Noctis' future personal adviser is anything to go by-- Ignis is just the best mother in any situation. The one ready to spoil Noctis when given the opportunity to do so.

At least until now.

Thing was, Ignis had blatantly rejected Noctis' plead to plan out the best night with a certain pinkette. It was New Years Eve; and for Astrals sake, Noctis just wants to put on a good impression on that lady. Lightning wasn't one to be half assed with. But Ignis had turned down those pitiful blue orbs down with a straight forward, “It’s your date, not mine.”

And with that Noctis had the most stressful week to plan out the best Date™. From having to choose the right places to go, to finding out what suits Lightning’s schedule and what is her preferences. And ultimately, Noctis had begun to swear to Ignis for not at least helping out because this is the first time the prince had done something remotely tiring.

And by the Gods if being half ass wasn't Noctis' only attribute.

So here they are, both young adults crowded under one flimsy umbrella, soaking through their garments. And to be more accurate of the situation, the umbrella wasn't even the prince's. It was luck on his part that the young soldier had brought one upon request of her younger sister. So nope, Noctis was not prepared at all.

The young prince's demeanor was calm but for the love of God; he was having a mental breakdown. Of all things he had to forget when planning this excuse of a date was the weather. The rain was building up and the wind was getting stronger. And there's still an hour left till the fireworks.

Noctis just wants to jump into the nearest trash bin.

"Are you tired?"

"No. This is nothing compared to patrol duty." The female soldier simply shrugged before raising a brow at the man beside her. "How about you? Are you tired?"

Noctis shook his head, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "Just worried for you. Isn't it cold? I mean with you wearing those short sleeves and everything."

Pale Aqua eyes continued to stare at the male beside her. The prince may be reticent but he's easy enough for long time friends to be read. Even after knowing him for maybe a year or so, the pinkette grew accustomed to the prince’s reserved self. If not for her training as a soldier, it was obvious from his demeanor that he was actually getting tired from standing under the rain. If not for his weight shifting, the slouching of his shoulders would’ve given it away.

Plus, he couldn't be any more obvious to his own personal suffering. Lightning knew of the prince's constant whinning from none other than Ignis Scientia-- okay, maybe also from passing by a certain training room of the King's shield once a week. Though, it was kind of adorable of him to always act macho for her impression of him. But for the sake of the prince’s ego, maybe the soldier should just keep her opinions to herself.

"I'm fine." She mumbles, sticking her wet back against Noctis. Adjusting herself to stand in front of the prince. Even though this was a ‘date’, Lightning still has a duty to uphold, especially as a member of the Kingsglaive. And of course, the courts wouldn't be all that happy to find their prince to be sick the next morning. So, if standing infront of him was anything to go by, at least he had more space to shield himself from the rain. Eyes averting, keeping her attention to looking for any suspicious behavior.

Achoo--

Silence passed by both adults.

"Okay, maybe I'm getting a little cold."

"Heh, why didn't you just say so?" Letting out a little chuckle, noting how that sneeze was extremely adorable on her part. It was even cuter for her to still play aloof after. Shifting the umbrella to rest on his right shoulder, he let the umbrella's handle to drop to his right shoulder before shrugging of his bomber jacket. "Here put this on. It might help, at least the rain won't get to your shoulders."

"Thanks."

Lightning grabbed the already wet jacket from his rough hands and proceed to put them on. Immediately Noctis could feel the droplets of rain starting to seep through his somewhat damp black T-shirt. The feeling was less inviting but-- if that would mean Lightning being somewhat more comfortable than him, then so be it.

"So uhm-- why Lightning?" Glossy blue eyes stared at the woman infront.

Raising a brow at the prince, "What do you mean, why Lightning?"

"I mean, why not some other names?" Oh Ifrit, someone shut him up right now. "i-It's not like your name isn't cool or anything, but... I mean, don't you have your rights to choose the names?"

Dead silence.

Oh Gods, he may have fucked it up now. Blue orbs staring anywhere but the woman infront of him, he just doesn't wanna look at her expression. Why in the right mind would someone ask why is their name, their name. But for the love of Shiva, he was trying. And the pinkette standing infront of him knew of that. In all honesty, Lightning couldn't help but laugh at her partner, knowing that the prince's awkwardness would be his undoing one day.

