(ask for author's commentary on a section of my writing!)
FDBJDKGLGFN OH SHIT I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO ANSWER.... uhhhhhh [frantically looks through fics] OH YES I HAVE ONE
ok so this is from fire-forged! the fic i wrote for sona about an ORV dragon AU! wherein hsy and kdj are raised by dragons and yjh is a royal knight out on an unknown quest. i wanna talk about yjh perspective in this scene
That’s it. In a fit of irritation, she reaches out when he comes near again, and she smacks his ear.
He twists immediately, snapping at her fingers in a very non-human reflex. Then he freezes mid-bite, looking extremely confused.
The eyes. The hair.
Oh. That’s… that’s where she knows that voice from.
“Han Sooyoung?” Yoo Joonghyuk has gone from confused to vaguely alarmed. It’s not very obvious, but she knows how to read his tone. (She never forgot.) “Are you crying?”
“I’m fine. Listen, when—” She chokes on a breath. “How old did you say you were?”
“Why do you—” He stares at her for a second. “I’m twenty-eight. Is there a problem?” He’s walking towards her now, a cautious look on his face. “Should I call one of the—”
“No,” she hears herself say. “No, it’s fine. See ya around. My brother’s on his way. Tell him I said to be nice to you.”
She turns and she walks away.
(discussion under the cut)
this part is when hsy figures out that yjh is 99% likely the reincarnation of her childhood dragon friend joonhyun, right. and i was very amused while writing this because hsy is canonically 2 years or so younger than yjh but here i made her at least a couple years older which means she has Eternal Noona Rights. and the concept of yjh being told to call her noona instead of Han Sooyoung (derogatory) made me literally lose it while i was writing this part
LIKE YOU KNOW HE WOULDN'T DO IT UNTIL WAY LATER AND HE'D BE REALLY MAD ABOUT IT THE WHOLE TIME it would 100% be noona (derogatory) because he just, talks like that. but aNYway the POINT was,
yjh was bitchy throughout this whole interaction because he's not been getting sleep from Plot Related Shit giving him weird dreams and also they'd been riding a fair while before they got here and he was all sore and achy, and on top of that hsy was (derogatory)ing at him with every word she spoke, so he was in a Bad Mood bad mood, yeah? not functioning at full capacity. so when he almost bites hsy he literally has a moment where he's like SURELY I WASN'T IN THAT BAD A MOOD and genuinely is about to apologize? with like, a not-quite-apology but you can tell he's a little regretful
AND THEN HSY STARTS CRYING ON HIM AND HE'S SO TAKEN ABACK THAT HE FORGETS TO BE POLITE AND APOLOGETIC AND JUST GOES "ARE YOU CRYING" in the worlds MOST incredulous tone
which, like, rude. and he's like Yeah my chances of being well received are dropping by the minute i should appear at least vaguely concerned for her wellbeing so he tries to approach her to calm her down but Oops she left!
yjh stews in his extreme confusion and vague regret and lingering irritation for like half an hour and then storms off back to the inn he's staying at in the village where ysa's dropped by and is convincing his party members to unionize. then kdj shows up within the next 10 minutes, having heard that He Made Noona Cry, and on TOP of that he also literally wasn't there when kdj came to find him, so like. kdj mad in the.... have you seen that post which is like "i love when it's busy at starbucks and the gay baristas get mean"? that sense
and i did mention like a few paragraphs later that he changed his name as a kid but to be entirely clear dragon'sblood!yjh is a trans guy
also also because you sent two stars technically,
Her dragon sister and brother begin swearing at her, both telepathically and out loud. Yeomryong tilts back his head and raises slow hands to slip off his mask. He’s crying, she realizes with a jolt, but he has a smile on his face as he stares up at her. He mouths something. It looks a bit like sister.
he's, uh. he's saying "i hate my fucking sisters."
