#i also love weaving in big or small scale
Text
Brief Meta on Memories and Traumatic Grief
Memories change over time and don't stay exactly the same. Each one is fluid, tied to a web of ever-changing associations we draw between them and other thoughts, and we actually make small edits each time we revisit them, like small tweaks in a word doc file that we may hardly notice.
But we are undoubtedly rewriting them over time, changing the narrative even if not by much, forming new associations big and small with them by weaving other thoughts/feelings/beliefs/perspectives/memories with them, no matter how consciously or subconsciously we do so. It's like playing the telephone game with ourselves without being able to stop it.
The fascinating thing about this is it opens up room for trauma treatment approaches such as Eye Movement Desensitizing and Reprocessing (EMDR), narrative therapy, journaling, memory rescripting etc to be effective, since memories are therefore subjective. Memories are always malleable, though at the same time they have foundational roots.
Which brings me to the above. I believe it was tremendously important that others were physically present and right next to him in the moments right after Flapjack faded away. Trusted loved ones who felt the same kind of emotions as he was, to collectively grieve as a group (hell, there hasn't even been time for them to properly mourn without rushing the process. Not yet). This would've influenced the forming of Hunter's traumatic memories related in any way to Flapjack dying.
Instances like below - him being held tightly and soothed while being in an unmatched level of pain - must have shaped the newly forming memories in a major way:
Oddly enough, this scenario in which a death has just occurred has some similarities with its opposite: birth 🤔🤔🤔🤔 The minutes and hours after any childbirth are a very sensitive window for foundations of a sense of safety, emotional regulation and even physiological processes to be built. That's why newborn infants should have pretty much constant physical touch with caregivers via e.g. skin-to-skin contact for healthy bonding to take place.
*tempted to philosophize more about birth vs death but I'm holding back from being unnecessarily lengthy*
Back to Hunter's major traumatic loss above. I'm referencing it because it's not long till we'll see him witness Belos be imprisoned, dying or however way in which he will be defeated. How could this impact on all the Belos-related memories and Flapjack-related memories he will keep recalling for the rest of his life?
I think he will require the exact same type of support once that milestone of his life - truly losing Belos - arrives. This but on a way bigger scale:
Why?
Because there's no way this part of him has totally disappeared, even now:
There are formative memories do to with Belos which can't be whisked away with a Delete button.
There are a number of factors influencing how he's going to absorb the seconds/minutes of that upcoming loss in Watching and Dreaming. The hours afterward will matter so much too.
Will he witness that loss with his own eyes or e.g. might Camila pull him close into an embrace and tell him not to look?
Will he have an active role in making the moment of Belos's defeat happen, or might he watch passively from a distance?
Will Belos say anything to him while it happens, or not? If yes, what are the words Hunter will hear?
What thoughts and feelings will he have about himself, and what memories will fill his mind while it happens?
Who else is there with him during and right after it happens, and what do they tell him?
All these will add up to form his experience of that loss (which is made more complicated because it is also a major gain/win for him). There is no way through this where he escapes further loss (which coexists in a messy way with gain), since trauma be like that.
Examples of other important moments in other media that portray what I'm trying to explain include this part of Avatar: The Last Airbender..
where Katara is by Zuko's side as he watches Azula, his sister, have a nervous breakdown. The physical touch from Katara matters. The memory of this event is forming in Zuko's mind and being shaped in real-time. and will continue to be shaped over time.
Another one I remembered is this moment of Silver shielding Jim in Treasure Planet (the supernova scene) when Jim's skills as a crew member (which he bet all of his self-worth on) were truly being tested:
This proved to be vital "cushioning" for what happens right afterwards: Jim, already stricken with a fragile sense of identity and no self-love, being blamed for the death of a crew member.
The last example is from How to Train Your Dragon 2. Hiccup not being on his own during his father's death and funeral:
A negative, dark example is Jinx losing Silco in Arcane:
Nobody to soothe and hold her (because she rejected Vi's help due to lack of trust), and she had been the one to end his life.
Whether a parental figure we lose has been kind or cruel to us, grief is unavoidable when they are gone. Hunter's is on a exaggerated level in fiction since Belos technically murdered him via the possession and he had to be brought back to life via external means (Flapjack's sacrifice).
I was especially compelled to write this meta after a fresh realization that being physically alone and hidden in the crucial minutes and hours after a few life-altering incidents in past decades, significantly prolonged my recovery time from such awful traumatic memories.
But I'm very glad Hunter should be in excellent hands having to say that complicated goodbye (which realistically, will not be a one-time send-off) to his 'uncle', which he most definitely won't be responding to with a triumphant Hollywood kind of smile on his face.
SOMEBODY HAS TO TAKE CARE OF THIS BBY AND PUT A BLANKET OVER HIM
#toh analysis#toh hunter#toh belos#the owl house#loz writes a meta#acute grief#it's hella weird: I wrote this on my main abuser's birthday without realizing at first#death mention#trauma mention#abuse mention
163 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hi Hello I actually make things sometimes
I don't know if anyone who follows me is interested in this stuff bc I very rarely post things from my own life, but I decided to be a little more active on here besides reblogging funny shit regarding my current hyperfixation.
So, here is the (incomplete) crafting diary of a neurodivergent trans person surviving christmas with the family and the dark and dreadful times (winter) in general by making shit! with my hands!
First: fiber stuff
I picked up tablet weaving over the last few months of 2023 and made my first pair of somewhat mistake-free shoelaces over the holidays! Only got the pattern completely right on the second try with the red but both laces now get to add a fun little detail to my shoes.
Next I tried a more complicated pattern and experimented a lot, hence the irregular pattern and troubleshooting at the start of the band. I'm now repurposing it as a camera strap and I learned a lot from it tho.
My current setup is basic cardboard tablets (I had to make extra ones so I had enough for the last band with 30 cards), tying the warp to something sturdy like a bookshelf, and sitting down with a backstrap belt on the other side of the room. I used thin wool yarn for this, which stuck to itself quite a lot, but not too much to be unmanagable, and I really like how the finished product feels.
If anyone's interested, I could make a longer post on how I made the shoelaces, I think it's a very beginner friendly project.
I managed to get my hands on a drop spindle and gave that a try, but I ran out of wool after making a very small amount of very chunky yarn and am currently working out where to best get sth local. It was fun tho!
I also finally finished the knitted scarf that has been in my wip pile for... approximately three years? I started it when I was still in school, feels like an eternity ago. It's just a simple (although very long) red wool scarf, but it keeps me nice and warm in this cold, harsh- *checks weather* ...5°C and neverending rain.
Next up: woodworking!
Noodled around with my grandpa's old dremel that we still had lying around, which resulted in this truly terrifying weapon:
Behold! I named it Toothling. It's great for poking friends and family when they least expect it.
This was more of a test run to see if it all still works and to try out doing small scale work with wood, now I gotta think of something fun to make. (I say, as if I didn't already have 50 different ideas)
Before that fuckery, I made this magnetic dice box/rolling tray for my lovely partner's birthday.
Though I don't feel like I can take credit for working the CNC magic on this, I did all the hands-on work with the sanding, assembling the magnets, shellac coating, and whatnot. I'm pretty sure wood is some sort of fruit tree, since it smells strongly of what I suspect might be plum or cherry.
Last but sure as fuck not least: embroidery
This I actually get professional instruction for at uni. I've kinda lost patience for it atm, but mostly because I cannot resist making unnecessarily complicated pieces with tiny little stitches and then am forced to finish it because I do actually kinda need to pass this class. My lecturer keeps telling me not to go so detailed, yet I have proven resistant to her good advice. But, I figured if I have to make two full pieces of embroidery to be graded on and put hours of work into, I might as well choose designs that I can turn into patches for my jacket:
Catha and Ruidus! I love me some big moon little moon imagery. The prompt was to incorporate most of the techniques/stitches we've learned so far. Added the little gold chain stitch around ruidus for the arcane latticework. It came out a little wonky shape wise, but I love it nonetheless.
And my most recent wip, a stained glass window design with the Ninth House skull and Gideon's sword behind it, to feed my current Locked Tomb obsession.
And that's it!
#fibre crafts#embroidery#tablet weaving#tablet weave#weaving#wool#handcrafted#woodworking#if you wanna call it that#Eli has a life#and needs sth to do so i pick up random crafts i see people do on the internet#critical role#locked tomb#art#dnd
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
well lemme break out the macro lens & ring light and show you guys what i got at the tiny shit expo!! note: i would have bought literally everything but my budget was only $200 (and only that high thanks to my wife). there were awesome things that would have cost all or most of that budget, so i tried to strike a balance of cool, high-quality minis that would still allow me to walk away with multiple new items. anyway!!
Check out this tiny dish of raspberries small enough to fit on my fingertip! it's a real ceramic dish and metal spoon, plus the raspberries are still amazingly detailed despite being basically molecules at this point, with different shades of red for added realism...crazy.
apparently this lovely wine bottle, made of real glass and cork, also contains real wine!! according to the dude who made them, colored water in the bottles would freeze and shatter as they traveled back and forth from Canada, so this was their solution. it's extra authentic!
I've been searching for a mini cabinet radio for a while but most out there, while nice, are slightly too big for me. this one though is the perfect size!! again, it can balance on a fingertip and yet is super detailed — check out the weaving over the speaker grille!
the same artist also had a ton of mini clocks & I liked this one a lot. love that little pendulum in the cabinet part :)
at first I wasn't entirely sure why I liked this quarter scale cabinet so much. I mean ofc I love tiny shit lol, but the artist had a ton of other awesome quarter scale furniture, so why did this one in particular speak to me? it wasn't until I got home that I realized that the scallop design and the pretend leaded glass look almost exactly like the furniture in my grandma's house. Nostalgia now fits in the palm of your hand!!
this was the most expensive single item. the vendor was selling tons of amazing mini books — yes, with real printing on the inside, in addition to the incredible leather bindings. i had a hard time choosing just one, but I think I made a good choice. this is exactly the kind of thing I hoped to find at the tiny shit expo!!
sorry for any warping in the pics or uneven lighting. i needed to use a macro lens to capture the details and it's not exactly perfect, lol
140 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Gift Of Matiarchy painting statements
The works in “The Gift of Matriarchy” feature 6 portraits of women who helped to raise me, and how to juggle the responsibilities of young adulthood. Often women are left out of the historical narrative, barely being recorded in archives. This became a crossroads in my identity, seeing as the women featured are my whole life. How can one repay the sacrifices made so that one can live through forwarded hopes and dreams? My answer is the gift of remembrance; anyone who sees this work will know the names of each monumental pillar of my life, a window to how and why I was able to be. My gift to my family is the ability to cement them in visual history.
Joyce the Mender
Joyce is featued with a needle and thread. Not only is she a practiced seamstress, but a nurse. She has mended fabric, skin and stitched the pieces of her family's life together after hitting rock bottom several times over. Giving birth to twins at the same time her husband was being treated for an aneurysm, taking me in where I had nowhere to go, stitching my dress when it ripped. She has never once thought twice about who or what she was offering aid, no matter how big or small.
Michele the Stalwart
Michele instilled a strong sense of self in me. She's a beacon I look for in the fog over and over again. She has always been a fair but firm comfort for me. I fondly remember our trips to the beach and the lighthouse became synonymous with her. She holds out the scales of Lady Justice because she is My Lady Justice.
