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evalieena · 3 years

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35 Questions for Fanfiction Writers

well since dearest @bachint asked, here goes nothing!

1. From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

well if no downplaying’s allowed i guess i’d give it a 3/5? some mistakes since i’m not a native plus i”m still working on getting my english style better! i like what i come up with all the same, i’ve improved a lot these past two years, and my grammar isn’t that bad i guess?

2. Why do you write fanfiction?

to do what developers didn’t do in the first place to make good use of my imagination, to cope with the fact that some characters don’t exist and i will never follow another one of their adventures, to forget about a boring real life...

3. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

my writing doesn’t stand out lmaooo but i guess i’m always trying to focus on the character’s psychology, struggles and all that, so if someone likes my work, it’s ‘original’ bc it’s usually quite different from the usual stories where there are a lot of dialogues and interactions.

4. Are there any writers that inspire you?

i’ve been inspired a lot by @welcometogressenheller (i wish i could do as well as she does.....), @aceklaviergavin (kudos to you even if you never see that post and you probably don’t know who i am), and some others whose name i forgot (sorry!)

5. What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

i didn’t write much but i guess that my latest fics are really nice (There’s No Light In You Anymore, and the whole Faith series on AO3). also my big project “Now That You’re Gone”, i’m glad i’ve been able to write that much for it and i intend on continuing as soon as i find the motivation!

6. What element of writing do you find comes easily?

pain, struggles and all that comes with it as long as it’s in the character’s mind, because beware here you step in a dark space

7. What element of writing do you struggle with most?

ordinary scenes of life? i always find my writing lacking as soon as i step out of my comfort zone, i’m all for rambling and never-ending pain

8. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write?

desmond/descole surely

9. Which character(s) do you find most difficult to write?

all the good guys (and dimitri allen because i’d love writing about him but i’m? just unable to?)

10. What’s your favorite genre to write for?

that may come as a surprise! angst!

11. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

a mix of question 8 and 10 and you’ve got your answer

12. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

professor layton and the shattering secrets!!! i’m so happy of what this AU will look like when i’ll be done writing the following chapters, at first it probably looks annoying but heck i wanna promise anyone who’s reading it that the plot twists are gonna be worth it even though the overall background isn’t that original because i’ve mixed up different elements from other games (aaaand we’re back in our oh-so-amazing comfort zone that covers up a massive lack of imagination)

13. First fandom you ever wrote for?

ummm? the vampire diaries maybe? back when i was 10 or 11 lol

14. What’s your favorite fandom to write for?

hands up... pROFESsoR LayTON

15. What’s the weirdest fandom you’ve ever written for?

i didn’t write for many fandoms but back in my younger days i used to do self-insert fics with the vampire diaries cast and it was so odd and i wish i hadn’t just confessed that on my tumblr blog

16. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

nothing that comes to mind

17. A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

dunno either

18. Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

PL and the shattering secrets! huge canon divergence and one heck of an AU (also its original version is much worse, my mind was going crazy when i was 15)

19. Do you prefer canon-compliant, AUs, or something in-between?

i love reading AUs, writing some requires solid imagination which i have not, but honestly i don’t really mind

20. Gen fic or shippy stuff?

gen

21. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

desmond sycamore x his wife / randall ascot x hershel layton (be it romantic or platonic) / randall ascot x basically anyone from the MM i guess though i didn’t write anything about that yet (it’s about to change guys)

22. Do you listen to anything while you write?

yea i can’t write without listening to music - any playlist does the trick as long as i like what i’m listening to but usually i listen to sad soundtracks, or i’m inspired by some random lyrics

23. Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

i’d go with challenges bc my horrible ass has very few ideas but i usually come up with independent ideas

24. One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

one shots!

25. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

i don’t remember ;_;

26. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

i’ve got one OS in mind with randall/layton but i don’t want to be the talk of the town because it’s probably going to be awful? also any other fic including the PL3 crew

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

@welcometogressenheller telling me she believed i was a native!!! i struggle so much trying to improve my writing style in english and i have a lot of insecurities so it was so heartwarming and incredible to read...

also basically any other comment where people tell me they like what i write. i love that writers feel the need to take some time reviewing my works bc i need constant validation

28. How well do you handle criticism when it comes to your writing?

well i’ve never really received ‘harsh’ criticism or anything, save for some very rare remarks on my grammar so i guess i don’t know? at first it’s always sad to see that what i’ve done isn’t perfect but i guess it’s impossible to be perfect so i’m really happy that people take some time to underline what looks wrong to them

29. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

currently trying to with shattering secrets and it’s actually a great way to improve!

30. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

MERCILESS ANGST

31. Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

i wish i could but it would perhaps be a huge spoiler so i don’t wanna say much about them...

i have 1) annabell sycamore, des’s wife, whose personality fits very much mine. she’s a playwright, spends lot of her time writing and acting in front of des AND WITH des. also she’s a very realistic person and some people usually tell her that she’s being too pessimistic

2) aurelia from the shattering secrets and on her i really cannot say much... if anyone’s read this far it would be so nice if you could give SS a shot by the way!!

32. Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less.

desmond sometimes finds happiness but it’s always taken from him

(isn’t that a summary for everything i’ve ever written?)

33. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

i don’t translate my works from my original language to english, i write straight in english. i spend a lot of time making sure i haven’t done any grammatical mistakes, checking the definition and the use of some words i’m not sure about, and sometimes it’s quite a pain and it can be also very discouraging bc i end up believing what i write comes from a random internet dictionary while deep down i know it’s not true but hey what can i say. huge insecurities laid bare here.

(if any reader of mine’s reading this, i apologize)

34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

(beware: spoilers for the whole prequel trilogy!!!)

“Hershel Layton was puzzled. A funny emotion to feel for someone who loved puzzles that much, but nothing could ever describe better the way he’d felt for hours now, hours that seemed like ages.So much did happen in the span of a few hours.

First he’d learned his parents could be targeted by Targent, then Aurora had made it clear that she didn’t want to live anymore, all so she could protect them. Then Desmond—no, Descole—had taken the key from her hands, and revealed himself as the dangerous scientist Layton knew him to be.

Then they’d fought. Despair was filling the air, though Hershel didn’t understand what Descole meant when he cried that the Azran legacy was all he had to live for.

And as if there hadn’t been enough betrayals as it was, Emmy was soon to follow. Luke had been abducted. He’d had no other choice than siding with Descole to prevent Bronev from unleashing doom on Earth. Misery didn’t seem to end.

Just when he’d thought he’d finally be able to change things, Descole had been ready to sacrifice himself to save Luke. And then…

Then everything just collapsed.

He held his agonizing brother in his arms; the one who’d wanted so hard to take him down only a few hours back was now confessing, fearing death was on the way.“

[...]

from ‘Six Times Hershel Layton Remembered, Plus The One Time He Didn’t’

35. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

oops i haven’t got anything more to say but thank you for reading? perhaps?

#asks #asks for fanfiction writers #eve rambles #professor layton fandom #how does umblr work #also sorry my english may be lacking #you know the meme sorry for my bad english don't you #well i'm that meme

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dialux · 4 years

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here’s to the strongest fighter, here’s to the last survivor, iv

Chapter 4: our hearts are unafraid, we’re making our own fate

She’s crying; Anairë can barely see him through the tears blurring her vision. The cold is stinging through her fingers, and the water is wicking the wool of her dress to her skin, and still all she can feel is the thud of Nolofinwë’s heart and the gasps in her own ears. Then Findekáno is there, scooping her up from the side, and so is Turukáno, and so is- is that-

“Írissë,” gasps Anairë, and twists in Nolofinwë’s hold to grip her daughter closer and closer.

[The fix-it fic where Nerdanel, Anairë and Eärwen sneak out of Aman to steal some Silmarils because wars don't always need to be won by armies.]

READ CHAPTER FOUR (AND THE COMPLETE FIC) HERE ON AO3!

Notes for the full story can be found below the cut.

Names go back and forth between Sindarin and Quenya depending on the situation. Nerdanel really doesn’t like languages, and is stubborn enough not to change it up so quickly, so… it just really keeps switching with her.

Perhaps I’ll write the actual treaty details one day! I’ve got them scribbled down anyways!!

Anaire thinking she can resist twenty years of torture is… very brave of her. Also foolish, but would you please look at her husband and son? She’s no stranger to foolishness.

Names!!

Hyanda means blade.

Aparuive means conflagaration.

Avahaira, according to this Quenya dictionary, means “remote/far” BUT the prefix “ava-” means “to refuse or prohibit” which gives another tilt to the word. Also there’s a whole other word called “eccaira” that means “remote/far” SOOOO this is the dimension that I’m arguing for with this one.

