#a good writing exercise | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asongbirdandanoldhat · 10 months

Text

written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘pool’ wc: 442 | rated: G | cw: none

Eddie Munson nearly didn't make 21. But even before becoming a buffet spread for interdimensional hell bats, Eddie never would've imagined spending his 21st birthday at Steve Harrington's. After wide games in the woods with the world's most metal teens, having his pale skin preserved by Nancy's stern gaze and endless sunscreen supply, and somehow surviving the dreamlike vision of Steve, tanned, topless, and happy, Eddie was ready declare his birthday a roaring success. But the glint in Gareth's eye, the way Jeff was watching him while chatting to Buckley, had Eddie on edge. He surveyed the suspiciously quiet yard. Absences noted, Eddie's eyes met Dan's. He tilted his head in question. Dan's hands rose. Eddie honed in. He was great at charades. But before interpretations could begin, Gareth slapped Dan's hands down. His hissed words didn't carry, but the shake of his curly head was unmistakable. Whatever was afoot, the band were in on it. The kids shuffled back outside in an extremely conspicuous formation. Eddie thought they might be smuggling Harrington between them, before he spotted Steve in the doorway, watching them, expression fond. Dustin was vibrating. "Present time." "We already did presents," Eddie said. "Sure. But there's one left." "The big one," Lucas added. "Don't ruin it," Mike muttered. "I didn't say what it was." "Do I get to know what it is?" Eddie derailed, amused. Dustin nodded to Will, who carefully counted down, "Three, two, one." The boys stepped aside, revealing Max, holding his present, and El, holding Max's elbow. Eddie felt tears prickle, as he took in the unnecessarily wrapped gift. There was no mistaking the shape. "You bought me a guitar?" he croaked. El helped Max place the gift in Eddie's lap. His hands slid instinctively around it, the weight felt just right. "Open it," El instructed. Ripping the bright paper revealed a familiar x-shaped body, not the dappled red of his world-saving sweetheart, but a solid black. She was a starless night sky. She was beautiful. "I- How?" "We pooled our allowances." Eddie didn't know how much they got, but he knew how quickly they blew through it. There was no way. Eddie's eyes drifted beyond the kids, finding Steve.

Steve, who'd given Eddie a card, claiming that he didn't have a present yet, hadn't known what to get him. Steve, who'd looked embarrassed when Eddie had called the party a great present and meant it. Steve, whose guilty smile all but confirmed him as majority contributor to the beautiful instrument in Eddie's lap. Steve, who Eddie would have to find a way to thank, to explain what this meant.

For now, Eddie smiled back.

#steddiemicroficjuly #steddiemicrofic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #fic #stranger things #been struggling to touch my bb rn so this seemed a good sideways step back to writing #obv it started as more than 700 words so also a good exercise #i wrote a thing

869 notes · View notes

novasintheroom · 2 months

Text

aw aw building little comfy nests with Vash.

You notice he has this odd behavior of piling up any blankets, towels, clothing, etc. on his bed whenever you're in a motel room. Actually, now that you think about it, he does it whenever he's about to rest somewhere. On top of the car with all the luggage piled up around him, in the desert with his traveling sack, sleeping bag, and any item of soft clothing he has on hand - the whole thing.

When you ask him about it, he gets shy and admits he thinks its a Plant thing. He's usually good about hiding his quirks, but the nesting (his ears go bright red at the word) is something of a comfort he allows himself, and he's just gotten comfortable enough around you to start it up again.

You might make fun of him for a bit. It's a friend thing, making fun of each other's quirks. But you still help him pile up the towels and take out your extra day wear to add to the mess of fabric on motel beds. You even make an event of it - wrapping the bed's questionably clean blankets round and around and gilding it with the smaller fabrics, then pulling out a rented tablet to watch movies together.

He's awkward the first few times you do this. He's just not used to other people being in his space, you know? But you better bet Vash takes advantage of being able to snuggle with you once the newness wears off. This is upped ten times once you two start dating. He looooovveess being the little spoon, resting his head on your chest and letting out little content birdie chirps he doesn't realize he's doing half the time. Please run your hand through his hair while watching movies. It'll make him melt even more.

Seeing you start to build a nest on the bed (or campsite, or inside the truck) really gets his gears going too. It satisfies some primal urge in him to have his mate lover in this big nest you've built together, safe in the confines of a shelter and enjoying the trash movies you rent. He'll get all soft and chirpy in the nest, pulling you close and just looking at you with adoration. He'll try to shake it off - he's still getting used to letting whatever the heck his Plantness is doing happen - but when that warm, fuzzy feeling and the urge to preen you comes over, it's hard to ignore. Just let him smooth out your hair and get the granules of sand from your scalp. It'll calm him down.

Now, he practically vibrates with excitement whenever you rent a motel room together. He knows a good nesting is coming, and he can't wait for the cuddling and good naps he and you will get in.

#i just want vash to accept his weird plantness fully man #i love that hes so shy/reluctant about it #makes for a good writing exercise lol #trigun #vash the stampede #trigun stampede #tristamp #writing #self insert #reader insert #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #nova writes

233 notes · View notes

starry-bi-sky · 3 months

Text

Danyal Al Ghul's missed potential - this kid is not gonna behave like his canon self if he's with the league of assassins until his late formative years, and my reasoning why

(feel free to take this all with a grain of salt this is just my thoughts on it, this is all mostly amusing to me and isn't trying to be negative towards anyone else)

similar to how i was talking about how danny growing up in crime alley would affect him, demon twin aus with danyal al ghul make me laugh a lot (affectionate) because... whose teaching danny to unlearn all the ecofascism he picked up from the league of assassins? whose teaching him to be kind? to be gentle? Not the LoA thats for certain.

(you could plausibly say Jazz but she's only 2 years older than Danny and do you really expect a fellow child to properly explain why X is wrong to another child and have it be 100% effective? i don't doubt it'd help to an extent, but not in the same way an adult explaining it would)

plus a ton of other things, like whose teaching him to value human life? not the LoA. Whose teaching him how to adjust to living with American society after he ends up with the Fentons when he's 8-9-10? Who teaches him that killing is wrong, whose enforcing that?

(not the Fentons if you're going the neglectful parent route, and Jazz can try but i really don't think Danny is going to listen to her, a stranger who isn't even part of his grandfather's league)

How do you teach a child to value human life when the greatest development window for that opportunity has closed and he's already formed his own opinions?

You're not gonna get a Danny whose exactly like his canon attitude if he's staying with the league during his formative years (0-8 years old). you're not. You could get someone LIKE it, potentially, or someone who has traces of it or is similar -- like danny's wit and jokes and sarcasm, and on some level his kindness. but you're not gonna have a carbon copy. Development doesn't work that way. "nature" can only do so much in the face of nurture.

