but there is one promise that is given

11 writing problems and solutions

Writing is a craft. It takes time for anyone to learn and improve. But there are some shortcuts you can try, maybe adapt to your own needs. Here are 11 writing problems and their solutions, or hacks.

Too many ideas syndrome

Problem: You have too many equally good story ideas and can’t pick just one to write.

Solution: Select your top 3 favorite stories and write the first scene of all three. If you can’t decide, write the first chapter. The right project will be easier to work with, you’ll have fun writing it, you will be daydreaming about the story, you will love the characters. So, give away three chances instead of one.

Originally posted by gypsyastronaut

Outline spoiling the fun

Problem: Whenever you outline a story idea, it completely spoils your will to write it. The mystery is gone.

Solution: Instead of outlining the whole story, just make a clear goal on how your characters should end. Will they succeed? Will they fail? Will they be happy? Will they find redemption? Will they be wronged? Decide how your story should end and explore the plot as you go. Remember, no one will read your first draft, so just write.

Lost midway

Problem: If you are a pantser, you might get lost in the middle of the story, especially after the first plot point.

Solution: Give your story an ending. If you know where your characters will end up, you’ll have a better understanding of which routes to take. Always keep in mind how the story will end. Use it as the beacon of a lighthouse to guide you through stormy waters.

Creative block

Problem: You don’t have story ideas. Or nothing you have so far excites you enough for a novel.

Solution: Read a book or watch a movie completely out of your genre. This works like magic, I promise. I’m not a sci-fi person, but Akira has given me more story ideas than any movie and book from my own genre.

Originally posted by sunio

Writing anxiety

Problem: You are scared of writing, scared of starting a new story, or just scared of not doing a good job.

Solution: Write a fanfic. No one expects a fanfic to be a masterpiece (although many are). Fanfics are done for fun and for passion. So, write your book in fanfic format. You can even use fandom characters and aus in the process. When the story is completed, change back to original characters.

Editing as you write

Problem: You keep going back to previous paragraphs and editing instead of moving forward with your writing.

Solution: Write your novel by hand. This might sound like a lot of work, but it’s quite the opposite. The white screen of the computer urges you to review, to make it perfect, academic like perfect. The paper however, brings you back to the craft, to the urge of filling lines and pages. Handwriting also gives you the opportunity of sketching and doodling. 

Originally posted by kyoka-sui-get-su

Procrastination

Problem: Tumblr. Youtube. Email. Netflix. Bathroom. Fridge. Bed.

Solution: Go offline. Turn off your wi-fi. Use a device without internet connection. Or, if you keep fooling yourself and turning the internet back on, write your novel by hand. Give yourself a daily hour of internet, but live offline. And if you take unnecessary trips to the fridge or the bathroom, try the pomodoro technique.

Lack of plots

Problem: Nothing relevant is happening, your story looks kind of boring. Or the main plot is too weak for a whole novel.

Solution: Take a few days off. Just relax. When you are ready to go back, read what you have written so far. Maybe you were just tired. But, if the story really sucks, go back to basics. Ask yourself two questions. What type of story am I writing? How will this story end? Follow the answer like a map. Change what needs to be changed, even if you have to delete the whole progress. If you lack plots, don’t add fillers, just go back to basics.  

Weak main character

Problem: Your character lacks personality, voice and/or visuals.

Solution: Give your main character three things. An external battle. An internal battle. And an unique feature. The external battle is their goal, what they want to achieve, what they dream about. An internal battle is their fears, traumas, doubts, mental issues, prejudices and triggers to overcome. An unique feature is what sets them apart from other characters, maybe they have piercings, or tattoos, or pink hair, or lilac eyes, maybe they wear neon boots, or a mask, or mittens, maybe they are left-handed, or blind, maybe they have a scar, or a birthmark. Every amazing main character has external battles, internal battles and unique features.  

Originally posted by takeruandcaterpillars

Depression

Problem: You have no will to write. The passion is gone. You feel empty.

Solution: If you don’t have access to medical help, reading is a good way to reevaluate your career and regain your passion for the words. Read lots of books. Don’t worry about writing, just read. Lose yourself in fictional adventures. Read sci-fi, romance, horror, fantasy, crime, family saga, classics, foreigner fictions, fanfics, shorts, poetry. Immerse in literature. Literature can save lives.  