"Actually, Lightning was so much better than the other name I was going to be given." She smirked, playing along with the prince's awkward curiosity. "Plus, it wasn't I who was tryna drill that name to everyone's mind. Just that, everyone back at KG dubbed me 'as quick and witty as Lightning'. And it just kind of stuck through."

"And what might that other name would be?"

"Demon bitch?" She snorts, always eager to tease the prince. "I swear, Your highness. You just keep digging that grave."

"My apologies. I didn't know that asking a really obvious question was me digging my own grave." The prince pouts, casually ignoring his own social ineptitude. "But you gotta' admit, now that the elephants out of the room-- we can talk about other things."

"Other things?" Lighting was laughing at this point, "If watching you casually making a fool of yourself is what other things are-- then I'll gladly accept it and savor it like fine red wine," she emphatises, right hand lifting up to comically swirling a crystal glass between her fingers.

The prince snorts, blue eyes glistening under the streetlights. "Is my suffering something to be make fun of, Soldier?"

"You gotta admit, it's kinda cute when you do it." The pinkette smiles genuinely at him, before turning her attention to the watch resting on her right wrist. "--besides, I think you look much better now compared to before. I think you look better confident, your Highness."

"Thanks. I'll be sure to continue being a social potato if that would mean having a positive impression for you. " He grumbled somewhat bitterly. The prince sounds totally unamused that the fellow soldier had found his social suffering enjoying while the pinkette is all perfect. The ravenette tilts the umbrella to the other side, allowing his shoulder to relax. Joking as he may be right now, he hasn't let the way Lightning has called him to slide. "And please stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Calling me anything relating to my birthright." Damp hair swaying as the ravenette shook his head in disappointment. It wasn't like he didn't like being called by his royalty. If anything, it felt degrading for anyone he considered close to him. He wants everyone to see him as an equal; because he respect his friends for whom they are.

"Would it make you feel better if I call you by your name, then?" The soldier teases, grinning now. It wasn't like she had done it on purpose. Having a job in the citadel would have obligated her duty to call anyone with higher authority the tittle they are bestowed. Plus, lighthearted banter with the future king of Lucis doesn't mean that she should be fully relaxed around him. Lightning isn't the type whom doesn't put responsibilities first. But still, it was entertaining to be with the prince like this.

There were many passerby, totally oblivious to both adults now standing under the rain for an hour and a half now. The two of them watched as they pass with slight envy, noticing how they were smart enough to bring rain coats. Though, Noctis was more desiring to have the type of relationship with the woman infront of him that he can exhibit. Lightning however, was much more envious of a certain floating object in the hands of many. The lighted balloons seem to draw the attention of the pinkette; despite her own rational mind would find that a waste of money.

Then again, if ego wasn't a word.

"Noctis."

Pale aqua eyes blinked in surprise. "Hm?"

"I'd prefer if you would call me that..." The prince explains, a hint of redness shimmering on his cheeks, his words slowly dwindle off mid sentence.

"Hmm.." Her voice sounding as if she was considering, shrugging away from the prince before turning back towards him. "I'll think about it."

"You gotta be kiddin' me." Noctis huffs, puffing his cheeks out comically; a habit he would probably wouldn't let go. "Light, I swear to Astrals--"

"Noctis."

"W-what?" Blue orbs staring at pale aqua ones.

Noctis hadn't thought that the Kingsglaive woman would've actually given in so easily. With how the conversation was going on, he would've actually thought that the pinkette would go on about responsibilities and the hierarchy of the citadel-- or whatever Ignis would always go on about. But he knew his ears did not fail him, and neither did his eyes as he could see as those beautiful ones tried to avert their attention at anywhere but him.

"I-I'm not going to repeat." The pinkette stuttered, not wanting the silence to drag out any longer. Teeth worrying on her bottom lip, Lightning hadn't thought herself as a stammering type. And Noctis knows that she's trying her best to push away whatever she had said like as if it was nothing. How many times have the pinkette even flustered under his watch? Not that many times. And now that she is? Astrals, Noctis is going to abuse it as much as he can.

"Lightning...." His voice falling on a lower octave. Smirking almost obviously, Noctis tilts the umbrella to the side, before grabbing the girl's shoulder infront of him. Lightning couldn't help but shiver under his watchful gaze. "Please?"