If anything, it doesn't even have to be a major change -- in the league he cans till be kind, but it's probably going to manifest in a different way than what is considered normal. Tough love, for one. But there's gonna be something that affects him negatively. Why make him 'always good/kind' when you can make him a brat who develops into a kinder (if spikier than in canon) person?

TLDR: Danyal Al Ghul would not be like how he is in canon if he's with the league until his late formative years -- not without any lasting pr permanent impacts from the league at least. Missed potential to make him an absolute nightmare like damian was -- especially in his early years when he first arrived to the Fenton house.

(this doesn't apply to danyal al ghul aus where he's either given to the fentons as a baby/is reincarnated/etc. this is mostly aimed for danyal al ghul aus where he fakes his death at like, 7-10 and somehow ends up, personality-wise like his completely canon self by 14 without any differences.)

(and even then if he's five or four, or even three, he would still be traumatized and influenced by the league. he'll just have more time to adjust. the sooner he leaves the league the more likely he is to be like his canon self, but not like an exact copy)

(more under the cut)

Anyways what I'm saying is that there is prime missed Danyal al Ghul potential to make him an absolute NIGHTMARE to the Fentons however way he ends up with them, just like Damian was with the Waynes! Cuz why does Damian get all the fun? Danny got the same training and endoctrine as him! He is also an ex-assassin! Why is Danny the only one who is 'well adjusted and non-violent' hm? Hmm?

Why can't he also be mean, and stabby, and a total stuck-up in some way or another? Have fun with his characterization, its prime opportunity to play play-doh and clay with him! If he starts out as X how does he get the personality traits of Y, and thus become XY?

Like take this with a grain of salt if you will, but make him arrogant. Make him an asshole! Make him a bad person at first! Because he will be! He's the blood son of the batman and you mean to tell me that damian is the only one arrogant about it at first? Make him stabby and mean even at 14 when he's begun to chill out! Have fun with it! If he's with the Fentons at any point past the age of four or five then he's gonna be a nightmare to handle because he still remembers the league and his time there.

(and while it gives him more time to chill the hell out, his time at the league is still gonna leave an impact on him.)

also what im saying as well is have him and sam potentially get along like a house on FIRE. Again, Danny grew up under the views of an ecofascist cult and nobody to challenge those views to him until he got to amity park at whatever age in late formative years he was at. He could be about as intense or even MORE intense about environmental awareness/rights than Sam is!

(also him being supremely unimpressed with Sam's wealth. he gave up a palace in the mountains for this town. because that's funny to me - like let his past have more influence on him! it'll be fun!)

you could have a danny who doesn't kill but doesn't fully understand the value of human life because jazz is like two years older than him and isn't that good at explaining why people's lives are important. he won't kill but he's not morally opposed to it. there's very little chance he actually gets bullied at school because he nearly killed Dash the first time he tried anything.

Danny could have scars, physical ones, because its implied in multiple canon that training starts at toddling (my best bet is 3 at minimum and ~maybe~ 2 but only on the later side of 2. Good fucking luck getting any infant under 2 to do anything you ask, ESPECIALLY assassin training. They're gonna stick the weapon in their mouth sooner than they're gonna do katas. This is coming from a daycare teacher.)

there's more examples of how danny being at the league during his formative years would affect him, but those are just some of them. he could have a sword! An appreciation for weaponry and nature. Maybe he still speaks all shakespearan and formal, does he still make bodily threats to people? If Damian is still threatening people at 14 why can't danny?

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #tldr danyal al ghul has a ton of missed potential of what his behavior would be like if he left the league mid-to-late formative years #this post is specifically directed towards those danyal al ghul posts where he ends up with the fentons when he's like. 8 #like great. who taught him to unlearn all of the LoA's programming #how is he exactly like he was in canon despite being with the LoA during his early childhood #source: i've taken multiple child development classes #this isnt to bash those aus at all its just me thinking its hilarious that danny would even remotely be like his canon personality #especially if he's in the league long enough for damian to remember him #like i love danyal al ghul aus i just think there's not enough being taken into account about how the league would permanently impact him #especially if he leaves later on in life #people are not ponds they are puddles of mud. if you drop a rock into it it's gonna change its shape #its also good creative exercises on how to flesh characters out better and better understand how things in a story may impact a character #good thought exercises with the additional bonus of making danny a violent gremlin like damian is #i dont wanna say this is bashing but i guess it is kinda a criticism on the writing in those aus because you’re telling me this had NO #affect on danny on his personality beyond just ‘oh league bad. league scary’?? cmonnn have some fun #like you mean to tell me that being a child assassin had no lasting impact on him or his personality?? like at all???#he doesnt have an ounce of self-importance/arrogance/anger like damian did?? like none of that *stuck?* he’s just the normal and sane #sibling right off the bat??? five years with the fentons turned him into a complete blankslate?? he has no lasting impact from the league??

176 notes · View notes

pettyprocrastination · 1 year

Text

thinking about how as Aemond’s wife you are the model of perfection.

Your back is straight as you curtsy when you first meet him and hair neatly braided with fine jewels. Your voice is even and never waivers as you speak to him of your family and how grateful they are for this union.

You are intelligent and beautiful, the perfect wife.

It’s why Aemond hardly ever spends time with you.

He bears no ill will toward you, of course. There is no resentment or hatred to his lady wife, but there are no fond feelings either.

He knows of courting and romance, his mother taught him everything from a young age. The poor woman would hold her son’s hands tight and explain that a man must not only respect his wife, but truly cherish her. Love her in the eyes of gods and men. As he grew older he noticed the way his father would wave off her constant advice and concerns until the dreaded night where she was the only one defending him after he lost his eye.

But practice was one thing. When you were nothing but a concept. A figment of Aemond’s imagination when he was ten and marriage was only spoken of during his lessons. Before he lost his eye. Before he heard the ladies of the court whispering about his mutilation and before he watched a whore flinch at the sight of his scarring when Aegon dragged him to a brothel on his thirteenth name day.

He learned then that no matter how much he would love and worship his wife, it would not be returned.

Rather than attempt to force it (he was no brute and had no intentions of doing something so cruel) he simply let you be by yourself.

Yes you were married. You sat by one another at every meal and formal event and on the rare occasion he would even ask for your hand in a dance. But Aemond’s affections toward you were few and far to find.

But there were moments.

Where his icy facade would weaken and you found yourself able to slip through the cracks.