I just really love the idea that the Noldor have never had a queen that they think is classically good-looking. Miriel? Silver hair. Also not queen for very long. Indis? Vanya. Nerdanel? Not queen and also canonically not the prettiest. Anaire? In my canon... not considered beautiful. Earwen? Teleri. It really is the best and pettiest hc to go for XDDD

Turgon ropes Fingon into a money-making scheme in Aman and they both get filthy rich. But money shouldn’t matter in an economy of plenty!! I’m very confused but also unwilling to spend more time trying to make this more realistic!!!

Oooooh Feanor TOTALLY hated nicknames. Nerdanel, in the grand tradition of disliking things that your spouse loathes, also doesn’t like nicknames very much.

She winces every time that Anaire calls her husband Nolo;

Anaire totally knows this, because Nerdanel has a really expressive face and uses this to annoy Nerdanel when she feels like it

Their children still call each other by nickname but only when their parents aren’t in earshot. None of them want the lecture;

You can BET that some Feanorian forgets this in Beleriand and is treated to an hour of sheer hell regarding “the importance of names” and “proper grammar” and “perfect pronunciation” by a Nerdanel on the warpath.

The actual monument at Alqualonde is a giant pair of hands cupping the docks, with the names of everyone who lost their life carved into the stone. Nerdanel carved, and Anaire got the names.

Er, people shouldn’t be reborn as quickly as I’m claiming they are, but… let’s ignore that please!

Nerdanel’s recovery rate from falling unconscious is, like, FREAKISHLY quick. No, I don’t have an explanation for this phenomenon.

Also Nerdanel and Anaire are really bad at lying. No, can’t explain this one either.

Me planning this fic: haha it’d be funny if they tased Morgoth. Also me, three weeks later: I’ve got no ideas on another way to incapacitate a Vala guess they have to tase Morgoth now!!

HAIR SHENANIGANS ARE THE BEST SHENANIGANS!! I WILL NOT RESCIND THIS OPINION!!!!

Also really really love the idea of the Feanorians being just. Really fucking weird. No they aren’t normal. No they can’t be treated as normal. They’re all just. Intense and angry and WEIRD. Nobody really likes any of them. They’re all fascinated, but… in a sort of “let’s stay away from that really hot fire” way.

WHICH means that all those elves that followed them to their individual fortresses are ALSO the weirdos of Aman!! Look in your hearts!!! You know it’s true!!!! There was no proper military structure to Himring because EVERY LAST ONE of those elves are the batshit insane ones that will hare off to be the hero if given, like, a single percentage of success! Maedhros spent more time herding his own people than battling orcs!! “Deeds of surpassing valor” YES this is referring to keeping the wildest people in all of Aman alive for five hundred years!!

And Maglor had HORSES to deal with as well.

Has anyone in this fandom watched Spirit: Stallion Of The Cimarron? I just imagine. Like. All of their horses. To be Like That. All The Time.

Hah. Men teach curse words to elves.

Which is not to say that elves don’t insult each other! But they do it by the whole Australian parliament method!

Meaning no curse words.

Then they reach Beleriand and. Um. Finrod really takes a shine to it. Nargothrond is the most audibly filthy place in all of Middle-Earth, because the elves don’t understand doing things by halves.

Imo this really does fulfill… all of the prompts for Tolkien Gen Week- ranging from:

family (um. this entire fic?) to

platonic relationships (i.e. Nerdanel and Anaire) to

gray spaces (i.e. Earwen and Anaire) to

solo (i.e. Nerdanel’s trek across Anfauglith) to

diversity (beauty? and the lack/acceptance/rejection therein of such standards; Anaire’s complicated relationship to dance) to

group dynamics (i.e. Nerdanel and Anaire and Earwen) to

free choice (Which is this fic)!!!!

Which was the event that made me write the fic in the first place, so thank you to @arofili for organizing the event! It’s been a blast writing this!

Thank you to everyone who’s liked/reblogged/etc! Y’all are wonderful and I love you vvvvv much!

#silmarillion #nerdanel #anaire #earwen #my writing #this last one's a doozy of a chapter!#featuring a 3.5k word long conversation!#but it is also complete which is what matters!!!#also also love all of you in this fandom who commented/liked/etc #you are all very lovely and i love you very very much XDDD

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california-raccoon · 4 years

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eye's on the sparrow

He just stares at her, like he’d been wishing for his mom but she appeared instead. This belief - in wishing, in divine intervention, in fate - is probably the reason why he chooses to believe in her. BLEACH / AU / ICHIRUKI • [PART 1/?]

A/N: It figures my first official attempt at fanfic is gonna be for this old ship in the wildest year 2020. Apologies in advance because I am no writer, but like a kid messing around in a kitchen, I hope you enjoy it anyway. Bone apple teeths, my dudes.

——————

The first time she meets him, he’s by himself on the side of the road. He isn’t doing much of anything, just a lot of crying, same as that day his mother died. Rukia wasn’t there to see it happen, but she saw the officers and the cars all hovered around the scene in the aftermath, a pop of bright yellow about her height wailing like a siren.

For all of her seven years of living, she is precocious enough to understand death and loss, but when she greets him weeks later, she has no kid gloves to treat him with, just her bare-knuckled fists knocking into his shoulders. He loses his balance among other things, face no longer crunched together in tears but spread wide with shock.

“What’s wrong?” says she, without any hint of sympathy. The boy offers her nothing in response. His hand is on the pavement, catching himself.

“Was she pretty?” Is all Rukia asks, trying to imagine her, and the boy cracks a smile.

“The prettiest. She made the best blueberry pancakes for breakfast and held my hand while we walked. I was supposed to protect her… but,” The boy chokes, big drops forming on the sides of his eyes.

“Just… don’t forget her.”

The boy gulps at this, not really understanding but nodding anyway. Maybe it’s Rukia’s imagination of his mother now in her mind, as pretty and warm as the sunshine, smelling like pancakes and blueberries, that causes her to reflect. She squats down next to him with a frown on her face.

“You’re lucky, I don’t have a mother to remember.” Rukia says, “So whatever you do, don’t forget her.”

He looks up at her then, eyes as big as saucers, and she helps him up to his feet. They say nothing else in the exchange, but he keeps looking at her, so she ruffles his hair to make him stop. She likes that she’s a little taller than him that she can do that; the other boys she knows are older and too tall for her fingers and fists to reach.

When she sees him the next day, he isn’t crying anymore but he talks. About little things, at first. A lot of stories about his mom, so he won’t forget. How she warmed the room with her presence, could peel apple skins in one long strip and loved reading books about funny English plays. As the days go on, it mixes with stories of things he’s learned in school, or his classmate in karate who he can never seem to beat. Rukia listens. They walk together down the road on his way home.

“Where do you live?” he asks one day, between showing her this new Pokemon card he’d traded Mizuiro during recess. It’s another rainy afternoon, but he’s okay, and they’re sharing his umbrella on the road home.

“Up that hill over there,” she says, pointing past the street they’re on.

“That’s pretty far. You can take my umbrella with you; I live right here.” The boy exclaims, stopping right in front of a family clinic. There’s a chipper smile on his face as he hands her the umbrella to hold.

She doesn’t really know what to think, the gesture unusual to her, but she takes it with a small thanks before parting ways.

II.

Ichigo is six the first time he invites a girl over to his house. He doesn’t really know her name, nor does he know much of anything about her, now that he thinks about it, but they somehow walk home together every day and he’s happy for the company of his new friend.

She doesn’t accept at first, but once she manages to sneak up to his window by climbing the adjacent tree, it’s as if she’s always been there. He shares his manga and his favorite snacks and teaches her how to play Pokemon among his growing collection of cards. She’ll stay over an hour after sunset, the pair of them reading and laughing until he has to head down for dinner, and she’ll leave the way she came. If his dad is wise to the situation, Ichigo doesn’t really know, but the man is all too happy to give him extra snacks to carry into his room whenever he asks.

On one weekend Ichigo finds himself packed in with his sisters in the car, dad behind the wheel with a list of things to buy and the promise of candy and ice cream at the end of the day if they behave. When they pass the hill, all he sees are lush forest greens and the Torii that pokes its head among the body of stairs. There are no houses, so he asks where they are.

“There are no houses there, son. Just the orphanage near the Shinto shrine.” His dad answers with unexpected gravity.

Ichigo says nothing in response to this, but he looks up what an orphanage is later in the dictionary once they get home, remembers the girl with no mother and cries.