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one if my absolute favorite fandom things is when a show references another show that a guest actor was on.
think the children of the gods (stargate sg-1 1x01) when carter says they macgyver’d a supercomputer to make the gate system. it’s an in-joke only for fans of richard dean anderson, whose previous role was the eponymous macgyver.
so seeing wil wheaton get a star trek shoutout on leverage has thrown me into a nerd frenzy.
he’s playing colin mason. aka chaos. aka the kobayashi maru. a hacker and hardison’s mirror.
and yeah, wheaton’s pretty well known for his stint as wesley crusher (in this household we stan our ensign king). so it’s not quite an easter egg.
but it also is. that is, if you are trekkie. because then you know it’s a hint that colin mason is the exact opposite of wesley crusher.
see most people, not in fandom (like the cia who give colin the alias) know that the kobayashi maru is a star trek reference. maybe they even know it’s a tos reference and not tng. but that’s fine! it’s an easter egg. they laugh and move on.
but a trekkie connects the dots. knows the original kobayashi maru was in st II the wrath of khan. where a young james t kirk hacked the character-defining no-win training scenario. training meant to teach loss. to prepare future starfleet officers for the burdens of command.
a trekkie knows that wesley had his own kobayashi maru. in the first duty (st tng 5x19) when he’s pressured into a cover-up of a flight training accident that claimed the life of another ensign. an accident where he and his friends are at fault.
but unless you’ve actually seen tos and tng and the movies. if you’re not a trekkie and not in the fandom then you’re not going to understand that the kobayashi maru isn’t about cheating to win. it’s about never giving up—no matter the odds.
kirk’s point in cheating on the kobayashi maru was not to win for winnings sake. he’s making a point. he’s making it into the definition of a character-defining moment. a first duty. he’s saying that he will never accept a no-win situation when it comes to the lives of his crew. he’ll protect them anyway he can. he turns the kobayashi maru into a synonym for truth and hope and persistence.
wesley though, has already lied. he’s particpated in the cover-up. and it’s not a test. it’s real life with real stakes. and one of wesley’s friends is already dead. there’s no winning. no outcome that could possibly make the situation better.
that’s why it’s his is his kobayashi maru. his character-defining moment. his first duty. he has to choose to tell the truth, hope he can be forgiven, and persist on his moral course. because it’s the right thing to do.
wesley is kirk’s mirror, but not a dark one. but only a trekkie is going to understand how similar kirk and wesley’s choices are. the nuance of how they do and not mirror each other.
and all of our leverage characters (except sophie because she’s “dead”) have a mirror on the other con team. a counterpart. nate has starke. parker has apollo. eliot has mikel. and, of course, hardison has colin.
but because of a reference to tng that itself references wrath of khan we get a preview of the outcome. we get a nod that colin is the bad guy. he’s kirk—if kirk had cheated only to win. he’s wesley—if wesley had lied to save his reputation. he’s the kobayashi maru—when you don’t understand the kobayashi maru.
he’s the dark mirror.
and that, my fellow nerds. my fellow trekkies. that is the secret language of fandom.
and yeah, this ep aired in 2009. a good dozen years ago. but I’d like to think that wil wheaton got the reference. that he understood the implications of that easter egg line. because he’s always spoken fluent fandom and he’s a trekkie, just like us.
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Spotify Wrapped Prompts #20
The moon hung in the sky like half of a sand dollar and Emerson tried to fold his napkin into what he remembered being a goose.
It wasn’t quite working, half because it had been a while since his high school Mandarin class, half because the napkin was that flimsy brown shit found only in the greasiest of diners and the most public of schools, three quarters because his left pointer finger was in a splint, and about a teaspoon because he was blitzed out of his mind.
The moon was beautiful tonight, he thought as he bent the napkin this way and that and tried to remember the bit of poetry that started something like that. If one of the few souls in Griddy’s Doughnuts had asked this young man what he was doing in this little diner and when was he planning on ordering something, anyway, he would have told them that he was watching the moon. This would have been wrong on two counts: the bright white light that had captured his attention was in fact not the moon but a streetlight, and he was at the diner waiting for a friend.
He wasn’t quite sure which one of his friends had called from an unknown number and asked to meet at a little doughnut shop, at least not at this very moment. He couldn’t remember being too anxious about it, though, so it must have been someone he wanted to see.
And it probably wasn’t anyone from the party, either— they would have said something to him while he was there, and he didn’t really know most of the people in there, anyway. A friend from high school ran into him at the gas station and brought him back to their new apartment in the city for some chips and dip, and also a few swigs of alcohol, and also a handful of Strawberry Bomb or Girl Scout Cookies or Blue Eyes White Dragon or whatever the hell that pretty girl said her weed was called. Remembering the party, Emerson’s chest welled with gratitude for the kindness of strangers who say they knew you when you were both teenagers.