Alicent had told you of his “moments” when the engagement had been announced. The queen herself taking you by the hand as you walked through the garden and explaining gently of Aemond’s condition.

“There are times where he feels a great deal of pain because of the-” She paused, chewing on her cheek while trying to find the most inoffensive way to describe the tragedy that befell her son. “-incident he had as a child.”

You knew enough of it. Many rumors flew through court the day Aemond targaryen walked in with a patch on his eye after Laenor Velaryan’s funeral at driftmark. Some day it was from a sparring incident, others say it was a mark he bore from the first time he mounted the mighty vhaegar. Others say that the Rouge Prince Daemon Targaryen himself gave it to his younger cousin after crude words were exchanged behind closed doors.

You didn’t know what was the truth. Aside from the day the princeling got his scar, was the same he got his dragon.

A fair trade, some would say.

But they didn’t live with the attacks he did.

Nerve damage, is what the maester’s called it when you asked them for more information. His wound may have healed years prior but the prince would continue to live his life with constant bouts of mind-numbing pain brought on by the slightest touch or too sharp of a wind to his cheek.

“Senseless fits.” Aegon called it. When he heard about your curiosity about his brother’s condition he had all but cornered you late at night in the hall. “Anything will set him off and send him throwing a tantrum like a belligerent child. It’s quite entertaining.”

But there’s a moment where the elder brother frowns and you see a shred of concern in his eyes.

“He doesn’t like to be touched during those moments. It makes the pain worse. So if you’re trying to find some way to comfort him I’d recommend you do something else.”

What was ‘something else’ you learned, was simply being there.

Sitting by his side when he curled into himself, trembling fingers reaching out to grab yours and not complaining when his nails dig into the palm of your hand as he cries out in pain. When his breath evens out and the pain subsides, he crawls to you and presses his face to the crook of your neck. He’s far too tired to cover the gnarled scar covering the side of his face but you show no fear or disgust at the sight of it. Your fingers run through his hair, gently combing back the silver tresses and ignoring the tears that stain the shoulder of your gown.

The next morning your husband would wake in your arms and takes a moment to watch your peaceful expression and the way the morning sun kisses your skin.

That day Alicent notices her son sits closer to you at breakfast, speaking softly to you of something she cannot understand. But when she sees his hand reach out and grasp yours, she smiles.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #reminded me of the post about aemond most likely having some sort of nerve damage from losing his eye so- here she be #idk something about composed wives who are just as strong and dangerous if not more than there husband just gets me man #not edited or beta read i just wanted to do a writing exercise to try and clear my mind cause its very blurry atm #this is very wonky wobbly but im trying to keep myself writing even if its silly little things so i dont lose practice yknow!!#for the aemond girlies *passes out*#anyways part two in the 'aemond isnt good at affection' vault because im confident in it #man just assumes you arent attracted to him so he steers clear of you #but is also incredibly protective and a lil jealous

1K notes · View notes

fictionadventurer · 19 days

Text

I'd have been much less intimidated by the idea of writing poetry if I'd known that all you have to do is:

Have a thought

Write it down

Find a cooler way to say it

#plus there are pre-made (yet totally optional) cool formats that make writing feel like solving a puzzle!#it also helps that i don't expect any of these to be good #so i can just throw words down and be pleasantly surprised if any of them sound good #this is also a good exercise for my easily-distracted brain #instead of thinking up an image or idea or vibe and saying 'i should create a story that can use that'#the image/vibe/idea can be the whole project!#nice change of pace #adventures in writing #poetry

75 notes · View notes

jojo-schmo · 10 months

Note

Beauty and the Beast, but it's Metadede?

Ohohoho-!! This one really got me thinking!! :D If I had unlimited emotional bandwidth and time this could be a fun concept to explore a BUNCH! I'm a sucker for fairy tales! I'm not capable of fully developing this idea right now, but I did brainstorm a little bit!

There's some aspects of that story that I just can't think of good parallels for (Like Gaston, Belle's dad, Belle's character motivations and such). So this is more Beauty and the Beast inspired than being a perfect retelling.

Anyways, ENOUGH TALK. LET'S GO.

So when I read this ask, I immediately got slammed with a very passionate and explosive Brain Blast: Dedede as Beast!! BUT he's got an appearance inspired by King D-Mind (And Dark Mind by extension) and a beastly demeanor like his Primal form in Forgotten Land. So this is not Shadow Dedede!! Important distinction!

Like Dedede's personality in early Kirby games, he would be selfish and arrogant enough to be cursed by an Enchantress to find true love and compassion. (So the rose and its petals are still connected to this curse's time limit.) But at his core there is a being capable of love, compassion, and self-sacrifice! It just takes a bit of character development to get there!

Meta stumps me a bit more. He doesn't strike me as the kind of guy singing about how "there must be more than this provincial life..." And who would Gaston even be?? Beats me.

So instead of being a damsel from a small town with big dreams, maybe he's some kind of traveling knight or mercenary who has always worked alone. He's got a stoic demeanor that can even come off as cold since he doesn't make many meaningful connections with others. But those walls he's put up over his life are indeed capable of coming down with a little care!

You'll also have to forgive me for how little I changed Meta's design... I did this during my lunch break and all I could think of was adding some gold flourishes to his outfit- but there is definitely more potential there than I came up with!!

Why would he get stuck being Dedede's prisoner? Perhaps he bartered someone else's imprisonment for his own. Or he found himself in debt by chance to the King, or accidentally disturbed/destroyed/or damaged something important to him and has to pay with a prison sentence.

Whatever the reason, he's truly stuck living there. And they super do not get along at first. Dedede's fiery temper and Meta's colder exterior would be at odds a lot of the time.

Jumping ahead a bit, here's that scene from the original where Beast defends Belle from a bunch of wild wolves (but here they're Primal Awoofies!)

And from there, the character development continues.... Meta warms up a little and shows more emotion and vulnerability than he ever has before. Dedede cools down in turn and learns that he is worthy of affection and genuine connection... And so on and so on~

As for the supporting character roles filled by "Beast's servants," I figure most of Kirby's allies could be in this role! I just only explored Bandee and Kirby to start with.

I had trouble coming up with household object forms for them (granted I didn't invest that much time into it). So I thought about another time-sensitive form they could take that is high-stakes enough that they'd want to turn back to normal and break the curse. So I came up with the ghostly angel form that happens when you get knocked out in Kirby Fighters. :)

So there you have it! A few days worth of daydreaming for a metadede Beauty and the Beast-type story! Hehe. If anyone happens to find themselves inspired and wants to develop this further as an exercise in AU writing or just plain having fun with it, DO IT! This is my donation to the internet, lol.