Strange dialogues

Problem: Dialogues seem too formal, or too much like the narration, or characters lack individuality.

Solution: Read your dialogues out loud while acting as your characters. You can find a quiet empty room for that. Be an actor. Go for the emotions. Record your acting sections, after all, you might improvise at some point.    

Originally posted by gmt1999

procraesthetics  asked:

I wonder what would happen if Dudley grew up in the wizarding world but still as a muggle? like kind of reverse AU where his parents are dead and he has to go to Lily for whatever reason? do you think he would become bitter like Petunia about magic?

Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look and not touch.

The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they’d had a shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said freak and Lily had hissed better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy–

And now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily walked the halls of the Godric’s Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry always had.

She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up the hall the opposite way. “I think he’s asleep,” James mouthed over Harry’s tousled head. His hair was the same mess, bent down to peer at his sleeping son.

Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. “James,” she said. “How are we going to do this?”

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. Don’t you cry, you’ll start them off– unless you need to cry, I mean, you go ahead, hey, sweetheart, hey, it’s alright, you just let it out.” He stepped forward, shifting Harry gently to his other shoulder, and pressed his forehead to hers. “We tuck them in, okay, that’s what we do next. Then we go to our own bed, okay, and go to sleep, and when we wake up it’ll be a new day.”

“A new day,” she said. “Another day– James, that’s the– I’m so tired.”

“So let’s sleep. It’ll look better in the morning,” he said. “And if it doesn’t look better this morning, it’ll look better in the next one.”

“You promise?”

“Better than that. I’ll show you. Every day,” he said and kissed her cold forehead.

Dudley had not shown up on the Potters’ doorstep with the milk bottles. Lily had gotten a phone call from the landline she still had installed in Godric’s Hollow, about an accident, and she had gone down to the Muggle police station to identify the bodies.

The cupboard under the stairs was filled with spiders, broomsticks, and the sewing machine Lily’s mother had given her when she married James– that’s all. Dudley slept downstairs. Uncle Remus taught Dudley and Harry to knock out coded messages through the wall their rooms shared.

In the backyard, beside a rickety porch and an ambitious hedge, James taught them to fly– first on little tot brooms where their toes brushed the grass the whole time, then out of the barrels of practice brooms James used for lessons and coaching Little League Quidditch.

When the boys turned ten, five weeks apart, they both got shiny new Nimbuses on Dudley’s birthday (which came first), and a set of enchanted Quidditch balls on Harry’s, to share. The Bludgers were enchanted to be very kind but Dudley spent long afternoons whacking them far afield while Harry chased the Snitch at his back.

Harry had a scar on his forehead, like a jagged bit of lightning. Dudley had no scars– the car crash that had killed his parents hadn’t touched him where he sat strapped into a car seat in the back, chewing on a stuffed dinosaur toy.

Lily did not believe in lying to the children. She was bare years off being a child herself, and spare moments on the far side of a war. When Dudley asked about his parents, she told him there had been an accident. She pulled pictures off the shelf and wrote Petunia’s old university friends for more.

Photographs came by mailman, the images still and unnatural to Dudley’s eye. Every day he’d gone out to play, for years, he’d been waving at the picture near the back door of his aunt and uncle on their wedding day, and they waved back every time.

“She was very clever,” Lily said. “Your mom liked to know everything.”

“And my dad?”

“Vernon liked… cars?” James offered. “That’s the word, right, Lily?”

“I didn’t know him very well,” Lily said. “He liked drills, I think; he worked for a firm that made them, and he talked about that a lot.”

Dudley brushed his thumbs over the dull edges of the photos. When Lily went off to Auror headquarters the next morning for work, James bundled the boys up and took them on an impromptu invisible tour of Grunnings Drill Manufacturing Inc.

They tiptoed down halls and past water coolers and ringing fellytones. They held hands under the Cloak as they dodged around the machines on the manufacturing floor, thumping and pounding and whirring away loudly enough that Harry and Dudley could whisper to each other under the noise. An elevator took them all the way up to the top floor. Harry whistled cheerily and eerily along with the elevator music while the Muggles slowly edged toward the doors and pressed floor buttons lower than they’d originally wanted.