A teenager stepped into Griddy’s, opening the door like he had expected it to dematerialize as he approached and was, frankly, disappointed that he had to bother with touching it at all. The bell jingled in sympathy.
“Emerson,” Five said, sliding into the booth across from him. “Glad you could make it.”
Eyes wide and perhaps a little red-rimmed behind turquoise-rimmed glasses, Emerson blinked, made one last, hasty fold to the goose’s head, and reverently slid it across the table. A precious gift for a dear friend. Five stared at it. Its neck slumped over.
“I’m here,” Emerson said, as if explaining. “Right where you said. This is where you said, right?”
Five’s eyebrows slanted just a half-centimeter lower. “Emerson,” he began, feeling silly even as he asked, even as he knew the answer, “are you high?”
He pressed his hands against his cheeks, the gears in his head whirring. Five, uncharacteristically, allowed them the time they needed to turn— perhaps enjoying the smell of smoke. “Would I know if I was?” he answered, pointing his finger gun at the folded goose as a perceived gotcha.
After a moment, Five laughed into his hands. “Of course you are,” he mumbled. “Unbelievable.”
“Sorry, what?” Emerson asked, now whispering for some reason. “I couldn’t hear what you said.”
“I just asked if you had money,” Five whispered back. “We should buy some doughnuts.”
Emerson’s eyes practically sparkled in the dim light. He nodded once, twice, three times, and then started rummaging in his coat pockets.
Shaking his head, Five leaned back in his booth. “Can you believe they managed to sell this place?” he asked. “And the new owners even kept the name. Other than the, uh—“ He looked around the near-empty diner. “—cosmetic interior design changes, the place hardly looks any different. The more things change, huh?”
He was speaking mostly to himself. Emerson’s attention was focused solely on exploring the contents of his jacket pockets. With the triumph of the sun illuminating clouds from behind, he drew forth a tiny, mint-green wallet with a zipper. He placed it on the table ahead of him, right next to the slowly-unfolding goose.
Five’s eyebrows quirked. “Are you asking me to order?”
“You’re allowed,” Em justified. “You’re old enough. Even if you’re little.” He suddenly grew mournful. “And getting littler by the day.”
His fingerless-gloved hand gesticulated in a way that implied that he thought he was illustrating the concept. Five reached across the table for his wallet without looking away. “Em, do you think I’m aging in reverse?”
“You could be. Like Mork.” He cracked a knuckle with one hand. “Or maybe you’re just weathering? Off the top? From the wind. Or, no, eroding. Maybe time’s eroding you and turning you into sand.” He reached out to fuss with Five’s hair and was promptly swatted away.
“That’ll be my cue,” he said, smiling that one smile he did that felt like a punch. It didn’t quite land, glancing off Emerson’s shoulder and leaving him smiling peacefully back. Before stalking off, Five slid the black pepper shaker in front of Emerson. “Smell it,” he ordered. “Pour it in you hand, not just the shaker. And I swear, don’t eat it straight. If you think it’ll taste good you’re lying to yourself.”
Em looked at the shaker thoughtfully. As Five walked away, he gasped in realization. “Is this something you learned from Klaus? About weed?” he asked, in his normal volume. Seeing that Five was no longer present, he turned around. “Hey, Five!”
Five was leafing through Em’s wallet up at the counter. “Get me a dozen donuts, mix of flavors,” he said, in that brusque sort of way old men talk to young servers, “and a black coffee.”
“Five, did you learn it from Klaus? Is pepper a hangover cure for...” He searched for the words. “For when you’ve had drugs?” he finished, loudly whispering the last word.
“And a hot chocolate.” He spun around, exasperated. “No, Emma!” he hissed. “I didn’t learn shit from Klaus. I thought telling you to play with a pepper shaker might keep you occupied for the minute it takes me to order!” He turned back to the server with a tired, half-sarcastic smile. “Babysitting. Can’t believe I’m giving him sugar this late.”
The employee behind the counter was in their mid-twenties and working a late Friday night shift at a shitty little donut place. But in just two and a half more hours, they would be fresh out of the shower with a bottle of wine and ready to marathon the entirety of Galavant for the first time since college. So for now, they kept their customer service face on and prepared Five’s order.