...Just please share it with me. I love reading people's stories. <3

#metadede #Kirby au #ask #art #meta knight #king dedede #bandana dee #kirby #idk what to call this story haha but if someone thinks of a good name lemme know #thank you for the fun writing exercise <3 #I do like Dedede's “Beast” form a lot haha maybe I'll revisit it every now and then

175 notes · View notes

bimoonphases · 2 months

Text

@wolfstarmicrofic March 1 – prompt 1: Aparecium – word count 558

Aparecium - Reveals secret, written messages

It had always been like this between the two of them, since their first year at Hogwarts. When their respective birthdays approached, they wrote down what they would give the other as a gift somewhere and the birthday boy had the right to search for it everywhere he wanted. If he found the note, he could change the gift if he didn’t like it and the other had to get him that. Of course, the list had to be completed weeks before the actual birthday.

“Prongs, please, can you not do this?”

“Keep the door close Remus,” James said. “Peter’s keeping him busy with a game of chess but you know he has no patience,” he added as he meticulously went through every pillow on Sirius’s four-poster bed in search of the note.

“Why do you even need to find that note?” Remus sighed. “You two know each other so well you never got even one gift wrong since you met.”

“It’s exactly that,” James answered, now palming under the covers. “I don’t want him to get me a gift this year.”

“What?”

“Come on, Moony,” James got up from the bed before kneeling to look under it. “He turned up at my house this summer, he’s been officially part of the family since then.”

“I know,” Remus nodded, the tale of the night Sirius had showed up with only his wand and traces of an Unforgivable Curse all over him at the Potters’ still sending shivers down his spine.

“That’s my birthday gift,” James went on, now basically under the bed. “He doesn’t have to give me anything else, having him as a brother is more than enough.”

“That’s… Very sweet, Prongs.”

“Ha! Here it is!”

James remerged with a piece of parchment in his hand and Remus craned his neck from the door to look.

“It’s blank” he said.

“No one hides a blank piece of parchment, Moony,” James rolled his eyes and pointed his wand at it. “Aparecium! See? There’s a whole list! Book: just check he doesn’t own it already. It’s a bit vague but I have a lot of Quiddich manuals I guess. Chocolate. That’s more your thing than mine, Moony, but alright.”

“Uhm, James?”

“I wonder if he circled which one he decided on…” James went on. “Flowers: be careful not to accidentally get wolfsbane. He must’ve remembered my rant about why can’t boys get other boys flowers as gifts, and of course we wouldn’t want to have anything that could harm you in the dorm, Moony.”

“James…”

“Hold on, this one’s crossed out… Ring: too soon. Okay, this one doesn’t make sense, I don’t wear rings. Get his name tattooed. He’s probably already getting my surname when the paperwork goes through, he doesn’t have to get it tattooed... I mean, I know how much he loves tattoos but this one’s a bit excessive in my opinion.”

“James…”

“I’m sure he chose the last one, it’s underlined but he wrote in such a tiny handwriting… Wait in his bed naked and-“

“James!”

James looked up at Remus, noticing his friend was now a deep shade of red. He mumbled something, pointing at the list.

“What?”

“My birthday is before yours, Prongs,” Remus repeated.

James’s brain, busy wondering why on earth would he want his soon-to-be-brother naked in his bed finally clicked.

“Oh.”

53 notes · View notes

raging-violets · 5 months

Text

Fifteen years // Suite Life Series

Summary - November 16 2023. Cody waited fifteen years for this day.

“And we still can’t eat at one of the 8000 Italian restaurants we’ve passed because?” Zack droned, strolling at a leisurely pace compared to Cody’s practical sprint across the cobblestone lined streets of Rome.

For a 31-year-old man who still didn’t work out much more than his yoga stretching allowed, Cody was making ground. What was even more miraculous was that Cody was able to convince Zack to go to Italy with him simply to eat in the restaurant.

Then again, it didn’t take much for Zack to be convinced to do anything Cody asked him to do when money was involved. With Cody moving forward in his career in politics science and Zack enjoying his own lot in life running and owning his own construction company, Cody did sometimes still feel a need to protect Zack from the world. And when Cody said he had the two-person reservation to take Zack on—which surprised Zack as it seemed like something his brother would want to turn into a romantic dinner sort of thing—and would also pay for his tickets because “you owe me” from the last time they were there.

Zack had simply laughed and agreed to the deal before reminding Cody that he could afford everything himself, but it was, “Too late to take it back. And, by the way, I want a first class ticket. My damaged body needs to stretch out.”

“You’re brain damaged, but okay,” Cody replied begrudgingly.

And it wasn’t like things had been bad between them, sure, they got on each other’s nerves since they were born. But having gone into separate careers there weren’t many times Zack and Cody were able to spend a lot of time together so they opted to make it a brother trip, culminating the end of the week in Rome at the restaurant.

And while it had been a good trip, it was clear Cody’s eyes were on the prize.

He pumped his arms in a steady fashion, eyes planted firmly on the line that stretched in front of him. The line he couldn’t wait to stand in. To move forward in. To get inside the best restaurant he’d ever stepped foot in fifteen years before.

But this time, oh this time…

This time he was going to taste it.

He was going to taste the food he’d only dreamed about for as long as he could remember. Where he would finally understand what everyone meant when they said the food was worth it. Not like I don’t already know, Cody’s smile waned slightly as he eyed his brother, who moved to stand in line behind him. I had to watch and listen to Zack talk about this food so long and now it’s my turn.

Cody’s grin was infectious.

Enough so that Zack side-eyed him, leaning away. “Dude, I think you’re taking this a little too seriously. I mean, it’s just foo-“

“—Don’t you finish that sentence!” Cody snapped. He moved along with the line as it went forward. It was moving pretty quickly. A good sign the restaurant was still in good standing, able to get people in and out in an orderly manner. “I’m getting that Manicotti whether you want it or not.”

Zack held up his hands. “I’m just saying…give me a choice between manicotti and cowboy-ghetti and I’m picking the cowboys.”

Cody turned to Zack, holding up his hands as if to strangle his brother, gritting his teeth. But stopped when the line moved forward enough so that they were right up at the front. There was a young man standing behind the host podium holding onto a tablet. He briefly glanced up at Zack and Cody when they arrived before posing his finger over the screen.

“Order number?” He asked.

“Oh…” Cody waved a hand, his lips curling into an almost smug smile. “I have a reservation. Right here!” He pulled out his phone and illuminated the screen. He pointed to the date and time on screen. “See, November 16, 2023. 7:30pm!” He slapped it onto the table in front of him. “So…show us our table my good man.” He patted the man on the shoulder.