Judy on the Roof
Judy showed me how to be free-spirited and how to find beauty in the smallest things. She was the one who showed me how to paint, to begin with. This story reflects a childhood story of hers where she climbed onto her roof as a child out of curiosity. Judy taught me whimsy and the joy of discovery. Questions for the sake of questions is a discovery in itself
Cumpas Rosie
Rosie is someone who inspired me to travel. I always thought I would be the type to say I wanted to go somewhere or do something and leave it as a dream. As a recovering agoraphobic, I always felt I needed someone to travel with me so I would be safe. Rosie made her way from Ireland to the States and carved out a home for herself on her own. She's the incarnation of tough love as if it's weaved into her being. Her specialty is doing something for the hell of it and making it look seamless. I have heavily modeled what I want out of my young adulthood after her direction.
Jeanette the Prepared
What has stuck with me about Jeanette is her ability to make things fun and whimsical no matter the activity. At one point when I was a child, we were locked out of my house when she was watching us, the house being locked on accident. She turned breaking back into the home and removing the window from the house side into a game. She always has a hatchet and a stuffed bear in her car. I thought these two items perfectly describe the juxtaposition of how she blends stern and delightful so seamlessly. She’s also placed on the yellow brick road from OZ, removing thrones from the path. She’s the embodiment of work hard, play hard.
Jennifer the Inaugural
Jen(who we call Coppo) showed me how to grieve without losing yourself. She was the only adult in my life who experienced the same trauma I did and was willing to show me how to reach the light at the end of the tunnel. She became the promise that things do get better, as long as you choose to make it so. This work is based on a personal anecdote; After her brother died, she sat under a tree they frequently visited to mourn. She expected uncontrollable sadness but was surprised to feel the first glimpse of serenity she had experienced in a long time. She's shown dancing with him at sunset, carrying, but existing outside grief.
0 notes
Text
Kalyanee Mam & The World in Thai Sand
As Singapore dredges sand out from beneath Cambodia’s mangrove forests, an ecosystem, a communal way of life, and one woman’s relationship to her beloved home are faced with the threat of erasure. This 15-minute short movie by the award-winning filmmaker Mam Kalyanee touches upon the beauty of this stunning part of coastal Cambodia, the destructive dredging it suffered from for close to a decade, and the greed and stupidity that lies behind it in the form of Singapore's relentless 'land expansion' program. (Lost World, Mother Nature Cambodia on YouTube)
Last week, amidst our time hosting French high school students from Collegé Saint Martin, the GIP program hosted Ms. Kalyanee Mam to discuss and show her 2018 short film Lost World, which addresses the impact of sand dredging for export sale (often to Singapore) on coastal communities in Thailand – specifically the home of Vy Phalla in a mangrove fishing/sea harvesting community being slowly eaten alive by the sand inustry.
Despite what feels like access to every event happening globally, like many others in the room, I had never previously heard of any event even remotely similar to the dredging of sand in Thailand that Mam spoke to us about for this GIP event. Not only was Lost World a educational, powerful, and visually striking film project to watch, but Mam was also an intimate and animated speaker, encouraging reflection on our relationship with land through her introduction and Q/A. This event was a very engaging way to look at the impacts of climate change and environmental destruction on a micro-scale; the contrast between a mega-industrial, highly commercial, and starkly sanitized center of Singapore and the small cities/ fishing and mangrove communities focused on in this area of Thailand show that when we focus on rapid industrial development for what might seem to be the big picture, this big picture actually frames those in positions of relative power – in this case, cities with wealth and international influence – and leaves out the destruction that is happening to perhaps communities that are marginalized, but unquestionable in their scale and value.
I was also intrigued to listen to explanations of feelings of powerlessness that come at this time, a feeling which seems to thread together many people from all types of countries. Not only is this how myself and many members of our own community feel, but even many of the sightseers and residents of Singapore either were not aware of the large exploitation of physical land, or noted that they did not know what they could do with that information. While powerlessness is a terrifying feeling, the fact that it binds us this way does give me much hope, as reflected in Mam’s weaving of the many aspects of her globetrotting life. In the spirit of our theme “Ubuntu”, I hope that stories like that of Lost World continue to shed light on systems of oppression and ecological destruction not to bring despair, but rather to inspire unity and revolutionary change across the globe.
" The beauty of the mangrove forest
Rivals the palace gardens.
It's a place where pure love grows.
The more I gaze,
The more I crave to see.
A true and rare beauty
is revealed to me.
The ocean leans forward,
Embracing the mangrove forest.
Stunning and exquisite –
A golden paradise. "
0 notes
Text
so i have been thinking more about my thesis next year and like the Major Theme methinks is Belonging, tee em, and below that i think there will be subthemes perhaps on like the diff meanings of belonging like
- belonging as in being part of something aka a community: life as not only an ethnically chinese person growing up in the west but also shit like too chinese for the white kids not chinese enough for the chinese and too hongkonger for the taiwanese and too taiwanese for the hongkongers and having “home” be an adopted concept because if birthtown means hometown the us government stole it away and if hometown means the place i grew up well it never quite existed, lost somewhere between the remnants of the halifax explosion and the time spent counting the number of tampons washed up on black rock beach
- belonging as in ownership as in: a remix artist who butchers words and pillages stories and reshapes them to fit my worldview, a pirate who belongs to no one, someone who weaves concepts from different areas or disciplines to create new meaning, a future in studying intellectual property, identity with media and belonging to media and giving media ownership over me, wanting ownership over things. as in breaking the very idea of ownership with remix work and acknowledging feminist theory of property that We Are All A Product Of What Came Before Us And Our Community and community community community—remix as community, as a rebellion against individualism, as a way of saying, there is no one place where i belong but that is okay because i am making my own belonging!
as far as the physical thing goes i am considering a kind of large scale idea weaving that really immerses people in Me and My World and puts them in my brain that they can explore at their leisure like i want this project to be me. Submitting to the idea of being known. me inviting people into my depths as horrible as cringe as terrifying as they are and being strong and saying I BELONG RIGHT HERE. like if i could do an installation in the lobby outside the concert hall where we’ll do our final project showings—a miniature hallway people can walk through, or maybe not a hallway but something that is claustrophobic and on the verge of being overwhelming, like a tiny world that explodes with colours and shapes like how i see things. a big box with a peephole and inside is a projector and a speaker with things lining the walls? maybe too small. but i dont want canvases neatly hung on aisles either, i want like, mess! organized chaos! i want everything i have ever loved on display! will def have to think on this more and also do research into installation art lol
0 notes
Text
A Classy Replica Bottega Veneta Bag
Bottega Veneta is a sort of understated luxurious brands that makes intricate woven leather baggage in their nappa leather . I have at all times had a Bottega Veneta bag on my wish list however it has never been at the high of my want record . In other words it’s a model I’ve had my eye on for a very lengthy time however by no means really seriously pursued … that is until now. I purchased a reproduction model of the small Olimpia Bag as a result of I wanted a model new on an everyday basis bag that I can shortly grab and go to run errands. What I completely love concerning the brand Bottega Veneta as a complete is that they do not have their brand plastered all over their products. In reality they explicitly have a motto that states, “When your individual initials are sufficient.” This is sort of a refreshing perspective on luxurious items considering the current sizzling trend is logo-mania as you might have observed when perusing social media.
The 2018 Fall Winter Collection brings a new luxury upgrade to one of Replica Bottega Veneta Bags most well-known classics, Cabat. The easy tote bag is generally open, and the brand new design of the leather-based physique with invisible magnetic buckle further enhances the protection protection. Exquisite Nappa lambskin material Cabat handbag with luxurious crocodile leather handle, plus crocodile leather-based letter studs on the body. There can also be a refreshing masculine mustard shade matching, with a wealthy sandalwood black crocodile leather-based handle, a low-key, distinctive personality of the luxurious man incarnation. Maybe you suppose Replica Bottega Veneta Handbags Knot cannot escape the appearance of rectangular box, then you're incorrect.
That slip along with winter climate, Tomas Maier thoroughly confirmed BV nostalgia. Roma tote can certainly declare is normally Replica Bottega Veneta Handbags counsel related with on the list of clutches, will most likely be a traditional along with tasteful mannequin having excellent mobility rolled in just one. I really feel plenty of the authentic purses and footwear usually are not being mades in addition to they was. Probably, now could be why you will get genuine items from the online outlets like Tradesy, The Real Real, Rebag and FashionPhile cheaper now. There are a quantity of types of purses obtainable in the marketplace today.
Pattern and colour “, artistic director Tomas Maier said,” This women’s series is through the exploration of the possibility of making beautiful clothes, displaying your private creativity. Depending on the scale, there are many ways to hold it again. The most trendy method is to buy a big cloud bag, seemingly carelessly put it in your arms.
Hence, the handbag market has labored to create some Bottega Veneta Dupe Bags which are an excellent replica of the original designer merchandise. If you are on the lookout for an on-trend, designer but affordable look, then Dupes actually brings all these elements together making them extremely interesting to many shoppers with out having to pay the posh price ticket. There are plenty of options for those who are looking for a approach to satiate their craving for high style.
For those that don’t need to indicate their logos to everyone, the bottega veneta bag can spotlight the deepest of them. The selection of cloth has a touch of stable and quite lots of thickness of the wool material, matte expertise to cope with crepe, wool and tannin material. There are additionally delicate and easy silk, silk and lace cloth. Technical elements of the usage of printing, acupuncture and embroidery and different process. The whole sequence of contours minimize precision in place, emphasizing the distinctive shoulder line design. wikipedia handbags To trousers primarily gown, and autumn and winter men’s sequence echoes.
The exclusive leather-based weave of the Moltedo household made BOTTEGA VENETA shine within the 70s and have become a well-known luxury model. Because prime respect together with pure leather merchandise firm Fake Bottega Veneta Handbags along with Gucci Class Fusion is usually a subject naturally, considering that March 2001, can turn out to be definitely one of this particular high-quality brand-name Class. skel.io bottega veneta replica Throughout July in the very same calendar yr, your developer Tomas Maier while ingenious representative along with quickly introduced your 2002 planting season along with summertime string, your performs shortly get back to manner arenas warmly.
Although the holding of this sterling silver bag is pulling the wind, can be a long time, it's going to nonetheless be oxidized, consider it to keep the silver cloth to keep it, or more bother. And do not know when Bottega Veneta will additionally launch an upgraded version of pure gold replica bag tote pure gold replica bag tote. This modern but low-key, beautiful however not complicated beneficiant design is truly eye-catching, and it's indeed one of many iconic classic kinds of the fiftieth anniversary sequence. Replica Bottega Veneta Handbags additionally has many basic and well-acclaimed purses.
0 notes
Note
🍄🍂🌸🌼💫 for phaedra mallory and mauty?
pls don’t break this post tumbsmdalfml
🍄 What are your OCs favourite snacks? Their favourite comfort food which always cheers them up when they’re down? Favourite meal to make? Do they enjoy baking and cooking and are they any good in the kitchen?
She doesn’t really eat anymore, nothing has taste and she doesn’t need it so why bother. But when she did she would bake big or small pies with either sweet or savory filling, and she really liked baking in general. She liked to decorate them real nice too. She’s a pretty good cook, and if she smells a pie she gets a lil nostalgic and sad
Mallory eats impeccably healthy, got her proteins, got her greens, got meal plans and whatnot. She snacks on smoothies, eggs and protein bars mainly. Splurges on chocolate if sad. Likes to cook, makes herself balanced hearty meals with greens and chicken
Mauty’s a pretty good cook but himself is very picky so while he’ll cook for the family he himself will eat only a few things from it. Will snack on an apple provided it’s cut up first
🍂 Does your OC enjoy hugs? What do they do as a show of affection for: their friends, their family, their significant other(s) or for strangers? Over all what are they like with recieving affection from others?