He leaned against the counter as he waited, watching Emerson watch him from back at the booth. Em waved at him. He waved back.
“Sorry I was so loud,” Emerson whispered.
Five craned his neck towards him. “What was that?”
He cupped a hand— the one that was not cradling a handful of black pepper— over his mouth and leaned out of the booth. “Sorry I was so loud, Five.”
“No worries,” Five responded in full voice with a lopsided smile, projecting just a bit louder than he really needed to. “Not like there’s anyone here to care.” Em smiled softly and went back to playing with the pepper in his hand. Five watched him.
“Would you like your donuts in a box or a bag?” the server asked, dreaming of their doormat.
“Better make it a bag,” Five sighed, fishing a few bills out of Emerson’s wallet and sliding them across the counter.
At the booth, Emerson was staring at the false moon again, humming a tune so earnestly he might have been singing to the night sky.
Five returned with a bag of sticky donuts under his arm and a drink in each hand. “Here,” he said. “Sober up.”
Emerson peered into the bag, eyebrows raised. “Can I have some?” he asked, so childlike that Five just had to stare at him.
“Yeah,” Five said, the venom catching on his tongue and dissipating into the air. “I got them for you. The hot chocolate too.”
The headlights of a passing car illuminated Emerson’s face in a mosaic of triangles of light. Their eyes reflected something that Five had only seen a few times before. Then the light was gone, and Emerson seemed a little less high.
“Thanks, Five,” he said, and reached into the bag for a donut wrapped in wax paper.
Five watched him eat about a fourth of the donut in one ambitions bite. He folded his hands in front of his chin. “You never really struck me as a... hobbyist substance user, Em.”
“Oh, it wasn’t mine. A friend let me smoke some. I got invited to a party.” Em finished his donut, and then waved a powdery hand. “Not you, a different friend.”
Five’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Do you consider us friends?”
“Of course,” Emerson replied, so quickly and so easily that Five wondered if he was answering a different question.
The gears of Five’s mind, for a brief moment, faltered. He felt the hours of the night slipping through his fingers. “Did it occur to you, when you were getting stoned in a basement somewhere, that maybe this wasn’t just a courtesy call?
“Can I have another chocolate one, or do you want that one?”
“Dammit, Em!” Five snatched the bag away. “I’d expect this from my degenerate of a sibling, but not from you. I called you here for a reason, and if you’re not lucid enough to hold a conversation with—“
“Don’t call Klaus a degenerate.” Emerson almost spilled his hot chocolate with the force of his words. “And who the fuck are you to talk? Why couldn’t you just tell me on the phone or, or— at least tell me your name when you left a message? Made it less ominous?”
“Are you trying to insinuate that it’s my fault you smoked a stranger’s pot? That you just had to get high because I made you so anxious?”
“No!” Emerson slammed his styrofoam cup down on the table. “I’m just saying that I’m not the only one who’s being a fucking idiot today.”
Five brought his coffee to his lips.
Em pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. “What are you trying to hide from your siblings, Five? And is there even a good reason for it?”
“Of course there is,” he said before he could remind himself that he didn’t need to justify what he was doing, didn’t he know how much Five had already done for his family? Didn’t he understand that everything he did, every choice he made, was in some way for them?
Em nodded as though his stupid psychic abilities extended to telepathy as well. “Sorry I ruined the night, Five.” He sounded heartbreakingly genuine. “But can we talk about whatever this is in the morning? I want to sleep. The world’s not gonna end before then, is it?”
Five waited until Emerson’s eyes flicked to his face. “No,” he said softly, when they settled somewhere around the flaccid half-goose of a napkin on the table. “Not tonight.” Small miracles. He allowed his jaw to unclench. “Come back to the mansion?”
The thought of Emerson wandering back to his apartment in this state, even as the high was wearing off, made his stomach twist up in a way that usually meant someone would be dead pretty soon. And what would be the point of walking him home and then having to teleport back to the mansion? He would be walking the same distance either way— give or take— so he might as well make it easier for him to make sure Em ate something in the morning.
A small, shy half-smile bloomed on Em’s face, brightening the whole damn town. “Sure,” he said, “Thanks, Five.”