The man continued to stare at him. “You don’t have a reservation.” He finally said after a moment, as if silently questioning if Cody were serious.

“I assure you, I do.”

The man took in a breath through his nose. The breath that anyone who worked in customer service would recognize. The breath of ‘This isn’t going to end well’ before he said gently yet firmly, “I assure you, you don’t.”

“Bummer.” Zack arched his back, stretching. “I could really go for a pizza cone…” He trailed off, eyeing his brother when Cody turned a fierce glare his way.

“I’ve been waiting to eat this food for fifteen years, and I’m not going to miss it!” Cody growled through gritted teeth.

Zack waved his hand in front of his face. “Okay, but you clearly missed brushing your teeth this morning.”

“What is going on here?”

Cody’s eyes lit up the moment he spotted Chef Gigi. She had grown older in the last fifteen years, streaks of silver at the temples of her hair, pulled back into a bun. Nevertheless, it was still her. She had the same no-nonsense expression he remembered from his youth. “Chef Gigi! You remember me?”

“Yes, I remember all of the ones that are desperate to get into my restaurant,” she replied. She turned up her nose, looking down at them. “And destroyed my star and my sauce with your…antics!” Her gaze shifted over them. “Why are you causing a line?”

“I-I-I-I’m here for my reservation,” Cody stuttered. He grasped the letter and thrust it towards Gigi. Zack continued to watch with only mild interest. “See? You gave it to me fifteen years ago.”

Gigi looked over the reservation, nodding to herself. “You’re right, I did give you that reservation fifteen years ago.” The smile on Cody’s face was bright enough to illuminate even the darkest cave. But it was then snuffed out when she continued with, “But with the COVID pandemic we were forced to shut down for a while. And despite the loss of our revenue, we found our customers were still coming back and we were making more money from our delivery options and had switched to that. Now you have to place your orders in advance or else you won’t even come close to tasting my food.”

Cody’s jaw dropped. He looked to Zack who scratched the back of his head, not looking too worse for the wear. Completely unbothered, actually. Completely unbothered that Cody’s heart had just been ripped out and stepped on. “B-b-b-but, okay…” He took a deep, calming breath. Yoga was really proving to be helpful in times like this. “We can place an order.”

“That’d be nice.” Gigi nodded.

“Can we place it now?”

“We’re booked up until 2038.” Gigi gestured towards the increasingly disgruntled people behind them. “See the line?” With that, she waved them off and disappeared back into the restaurant.

Cody’s jaw dropped. Eyes widened. Breath hitched. He’d cry if he was able to even muster up the tears. His entire body was frozen, stuck. Memories of that exact same conversation from fifteen years before swirling through his head. The excitement of getting that reminder email of the reservation he’d placed years before. The anticipation on tasting that tangy tomato sauce, the radiant ricotta, the creamy cheese of the--

“Mmm.” Zack’s humming broke Cody’s depression. He slid his hands into the pockets, barely glancing at the stunned expression on his twin’s face. “How do you feel about Mexican?” Cody slowly turned his incredulous glare to his brother. Zack shrugged. “I’m not really feeling Italian.”

THE END

#the suite life on deck #november 16 #november 16 2023 #cody martin #zack martin #suite life of zack and cody #by: riley #you had to have known i was going to do something for this #it was also a good exercise to get back into their heads #i giggled while writing this #suite life

67 notes · View notes

traumabuddies · 1 year

Note

“i've never loved anyone like i love you.”

The restaurant is objectively nice.

It's a wide open space with big windows allowing everyone to look out at the city, wide awake down below. String lights are brightening the room, enough that you can see around and not trip but not too much that the romantic atmosphere is lost.

The food is phenomenal, from the main course to dessert, the flavors pulling satisfied moans out of Eddie across from him with almost every mouthful. Buck is always thankful for anything that lets him hear those sounds.

So it's nice, and there's nothing to criticize about it, but it's—not the right choice.

When Buck had looked up places to take Eddie for their first year anniversary, it had seemed perfect. He'd wanted to make an impact, show Eddie that he appreciates him, and treat him to something a little fancy. Something that they don't usually do.

There's probably a reason why they don't usually do that kind of thing, he's realizing as he hands his card to the waiter.

They had fun, because when is it ever not the case when they're together, when they can make each other laugh and hold hands just because they can, but something about it felt a little forced. Not right.

Buck isn't sure if it's the overdressed waiting staff, or the uptight-looking other couples around them, or just the general ambiance, but he knows none of this is them.

(It's not always a bad thing, because the suits they're wearing aren't really them either, but he is definitely not complaining about the way Eddie's ass looks in those dress pants when he's walking.

Anyway.)

The fresh air is welcome when they finally make it outside, filling his sinuses and clearing his senses from his overthinking.

Next to him, Eddie heaves out a sigh, his head tilted up. His eyes are closed, a hint of a smile curving his lips upwards.

"You okay?" Buck asks.

Eddie's smile grows, his eyes soft when he opens them to look at him. "I'm good. Thank you for dinner. I had a great time."

"But?"

"Nothing," Eddie says, shifting until the tip of their shoes are bumping into each other, his hands finding Buck's chest. "Just—"

He trails off, the way he does when he's thinking about the right thing to say.

Buck waits him out, trying his best to be good and keep his own hands where it's acceptable for a sidewalk in front of a fancy hotel and restaurant.

Still, he can't help but tug at the beltloop on Eddie's pants, enjoying the way it makes Eddie's breathing hitch before his boyfriend lets outa huff and shakes his head.

"Do you wanna grab a beer?" Eddie asks, glee shining in his eyes, smile too big for his face.

A laugh bubbles out of Buck, barely escaping into the night before he leans forward, stealing a kiss that's boredering on inappropriate for the sidewalk of a fancy hotel and restaurant. He can't say he cares.

"I thought you'd never ask," he says when he leans back, a little breathless, a lot happy.

Especially when Eddie laughs again, drunk on a glass of wine or a full bottle of love. "I mean, this really was nice, thank you for doing this for us," he says earnestly. "It just—"

"Wasn't us?"

"Yeah," Eddie breathes out. When he kisses Buck this time, it's nothing more but a press of lips, but it leaves Buck just as lightheaded when Eddie pulls away, his eyes shining and light fingers tracing his face. "God, I've never loved anyone like I love you."

Buck thought he was above blushing by now, but something about the way Eddie is feels in his arms tonight is making all the blood rush to his face. It's not always how their nights end.

"Does that mean the drinks are on you?"

Eddie rolls his eyes, but the fondness is clear on his face when he grabs Buck's hand and pulls him along and up the street. "I guess they are."