He notices it, seeing her again on his way home from karate. She usually comes up to meet him from the river, playing by herself. Her clothes are a little too big on her, waiting to grow into them like the hand-me-downs his sisters complain about.

He can’t really bring himself to say anything to her, though he really wants to. It’s on the tip of his tongue, to tell her that he knows, but he never gets the chance to because they’re home before he realizes it and the door bursts open just as soon as he gathers the courage to speak.

“Welcome home, Ichigo!” His dad surprises him outside their doors just as they’ve arrived. There’s a sly look on his eye that Ichigo is too young to decipher, but he feels as if some secret’s been found out when his dad turns to the person frozen in place next to him.

“And who is this young lady accompanying my son home today?”

Ichigo’s mind is racing to respond but he can’t find a simple answer. Static bubbles out of him instead in stammers and incoherent half-words that only stop when she says her name.

“Rukia,” his dad repeats with gentlemanly charm. “Thank you for keeping an eye out for my son. Come in and stay for dinner.”

His dad figures out everything but he’s surprisingly lenient about it. She’s allowed to stay as she wishes, for snacks, for games, as long as she heads back before nightfall. The terms are fair, especially with the long summer days ahead of them, and sometimes his dad will leave work ahead of schedule so they can have earlier dinners with her as their guest.

It’s how most of Ichigo’s summer unfolds: him, his sisters, and Rukia eating dinners together, watching tv and playing video games. Her drawings of bears and rabbits mix with Yuzu and Karin’s on the refrigerator. The newness of having her over gives the family something to talk about, and they welcome her openly. The rest of the days are a haze of laughs and pixelated dungeons where they save princesses.

“Why do you always play by the river?” Ichigo asks her one afternoon. The question stops her in her tracks, thrown off by the question. They’re on the way home, the usual babble of the river filling her sudden silence. She’d been talking to him about her strategy to defeat the boss at the Fire Temple. He’s a little guilty he wasn’t paying attention.

“My friend Renji was adopted a week before I met you,” she tells him. “We used to sneak out and play by the river all the time before he went away.”

“Will you go away too when you get adopted?”

“I don’t know. Probably.” She shrugs, but her fingers are tightly wound like the first day they met.

Later that night after she leaves, Ichigo tugs on the bottom of his dads shirt as he’s putting away the last of the clean dishes and stares up at him.

“Can’t we adopt her?” He chokes out, vision wet and blurry as he says it because he already knows the answer.

His dad sighs, picking him up by his armpits, and suddenly he’s four years old again, crying on the kitchen counter. Ichigo is surprised to find himself tightly wound in his dads arms, a hug so warm and sincere he thinks he could choke if he doesn’t remember to breathe.

“Sorry, kiddo.” His dad ruffles his hair when they pull apart, and looking up at him, his eyes look wet too.

The last of his summer is a countdown till it finally happens. It’s a normal sunny afternoon walking back from karate. He lingers over the view of the river before walking home alone for the first time in months. There’s a pit in his stomach that he ignores and he mostly sulks in his room the rest of the evening.

She shows up two days later with a big smile on her face that he’s never seen. He knows before she even says it.

Her smile is so big it eclipses the frown that threatens to show on his face because the more he listens to her, the happier he genuinely feels for her. A young couple from Tokyo, and the woman is warm and sunny just like any mother should be, she says.

“The man isn’t as goofy as your dad, but he seems nice… I’m moving with them to Tokyo this week once the papers are signed.”

The mention of the move makes her nervous, the only other emotion she’s expressed in her retelling of the past two days. They spend the rest of the afternoon on his father’s computer looking up pictures of Tokyo, then find a map in the garage to see how far it is from Karakura.

On her last day, Ichigo and his dad go out to buy a small bouquet of flowers in congratulations, and they snap a photo together along with his sisters, who are hugging her in a fond embrace.

“Write to me,” he says with a grin, hand stuffed in his pockets, suddenly feeling too cool for goodbyes. She ignores it completely and gives him a fierce hug.

“Of course.” She laughs at him, then punches him fondly on the shoulder for good measure. “Thanks, Ichigo.”

The words throw him off, the first time she’s ever called him by name, and he tries hers in kind.

“See ya later, Rukia.”

They write to each other the way pen pals do, in a pattern of energetic bursts of conversation between the pauses of closing signatures that grow wider until their lives fill with classes, exams, friends and families. The letters stop coming at the end of the year.

[PART 2 → ]

#ichiruki #writing is hard #i dont understand it #ca-r-makes

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sambergscott · 5 years

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‘cause you’ll be safe in these arms of mine

Summary: Jake and Amy asking people to be godparents, inspired by a convo with @capnperaltiago who asked for me to write this <3

She asks Rosa two minutes after the plastic stick says pregnant.

Jake and Holt are out working a case and Terry’s taken the day off to be with his girls, leaving Amy in charge of the Nine-Nine. Hitchcock and Scully have already started a small fire, one of the uniformed officers lost a piece of evidence and there was a fight amongst two perps in the holding cell. And Amy can’t stop throwing up.

At first she blames it on work-related stress and then she thinks it must have been the Chinese she ate last night while watching re-runs of Friends. It’s not until Rosa pulls out a pregnancy test she picked up from the store that she realises it could be morning sickness.

They’re not even properly trying yet. Sure, she’s come off her birth control because she’s done enough research to know that it could take months to get pregnant after coming off them and they still can’t take their hands off each other, even after over a year of marriage, but neither of them were expecting anything to happen this soon.

She pees on the stick and, several anxiety-ridden minutes later, it comes back positive.

She’s pregnant.

And she panics.

This is what she wanted, what she’s always wanted, but what if Jake’s still not quite ready yet and what if one of them dies on the job and what if they can’t actually afford this and-.

“Santiago,” comes Rosa’s gruff voice, her hands steadying Amy’s quivering shoulders, “you two have got this. You’re gonna be the best parents I know.”

“Even better than Terry and Sharon?” She snivels.

“Yeah.” Then, quickly, “don’t tell them I said that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Amy promises, zipping her mouth shut.

“Yours too.” Rosa mimics her zipping action, throwing the imaginary key into the toilet like she’s Steph Curry.

Amy laughs, a sudden idea popping into her head. It seems weird to ask before consulting Jake, before Jake even knows there’s a baby inside her, but it also feels right. She rips off the bandaid. “Will you be the godmother?”

The detective freezes, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “Me?”

“Mm-hmm.” Amy smiles at Rosa’s surprise. They are complete opposites — Rosa likes motorbikes, Amy likes binders, Rosa likes leather jackets and big boots, Amy likes sensible pantsuits — yet they’ve become sisters, sleuth sisters, over the past nine years. There’s nobody else Amy would consider for the job. “You’ve always had my back and I think you’d have our baby’s back, too. Plus, if our baby turns out like Jake, you’ve always known how to handle him.”

Rosa snorts, then smiles back at her. Amy thinks she detects a few tears in Rosa’s eyes, but doesn’t say a word, not wanting to ruin the moment. Rosa eventually nods. “Yeah. I’m in.”

“C’mere,” Amy cries, the damn pregnancy hormones already making her emotions crazy as she pulls Rosa into a tight hug.

It’s Jake’s idea to make Charles godfather.

Amy’s a little… apprehensive at first, to say the least, considering Charles’ track record of being totally obsessed with every aspect of their personal lives. He’s sent her 75 emails about birthing tips, offering his doula services at the end of each one, in the last week alone. He came round their apartment one night to get rid of all coffee, alcohol, shame cigarettes and any other No-No foods during pregnancy. He’s already suggested the names Charles Peralta if it’s a boy and Charlotte if it’s a girl, which Amy vetoed immediately. Making Charles godfather would only allow him into their lives further. And she loves her husband’s best friend, she really does, but she doesn’t want their kid becoming obsessed with weird milk and beige-coloured clothes and the TV show Bunheads.

When Jake argues that nobody else is gonna love their kid more than Charles, Amy finally agrees. Charles will shower their baby with all the love in the world. And if Charles has any influence at all on his godchild, it will be that their kid will be just as big a fan of Jake as Charles is.

Unlike Rosa, they both agree that they can’t just ask Charles. It needs to be an event — like when Jake asked him to be his best man with sparklers and a big ol’ banner. Amy suggests they ask him on Halloween and they spend a full evening planning how it’s going to go down.

“This year’s object is this t-shirt,” Jake announces to the squad on the biggest night of the year, holding up a plain white t-shirt with the words “Amazing Human/Genius” printed in gold foiling. “Whoever has it in their possession at midnight will be declared the winner.”