She hasn’t really let anyone too close so it’s been a long time since she’s been hugged, so nowadays she’s a little apprehensive about anyone being so close to her. Way back when she had no problem though. She shows affection very discreetly, just a pat on the hand, a comforting word before she leaves. Kinda ran out of those things.
She likes hugs, especially likes picking up people if they allow it. Ruffles hair, gently punches shoulder, puts arm around, she’s open with affection. For lovers its lots of kisses and hugs, for siblings (all six of them) hugs sometimes, more punches. Strangers get a wave or a handshake. Likes receiving affection too, easy to get along with.
He really likes hugs but only from a very select few people, which are his kids and husband. Sister gives him half-hugs which is fine. Otherwise please keep your distance. Openly loving with husband with hugs and kisses, kids get those too. Others know he likes them but likes his own peace more.
🌸 What are some of their favourite things and why? List as many as you can think of!
Seasons changing, birds singing, water flowing, cute water nymphs having fun in their springs, someone coming to say hello when passing by, flowers blooming, sunshine on her old bones, anything that makes her feel somewhat alive and reminds her that there’s life and joy in the world around her, people feel and love and remember, everything reminding her that she exists
Camaraderie and friendship, seeing friends, seeing family, working out, having inside jokes, pretty clothes, flowers, jewelry, someone saying “I saw this and thought of you”, good food and company
Home and hearth, sounds of rain and fireplace crackling, perfectly balanced spear good to throw, soft fur to touch or to lay on, a child’s laugh, gifts from his kids, cuddles and kisses from husband, hands in his hair very gently, watching silent snowfall, watching husband work on making fabric bc it’s very monotonous and nice to watch and the sound is rhythmic and calming
🌼 Who are this characters friends and found family? How did they meet, how long have they been friends for, could they ever be something more than just friends? What do they look for in a friend or a romantic partner?
She really doesn’t have any she considers family, but she considers Mahran a friend and appreciates the company she keeps as well. She knew her dad, probably knew her grandparents, she’s been there for ages and knows Mahran is a good and smart woman. Acts annoyed at Ilya but appreciates them paying her a visit when passing by on the way to visit Kyrie. As for mans, she HAD one perfect one, and would like to see him again, thankyouverymuch
She’s likable, I bet she has friends within the bounty hunters even if she hasn’t been there for long. Who knows if she’ll get a date from there or anywhere else later on. She’s not actively looking but wouldn’t mind having a girlfriend (if she has time for one...), someone interesting and fun. She’s also really young though so like. No hurry to settle down or anything
He’s close with his twin sister and obviously loves his husband very much, and also everyone in the clan considers each other family at least in some way and he shares this view. Him and Ola have known each other since they were practically kids and he’s just been a very grounding and calming presence for him throughout his life and he kinda just fell in love at some point
💫What is your favourite fact about this character and why?
I don’t want her story to be tied to Jarvarad and focusing on getting back to him, it’s her refusing to give herself up to someone she doesn’t like nor will ever accept, her story is about her and building herself up to break her own damn curse. Husband and new job as kicker of god ass is just extra
She’s just a ball of energy tbh, hench ass woman doing the Most (also with added stoner farmer twin it’s even funnier)
Mute. Terminal bitch face. Spear taller than him (and he’s tall). Beefy af. Kicks beast ass no problem. Also a mushy househusband who cuts crusts off his kids’ sandwiches and blushes violently when orbular manlet husband pulls him down to give him kisses
#mauty: *sees werewolf tracks* (¬_¬ )#mauty: *sees daughter about to walk into a low-hanging branch* ( ºΔº )#long oc thing#guess who has two thumbs and picked the wrong emoji and only realized it when double-checking before publishing#i also love weaving in big or small scale#very relaxing when you get the hang of it#but i do enjoy all that kind of stuff anyways
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
Please tell me the Coolest Non Spoiler about TPOFATGIF (that’s one hell of an acronym) and I also appreciate you weaving Marik in well because my biggest emotion of his arc was ‘OMG NOAH DIIIIIED DIDBDJHEBW wait didn’t we finish this arc? Why are we back to THIS dude?! WHAT ABOUT NOAH?!’ In my defense, I was ten.
I feel like the series is a lot funnier when you consider what the antagonists of future arcs were doing during duelist kingdom, ESPECIALLY Marik, because he (or rather, his brother) was running A MAJOR CRIMINAL ENTERPRISE??? Like, the stories from those times have fucking Potential.
So in that vein, here are some fun facts about relationships the characters have before the fic actually kicks off, some of which are (kind of) spoilers and some of which are just for fun.
Duke Devlin has actually met the Ishtar Brothers before battle city, at the same event, but didn't realize they were there together. In his defense, the event involved a LOT of alcohol.
Mai Valentine is at duelist kingdom to look for the guy who maimed her brother-in-law.
Rex Raptor and Ishizu Ishtar have met before, and they mutually hold the other in great esteem and think the other is an exceptionally trustworthy and generous person.
Before they realized they both knew Yugi, Joey and Ryou Bakura bonded over a shared hatred of an English tabletop gaming company and an interest in small-scale plastics manufacture.
Mokuba Kaiba knows and is pen pals with Rebecca Hawkins. Seto keeps a passing interest in thier friendship because he loves his brother and because he is just a little bit afraid of Rebecca.
Tristan and Tea met when they were assigned as science partners and became friends after getting detention together relating to that class project.
Solomon Moto has stolen, over the course of his storied career:
-Weapons Manufacturing Secrets from Gozaboro Kaiba
-A Horse, a lover and A Very Nice Tea Set from Bakura's Grandfather
-A Tuxedo from one of the Big 5.
-Approximately $500,000 dollars worth of wine from Maximillion Pegasus' father, but that was (mostly) an accident.
-Thief King Bakura's Bitching Red Jacket. It's in the hall closet in the Gmae Shop right now.
Yugi and Weevil have known each other for like two years now, but only by their screenames.
The most recent Summer Olympics in this universe were hosted by Constantinople, not Istanbul.
Arthur Hawkins knows Bakura's family back in England and would murder the lot of them with extreme prejudice and no hesitation if the opportunity ever presented itself.
Joey might have been in a gang, but Serenity is in a not-so-secret-society and had to go to court over an Assault charge.
Solomon Moto, Mai Valentine, Maximillion Pegasus and Marik Ishtar have all been chased by the same tiger.
311 notes
·
View notes
Note
The lords reaction to a new dragon lord who is the youngest out of them all? 🐾👫
Broken Truth: Oh! A Non-Binary Shifter Reader! This is going to be interesting. Let the words weave!
The Dragon of Castle [L/N]
"Welcome, Lords. I'm glad you arrived in swiftness upon my call for this meeting." Mother Miranda said from her position as her children sat in their seats.
"Of course, Mother Miranda." Alcina smiled as she took a long puff of her cigarette.
"What's the reason for this meeting?" Karl asked as he placed his hammer beside him.
"Do you remember the 5th House - The Stone Castle [L/N]?" Miranda asked her children, all of them looked at her with raised eyebrows.
"But of course, Mother Miranda, it's built into the mountain - normal means of transportation cannot reach the glorious structure. What about it?" Alcina asked.
"As of today - that castle shall belong to someone. To the 5th Lord." Miranda said; everyone leaned for to hear her better.
"Say what now?" Alcina asked.
"A New Lord?!" Angie jumped in Donna's Lap.
"Another Sibling?!" Salvatore was excited but at the same nervous - would this one like him or treat him like Karl and Alcina did?
"Hold the hell on," Karl said as he waved his hand around. "Another Lord? And this fucker is gonna live in that fucking fortress? Just who is the guy and want makes him so good to be Lord of the Stone Castle?" Karl asked Miranda.
"He? Come now, Karl; as if a foolish man-thing could rule that castle. It's obvious that the new lord is a lady as a woman is perfect to rule castles." Alcina said.
"Oh, please, go stroke your ego somewhere else, Super-Sized Bitch. There's no way a weak female would run that region." Karl spat. Before Alcina could respond, Miranda spoke again.
"You both are wrong for the new lord is neither man nor woman." She looked at the shadows to her right. "Come out, Lord [Y/N]."
Everyone watched as the figure walked out from the darkness and stood beside Miranda: They were tall, just a few inches smaller than Karl. A slim feminine built but there were defined muscles that sculpted their [S/C] body and rather flat-chested. Their [H/L] [H/C] hair was brushed back with 2 black horns resting on their hairline, pointing back in the same direction of their hair. Their [E/C] eyes...they were something else - sharp with different colors bleeding into each other, power was present in their eyes and the other lords knew it. Karl's eyes looked down and saw something moving under the black cloak resting upon their shoulders, it was...
"A Lizard's Tail?" Karl asked with a chuckled and looked at the new Lord. "Our new brother is a lizard?!" He laughed.
"You mean our new sister, Heisenberg; she's just a bit flat-chested but her face is clearly feminine," Alcina said.
"As I said before - you both are wrong. They are not male nor female. They are not He nor She. They are...They. They're Non-Binary." Miranda said.
"And also - I'm not a Lizard. I am a Dragon." The new lord spoke.
"A Dragon?" Alcina said - she looked offended. "Sorry to burst your bubble but there is only one dragon in this 'family' and that dragon is me." Alcina said with smugness.
"If you're one of my kind, then show me your fire." [Y/N] said as they looked upon Alcina, who looked confused.
"Fire? What Fire?" Alcina asked with a raised eyebrow.
"This fire." [Y/N] said as they looked at movement above the rafters - a lycan, or in this case, a target. The New Lord's jaws opened, showing all their dagger-like teeth as well as the glow of the fire in their mouth before a roar was released and with it, a stream of [F/C] Fire. The Lords ducked in their seats and gobsmacked as the lycan was engulfed in flames and turning into ash and the charred skeleton fell to the ground and shattered into pieces upon impact. The lord closed their mouth, black smoke exiting through the crack of their teeth before disappearing as they faced Alcina.
"If you are a dragon - show me your fire, Lady Dimitrescu." They repeated but Alcina was shaking in her chair to the point she dropped her cigarette.
"Ha! Get roasted, Super-Sized Bitch!" Karl laughed as he pointed at her.
"Silence!" Another roar rang out and Karl ducked just in time for a jet of fire to fly above his head but it caught his hat. Karl grabbed his hat and started putting it out before glaring at the Dragon Lord.
"What the hell was that for?!" Karl asked.
"You shall not disrespect a lady - especially a fellow lord and your sister." [Y/N] said as they looked at the small fish man. "Oh, you're Lord Salvatore Moreau - the 3rd Lord, right?" They asked as they kneeled beside the small man with a smile on their face.
"Yes...That's me, Lord [L/N]." He said but the dragon shook their head.
"Call me [Y/N] - We're siblings now. Can I call you Sal, Big Brother?" They asked. Sal smiled and nodded before hugging the dragon who hugged him back - he finally had a sibling who liked him.
"Hey! What about us?!" Angie called out as the dragon looked at them.
"Oh, you're Angie - the Treasured Doll of the 2nd Lord, Donna Beneviento. It's nice to meet you both." They smiled and Angie nodded - even Donna gave a light bow.
For the rest of the meeting - the other lords got to know their new sibling. Angie loved poking the scales on their face while Donna and Sal looked at the scales on their tail. Alcina wanted to drink some of their blood and wonder if it would make her dragon form stronger but she didn't say anything yet. Karl was drawn the dragon's horns and kept poking them as if to examine them.
As for Miranda - she watched them...and smiled. They really seemed like a family, even if was just for a moment. If [Y/N] was the one she needed to revive Eva...then maybe they really could be a family.
166 notes
·
View notes
Text
Jewelry Ideas for WoF OCS
Hello! I've compiled a massive list full of jewelry ideas for your Wings of Fire OCs, since I myself needed a list!