(They only make it to two beers before they're stumbling out of the bar to kiss in the back alley. That's definitely more like them.)

send me prompts!

#buddie #911 #911 fic #prompts #thank you i have never been inspired this quicky lmao #also i'm Not Good at being concise and writing short stuff so this is a nice exercise for me #lex.writing

122 notes · View notes

prettysquishygirl · 16 days

Text

I do wonder sometimes whether the nature of writing means that you spend most of your time not writing. Certainly the quotes from published and favourite authors seem to suggest that it's perfectly reasonable not to actually get any words on the page.

However, I've had a better day where over an additional thousand words have been neatly written for the second chapter of All the small things. I will probable spend much of tomorrow's writing time rewriting most of them, but that doesn't matter. There's such pleasure in there being something on the page and some genuine bits of dialogue that make me grin.

Today's a good day.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #fanfic #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #crowley/aziraphale #fluff #smut #writing this thing is an exercise in taking the pretty for a walk

20 notes · View notes

amalgamationink · 17 days

Text

NAPOWRIMO24 #9: ODE TO A PAIR OF PLATFORM BOOTS

#prompt: write an ode celebrating an everyday object.#i wanted to be kind of playful in the tone of this bc odes are often so formal? i'm not sure abt the outcome #but i wanted to get a poem up before fucking. 8pm for once. usually i just write throughout the whole day #so this was just. alright whatever you can get done within an hour is going up. i would not do this everyday but it was a good exercise #this is so cringe actually though it's extremely funny. it's giving 14 year old writing poetry after a hot topic trip. i'm embracing it #but i'm also wincing as i hit post #napowrimo #napowrimo 2024 #spilled ink #poets on tumblr #poetry on tumblr #poems on tumblr #poetry #poems #writeblr #poem #damien.txt #image description in alt

18 notes · View notes

simonsquest · 1 month

Note

Maybe a small picnic or forest outing with Simon and Selena? Maybe he can teach her about some of the more harmless forest creatures 🥰

It's been nearly a month since Selena arrived at the Belmont estate in Transylvania, and met her arranged husband-to-be. She is expected to give an answer as to whether or not she consents to marry Simon. Simon tries to talk her out of it.

They had a daily routine: after Simon’s hours-long morning training, he would get cleaned up, eat breakfast, and court Selena around the Belmont estate.

This routine would continue near daily, for the month’s duration of Selena’s visit to Transylvania. By the end of which she will need to come to a decision about whether or not she consents to proceeding with their arranged marriage.

It has nearly been a month now, and anxiety paralyzes Selena. She hardly knows Simon, even after spending time with him daily. But there is an urgency to their arrangement that weighs heavily on both: the time of Dracula’s calculated resurrection draws near. The Belmonts need an heir, and soon.

Despite that necessity, Selena has never felt pressured by Simon. Actually, she doesn’t know much of Simon’s feelings on the matter at all. He has been polite, certainly. Courteous, too. But he is incredibly private. Selena wonders, if she chooses to marry him, if she will ever learn about his true intent. What goes on in the mind of a man shouldering the burden of Dracula’s impending revival?

What kind of man will he become after they’re wed? Will he change from who is he now? For better, or for worse?

Or will he remain a perfect stranger—no love, no tenderness—as Selena is expected to spawn an heir for him?

Who can she expect to spend her life with if she consents to this union?

She battles the nausea that threatens her as Simon approaches, bowing his head to her in greeting. She curtsies in reply.

“Good morning, my lord.” Selena greets in her usual way.

Simon still isn’t used to being referred to as a lord. Selena can tell that much. But she cannot bring herself to call him by his first name. Not yet.

He gestures for her to walk ahead, and she does, starting on their usual route through the stamped out earth around the perimeter of the Belmont estate.

Courtship is awkward for both. Silence hangs heavy, as usual. Simon has done a terrible job of selling himself. He has not boasted about his accomplishments to earn her favor, nor tried so much as to kiss Selena’s hand.

A month isn’t enough time to truly get to know a person. Selena feels Simon’s resistance.

Sometimes, she wonders if he finds her undesirable. That would be a blessing—it may spare her yet of being wed to him.

But it is also humbling. Was she not to his taste?

Selena’s attention is pulled from her spiralling thoughts as Simon, at last, has asked something:

“I pray you slept well last night?”

Selena offers a polite smile in reply. “Yes, I slept peacefully. Your home is very comfortable.”

Simon hums to himself: a relieved, soft noise.

As they move through their usual path, Simon takes pause. He stares off beyond the gates of the estate, in the direction of the Jova woods.

After a moment, Simon takes the initiative in leading them off of their usual route, through the gates. Selena takes notice immediately.

“My lord?” Selena inquires, following dutifully after him. “Where is it we’re going?”

“The forest ahead,” Simon clarifies. “Rest assured, creatures of the night do not wander it during the day.”

He takes pause.

“Is that alright with you?” He asks, looking at her.

Selena has not stepped foot off of the Belmont estate for a month now. She longs for a change of scenery.

“Yes, of course. That would be nice.”

Simon grants her a small smile as they venture outside of the usual borders, and into the forest of Jova.

There’s a coolness in the air as shade washes over the pair. Selena remarks the sound of the leaves rustling in the wind, and the various woodland creatures within.

Serene moments like these make her forget of the malevolent creatures that stalk the area at night.

But remarking the scars on Simon’s arms quickly remind her of the very real threat. She notes how his hand rests on the handle of his whip at his side. He is still on alert.

She is safe with him, she supposes. He has proven his strength, and his dependability.

The pair slow to a stop at a clearing of forest. They linger there for a moment, before Simon spots a fallen log.

He moves to take a seat upon it, and gestures for Selena to join him. She does.

The adults sit in silence, enjoying the soundscape of the forest as minutes crawl on.

Selena was just beginning to relax, when Simon’s voice interjects the quiet:

“It has nearly been a month.”

Selena’s stomach knots. “Yes, my lord.”

She notes how Simon shifts, uncomfortable.

He continues, quieter: “the choice is yours to make. Please do not feel pressured.”

Selena doesn’t know how to reply to that. Is he expecting an answer now? Here?

“Thank you.” Selena tries, stilted. She is grateful to have the choice.

But she wonders something, as she pokes a fallen twig with the tip of her boot. Her eyes are downcast.

“Do you not have a choice as well?” She asks.

Simon doesn’t reply, and that only makes Selena feel worse.

She apologizes: “I beg your forgiveness if I am unworthy to be your wife.”

“My lady, that isn’t—“

She interrupts him: “Selena. Please.”

Oh, she shouldn’t have interrupted him. Selena feels the heat of embarrassment rise to her ears.