"I--"

Just as she was about to finish, the weather turned for the worse. What was once a small shower turned into a thunder storm and Noctis couldn't help but curse under his breath for such bad luck on his part. Pulling Lightning closer to him, he held the umbrella like it was their life line. From afar the crowd started to disperse, running frantically towards shelter.

"I think it's better if we follow the crowd, your Highness." There she goes again, calling him not by his name. They were in an unpleasant situation, shoes soaking, hair clinging and clothes almost dripping; not forgetting how Lightning had to actually shout to get her point across. Noctis had wanted to argue right then and there but ultimately only letting out an exasperated sigh.

"Right, let's go."

The trek towards 'shelter' wasn't pleasant either. Water was collecting into puddles and the cluster of humans rushing towards a tiny entrance into the nearest subway station was...sticky. Noctis couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret, almost wondering why he had decided to bring his little date to watch the fireworks outside.

Heck, he was the prince. If only he had taken up his father's offer to sit beside him in the podium, just right infront of the firework's platform-- a sheltered seat right infront of the platform to be exact. But no, he wanted a romantic gesture to impress the pinkette.

Well, look how well it's going now.

The sliver of light in this whole situation was that Lightning was holding his hand the entire course towards shelter. Straying away from the crowd, both adults managed to find a corner with no one at all. Right beside an office building, they could hear a party going on somewhere else.

"I'm sorry." Noctis couldn't help but mutter under his breath. It was embarrassing to say the least that he had dragged Lightning out of patrol duty to entertain his childish ideas on going on a date. He didn't think it would rain cats and dogs, all he wanted was to spend time with the lady of his life. "I--"

Lights flared and the sound of fireworks echoed throughout the city. From a distance, the sound of people shouting ecstatically could be heard. The sky's colors turned from a dull grey to red and yellow, the smell of smoke was obvious. Though that did not stop the rain from getting worse. Water was pooling below their feet, but Noctis didn't care.

At that moment, the prince was solely focusing on the pinkette's expression. The color of the lights reflected in her pale aqua eyes. Despite the monotonous atmosphere surrounding them, her radiant smile was all Noctis could see. Little does he know, a grin was already etched on his face.

"Happy new year, Light."

"It's Claire." She says, eyes not straining away from the flaring of fireworks far away. Despite that, she couldn't help but smirk, knowing that she had let go something sentimental to the young prince.

"What?"

"Claire." She repeats, "My real name isn't Lightning. It's Claire."

There's a long pause on Noctis' behalf. Light could almost hear the glee form on the future king's face. Because he knew it, Lightning was just another side name she had chosen to remain mysterious. Noctis had almost taken the opportunity to tease the soldier beside him, but not wanting to ruin the moment, he simply nodded.

"Happy New Year, Claire." He fixes, his hand moving to grab hers tightly.

"Happy New Year to you too, Noctis."

#lightis #nokurai #ledrabbles #noctis x lightning #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xiii #noctis lucis caelum #lightning farron

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writemyessaytoday443 · 4 years

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jimbroadstreet-blog · 7 years

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English Language

A Treatise on the English Language Jim Broadstreet, sr.

A beautiful hodge-podge conglomeration. A gift of many gods and squires. A collection of words and sounds from greatly disparate sources.

It is one of those situations where the extant is more mysterious than fiction could ever be. Had a group of linguists set out to formulate a new verbal tool of communication and produced what is now known as English its members would have had to have been given high marks for ingenuity but very low ones for discipline. But of course that it not what happened.

As is the case with all phenomena this one has been in the process of undisciplined evolution since before Geoffrey Chaucer. The process continues unabated today.

The author of these words is in love with American English! With all of its lack of coherent discipline there do exist some stringent rules the mastering of which requires a great amount of rote-learning and discerning listening. (If something spoken doesn’t sound right it probably isn’t.) Few people, authors, statesmen, poets or scribes, and certainly including me, ever attain perfection. Those few who come close finally lose the struggle to the perfection itself. Let me offer an example pertaining to both rules and sound:

The great orator Winston Churchill received a letter from some well-meaning student of word-formulation mildly berating him for having, in a speech to Parliament, ended a sentence with a preposition. Churchill’s response was a priceless bit of wit. “Yes Madam” he wrote, “That is the sort of thing up with which I cannot put.” Another bit from this great mind was, when shown a picture of a grandchild, said “now that’s a baby.”