Something that's best to do is look through the categories below, and then look up online "X jewelry name" and then draw from actual images of jewelry. It helps!
When looking at all of these, think rather of more the general placement of something, and then think of more specific things such as metal type, jewel type, shape, etching, etc.!
--------------------------------------------------
Earrings
Earrings are straightforward and the easiest to do crazy stuff with. Stud refers to a simple backing with a front piece that can be a gem, shape, etc. out of many materials. Earrings can also dangle and loop in an assortment of ways! Look up refs for these. They go in EARS, you can have one, two, however many in one ear.
Metal hoop
Wooden Loop
Dangling gem
Multiple gems Dangling Off each Other
Gem Stud
Metal Orb Stud
Wooden Stud
--------------------------------------------------
Nose Piercings
These are piercings that fit into the nostril hole. You can have one, two, any number! One usually works the best though, and you can put them in between the nostrils or one in each.
Metal hoop
Stud through side of nose (Metal Orb, Gem, Wood, etc.)
--------------------------------------------------
Miscellaneous Piercings
These are easiest to do with simple loops made of any kind of metal with no gemstones or anything extra. Below are the places a piercing can go on:
LeafWing back spine webbing
SeaWing back spine webbing
SeaWing under belly spine webbing
SeaWing talon web loop
RainWing frill loop or stud (just like ears!)
Wing webbing (Be careful about this; too many may get in the way or look strange. Probably not a very popular choice.)
SandWing sail
LeafWing leaf tail (impractical)
Tongue piercing
--------------------------------------------------
Rings
These can have any metal, any number of gemstones, have different etchings in them, etc. It's VERY helpful just to look up rings for reference on these. Below are places rings can go.
Some more specific things you can do with rings is have a simple metal band, have different thickness/thinness, etch the metal, put a single big gemstone on it, cover it in gemstones, or have gemstones all around! Lot's of things. Some can even be shaped like things.
Talon ring (finger or thumb)
Horn ring
HiveWing middle snout horn ring
Wing thumb ring
Wing thumb claw ring
Wing finger ring
Wing finger claw ring
Nose horn ring
Back foot ankle toe ring
IceWing, MudWing, NightWing neck spike ring(s)
SandWing barb ring (very small and impractical)
--------------------------------------------------
Bands
These refer to things that are bracelets and other metal or cloth loops that go around body parts. NOT rings. Rings are small.
Some more specific things you can do with rings is have a simple metal band, etch the metal, have different thickness/thinness, put a single big gemstone on it, cover it in gemstones, or have gemstones all around! Lot's of things. Some can even be shaped like things.
Tail band (at the base or near the end, different sizes. Can have multiple.)
Wrist band
Upper Arm band
Ankle band
Calf band
Neck band (Not a necklace; a thick metal band that goes AROUND neck)
SilkWing school band
SandWing Barb band
--------------------------------------------------
Necklaces
Look up necklaces reference via search engine for best result, but here are some general necklace ideas:
Any kind of gemstone dangling from a chain
Chain
Locket pendants
Moon, Sun, Leaf, other nature shaped pendant (Wood, metal, etc.)
Shell necklace
Pearl necklace
Flower chain necklace
--------------------------------------------------
Embedments
These are usually gemstone embedments and some places they can go. In theory, they can go ANYWHERE but these are more practical places.
Under eye gems
Eyebrow gems
Wedged between the scales along wing arm
Artificial NightWing teardrop scale embed
Gems around wrist or leg scales
Gems wedged in between back scutes (MudWing, NightWing, etc.)
--------------------------------------------------
Pouches
These are usually a kind of leather or leaf. Below is a list of parts of the body they can go on:
Underbelly chest pouch
Backpack (just underbelly pouch twisted around)
Chest pouch
Neck pouch(s)
Throat pouch
Wrist pouch
Ankle pouch
Calf pouch
Upper arm pouch
Base of tail (Impractical and awkward)
--------------------------------------------------
Head Adornments
These are any items that fit on the head, excluding horn rings, piercings, etc. These are things like crowns.
Silk veil (attached via horns and or ears)
Crown (SO many styles please just look up crowns)
Glasses
Monocle
Blindfold
Flower crown
Flowers weaving around horns
Chains weaving around horns
Charms dangling from horns
--------------------------------------------------
Prosthetic Enhancements
It's hard to list all prosthetics, so I will list a few and then some things you can do to get creative with them!
Peg leg with dangling charms
Prosthetic leg with dangling charms
Metal being etched with pretty patterns
Gemstones being put on non restrictive parts of the prosthetic
Leather etching
--------------------------------------------------
Miscellaneous
These are more obscure and less practical jewelry pieces that are usually tribe specific.
SeaWing chin barbel chain or ring (a jewelry piece that binds the barbels together, very unpractical)
SeaWing chin barbel piercing
SilkWing antennae string (Colorful piece of dyed silk attached to the ends)
Bandana around neck
Scarf
SandWing barb cap/attachment
Claws dipped in gold-leaf/other kinds of metal
Claw caps to make them sharper
Gold leaf/other metal leaf painting on scales
Cape! (This is super hard to do, but I made a good example of how a cape would work in this post: https://bellasauruss.tumblr.com/post/644977521943838720/challenge-accepted-chains-and-all
And that's all there is! If I find more or there are more suggested below, I'll add em! Hope you all appreciate this and enjoy it!
If you make art with some of the more obscure ones I'd LOVE to see it, so feel free to ping me! :D
#wings of fire#wof#character design#guide#wof dragon#art ideas#jewelry ideas#jewlery#dragon#wof oc#wof oc ideas#text post
250 notes
·
View notes
Text
Shadow of the Sea: Chapter 1
Summary: Kylo is used to being alone. It's how he's survived this long, in the cold ocean depths. He can take care of himself. Other creatures--other merfolk--are dangerous; he has the scars to prove it. Humans, however, are the worst of all. But one day, Kylo finds he has no other choice but to turn to one for help. The human he meets is nothing like he expects, and all he knows is he wants more. Is he willing to pay the price?
Word Count: 4,394
Warnings: fem!AFAB!reader, plot set up, kylo ren needs a hug confirmed, non-graphic descriptions of violence & bodily harm, brief mentions of blood & wounds, very vague medical descriptions lol, minor character death (happens off screen), oh but there's also one that happens on screen but it's brief, big time ocean nostalgia from your dear author— let me know if I need to add anything else!
A/N: Thank you @paper-n-ashes for beta reading! Icon behavior tbh.
Prefer AO3? I gotcha!
Kylo prided himself on his independence—his ferocity, his ability to fight his way out of every corner. His body was scarred and battle-hardened, but that didn’t matter. It was proof he was a survivor, and it’s not like he had anyone around him to care about his appearance. Most creatures he saw took one look at his massive form and ran.
He was intimidating, all muscle, his fins torn from previous fights. While his skin was pale, his scales were an onyx color; it made blending into the ocean depths easier. He couldn’t understand why merfolk’s standard of beauty was a brightly colored tail; didn’t it make camouflaging more difficult?
He guessed most merfolk didn’t care about that. They lived in large groups, colorful and cheerful and busy amongst other plant and animal life. Not many delved into the cold, murky areas Kylo had made his home. But he’d been there as long as he could remember, and there was no sense in changing things. He wouldn’t be welcome in the warmer waters anyway. They didn’t want him, and he didn’t want them.
So he kept away, and no one dared bother him. Those that did quickly learned not to. He had killed many creatures, and while it was all in defense, his reputation still preceded him. After all, he’d once fought one of the most dangerous predators the ocean knew, and he’d won.
He’d killed a human, after they’d captured him in their net. He’d overpowered them easily, yanked them from their boat into the water; he hadn’t even flinched when their little fishing knife plunged into his side. He’d watched with a furious gaze as the air left their lungs, their pathetic struggling eventually ceasing. Then he’d calmly cut himself loose from the netting. The knife wound had scarred over, but it was just one more to add to his collection.
Yes, Kylo prided himself on his abilities. He had no fear, no weakness; he never ran from a fight.
He was running now.
He’d been foolish. He should have realized why his normal hunting grounds had been so devoid of fish for the past few days—he should have seen the signs, should have been more careful. But hunger makes you desperate; makes you stupid. He hadn’t been paying attention, too focused on the singular fish he’d found.
It seemed to happen all at once. A sudden blow to his head that left him reeling, pain shooting through his skull as he whips himself around in attempts to find his attacker. A searing burn in his side the exact moment he feels a sharp pinch at the back of his neck. His head starts to spin with confusion, the scent of his own blood in the water.
He spots a figure out of the corner of his eye, and his heart leaps into his throat. It was a human, and they had some sort of weapon pointed right at him.
Kylo doesn’t think—he just bolts. They don’t seem to follow him at first, and he doesn’t understand why until he starts to feel the first symptoms of whatever they’ve injected him with. It makes him dizzy, makes his vision start to blur as a sickening metallic taste fills his mouth.
No, he thinks. I won’t let them do this.
He pulls strength from deep within and pushes himself to swim faster, farther. He hears a muffled shout from behind, and oh, they’re pursuing him now.
He swims frantically, skirting around rocks and through kelp forests, desperately trying to lose them even though he thinks he might hear the dull thrum of a boat motor over the thudding of blood in his ears. Kriff, he was so tired. It would be so easy to let the human magic overtake him, to sink to the ocean floor.
Was this death? A dreamless sleep that crept over your senses until you had no choice but to succumb to it? Kylo doesn’t want to die, not like this. Not where they can get to him, at least.
He doesn’t know where he’s going, doesn’t even know where he is until he catches a quick glimpse of a familiar rock formation. His mind is in shambles, drugged and panicked, lacking oxygen as his gills burn with the strain of his labored breathing.
A cove. Not too far from here. Too shallow for a boat, too rocky for humans. A cave to shelter in. Go, swim, fast, now, now, go.
The voice in his head doesn’t feel like his own—it’s frantic, urgent, thoughtless. Usually he was so composed, controlled. The threat of death had turned him into nothing more than an animal; he’s never felt so small.
He ducks and weaves as he swims towards the hidden cove, trying to convince himself he’s doing it on purpose and not just fading in and out of consciousness. If he can just stay awake a little longer, if he can just make it to that kriffing cave, he can die with dignity. Alone and cold, drugged and bleeding, but away from the humans trying to hurt him.
Kylo nearly loses his speed when he breeches the shallow waters of the cove, his mind wanting to shut down now that he’s made it. He forces himself to keep going despite his nausea and lightheadedness. His lungs are screaming, muscles aching; he scrapes his tail against the rocky outcroppings as he searches frantically for the mouth of the underwater cave.
It’s here, it’s here. I know it’s here, I’ve seen it, I mapped it. Where is it?!
His hands snag against an opening, just barely big enough for him to squeeze through, and he darts into it. It’s a tight fit, and for a brief second Kylo is terrified he’ll get stuck and pass out from whatever the humans hit him with—he’ll die, trapped, never to be found.
But then, quick as a flash, he’s through to the other side. The small tunnel opens up into a larger cavern, protected from the elements and decorated with several pools of varying depths. He’d explored it once, curious, thinking it would be a nice place to hide. It was a little too close to humanity for his comfort, but then again he’d never seen this area very populated. He’d figured he’d keep it in the back of his mind for later.
Turns out later was now.
Kylo pulls himself to the edge of the main and deepest pool, looking around urgently through spotty vision. There was a pool in the corner, half hidden by rocks—it looked shallow, but just deep enough to be submerged. Exhaling fast, he hauls himself up and out of the water, coughing and choking as his body tries to adjust from using his gills to his mouth and nose to breathe. It was never an easy transition, and he hated doing it, but right now it was what he needed.