Simon tries, awkward: “Selena.”

She thinks it may be the first time he’s ever called her by her name. It evokes a strange feeling in her chest at the sound of it.

“That isn’t the case.” Simon assures.

Selena can hardly hear him as the thudding of her embarrassed heart deafens her.

“It is simply not my choice to make. It is yours alone.” He adds with careful emphasis.

“It is challenging to make such a choice.” Selena admits at last, wanting nothing more than for this exchange to be over.

Simon nods once with understanding. He looks away at nothing in particular.

The air hangs heavy as time crawls on.

Emboldened by their perfect privacy, concealed in the thick of forest, Selena pushes through her embarrassment to timidly ask: “if I may be candid, my lord?”

“Yes.” Simon replies.

She takes a moment to find the strength to admit: “I don’t feel I have a choice, even if you say I do.”

She doesn’t have to look at Simon to feel the consequences of her confession.

“I was selected into this arrangement as an asset to strengthen the Belmont line. Should I choose not to marry and conceive with you, then I would be burdened with the weight of having done nothing to stop Dracula when I had the chance to.”

Selena still can’t look at Simon as she concludes: “there is no choice.”

“The Belmont family will find a way, as my ancestors have,” Simon reassures, but Selena senses a tension in his reply.

With a certain firmness, he underlines: “do not let guilt influence you.”

Sensing that she has said too much, Selena makes herself small, bundling herself in her shawl. She glances to her side, remarking how Simon has transitioned his hands into his lap. He’s rubbing a thumb upon clasped hands as the silence builds.

It couldn’t really get any worse. Selena was at last being honest with him, and there is one question burning to be answered:

“Do you find me undesirable?”

Simon’s reply is immediate: “no.”

Oh.

It’s Simon’s turn to be honest now: “but like you, I feel the pressure of this union, and the necessity of its success.”

Selena lifts her head to look at him. Simon does not return the glance. He’s wringing his hands together, now.

Selena feels foolish for assuming otherwise: of course Simon would be just as impacted.

His life is on the line in this fight with darkness. If he dies during the battle, then…

There’s so much at stake. He shoulders it all alone.

“I beg your forgiveness, my lord.” Selena concedes, head bowing again. “We will share this burden.”

“Please don’t.” Simon tries, awkward. He worries that she’s only saying that out of pity.

“You have a choice.” He reminds, gentler. “Please, make the right choice.”

Selena processes his words. She feels how he shifts at her side, his hands transitioning onto his lap.

The choice is clear.

Selena moves her hand out from in front of her to land atop of Simon’s. She can feel him freeze under her touch.

“Selena,” he breathes, and it’s tinged with a resigned sadness.

She holds onto his hand.

Simon timidly returns the gesture.

Adults sit crushed by the weight of circumstance, comforted only by the calm of the forest, and the warmth of each other’s touch.

#oh my god i made this so sad i'm so sorry #pre-CV1 and pre-marriage #i hope it's a good read all the same aha #it was a great exercise for me to flesh out an idea i have for my fanfic #akumajou dracula #castlevania #simon belmont #selena belmont #selena (haunted castle)#haunted castle #selena (castlevania)#my writing

21 notes · View notes

polteergeistt · 5 months

Note

um yk i just think the eppy boys keep chopsticks at the table for ii to drum away his heart on the dinner table

-monstrr 🪼

And they put all the glasses and pans and stuff near him so he can have different types of drums. Sometimes he casually comes up with a sick beat and just. Runs to his room to record it with his drumkit. And forgets to finish his meal so it gets cold.

The others keep it in the oven where it won't cool down too fast or they just heat it. Or they strap him to his chair keep him at the dinner table so he can finish eating and then he goes to record. In that case, he eats very fast, sometimes burns himself or gets tummy aches.

However I feel like it can be a bit irritating sometimes or II is perhaps too nervous and they don't want him to break a glass so they hide the chopsticks from him. In that case, he understands and quietly taps his thighs or the edge of the table with his fingers. That doesn't happen a lot, but when it does, II knows not to look for the chopsticks.

But. Drumming on random household items with chopsticks is actually very fun. So one day, the eepies find II in front of a table with random shit like different glasses with different amounts of liquid inside, trash, pots and pans, tools, a flower pot, bottles and jars,... And he can play a few of their songs with all those things.

III and IV already went to get their own instruments to play along. It's probably how they managed to put some songs together. Like imagine if your favourite of their songs was made from litteral scrap ? It helps with creative block and it's amusing in general. So they just end up in the living room, jamming on acoustic guitar chords, bass riffs and the rhythm of a made up drum kit. Vessel just stands there like 🧍‍♂️then decides to do some vocal runs and stuff. He can't just come up with lyrics but he can find an interesting melody to work with.

So yeah, the eepies definitely keep chopsticks laying around for II. And III decorates them.

34 notes · View notes

zeldahime · 2 months

Text

Highway to Pail Day 13

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 13: How do you turn a demon into an angel? Scare the hell out of them.

If you asked if Crowley feared Hell, he'd figure you were an evangelical Christian and give you the fright of your life by saying something like "Hell? Hell is empty. All the devils are here," then turning his head into a snake. Yes, Crowley knew that line was from one of Boring Bill's plays and not even a funny one, but he'd told Aziraphale he'd fed Bill that line in a bar in 1610 and had stuck to that story ever since. (Aziraphale knew better, because dear old William had tested that line on him in 1607, but he also thought Crowley was ever so charming when he was lying and so had never called him on it.)

If Aziraphale had asked him, Crowley would tell him he really wasn't that scared of Hell, honestly. Not to say he enjoyed the place, but you knew what to expect from them, knew where you stood. He knew how they monitored him and that they didn't usually bother with it; he knew more or less what punishments which Dukes and Princes liked to inflict on their underlings and how best to avoid them. He'd tell Aziraphale, honestly he'd been more scared in Heaven towards the end there, watching his friends Fall and suddenly knowing Her love was conditional, and he'd know Aziraphale would understand the depth of that fear because Aziraphale had watched him Fall. It would be meant as a reassurance. Aziraphale, who had been fearful in Heaven long before the Fall and the War and to whom the Fall was actually a perverse relief—so he hadn't been worried about nothing, so his anxiety was rational—would not be reassured.

Crowley would be lying, but don't hold it against him: he wouldn't realize it, which is the scariest part.

In reality, he was terrified of Hell.