While doing my best to use my language as properly as possible I find myself being much too judgmental about how well others use it. Too picky, I say, because evolution occasionally dictates a bit of bastardization. (And I would submit that bastardizing the English language is a feat in itself.) The most egregious example coming to mind is the necessity (or is it, really?) of bowing to sexist political correctness making singular “he” or “her” into the plural “they”. I love womankind dearly but it seems to me that a blanket statement could be issued from somewhere on high that we strugglers do not mean to be offensive but we believe that the protection of our language is even more important than the possible slight slight to femininity … the double word usage purposeful even though spell-check underlines one with a red stripe.

On the rare occasion when I am asked to speak to a group I do declare that belief. It doesn’t seem to have lost me female friends.

Now I will reverse course almost completely. For all rules and regulations we might impose on ourselves there must be exceptions. Following are a few examples of our difficult language being used, to the best of the user’s abilities; to purvey meaningful sets of thought. One is crudely chiseled into a sandstone cemetery marker. It rests in an old Ozark country church plot. The stone is shaped to sort of depict a person, with shoulders and head. At the left, top side are the letters “sac”. Opposite and separated by the curve of the “head” are the letters “red”. Below is inscribed an approximate accounting of a happening depicted on that tablet. “On june 14 in 1917 At 16 yeres and 3 munths Daniel took the gun frum the rake the trigger got cot on a nale and she fired and this prevalent seen happened.” Imagine the grief and sorrow and the desire to find help in properly spelling that word, for Daniel’s sake … prevalent.

A gentleman I knew, realizing that his death was not so very far off, wrote an abbreviated book of memories for his offspring. He also realized that his life had been more difficult than most, thus interesting to his offspring, growing up dirt poor in a small town and surviving the hardships of the Great Depression and the battlefields in France while coping with a case of influenza in the 1918/19 epidemic. Worst of all, however, was his accidental shooting and killing of his son while in the woods hunting. Though far from “correct” his use of English was somehow eloquent and certainly profound.

And then there are much lighter jewels. Al Capp, though a master wordsmith, used words and phrases of his own making them exactly fit the characters in his comic strip Lil Abner. My favorite is the proclamation of the irrecusable Mamy Yocum, when she was driven to her utmost limit … “Yo has went too fer!” And there was the senator from Dogpatch, one Jack S Phogbound … “There’s no Jack S like our Jack S.”

Some “miss-uses” of the language are, of course, intentional. Read The Jabberwok. My grandfather loved words so much that he often made up his own. For the condition of diarrhea, for instance, he used his words “the random scrauntch.” He would severely berate all dogs with words such as useless and ugly in the most pleasant tones one can imagine. The animals heard the sing-song of his strong baritone voice and believed they were being honored for being in the old man’s presence.

On occasion a malfunctioning bit of English will pop up which simply must be ridiculed. A good example is a sign nailed to a tree south of Branson, Missouri. “Jesus is comming.”

Money speaks loudly. Its usage, however, sometimes has unintended consequences. Following the end of the Second World War the United States emerged as the undisputed financial powerhouse of the world. What that meant, among a multitude of other things, was the U.S. bought and used more of the world’s resources than any other nation. U.S. citizens traveled more than anyone else. The U.S. developed larger and more sophisticated passenger airplanes and led the way to jet propulsion. When lumber was harvested almost anywhere in the world it was done using feet/inches measurements and sold in board footage. Plywood was manufactured in Asia and Africa in fractions of inches. AND, air traffic control towers, all around the globe, even in nations where the U.S. was a cold-war adversary, used English for international flights. The United States of America is an arrogant nation! But much of that is changing. Let’s see what happens.

Any work of poetry or prose worth its salt is quickly translated into American English because America is where more people buy books. The author, along with my first wife, Lydia, spent a year, plus, in Finland. We earned enough money to get by “teaching” conversation Americanized English. Most of our “students” were executives in Finish industries such as paper mills. I also went to the home of the commanding general of what remained of the Finish Air Force. (Finland had been decimated by the Soviet Union during World War II and not allowed to rearm to any significant degree until the final “war reparations” payment was made in 1957.) These people were intent on learning conversational English. Money talks and the U.S. was where the money was.