He growls to himself as he pulls his heavy body along the rough stone cave floor, his normally nimble tail a dead weight. If he wasn’t about to faint, he thinks he’d be a bit more graceful. By the time he rolls unceremoniously into the shallow pool, his palms are all scraped up and bleeding. He doesn’t care; barely feels the sting. He’s not really feeling much of anything at this point, head spinning out of control.
Laying like this on his back, head propped up against the ledge of the pool, Kylo gazes up at the jagged rock ceiling. His lungs crackle as he heaves in breaths, heart still pounding loudly. It’s hard to hear anything else, and he wonders again if his attackers are closing in on him. Does it even matter? His dying mind questions. He doesn’t have an opportunity to think of a retort before his body finally breaks, and he succumbs to the drug induced sleep.
—————————————————————
You wake to the familiar sounds of distant crashing waves, whistling wind, and calls of seagulls. After years on the island, the noise was a comfort.
You’d grown up here, in this same cottage by the sea--been raised fishing, hunting for mussels, searching through tide pools. You and your siblings would bike into town to sell your wares at the local market before heading down to the pier to watch the boats come and go. It was a simple life, sometimes a little isolated, but it was good nonetheless. You loved the island and the ocean, and held great respect for them both. If you honor them, they will honor you--at least, that’s what your mother always said.
Your siblings grew up and moved to the mainland, but still you stayed. Got yourself a little apartment in town above the local grocery, worked at the marina as a clerk, and visited your parents on the weekends. When your mother passed, your father followed just weeks later—a broken heart, everyone said. Suddenly, your beloved little slice of heaven—of home—belonged to you.
So you moved back into the cottage you grew up in, a place haunted by the ghosts of memories and the sounds of the sea. If you’re being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t trade it for the world, no matter how many times you pretend to entertain your siblings’ urging to rent the place out. Think of all the money you’d make. It’s the perfect vacation spot.
Maybe so, but you don’t care. You don’t want strangers in your home—not those tourists who come to fawn over the village, who eat up the landscape with cameras without really seeing it, who gawk at the fishermen, who laugh at the prices at the market. They would probably call your cottage quaint and cute. You could picture them tittering over your family photos on the mantle, over the door frame where heights had been marked over the years.
Tourists, who both long for and pity an isolated life on the ocean. Oh, they have it so easy here, away from the stress of the city. Oh, could you imagine living this way, barely scraping by?
No, you didn’t want them in your home, a place so sacred. You didn’t care what money you were missing out on—you got by fine with your pay from the marina, and picking up shifts at the local cafe. You loved your cottage—savored every creaky floorboard, every leaky windowsill. The drip of the bathroom faucet, the howl of the sea wind through the chimney—these were the sounds of familiarity, of safety. No one would appreciate them like you did.
Twisting around in bed, you turn your gaze towards the open window that was letting in a fresh, salty breeze. It was early, the light still dim and grey, the air a little chilly. It makes you want to curl back up under your covers, catch a couple more hours of shut-eye. It was your day off, after all; you could afford to sleep in.
Except.
You sigh, scrubbing your hands over your face as you remember what your yesterday brain had planned. You’d told yourself you’d get up in order to gather mussels at low tide. There were plenty of tide pools around, especially in the caved area of the cove. It was your family’s little secret—the hidden grotto was all but invisible from the outside. The only reason you even knew about it was because your brother had been too adventurous for his own good as a child, always getting into places he shouldn’t.
Mussels, clams, seaweed, probably fish in the deeper tide pools—maybe some sea urchin you could sell at the market. Your stomach growls.
Well, that’s that.
Groaning, you haul yourself up and out of bed, wincing at the cold hardwood on your bare feet. You bounce on your toes, shivering, goosebumps appearing on your skin as you pad over to close the window. Despite growing up here, you were always surprised at the temperature. You stubbornly let in the breeze at night, all bundled up under your covers, pretending when you woke it would be nice and warm.
But nope, not here; even in the dead of summer the mornings were chilly. Sometimes you dreamed that you lived on one of those big, luxurious, heated beaches—hot sun and white sand as far as the eye could see, no craggy cliffs or rocky shores. Eh. You probably wouldn’t like it much anyway, too used to your own environment.
Glancing at the clock, you quickly throw on some warm clothes, half-assing your regular morning routine before grabbing your tide-pool hunting essentials: a flashlight, knee-high waders, a large bucket, and your trusty fishing knife. You take a deep breath at the front door, bracing yourself for the chill. Just think of the feast you’ll have later. And you can reward yourself with a hot bath and long nap.
It’s not too long a distance from the cottage to the rocky shoreline, and while the low tide has revealed the tempting sand leading towards the rolling waves, you head towards the jagged outcropping to the left. Years of following the same path means it doesn’t take you long at all to find the hidden entrance and carefully make your way into the cavern.
In the middle of a sunny day, light shone in through various cracks in the ceiling, glinting off the water and creating flickering reflections against the stone walls. Sometimes you came here just to think, or to take a dip in the largest pool. The water was always warmer here, protected from the full power of the currents by the rock face.
Now, however, it was dark—only the dimmest bit of grey morning light trickled in. You flick on the flashlight, humming softly to yourself. The melody echoes off the stone walls, and you set your bucket down at the closest tide pool, readying yourself to hunker down and get to work. The beam of the light scans the various pools as you turn to get your knife from its holder, and something catches your eye. It’s not much, and honestly if you weren’t so familiar with the cave you probably wouldn’t have noticed the dark shape in the far corner pool.
At first, you do a double take, eyes sweeping over the little red-tinged puddles on the floor. Blood. You grip your knife, mind racing with possibilities. Was there someone in here with you? Surely not. No one ever came out here. Swallowing hard, you take a couple steps towards the corner, torch in one hand and knife in the other. As you get closer, your gaze tracks the diluted blood trail into the pool, and at first all you notice is the black scales and fins of a fish. The grip on your knife loosens just a little, the fear of a possible threat fading.
It's a big animal, you can tell that even as you make your way over, and you wonder idly how it got in. You knew, logically, that the cave connected to the ocean somehow, but you can't imagine the tide being so high for a fish as large as this one to find its way into the back corner. You’re focused on this conundrum as you round the ledge that’s been shielding the animal from your full view--so much so that it takes you more than a couple moments for your mind to compute just what it's seeing.
The tail is thick and muscular, decorated in obsidian scales that lead to delicate looking fins at the bottom. There were smaller, fan looking fins on the sides of the tail--they were all ripped up, as if they had been torn in previous fights. Your brain clocks all of this in seconds but doesn’t dwell, because it’s focused on the top half of the animal--creature--merman.
Merman. A fucking merman.
The ebony scales at the waist fade seamlessly into pale skin and lean muscle, revealing a long, firm torso. If you weren’t so aware of the tail, you might--might--think he could pass for human. Well, except for the webbed fingers and razor-sharp nails adorning each of his hands. He’s half submerged in the water of the pool, dark hair covering part of his face so you can’t see it.
You stand there, frozen, staring, not quite knowing what to do. You weren’t… scared; weren’t even very surprised aside from the initial shock of seeing him. You’d grown up hearing stories, traditions, tales—it was more than folklore here on the island. Some of the elders believed in merfolk more than ghosts, more than aliens, more than god.
Mr. Mackenzie told tales of mermaids luring in his shipmates as prey, drowning them. You always thought they were just stories designed to scare children away from dangerous tides—and maybe they were. But other accounts, you weren’t so sure of.
It was the wonder on Ms. Fraser’s face when she recounted the long-ago memory of swimming along sandbars with a girl who could breathe underwater. It was the quiet reverence of Mr. McDougall’s voice when he whispered about removing an old fish hook from a merman’s tail. It was the tears in Mrs. Buchanan’s eyes when she insisted merfolk rescued her husband from a fishing boat wreck.
You believed them. You always had, even if you’d done it silently, bashfully. You knew those who still made offerings to the ocean and to the beings that dwelled within the depths. Your island community believed in things not seen, but passed down through generations of storytelling. It was your history, kept alive despite first hand encounters becoming few and far between.
Except, here it was—your own little slice of history, right in front of you. If you took a couple more steps, you could reach out and touch it.
Is he breathing?
The little voice in your head brings you back down to your body, and a sudden fear overtakes you. You can’t let him die—if he was even still alive to begin with. You glance nervously at the pinkish trail of blood leading to the pool; the sight makes you reach some sort of resolve.
Hyper-aware of the claws on his hands, you kneel down beside him, hesitating only briefly before you settle your hand on his large bicep. He doesn’t stir, and your stomach twists unpleasantly. Your hand slides down to his wrist, and while you can admit you aren’t an expert on merfolk anatomy, surely you’ll be able to feel a pulse from the spidery blue veins under his pale skin.
Relief washes over you in a wave when you do, indeed, find a pulse—slow, but strong. Okay, not dead then. Still, he doesn’t move, so you take it upon yourself to move his damp hair out of his face, curling it behind his prominent ears.
He’s handsome.
You feel yourself flush, immediately chastising yourself for the thought. This was—best case scenario—a complete stranger who was wounded and in possible danger. Worst case scenario… you didn’t want to think about. Needless to say, it was no time to be thinking about his level of attractiveness.
You force yourself back into action, cupping his head as you hold your hand under his nose. His breathing is steady, and you gently lay his head back where it rested on the rock ledge. Your fingertips brush against something, and you frown as you realize he has a lump on the back of his skull—as if he’s been hit. You can only hope it hasn’t done too serious damage; it wasn’t like you could really take him to the hospital.
Your attention moves down his body, and you make yourself bypass the gills in his neck in order to properly gauge his wounds. Minor cuts and scrapes littered his skin; from the number of scars decorating his form, you figure these aren’t a big deal, no matter how nasty they look. Not compared to the gash on his side, at least.
You wince when you see it, the delicate flesh torn open and ragged. The cut makes you think it’s from some man-made weapon, and you shake your head in disbelief. Who would want to harm a merman? Around here, it would be blasphemous to do such a thing.
Blood no longer seeps from the wound; you hope that’s a good sign—and that the salt water has somewhat cleaned the area. You think it may have needed stitches, but you’re no doctor with the ability to do such a procedure. If you're being honest with yourself, it’s probably far too late for stitches anyway. The wound would be another nasty scar, likely similar to the one marring his face, but the area isn’t red with infection. That’s a good sign, right?
You sigh, feeling helpless. You want to do something for the creature. There’s only one thing you can really think of. Chewing on your bottom lip, you study his face again. He still seems unresponsive, and you can only hope he stays that way a little longer.
The short trek back up to your home feels the longest it’s ever been, and your legs and lungs are burning by the time you rush through the front door, having run the entire way. You heave in breaths as you pack some supplies into a bag. It wasn’t much, but you should be able to use the waterproof gauze and antibiotic ointment to dress the nasty-looking scrapes on his hands and chest.
You hesitate for a moment before going into your bathroom and grabbing the waterproof pillow you had in the tub. Maybe it was silly, but you hated thinking about him lying on the hard ground for fuck knows how long. You almost grab some food for him—maybe the fish currently thawing in your fridge—but you decide not to. You weren’t sure what he ate, and there was no telling when he’d wake up anyway.
Your breathing has just settled back to normal by the time you’re jogging back to the cave, careful not to slip on any of the wet grass and rocks. The sun starts to peak out of the morning clouds, letting pale beams of light warm the grey morning. The cavern is illuminated slightly better when you enter; you find you can lay the flashlight at a distance and see just fine.