Like Halloween V, Jake has the real prize waiting in the evidence lock-up. But he doesn’t tell anyone that.

When The Tramps (with Rosa in on Jake and Amy’s secret) barge into the evidence lock-up at two minutes before midnight, thinking they’re finally the champions, Charles is the first to lift the t-shirt out of the storage box.

(It was the one with the uneven dust pattern, just like when Jake proposed to Amy, just like he’d heard a million times over when he asked to hear the story on a bi-weekly basis).

He furrows his brow when he realises the words don’t say what they’re supposed to.

Jake and Amy jump out from behind a stack of evidence boxes and Charles shrieks. For a second they think they’ve caused yet another colleague to die from a heart attack, but he somehow stays on his feet.

“Amazing Godfather/Genius,” he reads the adapted text, trembling like a leaf. His eyes meet Jake’s, who nods, confirming that, yes, his wildest dreams have indeed come true.

“What do you say, bud?” Jake prompts.

“Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!”

Amy laughs happily as she watches her husband and his best friend embrace, exchanging wide grins with Terry and Rosa. Their kid is a lucky guy or girl with their entire Nine-Nine family looking out for them.

There’s only one last thing to do.

They arrange to have dinner with Holt and Kevin to ask them if they will be the “god-grandfathers” of their unborn child.

(“God-grandfathers are not a thing, Peralta,” Amy had said when he first proposed the word, rolling her eyes.

“Who says?”

“The Merriam-Webster Dictionary, for starters.”

“Well, it’s a thing now,” Jake decided. He’d never cared for the Merriam-Webster Dictionary before, so why should he now? No use changing the habit of a lifetime. “It’s our thing. Because they’re our #Dads. I wouldn’t feel comfortable raising our kid without them.”

Her face softened, tears pricking at her eyes — those damn pregnancy hormones again — and she finally agreed. “God-grandfathers it is.”)

She’s incredibly nervous by the time they’re at the front door of the Holt-Cozner home, her fingers twisting the ends of her hair into a messy braid.

Jake places his hand atop hers, stilling her fingers. He gives her hand a supportive squeeze. “It’s gonna be great, Ames.”

They don’t bring it up until there’s a lull in conversation mid-way through the casserole Kevin prepared for them, unable to wait any longer. Even Jake is a little anxious, his leg bouncing beneath the table, when he broaches the subject.

“You know how Charles and Rosa are going to be our baby’s godparents?”

“Yes, I recall Raymond mentioning the fact,” Kevin responds. “Apparently it is all Detective Boyle talks about.”

“He’s very excited,” Amy says, amused. She finds herself less annoyed and more touched by Charles’ antics when they’re directed at others and not her or her email inbox.

“Well, Ames and I would love it if you two would have an important role in our kid’s life because, I don’t know if you’ve noticed because we’re super subtle about it, but we kind of consider you both as father figures.”

“We have noticed.”

“You are not subtle at all,” Holt assures them.

“Cool, cool, cool. No doubt. No doubt. No doubt. What do you say? Would you like to be the god-grandfathers to Nakatomi Peralta?”

“Please tell me you’re not naming your child after a building from your favourite movie,” Holt says disapprovingly.

“No,” Jake scoffs, then, under his breath, “Nakatomi is a character, too.”

“We would be honoured.” Kevin smiles lovingly at his husband, then at Jake and Amy. After a few seconds, his smile falls. “Although you are aware god-grandfathers are not a real thing, yes?”

“It’s our thing,” Amy repeats Jake’s words from earlier, beaming from ear to ear.

When their baby arrives, seven point five pounds of perfection, they have a lot of visitors, all wanting to feast their eyes on the precious addition to the family. The grandparents get first hold (apparently Victor and Roger had another arm wrestling match in the hospital waiting room to decide who got the very first hold), then Amy’s brothers that live in the city, then the godparents and god-grandparents.

Charles starts crying the moment he’s in the same room as her, only stopping when Amy threatens to make him leave.

Rosa smiles more than either Jake and Amy have ever seen her smile.

Captain Holt is quite simply enamoured with the little bundle of blankets, unable to mask his emotions in his usual robotic way when his god-granddaughter grips his pinky finger.

Jake and Amy exchange proud parent smiles as they watch their hours-old daughter with four of the people they trust most, knowing she will always be safe, loved and happy when in their arms.

#my writing #peraltiago fics #b99 fics #jake x amy #the end is corny but!!!!#i've been thinking about this fic for weeks

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loana1127 · 4 years

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People don’t lie when they say that the most difficult thing about writing is finding where to start! Especially when it is about thoughts and feelings you never thought you’d share with anyone! I’ve been meaning to write something that may to a degree explain the impact wrestling and more so Edge and Christian have had on me and my whole life! I’ve been very hesitant because it is so personal, I am not even sure I’m ready to share it with the world (maybe not the world but friends and family)! Also, I am not the first fan who has a cool story about Edge and Christian and how amazing they are! I’m also not going to be the last one! But after last night (1/26/20) I feel that it is time for me to do it! Not so much because I want to show my love and admiration for Edge and Christian! I need to do it for myself, I need to get it off my chest! I want to use it as a slap in the face and as a reminder! Reminder of what matters the most, reminder of how even in the darkest places we need to look for the light because the light is there!

I was in no way, shape or form a popular kid in school. I was really skinny; I had short hair and did not fit in at all. I just wasn’t cool I guess, I wasn’t into all the girlie stuff so the girls didn’t like me, I didn’t come from money, so the rich kids didn’t like me... And on top of that I was extremely shy. Put all of these things together and you get a tiny and shy Bulgarian girl with zero self-esteem being bullied and made fun on daily basis. I want to say I didn’t cry but I did, a lot. There was one thing that would help me get through all the tough days though. I knew that once I get home and I’m done with homework and dinner I can hide in my room and turn the TV on (secretly) and watch these larger than life characters! Yes, I am talking about wrestling! And more specifically the coolest “brothers” in the whole entire world Edge and Christian! I would see them and instantly forget about all the bullies, all the rich kids making fun of me for not having all the cool stuff they have, all the pretty girls making fun of my hair. And after the show is over, I’d go to bed and make up all these stories in my head where Edge and Christian are my older brothers and they protect me from everything and everyone! In my own imaginary world, I’m Edge and Christian’s cool sister, I have long black hair. I’d wear bad ass leather pants and I’d come out of the fire with them and walk them to the ring! I’d stare the crowd of bullies down and give them my best walk alongside my older brothers Edge and Christian.

I can honestly say that I feel like, actually I don’t feel like, I know Edge and Christian and wrestling saved my life more than once! Saved me from falling into deep depression and who know what would have happened if I didn’t have my “older brothers protecting me”! Well that and music. Too bad not a lot of kids in school were into rock and metal! Scratch that, none of them were! Good luck trying to find a 3rd grader who's into Rammstein or Metalica or KISS! I couldn’t!

Thankfully as the years went by, I found some friends that shared my passion for wrestling, sports and heavier music! Little Sonya is now a little older, she finally got the long hair she always wanted, she is all about distressed jeans and metal band T-shirts! The inside is still the same though, definitely on the shy side, still passionate about wrestling and still adoring Edge and Christian! By that time, I had figured out they are not actually brothers (bummer) and they don’t live in my TV! Now that I had that ‘inside knowledge’ I wanted to know more about Adam Copeland and Jay Reso! So, I decided a few years of studying English in school should be enough for me to be able to read a whole book in English! So, Sonya went hungry for a while and saved enough money to order ‘Adam Copeland on EDGE”! A book that changed my life entirely!

I got the book and with a dictionary next to me I ‘ate’ the whole thing in less than two days! Then I read it again and highlighted all the things that I could relate too, all the things that amazed me, all the life lessons, all the things that made me cry, all the things that made me smile! There was a lot of highlight action! I couldn’t believe my biggest hero was once an ordinary kid just like me! He didn’t have rich parents; he wasn’t into the thing most kids are into! I spend weeks, months thinking about it! And this is when my biggest hero also became my biggest inspiration in life! I pulled myself out of the hole I was in and I came up with a plan! I decided I was going to study hard, keep my head straight, make a good life for myself and one day see EDGE wrestle live and thank Adam Copeland for helping me get through the worst! P.S. Adam Copeland is indeed my biggest inspiration in life! But the hero in the book is for sure his mom, Judy Copeland! An absolute example of what a parent should be like!