Now, in 2017, the educated youth of Finland use Americanized English as their conversation communications, most without a hint of accent. They shun the highly disciplined Finnish and embrace a tongue that requires considerable figuring-out. The watching of American T.V. and movies are seldom dubbed into Finnish and the captions are not paid much attention. This mass export of our entertainment is another huge reason for Americanized English spreading so far and wide.

Are there societal ramifications involved in our language being so irrational and difficult to master? I had not thought about that before yesterday when a learned friend of mine, Jerry Norris, casually mentioned … in exactly what context I don’t remember … that

Modern Hebrew has relatively few words. Hebrew and Arabic are the two official languages of Israel. There are, I assume, even fewer words in some of the primitive languages in such places as Borneo, equatorial Africa and some Amazonian forests.

Does this range of language scope impact society and how does it affect United States foreign policy? I will offer these few thoughts on the subject.

Even taking into consideration the popular spelling bees where young folks demonstrate almost unbelievable powers of memory, it is unlikely that any individual has ever known the meaning of every word in use in American English. Given that, it is very likely that even someone with the vocabulary of the editorialist Kathleen Parker will occasionally come into contact with a word previously unknown to her. So some go off to schools of higher learning and, at least hopefully, become more erudite in that regard. Then, returning to society at large, they are judged to be “better spoken” or, if some caution is not used, they might be judged by their past friends as “talking down” or having become ivory tower idiots “without a lick of common sense.”

(One way to see the difference in “sizes” of languages is to compare the bulk of their lexicons, dictionaries and, especially, thesauri.)

This phenomenon of there being too many words, from too diverse origins and, therefore, too many nuances, surely impacts politics. The term “blue collar” is bantered around. And then there are references to the “hinterland”, the “fly over area” and the “rural states.” Now the pollsters and pundits openly divide us as being college educated, or not. It is not difficult to witness that the more educated a population-at-large is the more interest there is in a society larger than its immediate surrounds. (That enlightenment, I believe, can be attained either by formal schooling or simply by the dominate attitude prevalent in the “blue” regions.) NOW – can a higher quality vernacular derived from a higher level of education be equated with more caring for one’s fellow man – or what is generally referred to as “progressivism” or “liberalism”? I firmly believe that, yes, it can, but the broaching of that hypothesis is not generally well accepted. I believe that the best expenditure of money, by any nation or society, has to be on educating the populace. It is well established that liberal-arts, science, professional and trade educations result in higher rates of employment, less crime/incarceration and overall better environments.

There are, today, two men in the positions of being at least titular national, and to some degree world, leaders ... Benjamin Netanyahu of Israel and Donald Trump of the United States. The Israeli need not rely on his language of few words. The American totally lacks the ability to command his language of many words, only a smattering of which he has committed to memory. Netanyahu, educated in the U.S. (and other parts of the world) speaks, fluently and eloquently (though sometimes not very sensibly), in several languages. Trump, who does not have time to read books, seems to have a severely limited vocabulary made up of about fifty percent adjectives and superlatives which he is able, at least in his own mind, to enhance by simple reiteration. From his main source of enlightenment, Fox News, he can attain, by ear, all the facts concerning world events, past, present and to-come. His minions are said to bring him everything praiseworthy from the more stellar printed news outlets such as Breitbart News and Sunday tabloids.

The editorialist George Will is by no means a flaming liberal but Donald Trump is simply too much for him to ignore. In a recent piece Will used these words to begin: “It is urgent for Americans to think and speak clearly about Donald Trump’s inability to do either. This seems to be not a mere disinclination but a disability. It is not merely the result of intellectual sloth but of an untrained mind bereft of information and married to stratospheric self-confidence.” Isn’t that great? While I’m at it I will include more of this Will article, not so much to emphasize Trump’s atrocious use of English, but to demonstrate just how limited this man’ storehouse of knowledge apparently is. Trump actually stated these two unbelievable miscarriages of history: “Frederick Douglass is an example of somebody who’s done an amazing job and is getting recognized more and more, I notice.” Will wrote of this insane group of words … “Because Trump is syntactically challenged, it was possible and tempting to see this not as a historical howler about a man who died 122 years ago, but as just another of Trump’s fender benders, this one involving verb tenses.” The other one was Trump saying that Andrew Jackson was “angry about the Civil War” though that conflict did not begin until 16 years after Jackson’s death.