The merman is still asleep, and you feel a little relieved. You aren’t exactly sure what will happen when he wakes up—for all you know, you’ll return later in the day to find him gone. As it is, you plop down next to the pool he was in and get to work patching him up the best you can.
Taking the towel you brought with you, you dab at his scrapes, trying to dry them a little before applying the ointment and then carefully using the gauze to cover the wounds. His palms are so torn up that you wrap them completely, your brows knitted the entire time. It must hurt, but still, he doesn’t stir.
Finally, you’re left with the gash in his side. You debate with yourself as to whether you should cover it or not—if you even can. The front of his torso was out of the water with the way he was laying, but that could change at any second, and any real pressure on his body would cause him to sink into the pool.
Your urge to help him wins out in the end, and you decide you’ll try to bandage it to protect it from any further irritation, despite knowing water would seep in regardless. You lean forward, extra careful not to lose your balance as you pat at his pale skin with the towel once more. It’s an awkward angle and slow work, you trying your best to be gentle with him.
You add as much ointment as you dare to the bandaging, not wanting to put too much onto an open wound, before fixing the gauze to his torso with some waterproof medical tape. There. Sure, it wasn’t going to work a miracle but at this point you weren’t sure what else to do.
He’ll be okay, you tell yourself. He’ll be okay.
You take a moment to watch the rise and fall of his chest, reassured by the movement. Your gaze again drifts to his tail in fascination—you hope that, maybe, you’ll come back later and he’ll be awake. Maybe he’ll be friendly, maybe the two of you can talk. It’s illogical, you know. This wasn’t some fairytale, this was real life. You honestly just hoped he didn’t try to rip you to shreds on sight.
It’s with this thought in mind that you shift away from him, telling yourself you can’t sit and watch him all day. You have several other pools to collect mussels from, breakfast to cook, chores to do. You’ve done enough, and you have to trust that his body will do the rest—you refuse to entertain the idea that he might not make it.
Sighing, you pull yourself further away, but then remember the pillow you’d brought along. You grab it quickly before shuffling back towards him. He’s got a large lump of seaweed shoved haphazardly under his head in what you assume was a desperate attempt to soften the rock face underneath.
His damp hair is surprisingly soft when you gently lift his head to clear the ground of debris. You can’t help but run your fingers through it gently, brushing it behind his ears, almost trying to soothe his subconscious. You settle the small foam pillow in place, and slowly let his head and neck rest against it. You hope it makes some sort of difference, though you know it might be a childish thought.
Your task finished, you force yourself away from him once more, even though you suddenly ache to continue touching him. Picking up your things, you continue on your mission of prying mussels from each tidepool. You move slower and quieter than you normally would, shooting the merman furtive glances every few seconds.
By the time you’re finished with the last pool, you can’t find an excuse to linger any longer. He was as safe as he was going to be. The only thing left to do now was wait. You spare your new charge one last lingering look, then grab your things and head back to the house.
______________________________________________________________
taglist friends!
@leatherboundbirate @fathersonandhouseofgucci @paper-n-ashes @direnightshade @jynzandtonic @glassbxttless @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @hopeamarsu @mariesackler @millenialcatlady @sacklerscumrag @peachyproserpina @cornmousequeen @eagerforhoney @icarusinthesea @heartofjakku
#kylo ren x reader#kylo ren x fem!reader#kylo ren x afab!reader#kylo ren#kylo ren fic#merman!kylo#merman au#multi chapter#tori writes#feedback always welcome & appreciated!
110 notes
·
View notes
Text
Grocery Store Hero (Joaquín Torres x Reader)
Author’s Note: Hey guys! I know I’ve been procrastinating posting this fic, but apparently ideas like to strike when I have things (like this) to do (I guess it works out though, since I now have more fics to post). Also, I assumed the age of the reader for a joke’s sake, so sorry about that. Anyways, here it is! I hope I did this sweet puppy of a man proud! Enjoy! :)
Summary: While telling Sam you don’t want to go on a blind date while simultaneously trying to avoid your ex grocery shopping, you have a bit of an accident. Luckily, a certain Air Force First Lieutenant is there to help patch you up.
Warnings: Fluff, blind date set-up, a little blood/klutz injury
Other Characters: Sam Wilson
Word Count: 1,456
“Sam,” you sigh as you push your cart through the grocery store. “I’m sure the guy is nice, but, I really don’t want to do this blind date tonight.”
“(Y/N), c’mon, trust me on this one!” he urges. “I’m telling you, you’ll love him! You’re both quirky and optimistic and bizarrely wise. Match made in heaven.”
“Well, my idea of a match made in heaven is French fries and a chocolate shake,” you chuckle as you maneuver around the produce displays.
“I still can’t believe you dunk fries in shakes,” he says, and you can just imagine the grimace on his face.
“Listen—it’s delicious. Bucky has my back on that one.”
“I’m not sure I take what he says as a glowing recommendation. He has old man taste.”
“Funny, I thought that’s what you had.”
“Oof!” he laughs. “That one hurt. You’re only, what, ten years younger than me?”
“Um, thirteen years. Those years basically make us from different planets on a pop-culture standpoint.”
“Now you’re just making things up.”
“Hey, I—Shit!” you hiss, your eyes going wide as you make a 180 degree turn with your shopping cart.
“(Y/N)?”
“My ex is heading due north in produce and I do not want to deal with it,” you whisper as you bob and weave in the opposite direction.
“Just because you’re going one way doesn’t make that north.”
“I don’t have time for your navigational skills! I need to—.”
Clong!
“Ow!” you wince as your head goes back and your hand moves to your head. You just walked into a hanging scale by the onions. Awesome. “I’ll call you back,” you grunt as you end the call.
“Are you okay?” you hear a voice say to your right.
“Besides the burning embarrassment I feel? Nothing an ice pack won’t be able to fix,” you tell the voice. You turn your head and see a handsome man with big brown eyes and gorgeous hair trying to get a clear look at your forehead.
“May I?” he asks.
You nod and move your hand from the throbbing spot on your forehead.
“You might need more than just an ice pack. Let’s go to customer service and see if they have a first aid kit,” he suggests, and you make the short trip from produce to the main help desk.
“Aren’t you kind?” you say, and you feel the tips of your ears grow hot as he wipes a small trickle of blood from your forehead with the supplies. “But I guess my true klutzy colors really had their moment.”
“Well, it’s not your fault that scale was right at your height level,” he chuckles. “This is gonna sting a bit.”
You wince as he sterilizes the small cut before he does anything else.
“So, should I be thanking a doctor or an Eagle Scout for such good care?” you tease.
“First Lieutenant in the Air Force,” he says. You swear he’s smirking. “But I was an Eagle Scout, so I guess either works.”
“Oh,” you say, and you feel your ears burn even more. “Thank you for that. And this.”
“Trust me, it’s my pleasure.”
“Can I at least know your name so I can properly thank you?”
“Joaquin,” he smiles, smoothing a small bandage on my forehead. “You’re all good to go—.”
“(Y/N),” you tell him with a small smile, gently touching the bandage on your head. “Thank you, Joaquin.”
“Anytime. Although, I’d prefer if you didn’t injure yourself again.”
“Well, it’s not penciled in on my agenda, but you never know,” you chuckle. “You really didn’t have to do any of this. Can I repay you with a coffee sometime? I feel like saying ‘thanks’ isn’t really enough.”
“Coffee sounds great,” he says, his eye twinkling. ���I’d suggest we grab it now, but we both have groceries and I gotta take care of some things this afternoon.”
“Yeah, no, I totally understand that. Does tomorrow afternoon work for you? Around two?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Great! Do you know where Mugs is?”
“I love that place!”
“Awesome,” you smile. “I’ll see you then.”
“Sounds great,” he nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Cute,” Sam chuckles as we walk down the brick sidewalk. “You’re still not getting out of this date. Why do you think I’m walking you?”
“So I get there safely?” you tell him with a fake enthusiastic grin.
“Well, yes, but I’m making sure you don’t dip out on the poor guy. Joaquin is a really good kid.”
“Joaquin?” you repeat. “Is he like 5’10”, brown eyes, dark hair, sweet puppy vibe?”
“Yeah,” Sam trails as you come to a stop in front of the restaurant, and you lock eyes with a sitting Joaquin through the front glass. A smile grows on your face as you look at one another, and the gesture is mimicked by your date. “I feel I’m missing something.”
“You did good on this one, Sam,” you tell him, giving an appreciative squeeze to his forearm. Before he can get a word in edgewise, you’re already approaching Joaquin inside the restaurant.
“Small world,” Joaquin smiles as he stands, giving you a quick hug before pulling out your seat.
“Indeed it is,” you smile back as you both sit. “But look at it this way: the awkward introduction part of the date is already over.”
Joaquin nods as he chuckles. Is he . . . blushing?
“It looks like your forehead is doing alright,” he says, his eyes examining your injury from across the table.
“Well, the guy that patched it up really knew what he was doing,” you grin, leading him to let out a light laugh.
“Glad to hear,” he smirks, taking a sip of water. “So, how do you know Sam?”
“I was helping out with a program at the VA a few years ago,” you tell him. “Night classes for veterans that never went to college.”
“You’re a teacher?”
“Mm,” you nod enthusiastically. “English. It’s . . . the best thing in the world.”
“That’s awesome that you love what you do so much.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky. From what I can tell from you, you seem to feel the same way about what you do. And I’m assuming you know Sam from work? Covert missions on the down-low?”
“Bingo,” he laughs. “I’m usually his eyes on the ground.”
You chat back and forth like this for a long time through the appetizers, entrees, and desserts that come to the table.
“Seriously?” he asks with raised eyebrows and an amused smirk as we stroll out of the restaurant and down the old brick sidewalk.
“Yeah,” you nod, hiding your face. “I was so embarrassed afterwards. And the thing is, I think I would have been fine with the whole ‘wiping out on my ass’ thing if the wig had been on correctly, but nobody told me I had the wig on backwards, and because I had never wore it before, I thought that’s just how it was supposed to be.”
“That . . . I’m sorry I don’t know how to twist that to make it sound not as bad.”
“That’s because it’s just that bad.”
“I do have to ask you something, though,” he says coming to a stop.
You nod, prompting him.
“Technically,” he says, clearing his throat. “Technically, this date was arranged by Sam, and it could have been with anyone, but it was with us. And before we knew that, we met at the store and made a date—or, uh, like a meeting of our own.”
“Mhm.”
“So—going on the assumption that it seems you had just as good of a time at dinner tonight as I did—does that . . . coffee meeting for tomorrow still stand with you?” he asks.
You let out a soft chuckle and nod. “Yes,” you tell him as you come to a stop. “We are definitely still on for tomorrow.”
“Yeah?” he smiles.
“Yeah.”
Joaquin’s chocolate eyes twinkle in the evening light as you realize the space between you isn’t as big as it was moments ago. You feel your cheeks burn hot as you lick your lips ever-so-slightly. Meeting Joaquin halfway, your lips press together. The kiss is gentle, but it takes the breath right out of your lungs, causing you to rest your hands on his shoulders for support. You part after a few seconds and leave little room between out faces.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the entree,” Joaquin whispers.
“You too?” you tease, quirking an eyebrow.
“Does that mean I can kiss you again?”
You nod and lean back into Joaquin’s embrace, and this kiss is better than the last. When you feel Joaquin’s hands circle around your waist to hold you close, you know he feels the same way.
Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger @steampowerednightvaler @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers
#Joaquin torres#Joaquin torres fluff#Joaquin torres x reader#danny ramirez#Joaquin torres x reader fluff#falcon#marvel#marvel fanfic#marvel fanfiction#Joaquin torres fanfic#Joaquin torres fanfiction#tfatws
100 notes
·
View notes
Note
Do that last one about Drunk weddings for the Sole Survivor, too. I may have my biases, but Fallout 4 can have a little love, as a treat.