Sadly in 2011 it was made clear that I’d never get to see Edge wrestle! I am not gonna lie I was devastated! Firstly, because nobody should be forced to retire at such early age and especially not someone as talented and passionate about the business as EDGE! And secondly because it would’ve meant the world to me to see him wrestle live! With that being said his retirement only made me more focused and dedicated to follow my game plan!

I aced all my tests in high schools, definitely focusing on English! Got into collage, studied English Philology for 3 year and I made it to the United States! I found a job I like and got good at it, saved money and in 2016 I got to meet Christian for the first time! 2017 was the year I met Edge for the first time! I want to say I got to thank them for helping me get through so much negativity and that I wouldn’t be where I am without them! At least I know I tried to do it but at that moment I’m sure I wasn’t able to stress enough how thankful I really am!

Unfortunately, from that point on everything that could’ve gone wrong in my life pretty much did! I fell right back into that dark whole of depression! The past few years I’ve been feeling as helpless as I felt back in school when I was the one constantly getting bullied and made fun of! Too bad when you are 26 years old you can’t just turn the TV on and pretend Edge and Christian are your older brothers who will protect you! You need to find a way and protect yourself! And being alone in a foreign country, away from family and friends, makes you very lonely and bitter! You keep doing all the right things and all the wrong things happen! You ask all the right questions and you get all the wrong answers, or even worse, no answers! After realizing 2019 was one of the worst years of my life I was just about ready to give up on everything I worked so hard for my whole life and just give up all together!

Then out of nowhere 2020 started with a bang! I didn’t know why but I could feel a tiny spark of old me trying to start the fire that was ones burning! Yesterday (1/26/20) was my mother’s birthday, the woman who gave me life and I know, wouldn’t stand the thought of me wasting it! Yesterday was also the day my biggest inspiration in life, EDGE made his in-ring return at the Royal Rumble in Houston, TX! After hearing No for so long, he finally got the Yes none of us ever saw coming! That’s where I get emotional! Funny story, he entered the Rumble as #21! Back in Bulgaria each student is assigned a number, and it is all done alphabetically according to their last name! Almost every year, if not every year I was #21! Coincidence? Probably! I will take it as a sign from the universe though! Someone, somewhere is trying to remind me where I started, and how hard I faught for everything in my life! Someone, somewhere made it possible for EDGE to return as #21 and now it’s my turn to reach deep down and find the fire little Sonya #21 once had and keep fighting! 21 has a whole new meaning for me now! Never say never sounds way too cheesy but NEVER stop fighting, never stop pushing, never stop loving and never stop believing! Great things are about to happen, Sonya! I promise you! Hell, maybe my wildest dream will come true and I will even get to see EDGE wrestle!

Thank you, Edge!

Thank you, Christian!

Thank you, Adam Copeland!

Thank you, Jay Reso!

Thank you, #21!

Thank you, whoever or whatever you are out there looking after me and making this ‘coincidence” happen!

Forever grateful, Sonya K.

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toneelspeler · 6 years

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The worst thing is: he was the hero of your story when you were younger.

Even asks about it sometimes, after a dinner at this parents – whom you love, and who love you. It doesn’t feel conditional with them. They think Even a good judge of character and they trust him. And after a dinner with them where they have given you a voice to speak, where they listen with intent and ask questions. They’re interested.

It’s not something you’re used to.

Neither is it something Even can relate to. With such parents, the story of your parents is a distant fable.

But he asks about it sometimes. Whether you’d want to meet up with your father again.

You say no – each time.

No. He doesn’t deserve it.

He was your hero once. He dressed up in suits every morning, gave you a lift to school and dropped you off with a pat on the shoulder – and you, focused on the friends on the curb, yelled your goodbyes quickly and left the car.

Your dad’s cool, they say and you’d agree. My dad is superimportant, he’s supergood at this work, you’d think. Even at the cost of him not always being there when you got back from school, even when your mother’d say I’m sorry he’s late again, Isak – even when he missed your birthday for the second year in a row.

He’s got an important job, mum. It’s okay. I’m okay with doing this with you.

A PlayStation arrived four days late with a card wishing you a happy 15th birthday.

Your mum barely moved from her spot on the couch for the next week. When you sat with her to get her to eat, she brushed her fingers through your hair with a soft smile.

You love Even, with all of your heart, you do. There’s no one in the world you’d rather spend your days, your bed or your life with. Not at this point anyway. But just as you don’t really understand the trials and tribulations of a life with bipolar disorder, he doesn’t understand your relationship with your father. Not that you talk about it with him a lot.

You envy the relationship Even has with his dad, sometimes. His dad taught him to cook, sitting down every day with him after school. Even now, Even hangs out with his dad on Sunday evenings sometimes just because. Just to talk.

They talk. Your father sends presents.

A sign of ‘hey – we’re family by the way’.

You’re not sure if his definition of family can be found in a dictionary.

At first it’s just the kind of person Even is, someone who wants to let you live your life free from the burden of the past. You understand why he’s asking you to meet with your dad. But he keeps on dropping hints whenever your father sends you some money.

And in all reality, it doesn’t happen often. And you know it’s not always intentional. But Even has a look in his eyes, that pitying look – a look that shows what he really thinks of you: a horrible – terrible son, someone who’s not willing to move past; someone ungrateful, someone who is stuck at age sixteen.

At age sixteen is when the hero of your story became your villain.

Mum hadn’t been able to leave the house in over two weeks, stuck inside her own head and listening to something that had never been there. You can’t even remember a time where your mother hadn’t been plagued by something invisible, something invincible, but you do remember the times you spent at her bedside watching her sleep because she asked you to. She was scared someone would take her away otherwise.

Religion had not always been her comfort. At one time, she’d been laughing at preachers on television, calling them delusional. Now she is. Her mother, your grandmother, died a year and a half ago and your mother was lost. Lost in grief for her mother who died in terrible pain and didn’t recognise her own daughter anymore. Lost, with a husband who looked at her with fear in his eyes; and a boy she’d have to protect from the voices that told her he was unsaveable. God was the only way.

In all fairness, your mother was scary. She’d never harm you, but she did strange things. It was hard to live with sometimes, but you’d never leave.

You’d never leave her.

Never.

But he did.

One night, Even mentions getting a text from your dad to say he was back in Oslo, saying that he couldn’t reach you because you’d presumable blocked him. You did.

Even’s news instigates a swell of fury in you you hadn’t felt in a long while. How dare he. How dare he.

How dare he, how dare he contact you. Why does he have your number anyway?

To his credit, Even owns up immediately – honestly telling him that he met his dad in a shop once and he had asked to exchange numbers. Just in case.

You can understand. You understand why he did; but the emotions in you tell you to move away. To walk, to run from your apartment and get anywhere but here.

Even knows this. He asks you to stay. To stay with him and talk to him. And his eyes show you again how bad of a son you are; how sad he is for you and how easily this could be fixed.

It infuriates you.

Fine, you say, you want to know everything.

My father doesn’t exist to me. He accepts me for what I am, sure, and he gives me everything he thinks I could hope for. Because that’s how he communicates; by using money, by working working working working and never showing up. By not talking at all.

I would have given everything for him to have shown up and stayed. I just wanted my dad to be there. But he left instead.

He left. He left.

He left her.

He left ME.

I WAS SIXTEEN YEARS OLD.

HE LEFT ME BEHIND.

Your father couldn’t deal with her. She’d been unable to attend his business meetings as his wife for years now. It frustrated him that she wouldn’t get up; he was embarrassed to have to make excuses every single time. He sighed whenever she told him the wildest tales the voices told her and never listened.

Until that moment.

The moment she threatened to kill herself, he ran.

You will never forget the look in eyes.

Your dad. Your hero.

A fucking coward.

It’s all out. While you haven’t thrown stuff or punched stuff, your fists are tightly clenched.

Even’s looking at you, eyes unwavering.

You can’t reconcile with your dad because he left your mum and you behind for a mental illness he couldn’t deal with.

Deep, deep down – you’re scared that he left an impression on you by doing so. That you’d leave Even too, eventually, because you’re a coward – like he ingrained that in you.

You don’t want to be. You want to be there for Even, just like he is there for you.

As he is right now, slowly moving towards you and softly touching your hands; untangling them little by little because he knows they’re hurting right now.

You want to be with him because he apologises, holding your hands and looking you straight in the eye. You might’ve been a little unfair to him too, because his eyes didn’t tell you you were a bad son. It’s because you wanted to see that in his eyes, to punish you for being so resolute and unkind. You apologise too.

No, he says, you don’t have to. You’re protecting yourself and you have every right.