He'd been scared of Hell for so long it formed the foundation for most of his actions and thoughts, and much like you don't ever think about what kind of foundation your house is built on, Crowley just didn't think about it very much. For example: he kept an insurance policy because Hell was dog-eat-dog, or demon-eat-demon, and anyone who caught him with Aziraphale would come after them like that Frou-Frou guy had and he needed a way to defend himself. Clear, logical, no emotions involved in this reasoning really as far as he was concerned. He did not follow this train of motivations any further. If he'd gotten off just one stop further down the line, he'd have noticed that the reason he needed a way to defend himself was because punishment is unpleasant and he didn't want to deal with that, and another stop might have suggested, so, one of your motivations here, if you'd please let me finish speaking sir, might be fear of punishment?

Crowley rarely took trains of thought all the way to the end of the line, and so very rarely did he ever actually think about being scared. He sometimes considered how much things would hurt if he got caught, weighed it in a pros and cons list, but never connected that thought to fear of getting caught.

The lead-up to the Apocalypse was different. Things he didn't even know he could be scared of kept popping up, like a really unpleasant random jack-in-the-box. He was scared when Warlock was little and threw a fit, certain he'd say something like "I hate you Nanny! I wish you'd never existed!" and he'd be wiped from reality. He was scared when he was waiting for a hellhound at a birthday party and scared when it no-showed.

He was scared when he saw the bookshop on fire, no Aziraphale in sight. He had never even thought of the possibility of the bookshop catching on fire, not really. It'd been a joke, calling the place a fire hazard or a death trap to rile Aziraphale up a bit when he was tipsy. He'd known down to his bones that Aziraphale would never let his books burn.

It wasn't until the night after the first day of the rest of their lives that Crowley realized just how scared he was, and as soon as he realized he'd had that thought, he'd buried it as deeply as he could.

Because that night, he'd dreamed of Heaven for the first time.

Maybe it was because of the switcheroo they'd pulled, going up to Heaven in Aziraphale's corporation. Maybe it triggered some memories, or something. Heaven yesterday hadn't been anything like Heaven had been Before. Before, it had been full of warmth, and other angels, and the Light of God, not a cold empty office space ripped directly from a skyscraper in New Jersey. He'd spent most of his time in the firmament back then, but he'd thought of Heaven as home, a safe place to come back to, where he could talk to his pals and play games and rest. It had already begun shifting away from that long before the Fall, of course, but it had gotten so much worse since.

On the very first night of the rest of his life, Crowley's dream was his earliest memory. God had called his Name, the one he'd have ripped away from him when he Fell, and he had sprung into existence with Love in his heart. Another angel had called to him and told him about stars and nebulae and the Grand Design and Crowley had Loved them, in awe of these things they described. It was so simple. He dreamed of other times in the Before, conversations with other angels about what if we did it this way, or changed that. A conversation where he wondered why the stars would be so far away from the humans, why they would be extinguished so soon when they could burn for billions upon billions of years. He remembered curiosity, friendship, play, all free and unfiltered and simple.

He remembered the first time he felt fear, when Lucifer said that other angels disagreed with them and there was going to be a fight, and explained what a fight was.

And then he woke up, and he realized he was deeply afraid, and had been for most of his existence. This was very unpleasant, and changed absolutely nothing except making him skittish at exactly the time he could most benefit from the habitual recklessness he'd begun to nourish over the last few centuries.

It didn't even change what he'd tell Aziraphale if Aziraphale had asked the question, as described above, because whether or not he was telling the truth was pretty much unimportant, he'd think; the important part would be reassuring Aziraphale, since the angel was much more emotionally fragile that he was.

Aziraphale had known all along, of course, which is why he'd never asked. Some things were best left unaddressed, in his opinion. Crowley seemed to have it well in hand, dealing with his eternal fear in a healthier way than Aziraphale's own anxious paranoia, so often overcoming it to be braver than Aziraphale could ever be.

They were, of course, both totally wrong.

#my writing #do it with style events #highway to pail #crowley good omens #character study #i'm not sure what i think of this tbh #concrit welcome on this one #with the understanding these are just exercises where i am typing directly into the post box and publishing with zero edits

21 notes · View notes

mummer · 1 year

Text

hundreds..... HUNDREDS...... why did i only just now notice the Hundreds of it all... grrm release the abelon tapes NOW. this is so painful to just sprinkle in there bc you know gyladyn is hiding some bullshit because how does the chad abelon have in depth material about the lives of hundreds of different minor female nobles and the virgin gyldayn is like “lemme go on a ten page tangent about the hungness of the guy who impregnated 14 year old coryanne wylde instead of saying something interesting ever” shut UUUUPPPPP

#why the FUCK would you write fire and blood and not this.#actually god that would be so inspired and so much more interesting as an Exercise In History #readers having to excavate all their knowledge of big historical moments like the dance from the mundane lives of regular noblewomen lol #george. cmon man.#god wouldnt the alys chapter just fucking rip #hundreds. you have to be kidding me. show me the forbidden phd thesis you fuck #asoiaf #post dance era is sooooo good dude in so many ways. just fun!

235 notes · View notes

divinekangaroo · 9 days

Text

rewatching S6 in bits and pieces for current fic and ahhhhhhhhhh but the whole Jack, Diana, Mosley and Lizzie final dinner is so *viscerally* fucking satisfying on every sensory and intellectual and emotional level of consumption.

#every single movement facial expression breath flick of an eye the choice of 'mosley' not 'mr mosley'#the way mosley says 'lizzie' for the first time #jack's buildup and his mad fucking innuendo just before diana and oswald show #particularly how every drink is taken and by whom and when #lizzie constantly holding herself back the entire time from Saying Something all these flinches and half-breaths #insane #INSANE #as much as the end of S3 is roaringly wrenchingly furiously emotionally good #this dinner is something else #this whole episode is pretty much something else though fffffffffffff #jack's patronising constant reference to tommy as if he's a much younger man/boy when you look at these two guys and jack looks younger??#by design i am sure #in the scene with the tie before the dinner.the way tommy's face says one thing while facing away from lizzie #then he puts on that mask as he turns to face her and you can SEE HIM DO THAT jesus #it would a writing exercise and a half to actually try to capture that scene in writing and work out what needs to be said/described #to carry the same effect because @coffeeatnight23 -> this scene is totally Tommy ripping his own heart out then eating it with relish :)#it *is* the saddest thing but also a fucking *reclamation* of something that tommy hasn't had since his suicide attempt. there's lots of #small reclamations of self that happen in post-Ruby S6 i seem to recall. despite flicks old trauma/foggy memory wandering also this-#-sort of structural shift/acceptance he is who he is and that is how he has agency (not solely money?)#anyway it's not triumph but there is *something* that i haven't found the word for yet #acceptance is one word but there's something more vicarious and dark in it that acceptance doesn't connote

14 notes · View notes