Cait: "Don't be makin' so much noise in the back if you aren't going to share, you hear?"
Prior to her journey into Vault 95, Cait is just as stumbling drunk as the sole survivor, giggling with reckless abandon and daring guests to go a round with her outside the venue. She enlists the sole survivor to help her change out of her dress to make good on these bare-knuckle boxing promises, but the two of them wind up forgetting about the whole thing and singing loudly over the music on the dance floor. Post-sobriety, Cait heckles the sole survivor after they pass the point of no return, but she abstains in favor of demolishing Piper's gifted stash of Nuka-Cola.
Curie: "Do not indulge too much, mon glaçon. Excess of drink is the cause of many health problems."
Curie, ever the picture of innocent poise, laughs politely when the sole survivor starts making outbursts at the party, then corners them in the bathroom when she's free and insists they drink several glasses of water and eat some mirelurk cake hors d'oeuvres in front of her. She enlists Danse to help her carry the sole survivor to bed when they finally wear themselves out, and she does it all without staining or ripping her dress.
Danse: [speechless, awkward blushing]
Paladin Danse turns beet red when the sole survivor climbs onto a chair to get the party's attention for a toast, and dashes to their side when they start to wobble. To him, a wedding is no reason to let down his guard and drink, but the rest of his Brotherhood brethren don't share that viewpoint: Particularly Proctor Teagan, who is just as far in as the sole survivor. Once embarrassed, Danse tries to stay on the opposite end of the room, and steers his new spouse clear as well. He will give up his avoidance tactics if asked to dance, though.
Deacon: "Everyone drink up, we're trying to erase any memory of this get-together in case the Institute captures us and demands to know what menu and color scheme we picked."
Given his career and his own personal history, Deacon insists on having a small affair with close friends over a large shindig. He's mostly joking about forgetting the party- or is he?- but either way, he's handing out bottles of Bobrov's Best like it's going out of business. Valentine keeps side-eyeing him and calling him an "enabler," but Deacon couldn't care less.
Hancock: "Cheers to you, cheers to me, cheers to us and the whole fucking Commonwealth!"
The sole survivor's drunk? Good, so is Hancock. Like Deacon, the mayor of Goodneighbor is handing out bottles of booze left and right, along with palming chems to anyone in the Third Rail who looks too mellow. Whitechapel Charlie complains loudly when the groom and the sole survivor start dancing on the bar, but Hancock does not care one whit about property damage on his special day. That is, unless someone starts getting fresh with Magnolia.
MacCready: "So when I said partnering up with you beat drinking myself blind in Goodneighbor, that wasn't me saying we should switch spots, boss."
MacCready is too overwhelmed with disbelieving happiness on his big day to care if the sole survivor is wrecking shop. He's too busy staring at his new spouse holding Duncan and laughing with joy to notice the sole survivor spilling drinks on other guests, but he will perk up if they manage to hijack the jukebox. He'll roll his eyes, switch the song back to something more to his taste, and then drag the sole survivor onto the dance floor to work off some of their excess energy.
Valentine: "Gonna water that battery acid down with anything, or do I need to tell Vadim to cut you off?"
The synth detective takes in the sole survivor's antics with a wry smile before pulling them aside to make sure they're going to behave for the rest of the night. Any further shenanigans will earn them a withering frown from across the party. Rather than leave his new partner's side, he enlists Ellie and Piper's help in strong-arming them away from the moonshine supply and out into the fresh air for a bit.
Piper: "Really, Blue, on my wedding day? I don't do many editorial cartoons, but I think this might warrant one."
Piper has roses blooming in her own cheeks from drinking, but she'll insist the sole survivor switch to Nuka-Cola, park them in a chair next to her and toss tongue twisters at them until they can recite them back to her straight. Like MacCready and Danse, she will also accept some impressive dance moves as penance for their crime of disrupting the celebration, but if she starts dancing too, she'll slip quickly into the same territory of overdoing it.
Preston: "No thanks, but you keep going. We'll see whose head feels better come sunrise."
On the opposite end of the scale from Deacon, Preston doesn't want to forget a second of this day and is therefore abstaining. His Minutemen compatriots aren't though, so the sole survivor fits right in with the crowd. Ever the model of manners, Preston will join in on their drunken rendition of Dion's "The Wanderer," but he'll just as quickly bow out to go grab his new spouse a drink, chair, snack or anything else they might need.
X6-88: "Strange. The sensation leaves me unbalanced, but... warm. Perhaps the SRB was right to restrict substances such as this."
The Courser is puzzled the first time the sole survivor hands him a drink, but he accepts it and downs the lot admirably, shaking his head at the taste. He likes the way it makes him feel for a little bit, but learns quickly that if he keeps going, he'll wind up draped over the nearest furniture like the former vault dweller. Once the sole survivor is hiccupping and incoherent, he easily hoists them over his shoulder and deposits them as far away from the liquor supply as he can, ignoring the impressed cheers of Deacon and MacCready.
BONUS!
Gage: "No, I don't care if it was brewed in a settlement, that stuff'll knock you on your ass just as well as the beer that's been sitting still for 200 years."
Porter Gage has been dry for decades, and his own wedding isn't going to be enough to ruin that streak. Seeing as he's pals with a whole bunch of raiders, he can't well keep the rest of them from indulging, but he can sure as hell protest if the sole survivor tries to push a bottle on him. Repeated inquiries will earn them a black eye, but he'll let them steal his eyepatch for the rest of the night as condolence.
Longfellow: "Here's to full glasses an' fulsome lasses, ain't that right, honey? Bottoms up!"
There's not much to do on the island when you live alone, other than get really good at your hobbies and drink. Old Longfellow lives accordingly, and he can out-swig anyone attending his little party, including the sole survivor. By the end of the night, those who dared to pick up a glass around the man are under the table, while Longfellow is still singing sweet, fully-coherent lullabies to his new gal beneath the glow of the bottle lanterns. Knowing him, she's probably just as seasoned at drinking as he is.
Maxson: "Dull senses make for poor soldiers, but I suppose we can set our weapons aside for one evening."
Any Brotherhood of Steel Elder's marriage is a huge deal, and subsequently warrants a huge celebration. Alcohol flows freely at such parties, and any drunken behavior on the sole survivor's behalf is probably drowned out by hundreds of other Knights, Scribes and Lancers acting foolish too. Like Longfellow, Maxson holds his own in contest with everyone else, but doesn't push those around him to keep up. Anyone counting his drinks can't help but wonder where he's putting it. If the sole survivor's not too far gone, they can spot him dumping his glasses after a sip or two to keep up the mythic image, but he'll swear them to secrecy.
Desdemona: "Being able to take a moment to breathe can be just as vitally important for an organization as resupply missions or exterminations. Stop touching my hair."
The Railroad leader appreciates being able to cut loose, but she's still too paranoid to trust any glass handed to her and favors the flask inside her ballistic weave-armored dress that she fills herself. Once relaxed, this is the only time she'll allow the sole survivor and friends to get rowdy and fawn over her in the least. Liquored-up compliments on her outfit, her leadership abilities and her organization are fair game, but any probing into her personal background will result in her simply standing up and walking away.
#fallout#fallout 4#fo4#fallout companions#fallout reactions#fallout 4 reactions#fo4 reactions#fallout 4 companions#fo4 companions#desdemona#maxson#elder maxson#elder arthur maxson#arthur maxson#old longfellow#porter gage#x6-88#preston garvey#piper wright#nick valentine#wedding#drunk party#alcohol cw#maccready#robert joseph maccready#hancock#mayor hancock#cait#deacon#danse
111 notes
·
View notes
Note
Do you have any advice on writing creative nonfiction for the first time? Your works are so beautifully (and sometimes painfully) vivid. -shoe
((To clarify about my creative nonfiction ask, I mean "painfully" vivid in the sense, the emotions are very well crafted and instilled, even when the work is about something painful or very vulnerable)).
Hello shoe!! First and foremost, thank you so much for your kind words and for asking me about my literal favorite thing in the world. I don’t get to ramble abt cnf a lot on here, and it makes me !!!! that you’re interested in writing it for the first time. If you’re just starting to get interested in the genre it’s a very weird little hybrid, and I’d love to share some of the basics before giving specific advice
Creative nonfiction is about seeing the movements of the mind on the page. It takes us somewhere new by the end, even if we end up returning to a premise or scene from the beginning. CNF thrives at the intersections of research, experience, and artistry, and combines elements of poetry, memoir, journalism, etc. There’s different forms and genres within creative nonfiction, and the limits are almost entirely up to your imagination.
CNF is the most playful sculptor of prose that I know of, second only to poetry, and some pieces end up looking like different creatures than essays entirely. Look at Lauren Trembath-Neuberger’s Drug Facts, or Dinty Moore’s Mr. Plimpton’s Revenge. It’s a species with remarkable biodiversity, so let’s talk taxonomy:
Lyric. Lyrical CNF is fueled by the beauty and imagery of the words. How they flow together, what the sentences sound like. Play with long and short sentences, with alliteration, with recurrent imagery. Highly descriptive, lyrical essays can be something akin to longform poetry. Anne Carson’s The Glass Essay may look like a poem, but it’s technically lyrical CNF.
Literary. Fact-based research is at the heart of literary CNF, and some pieces can appear to be regular journalistic articles at first glance. David Foster Wallace’s infamous Consider The Lobster is a fantastic example: it began as an assignment for Gourmet magazine, but Wallace combines research with experience, and moves from objective fact to abstraction.
Form. CNF forms help authors sculpt stories around things they may not always be comfortable confronting head-on. Hermit crab essays are exactly that: a borrowed textual structure (a shopping list, a how-to guide, a Wikipedia page) that fits around the soft, vulnerable heart of your topic. Eula Biss’ The Pain Scale (I think it’s also a braided essay?) and (my absolute favorite hermit crab) Drug Facts by Lauren Trembath-Neuberger are both hermit crabs.
Other forms include braided, when you weave 2-4 (but usually 3) strands of topics together; flash essays, which are generally less than 500 or 1,000 words; memoir, which is as the name suggests, but less strictly regimented and more creative than traditional autobiographies; and hybrid forms, which can be a collage of just about any genre or form you like.
A good CNF piece will probably combine all three of these elements, but will likely be driven by just one. I try to include relevant notes of research (etymology, biology, history) in my lyrical personal essays, because you’d be surprised what kind of narrative vehicles you’ll find, metaphors and facts that can serve as little hermit crab shells around things that hurt. But my pieces are still mostly lyrical, and driven by sentences and images rather than research or form. It might seem counterintuitive to writing emotions, but consider researching topics you’re interested in for metaphors and imagery that can help you emphasize your point.
As for rendering emotions or experience in painfully vivid detail, I love focusing on the movement of CNF. You can base your piece’s movement on your body, moving through a space. On your memories moving through time. Or, as I tend to do on the pieces posted here, the movement of cognition, as your thoughts develop. My pieces feel like trains of thought. I let the topics flow from one to another, including stops at the more painful memories if they arrive, and then keep going. My favorite thing is to try and let the reader feel, or see, what I’m experiencing in real time. When I wrote about on taking a night-walk during a dustbowl, there are no transitional statements and very few “I”s: every sentence is an order. The reader is forced to do what I’m doing, consider what I’m considering, but I balance this intimacy with some of my own thoughts so it doesn’t get overwhelming.