It’s all you needed to hear, moving more and more closely towards him; resting your head against his. You just breathe.

And you stay.

Maybe you’re the hero of your story.

read on ao3 (x)

#userskamedits #mine #my words #isak valtersen #even bech næsheim #terje valtersen #so ehm this has been a while and i dunno if i like it but i hope you do #it's a combination of multiple head canons <3

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ad-ciu · 6 years

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Of Gods and Dice: Math Mathonwy

Once again, we continue to delve into the presentation of the ‘Celtic’ Pantheon in Dungeons and Dragons, Fifth Edition. We are getting pretty close to the end of this list, only four more Deities to go over after today. I’m thinking about going over some of the Celtic-themed aspects of Dungeons and Dragons, or perhaps going over Deities and Demigods from way back to check out how the depictions have changed over time within the product line.

Anyways, we are looking at Math Mathonwy today who is described as the God of Magic, is Neutral Evil, has the Knowledge Domain, and his Holy Symbol is a Staff. This one should be... interesting.

First off, his name is more aptly Math fab Mathonwy, which is Math son of Mathonwy. He is a figure in the Fourth Branch of the Mabinogion, the Welsh mythological texts.

Right off the bat, the identification of Math as a God of Magic is sort of odd. I think this has more to do with the fact that magic as depicted within the Welsh texts is rather different than what we see in Dungeons and Dragons. Math isn’t cognate with any of the Dungeons and Dragons spellcasters, more like someone who happens to be fairly good at magic which is second to his actual profession of being a king. The reason Math is likely being identified as a God of Magic is due to his magical virginity testing staff, transforming a rapist and his co-conspirator into animals, the creation of a woman from flowers, and the healing of a wounded man. All of Math’s feats of magic directly correspond to his Kingly function however, he tests Arianrhod’s claims of virginity, he curses a rapist and his co-conspirator with the forms of animals and altered sexes demanding they return each year with a child which Math raises. The woman he creates is to help young Llew Llaw Gyffes become a Warrior as his mother Arianrhod leveled a series of tynged (clause-based Fates) to prevent him from becoming one as Math sort of accidentally caused Llew to come into existence. Lastly, Math heals Llew when the flower-woman (Blodeuwedd) tries to murder Llew with her lover. So, I would more likely call Math the God of Judgement if I had to give him a ‘God of X’ system. Good Paladin God in this depiction.

Anyways, next thing. Knowledge Domain. This makes absolute sense as a God of Magic, but since that magical function is an aspect of his Kingship, this doesn’t make an enormous amount of sense. There is no Domain for the Justice or Law Deities in the Player’s Handbook (or at all) however. I would probably suggest the Nature Domain since the magic Math is throwing around is stuff like making women out of flowers, and transforming people into animals. I would probably also add the Life Domain for Llew into existence with his staff accidentally, and for healing Llew after the fact. Reading the myth itself, Math is pretty clearly not an entity which supernatural knowledge is super strongly connected to since he doesn’t innately know if Arianrhod is a virgin and has to test her word, and doesn’t realize that Gwydion had tricked him into going to war with Pryderi. (remember Pwyll from Arawn? His kiddo with a Probably-A-Horse-Goddess named Rhiannon)

Now, for the wildest part. Neutral Evil. So, we have thus far established that Math is very much about Rules, Oaths, and Punishment. Lawful seems to be pretty important for Math. And, furthermore, he is a pretty good guy. None of Math’s actions in the Fourth Branch are selfish, or self-centered. He actually goes out of his way to level judgement, punishment, and help Llew at various times. I would be entirely confident in adding Good on there. The question is, however, why is Math Lawful Evil here? I suspect it’s got to do with some modern interpretations of this Branch in a pro-Blodeuwedd reading of the text where Blodeuwedd is cast as having no agency in the story, and her attempt to murder Llew is an attempt to reclaim agency. However, these readings tend to make the assumption that as a woman Blodeuwedd had no legal position, when she absolutely had the right under Welsh law of the period to just divorce Llew to be with her lover. In these pro-Blodeuwedd readings, Math can be read to be evil, sort of.

Oh, and the Holy Symbol is pretty good. Math’s got a magic stick. His Holy Symbol’s a magic stick. Sounds good. There is a question however that if his Holy Symbol is a staff, can a staff function as both an Arcane Focus and a Holy Symbol? But this is sort of a mechanical thing.

Anyways, to wrap up. I suspect that Math’s character here has been established through a reading of a dictionary of Welsh Mythology that’s a bit dodgy. The original text mustn't have been read since Math’s character has obviously been misunderstood a bit. I expect it’s probably a dictionary that presents the pro-Blodeuwedd stance as that’s the only reason I can work out why Math is Evil here.

#dnd 5e #dnd #mythology #celtic mythology #welsh mythology

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imagining-harrypotter · 7 years

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Hi I saw that requests were open and was winding if I could have a ship with all eras please? I'm a lesbian Hufflepuff, 5'8, ISTP, Scorpio, blue eyes, brown hair, I'm shy, introverted, love reading, not social at all, wait for people to come talk to me rather than going up to them, I'm patient, clumsy, caring, and can never hold a grudge for longer than like 2 minutes. Thank you so much x

MASTERLIST

Marauders Era: Lily Evans

“Lils - Lily, what’s wrong, what’s happened?” You asked as Lily stormed into the Great Hall and stalked right by you and sat at the Gryffindor table.

You hopped up off your seat at the Hufflepuff table and walked directly over to her, whose face was almost as red as her hair.

“Lils are you alright?” You asked as she noisily set her plate full of mashed potato down in front of her.

She went on to explain how Severus had called her a ‘Mudblood’ in front of a group of people while she was defending him. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes but you could see the determination on her face to keep them from falling onto her cheeks. You spent the next hour comforting her, who was usually so strong and happy, while she felt heartbroken over Severus’ words.

You loved Lily, more than just as your best friend, but you had never heard her mention anything about being attracted to a girl before, so you presumed she didn’t feel the same way.

You and Lily complimented each other, she had helped you become more confident around other people, and you had helped her be able to forgive people easier, although in this situation you were slightly glad Lily could hold a grudge longer than you could.

You walked her back to her dorm, making sure Severus didn’t try to talk to her on her way from the Great Hall. After stares from other Gryffindors as you walked through their common room, you reached her dormitory to find that it was empty. Just as you were about to say goodnight, she pulled you as close as she could to her body and lightly pressed her lips onto yous.

“Lily, I don’t think this is the right time, you’re sad about what Sev said to you and you’re just looking for comfort.” You argued, even though you wanted this more than anything else.

“Y/N, you idiot, I love you, and I’m not doing this because of Sev, I’m doing it because I love you, I always have, and if today taught me anything, it’s that I know that I can count on you above anyone else to be there for me.” She said before muttering another ‘I love you’ before her lips touched yours again.

Golden Trio Era: Fleur Delacour

You and Fleur had become quite close since Beauxbatons had arrived at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament. Most of the other Beauxbatons students had befriended Ravenclaws and sat at their table during meal times, but Fleur chose to sit with you at the Hufflepuff table.

She was different, unlike any other girl you had ever met; she was fierce, determined, yet kind and gentle. If it wasn’t for her incredible brains you were certain she would have been sorted into Hufflepuff if she had attended Hogwarts.

You started dating not long before the first task. Your mind couldn’t help but roam to an area where you knew she’d have to leave you at the end of the year, but you kept telling yourself to just enjoy the time you had together.

“You need to stop thinking about zis girl and focus on winning, Fleur. Zat is why we are ‘ere, no? To win! Now get your ‘ead togezer and start training for zee task.” Madame Maxime ordered Fleur, as she walked away her head bobbed above everyone else’s in the corridor.

But you and Fleur had become so close in such a short space of time that you knew forgetting about each other was impossible. You felt so blessed that she had come to Hogwarts because otherwise you probably never would have met her and known what true love really felt like.

Throughout the year Madame Maxime had been trying ways to break the two of you up, sending other girls to flirt with Fleur, rearranging her timetable so you didn’t have any classes together, but your love was strong enough to survive the whole year.

“I will write to you all zee time, and during the ‘olidays I can visit you, or you could come to France.” Fleur said as she begun her goodbyes before she headed back to the Beauxbatons carriage.

You weren’t sure how you were going to live without seeing her every day, you wondered how you ever lived without her, but you knew that you would never have to go without having your love for her keeping you strong through your time apart.

Next Generation Era: Roxanne Weasley

You had met Roxanne when you were in Diagon Alley of your fifth year. You were in Flourish and Blotts looking for all the new textbooks you were going to need this year. You had found them all except a new Rune Dictionary, you had spilled ink all over your last one so that the last third of it was illegible.