But perhaps we should try to be more tolerant of this strange man with his affliction of solipsism. He was, after all, able to become one of the world’s leading authorities on the history of China/Korean Peninsula relations in a ten-minute conversation with the present leader of China, President Xi. If Trump’s “university” was still in operation, he could, I suppose, teach at least a six credit-hour course on the subject to those who are considerably slower learners. And then, too, this brilliant man would be able to fabricate any missing pieces from the ten-minute lesson and believe them to be absolute, not alternate or fake, facts. This ability is a product of Solipsism.

Oh please! Enough of that and back to the English language:

(But here is another aside that I believe warrants mentioning. I just re-read the preceding words and found many “errors” according to this computer. Some of them I corrected. To some of them I said to-hell-with-it. It is my conviction that if “spell check” can be allowed to so sanitize the language that no creativity can seep in we will have lost too much.)

German is a harsh language; so much so that the users do not need to add swear words to enhance it. French, on the other hand, is so soft that it seems to me more a noise than a language. (It’s not a wonder that those two peoples have had a few differences in the past!)

The Queen’s English, Australian English, Jamaican English and American English, and other Englishes, are so different in inflections, emphases, and even spelling, that it is said that as close friends as England and America have been since about 1812 the only thing separating the two nations is a common language.

Let’s look at a few rules that have, somehow, come to be accepted for use in the English language … keeping in mind, of course, that “rules exist to be broken.” Some are not rules at all. Huh?

Take, for instance, the comma … please. Now in the 89th year of my life I have given up hope on the subject of commas. Some of my dearest friends are emeritus professors and retired teachers. The sage, and my friend, Marge Bramer, will probably take time from her extremely busy life to read this --- if for no other reason than to be polite. She could red line all sorts of transgressions on the language and as highly as I regard her intellect and learning I will probably simply fall back on excuses like that it’s an age thing. But, seriously, it seems to me that the comma is best used sparingly to make the sentence sound right. Lately I have taken up the use of …’s as a substitute for the comma or colon or about anything else I think works at the time. Nobody seems to question it, even my spell check. Am I somewhat disappointed? Maybe

There are more exact rules such as that it’s i before e except after c … but don’t rely on that too much. And the rule that a preposition must not be used to end a sentence with. How did that sound to you? The damned spell check threw green ink, or some kind of compound?, at it. And see? How can a ? be used like that in the middle of a sentence?

It has long been a puzzlement to me that our words stolen from French can end in “in”, like the composer Chopin’s name, but be pronounced as though it is “an.” But our words that are actually French, with silent letters (what the hell are they there for, anyway?) must be recognized as being French or our pronunciation will seem, to the linguistic snob to be gauche. I would still rather ride a train into a de pot than a depo because it’s simply more honest. But some people who use languages other than English would rather fight than give them up, or let them become too adulterated. Remember the salty old uncle of the bride in the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding? In his defense of his ancient and beloved language, stated that “all words have their origins in Greek.” Some wise-ass young woman asked if that included Kimono.

A few years ago there was a fleeting movement to attempt to “clean up” America’s slang with its abundance of “four letter words” and swearing. “Only people with limited intellect and knowledge of the language resort to the use of offensive words”- they said. At the time it seemed incumbent on me to allow as how that seemed to be pissin’well true, goddamit. But modern music, especially rap, has mooted that cause anyway.

My wife get’s exasperated when I argue with her because, she says, I can debate with her beyond her ability to sensibly retort. I have attempted to argue without playing word games or using the language to my advantage. It doesn’t work.

There is a difference in playing with words and playing on words. As I have stated before, I do love the English language. I also love debate and I also love, sometimes, to respond to cute little bits of pseudo psychology. One such bit, as I deem it, is considering the breakup of someone’s romance – “Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?” Using that “deep” philosophical question, and in light of the facts that humans practice animal husbandry, and we are descended from both gatherers and hunters, I often offer vegetarian acquaintances a play of words with the “love” question: “Is it better to have lived and been eaten than never to have lived at all?”

In days ahead I might decide to add more to these words as examples of fine, humorous or powerful writings come my way.

Until then I will leave you with this: What a beautiful bird the frog are / When he stand he sit almost / And when he sit he sit on what he ain’t got / almost.

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