Your sentences are like a camera in CNF: they control the piece’s perspective and how much, or how little, you want to confess. Like a droid zooming up from the ground into the sky, your sentences control the scale of the reader’s understanding, and you can play with that for greater impact. You can write long, lingering sentences to make the reader slow down and focus, or you can blur out bigger things in their peripherals with brief, glancing mentions before changing the topic. You can write pieces that feel like years on a calendar flipping by. You can also write rapid, run-on sentences that feel like you’re being rushed along a busy street (which is where I got the dustbowl idea).
A good aim for CNF is to try moving from small, objective facts (physical objects, research, matter-of-fact memories recounted without any “I am” or emotional lens) to higher, abstracted wonderings (how do your facts connect to your memories? [i.e, I lived in a fireproof home but my heart feels like a pyromaniac] spin out some “perhaps” statements about your memories, or things you didn’t experience: “perhaps my mother knew what it felt like to burn” etc.). go from high concept to low and back again. play with form, and movement, and memory. with language. and consider strip-teasing your audience around what you may not wish to reveal.
So, basically! Creative nonfiction is about balancing words, research, and experience. It’s about developing a topic or memory or concept into something beyond objective fact. And above all else, it’s a beautiful kind of play. There’s honestly no right or wrong way to write CNF, and new forms are being invented all the time. If you’re still finding your style in CNF, I highly recommend trying to create imitations of interesting form to see what feels right (like a hermit crab, trying on different shells for the perfect fit) and make your sentences work for you. Try to worry less about confronting a big scary topic, and more about how (via form, metaphor, perspective, etc.) you can comfortably approach it.
Sorry this got so long, but I truly hope it helps!! And if you ever have further questions, or want a proofreader on your work, feel free to let me know<3
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
Unwoven Fate VI
[MY MASTERLIST]
(Y/n) took another sip of her bitter coffee as she cast a glance into the fireplace, sitting with the Assassins.
"It doesn't make sense." She shook her head.
"That's precisely why it's so unusual." The man, who she now knew as La Volpe, replied.
"A dead child? They planted a dead child at the villa?" (Y/n) had to close her eyes and take in a deep breath. Her Aunt and Uncle were evermore being revealed as monsters to her. "Why go to that length just to take me in?"
"None of us had seen you in over three years so when we saw the child's body, we all assumed it was you," Machiavelli chimed in.
"But you had no idea that my mother had any family?" (Y/n) repeated again. Why had her mother hidden her past?
"No. She told us that she was an orphan from Vienna and moved to Forlì with her adopted father when she was young."
"She never mentioned Vienna to me as far as I can remember." (Y/n)'s brows furrowed. She could feel tears threatening her eyes but she kept them back as she took another sip of coffee, biting her inner cheek. If only Emma were there for the young woman to question her.
"What I still don't know is the connection between Emma lying about her past and why your Aunt and Uncle had her and Lorenzo killed." Volpe hummed.
"And why they killed an innocent child just to take me in. . ." (Y/n) added quietly, feeling guilt for whoever that nameless, faceless youth was. Whoever she was or would have been had died in her family's scheme.
"And, until now, the only thing you've known of the Assassins was what you found in the letter from my uncle." Claudia's brother added as he handed it back to her, having gone over his passed loved one's handwriting so many times.
"My Aunt and Uncle never mentioned it before. Originally, I thought it was because they didn't know but now I'm not so sure. . . It doesn't sit right anymore."
"There's definitely something deeper here. . ." Machiavelli pondered, walking away to the other room in order to think. (Y/n) put her cup of coffee down on the table beside her, no longer having an appetite for its bitterness. "Every time I go looking for answers, all I find is more questions." She sighed exasperatedly.
"And you will have them," Volpe spoke as he stood up, "You are Lorenzo's and he was like family to us, Emma became family in time too. We won't turn you away." She found herself smiling bittersweetly at this. On her journey, she felt that she had lost any sense of home so, while it was nice to be offered somewhere to stay, it felt painfully temporary.
"You may join our ranks." Ezio spoke up, causing some looks of surprise around the room, "Your family come from our Brotherhood and there will be a place for you here if you wish to take it. I'll give you all the time you need to make your decision."
An Assassin. He was right to give her time to make up her mind, it was a very big decision. It was a new life. Wasn't that what she wanted? Either way, she would definitely take her time on this one instead of jumping at every chance presented to her.
"Thank you," She spoke with a grateful bow of her head and she rose from her seat, "I'm aware that I've delayed your meeting, I'll let you get on." And she made her way back to the main hall where she found a bookcase and a pigeon cage with a carrier pigeon inside.
After a few times, stealing had come naturally to her but killing? Did she have it in her? She shook her head; she needed to know more about this cause before she even started on that train of thought. What about this brotherhood had stirred her mother's passion so much that she had revoked her own family? She turned to the bookshelf, seeing some scrolls tucked between the volumes here and there and decided to see if the papers held any answers for her.
⚜⚜⚜
Two months had passed since and she woke up to the sound of the door across her room opening, hearing footsteps go down the corridor. Emilio's heavy door was usually what woke her up in the morning. (Y/n) threw her arms upon her pillow, groaning as she stretched her back and then sat upright, reaching for her aching shoulders.
She had accepted Ezio's offer of becoming a recruit for the Brotherhood and she felt that she was making good progress. She was not yet trained enough to be called on in the field but she hoped that she would be promoted soon. Ezio was the Brotherhood's primary mentor but he was also a busy man which meant that the recruits often spent most of their training sparring against each other.
(Y/n) fought with her father's hidden blade which had been repaired with a little oil to restore its long-neglected mechanics. The training had definitely taken its physical toll on her: she had not been very athletic before so aches and pains after a long day came without fail but practise and a lot of torn muscles were making her grow more and more used to her new lifestyle. She got out of bed and tidied up the sheets behind her: it had been a skill she'd taught herself during her residence at the Assassin hideout after being raised with servants to do it for her throughout her life.
There were still aspects of (Y/n)'s life as a noblewoman that she didn't want to let go of though and makeup was one of them. It motivated her to get out of bed as soon as she awoke instead of staying curled up in the sheets and she simply didn't feel prepared for the day until it was complete. It didn't take her too long to apply the light powder across her face and neck along with the blush on her lower cheeks. She oiled her lashes, dusted her brows and dappled some lipstick to the centre of her mouth in a matter of minutes then got to weaving her hair into a braid around her head like a crown. Her previous braided style had proved impractical for training as she'd found that they would often hit her in the face if she turned quickly.
She pulled on her wine-coloured recruit robes and took a final glance at herself in the small mirror, touching her necklace to the two strings of pearls around her neck. Somehow those pearls made her feel like she had made the right decision - the pearls of her Assassin mother now being worn by her Assassin-recruit daughter.
(Y/n) had noticed that she was now the best free runner out of the other four recruits but she knew exactly why. As she made her way downstairs to raid the pantry for whatever fruit preserves were left, she reflected on her experience so far. The other recruits didn't trust her and they weren't very good at hiding it. They found her mysterious past daunting somehow and remained suspicious of her because of it. This often meant that she was excluded from sparring so she had been spending much more time running across the rooftops of Rome and (without others knowing) checking the carrier pigeons. She would often check on what sort of contracts were available so that she could grasp a better idea of what it meant to be an Assassin.
She ate her usual breakfast of a cup of coffee and a few slices of bread smeared with fruit preserve. By the time she got to the hall where the recruits would train, she found three of them already sparring, the fourth reading in the corner. She already knew that she wouldn't be included this day and decided to make her way outside instead, climbing up to the roof.
(Y/n) had made it routine to take the leap of faith from the top of the hideout now. She knew that only formally initiated Assassins were supposed to take the leap of faith but she had performed it in an escape from a rooftop archer two weeks ago and loved the thrill that came with it.
Landing in the haystack below, she left Isola Tiberina and made her way further north in the city, scaling a wall once the buildings were close enough to start running over. She liked to challenge herself too: using flag poles, tightropes, ledges and balconies to really expand her potential routes.
Once the afternoon came about and the sun was beating down from overhead, she decided to take shelter on a platform that was fairly sheltered by the taller building beside it, casting her in shadows. The coos of pigeons joined the urban ambience of chatter from the streets below. (Y/n) sat down on and leaned her back against the wall, looking at the view around her. That's when she noticed that there was an irregularity in the shadow of the wall behind her: the straight line was interrupted by a rounded figure. She silently but quickly turned around, keeping in a crouch, suspecting that it was a guard. But what she was met with instead surprised her and she got to her feet as the figure jumped down to join her.
"Mentore," She greeted as his taller figure approached her, gesturing for her to sit back down. She did and he joined her, one of his knees propped up with his arm resting over it. It had been quite a while since the recruits had seen Ezio in more than just passing.
"Recruits aren't supposed to do the leap of faith, you know." He started and (Y/n) opened her mouth to apologise so quickly that she had missed the tone of amusement in his voice, "But you did it well, fearlessly, as it should be done."
"I actually wasn't as afraid as I thought I'd be the first time I did it." She started, glancing at him as he looked across the streets of Rome, "But that probably had something to do with that fact that the guard had already shot two arrows at my feet and I doubted that he would miss a third time." This made the man beside her laugh heartily, "I do think that the first time should be more ceremonial but desperate times call for desperate measures."
"Have you been following me all day or did you happen to find me again?" She questioned, now knowing that there was the chance she had actually been observed all day.
"You'll have to find out the next time this happens." He replied and (Y/n) set her eyes back on the streets, the hot sun climbing ever higher into the sky. "You're much better at freerunning than the rest of the recruits." He praised.
"I just spend more time doing it." She bit her cheek, "They don't seem to trust me enough to let me train with them as much as I'd like." She could see him turn to face her from the corner of her eyes.
"They just have a lot of questions."
"So do I. . ." She shifted the way that she was sitting, bringing her knees up enough to rest her arms over them. "I've been at a standstill for a while in terms of looking for answers and now I'm worried that I won't be able to find anymore." She confided.
"Journys like yours can be long and they can stop and start at times," He began, "Believe me, I would know. I spent years hunting all the men involved in my family's murder: I was acting as an Assassin without knowing that my father was one, that my brother was to take over for him while I minded the bank. Now I'm the Assassin and Claudia is the one who knows how to handle our finances. Sometimes you just need to let yourself sit out for a while before you're able to keep on going."
"I heard about your family in Florence. . . People still talk about you." He hummed, a smile teasing his face then vanishing again.
"I made some irrational decisions when I was young. My first major kill was out in the open and I announced myself to the crowd after. I've been a wanted man for a long time." There was a silence. "Just promise me that you won't let this take you down a path of vain revenge. It'll only hurt you more." She could hear in his voice that he was speaking from experience still.
"I'm not entirely sure that I can promise that. My own family killed my parents, essentially kidnapped me and lied to me for years. I'm not sure if I can forgive that and I'm not sure that I can face them again. I know that the day will come when I'll have to but I just don't know if I can."
"This life will toughen you up whether you want it to or not. When the time comes, you'll be ready." He patted her shoulder as he rose to his feet. "Andiamo."
"Where are we going?" (Y/n) asked as she followed him across an archway to another roof, continuing to lead her east.
"To teach you how to better use that blade!" He called from ahead of her and a smile painted her face.
#unwoven fate#Ezio#ezio auditore da firenze#ezio auditore#ezio's family#ezio auditore imagine#ezio auditore x reader#Ezio Auditore/ reader#ezio auditore da firenze/reader#ezio auditore da firenze x reader#ezio auditore da firenze imagine#brotherhood ezio#assassins creed#Assassins Creed Brotherhood#ACB#and the romance can finally begin
33 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
imstunning
VOTE FOR BERNIE
alexggonzo
Untitled
dis-a-ppointment
Gee Willikers
el-14
Solo él
ismlessism
North Star of David.