Finally, you found a stack of them on a table near the back of the store, you reached for one when your fingers came into contact with someone else’s who was reaching for the same book.

It felt like such a movie moment when you see the two main characters reach for the same thing, then their fingers touch and they look into each other’s eyes and it’s like they know, in that moment, that the other is the missing puzzle piece they have waited to find.

You blushed slightly as the girl, who had the softest looking chocolate skin and the wildest brown hair tied up in a ponytail, let you take the book on top of the pile as she grabbed the one which had sat directly beneath yours.

“I’m Roxie Weasley.” She introduced, outstretching the same hand you had touched moments ago.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You responded and as you shook her hand you found yourself not wanting to break contact with her again.

You spent the rest of your day in Diagon Alley with Roxanne, who you learnt she was in Gryffindor and in the same year as you and after getting ice cream from Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, you reluctantly had to say goodbye, hoping that when you finally returned to Hogwarts your day spent together wouldn’t be forgotten.

And it wasn’t. As soon as you hopped onto the Hogwarts Express on September first, Roxanne asked you to sit in the same compartment as her and her friends. And it was barely a month into the school year when she asked you to be her girlfriend.

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thisdayinfavrd · 4 years

Text

November 13, 2009

Ear hair is God's way of telling you it's time to buy a sports car. @badbanana (Tim Siedell) – 128

Now that I know there's water on the moon, your natural spring water from the Swiss Alps bores me. @badbanana (Tim Siedell) – 107

Before the Internet, if someone disappeared, it meant you should go looking for them. Now it means they got a life. @sween (Jason Sweeney) – 99

After all these years, I know I love my wife because when she walks in the room, I still suck in my gut. @awryone (Josh Donoghue) – 89

I don't care what my wife says, that was probably the most amazing 15 seconds of her life. @thedayhascome (Josh Hopkins) – 87

You think your wife would have an affair with someone who's not very good at sex? She's probably not super picky at this point, right? @fireland (Joshua Allen) – 76

If it weren't for hotel room TV, I'd never know about Hoarders, judge shows, infomercials, FoxNews, and holy shit, we are so deeply fucked. @hotdogsladies (Merlin Mann) – 70

You know you've been single too long when just *having* sex is your wildest sexual fantasy. @gordonshumway (Jelisa Castrodale) – 67

The only part I never understood about father-son talks was why his mascara would run when it was his turn to put the gun in his mouth. @Zaius13 (Damn Dirty Ape) – 65

Every morning we have to put up with this crap. Would it kill them to invent some orange juice-flavored toothpaste already? @adamisacson (Adam Isacson) – 60

World's Simplest Self-Improvement Program: Every day, read one thing you don't understand. Yet. @hotdogsladies (Merlin Mann) – 58

When primatologists doubt a colleague's credibility, I bet they say "show me the monkey." But never "put your monkey where your mouth is." @adamisacson (Adam Isacson) – 57

The passive voice should be avoided by you. @FakeAPStylebook (Fake AP Stylebook) – 57

Looks like I forgot to make the bed. Which is fine, because I suck at carpentry. @cpinck (Chris Pinckney) – 55

These touchpad devices make it almost impossible to be productive while holding two vodka gimlets. @badbanana (Tim Siedell) – 54

Older Indian guy to my wife, at IKEA: "How do I get out of this store?" @scottsimpson (Scott Simpson) – 53

If you find talking about books and using a dictionary fancy, I can't wait to spend the rest of my life vexing you. (It's like "bothering") @hotdogsladies (Merlin Mann) – 49

I just rapid-fire sneezed 7 times in a row. An orgasm may or may not have occurred. From the tissues it's difficult to tell. @debihope (Notorious d.e.b.) – 48

Hey! Did you see that? I put money in the tip jar! Did you see that? Three quarters! Three! See? Awww... you looked away. You suck. @sween (Jason Sweeney) – 46

Yesterday, throwing away left-over birthday cake: my proudest moment. Today, digging some out from the garbage: opposite of proudest moment @blankslate (Alex) – 42

#favrd is down

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jillmckenzie1 · 6 years

Text

The Silver Lining – Online Dating on the Road

Once upon a time, in a galaxy not so far away, I came across a guy on Bumble who immediately proclaimed in his bio that faith was the number quality that he was looking for in a woman. Okay. He then proceeded to say how much he loved positivity and hated photo filters: “Real is beautiful.” You got it, bud. I second the filter hate train. I mean, I’ll send you a dumbass video of me with cheeseburgers circling around my head, but a hard no on the cat ears for public visibility. In true Stephanie fashion, I led with: “Should I start sending all my Snapchat filter selfies now or later?” (don’t worry, the answer is yes, I do amuse myself). Here’s the part where you sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. His response: “Funny, Funny. I wonder what a vagina looks like filtered? Huh [insert light bulb emoji]. I have an idea. Test it out for us. Send me one both ways. I’ll let you know [insert smiley face emoji].”

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Yep, this actually happened. Seriously. I responded and questioned why, on any planet in any point in time, he believed this response would be an acceptable way to speak to a woman. Ever. I recall using words like “disgusting” and “degrading” (I’m sure the screenshot is somewhere deep in the abyss of my iPhotos if you need evidence). His response? He was joking. Right. Super funny, dude. Real funny. Report. Block. Terminate. Bye.

If you’re single, you’re not surprised by this story. If you’re in a relationship, I hope to God you are completely astounded. And, while I often think dating apps are the absolute devil, it is also the current means to an end. Are you even a real single person if you are not on a dating app? Not even kidding. Okay, slight over exaggeration, but truly, never in our wildest teen years did us 30-something-year-olds imagine using our phones to score a significant other (AIM, sure, but not our phones).

So, I exist in my current reality. Fact: I’m single. Fact: I’m transient. Fact: I’d like to be in a relationship. Fact: I don’t care whether or not that relationship exists in a transient or stationary state. So, yes, if our vibe is high and you want to hop in the Airstream and explore every end of the earth, great. If you work in a job you love in a city that you call home, ask me to stay. Let’s ride the wave. Together. Because, seriously, doing life with someone who really gets you better than anyone else ever could is the real damn deal.

Back to dating. I don’t think anyone actually dates anymore. I am actually convinced that it’s not really a thing these days. There’s like pre-dating in which you entertain the idea of actually dating. And then there is friend-zoning or jumping deep into the abyss of quasi-matrimony. I speak with experience from the former, not the latter. And, mark my words, “friends with benefits” is so hot right now. I actually went toe-to-toe with two guy friends at a bar last weekend in a pursuit to convince them that the typical Millennial male is more often than not seeking a friend with whom he can simply have sex than an actual committed relationship (let’s just say they didn’t disagree). Because, I actually do believe that most men do not want to sleep around with handfuls of random girls. They seem to be perplexed by their own paradoxical existence of not wanting anything serious (i.e. being forced to attend your grandma’s 80th birthday with you) while simultaneously wanting to have sex as much as humanly possible.

Let me present to you exhibit A.

I moved to Denver in my Airstream last spring. I met a guy on Bumble who happened to be on the way to a bachelor party for the weekend. I assumed we would engage in an hour-long text conversation that would end with him asking me to send nudes or with him sending me a completely unsolicited dick pic (because, yes, as you can assume from the above scenario, guys really do that). I’d tell him to (a) Google a nude, any nude (most certainly not mine), if that’s what he wanted, or (b) I’d cuss him out for exposing himself like a disturbed and arrogant asshole, and I’d add another tally to my list of douchebags found in the wild.

Welp, surprisingly, he proved me wrong. Beyond that, he actually seemed interested in who I was as a human being, and he proceeded to text me non-stop over the course of the weekend. While at a bachelor party (I feel that this detail needs repeating).

So, he returns home three days later and we commit to actually meeting face to face (like, whoa). And, for lack of a better word, it’s flawless. We’re super funny together (priority one), conversation is natural, and chemistry is fire. We hang out for a few weeks, which inevitably leads to sex. Immediately, he drops the bomb: let’s be friends. Let’s. Be. Friends? Oh wait, I’m sorry, correction, let’s be BEST friends. Perfect. Great. Because, I’m really lacking in the best friend department (insert massive eye roll here).

At this point, I assume it will die out. I assume that he used the nice guy “let’s be friends” card in an attempt to save my feelings and he will vanish as quickly as he had appeared. But, no. He quite literally continues to pursue my friendship. For a month he asks me to do nearly everything with him. He also proceeds to pay for everything: climbing, concerts, movies. Let’s note here that he also proceeds to take my clothes off on a semi-regular basis (despite his constant commentary on us needing rules to prevent such happenings). Final bomb: after a Luke Bryan concert, while sitting on a bench enveloped by a Colorado night sky, he tells me that he loves my soul. I’m sorry, what? Like, we are dating, bro. We. Are. DATING. I don’t care what you title me, but let’s call this thing by its Urban Dictionary definition. He follows up this statement with the fact that I simply deserve better. One, I think I am being dumped for the first time without ever actually having been in an established relationship. Two, fuck off. No one gets to tell me what I deserve. I decide that. So, no, I don’t deserve better. You simply deserve less based on your own evaluation of whatever this thing is that we’re doing. Say that, please. Own that.

So, spring came. And, spring went.

Summer roared in like a lion, and I committed myself to rock faces and mountain peaks, two things that I find to be (surprisingly) much more predictable than men. I also dove even deeper into my work (don’t worry, the digital dating gods still delivered amidst my commitment to my professional projects).

Enter exhibit B.

As a freelance creative director and brand strategist, I work remotely for all of my clients. Idaho. California. Kentucky. Texas. I sometimes wonder if I have a subconscious goal to knock off all 50 states. With all that being said, I met a guy in another state who pursued me completely on his own accord. My vision had always been to travel with my Airstream, but I was never 100% certain on dates. This guy gets my number, he uses round-about questions to engage me in some witty banter, and low and behold he says, “Move down here and I’ll fix all your dating problems.” Wow. Bold statement. I like it. So, after a couple months in this state of flirting euphoria, I commit (amongst a sea of many factors, but I’m intrigued by what’s happening here). He calls me pet names and we have running jokes, and if you know me, these are the keys to my heart. So, I’m smitten kitten. Without any expectation of what will actually become of it. If anything.

The point here is that I show up. I have the luxury of saying yes and then doing something about it. I want to be next to him, so I choose that. Because his voice brings this uncanny smile to my face, and when his name appears on my iPhone notifications, there is a simultaneous level of excitement and comfort. He is fireworks, and he is coming home. And the beauty lies not only in the feeling, but also in the reciprocation of the feeling. Because, there is zero bone in my body that has interpreted anything that he’s told me as being untrue.

Until I’m there. Until I’m standing in front of him begging for every inch of contact. And, that alone becomes the culmination of months of aggressive flirting. Me. Begging (like, seriously, just kiss me before I scream). Because he likes me, but he doesn’t know. I’m sorry, what? Yes, he likes me, but he doesn’t know. Because, self-admittedly, he is a tease. And, he likes it, even though he’s not proud of it (his words, not mine). Perfect. Great. Because, my character flaw is not consuming enough water daily. The effect of this flaw on other people: zero.

At this point, I need to clarify two things. One, I respect people who have an awareness about what they do not know. There is nothing wrong with not knowing. I would take harsh honesty over a sugar-coated lie ten times out of ten. My frustration or disappointment or bewilderment exists in the actions that suggest otherwise. I get it, the pursuit is fun, but if you are not ready to take the elk out of the woods after the hunt, then why are you going hunting in the first place? Terrible metaphor, by the way, but rolling with it. Two, I do not believe in forcing anything in life. I spent far too many years making things happen in the pursuit of checking off items from some proverbial checklist (which is entirely bullshit, by the way). So, for someone not to choose me does not devastate my being. Yes, I have feelings. Lots of them. Too many of them, probably (hello, Leo over here). But, in a world where we get to choose everything (for argument’s sake), I’m not into forcing anyone into a choice that involves me.

What I have observed in this last eighteen months of singledom is that no one wants to commit. To anything. There is no need to commit to anything. Most guys are on dating apps to have sex. Okay, rephrase, most guys are on dating apps posing like they want something substantial in order to get sex. I actually have the most respect for bios that read, “If I’m being honest, just looking to hook up.” Bravo. Kudos to you, dude. Because, I have had my own seasons of wanting more and wanting less. And, there is nothing wrong with either choice. There is nothing wrong with existing in either space. It’s the lack of honesty that burns me to my core. Stop flirting with me if it’s not going anywhere. Stop wasting my time. I don’t need more friends off of Bumble, or sliding into my DMs, or through obscure means of getting my phone number. Truly. I’ve reached my lifetime quota after 34 years.

In tandem, what I have observed in the last eighteen months about myself is that I am, most certainly, a lover and believer of words. And, that is the crux. That online dating, or simply just dating, is this whole show of words. That are so easily believed. And it’s just all shit. If I had a dollar for every guy who suggested running away with me in my Airstream, I would have been able to pay straight cash for my new F-150 a few weeks ago. Seriously. There’s one in LA, and a couple in New Jersey, a handful in Texas, and so many in Colorado that I’ve actually stopped counting. Because the minute I say, “Okay, I’m calling you on this statement,” my experience indicates that they can’t live up to it.

Great, tell me all about your fantasies, homeboy, only to ghost two days later (or, better yet, I find out about your undying love for your current girlfriend on your second to last Instagram post from five days ago). Newsflash, smoother operator, this is my actual life over here. Hope you enjoyed your glimpse.

So, yes, I’m attempting to not grow cynical. I’m also attempting to unpack two very real personal questions. One, if a game must be played in order to win the affection of another, and that game requires me to act outside of my normal state, then am I even winning if I do “win?” For example, guy articulates that he doesn’t know if he wants anything. Then, the same guy asks for me to bring him food because he’s stuck at work. I show love through service, so naturally, my being is dying to deliver said food. But, guy advice (based on my current inner circle) is usually, don’t bring him the food: “He’s using you. If he can’t say that he wants you, but is willing to get favors from you, show him that you don’t have time to do him favors without him giving you a respectable level of commitment.” And, this is fair. This actually makes sense. But, still, I deliver the food (yep, that’s me) because, yep, that IS me. And, I don’t want to be anything but myself. Ever.

Two, what is my responsibility to give people space to be honest and themselves but also to guard my own heart in that process? I believe in ease. I believe that there are certain things in life that mysteriously and beautifully fall into place. I’d like to believe that a romantic relationship would unfold in a similar fashion. But, if this guy says he doesn’t know and then proceeds to engage with me in a fashion that suggests otherwise, should I believe his actions or his words? And, the fact that I’m asking that question is my answer, right? If the right person were standing in front of me, I’m confident I wouldn’t have to be choosing between his actions and his words in the first place because there would be an alignment in both areas that carries the level of integrity that I demand for in my own self. Yet, here I am, FaceTiming my best male friend at 7:32pm on a Wednesday night to ask how to respond to the 47th text message from a guy who just doesn’t know what it is that he wants from me, making me perplexed on how to proceed with my own verbiage and actions.

At this point, let’s add the nomadic element to the mix. And, I am quite confident that therein lies a bigger piece to this commitment-phobic puzzle. Because, it is easy to fall into a routine with someone who resides within your city limits and has a similar schedule to your scripted life. It is an entirely different thing to choose a person who has the freedom to leave. To ask someone to stay requires a deeper level of commitment. It means that someone is choosing for me to do life alongside him, and it means that we are taking off into the sunset together or I am abandoning the road to call someone my home. Ultimately, that choice is my desire. Because, the more I embark on adventures alone, the narrower the gap becomes for me to experience those things for the first time with someone else.

And, I’m starting to question whether or not anything is actually beautiful without it being shared, without it being seen through two sets of eyes in the same moment, if anything is real without the conversation of that thing existing between two coherent bodies.

So, I continue to sit and manifest these desires in the belief that, one day, I’ll be done with the exhibits. That, one day, someone will choose me, and I will choose him back. Without force. Without fear. Without the twenty questions. Granted, maybe I’ve already missed out on Mr. Perfect somewhere in between. Because I didn’t like his shoes. Or his haircut was weird. Or, I swiped left because he failed to include a bio (c’mon, guys). Regardless, I know that wanting something requires attention to that thing. I know that wanting someone requires intentionality to his existence. So, I’m here. Showing up. Attempting to live outside of our digital dead zone. Attempting to keep doing the work to have that one thing that my heart yearns to explore. I can reason that if it were easy, then everyone would do it. Like, really do it. It’s not easy. Not everyone does it. Like, really does it. But, it will damn well be worth it.

Meanwhile, if you need help with your pickup lines, don’t hesitate to slide into my DMs. They’re currently still free for the taking.

from Blog https://ondenver.com/the-silver-lining-online-dating-on-the-road/

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