There were boxes and cabinets and folders and desks and staticky monitor screens full of numbers strewn in endless grids. “Merlin’s knuckles,” said Harry, who was seven and a half and rather proud of this expletive. “People can look at this all day, their whole lives, and not die?”

“Work is hard work,” said James.

“At least mum gets to curse things.”

“But my dad liked it?” Dudley said, peering at a white board that was bleeding enthusiastic marker. “There’s a lot of things, here. Maybe he liked knowing things, too.”

When the boys asked about the scar on Harry’s forehead, Lily and James looked at each other. “You know how sometimes we sit with Uncle Remus and talk about a war?” James said. “Or with Ms. Amelia or Mr. Mundungus.”

“Mr. Mundungus is kinda smelly,” Harry said helpfully.

“It’s not nice to say so though,” said James, and Lily made a face.

“Are we raising them to be nice?” Lily said.

“I’m trying,” said James.

“You talk about a war,” said Harry and shrugged. Dudley nodded.

“There was a very bad man, in those days,” said James.

“Voldemort,” said Lily, and James made a face.

“He was so scary a lot of people don’t like to say his name, even now,” said James. “And he was coming after us because we had been fighting against him, in the war. He came to the house and he tried to hurt you, Harry. But it didn’t work. It hurt him instead, and gave you that scar.”

“Is he going to come back?” said Dudley, who was paler than his normal pink.

“No one’s heard of him since then,” said Lily.

“Where were you?” said Harry, because all his life they had been right there.

“Oh,” said Lily, but her throat closed up.

“We were at Dudley’s mum and dad’s funeral,” said James. “Our friend– our friend Sirius was watching you two. The bad man, he came to the house. He. Well. I.”

“Sirius died,” said Lily, one hand squeezing James’s knee and the other reaching down to brush hair off Dudley’s forehead. “You lived, Harry, and Voldemort vanished. And that’s why sometimes people stare in the streets, baby.” James tweaked Harry’s collar absently.

Two days after they had buried Lily’s sister, the Potters had stood together in the first chills of November and buried James’s brother.

Sirius had been burned off the Black family tree years before. Lily and James had talked to his cousin Andromeda, to Remus, and then they had laid him to rest in the Potter family plot. At the wake, they’d told old jokes about squirrel breath, shedding, and man’s best friend. Remus had fallen asleep on their couch and stayed for a month.

It took a two hour row with HR for Lily to get two passes to the Ministry’s Bring Your Kid To Work Day.

“He’s a Muggle.”

“He’s not,” Lily snapped. “He’s family.”

She had to get permission, sign a million forms, and she also had to take the boys in early so that Dudley could get smothered in the spells that would keep the Anti-Muggle wards around the Ministry from activating on him. “If a Muggle stumbles in somehow, they just see a funny-smelling supply cabinet and turn back around,” Lily told Dudley. He nodded and dragged Harry off by the wrist to go look at the fountain.

The windows were pouring sunlight into the underground room– the maintenance workers had just gotten a win on their contract negotiations and had banished the grimy rain-spattered windows of the previous weeks. The light hit the falling water, the golden statues, and the small excitable crowd of Ministry dependents who were gathering in the atrium. Dudley was fishing about in the fountain for Knuts to toss back out again, elbow-deep, and Harry was laughing and coming up with weird wishes to make on them.

Lily hadn’t said son. She’d said family, and that was true enough, wasn’t it? She didn’t say son– she had a son, and she had a nephew, a ward, another child who came to her after nightmares and scraped knees. It was not less, it was just words.

Lily worried about stealing more things from Petunia. Tuney had shrieked at her, in ladies’ restrooms and suburban foyers, had hissed at her in grocery store aisles and family dinners, because Lily got everything. And now Lily had her son.

Lily could just imagine it– could just see Petunia’s face twisting and chin stabbing at the air. You could have anything, and you took my son– my son!

“You left him to me,” Lily whispered, but that wasn’t quite right. “You left,” she whispered, and that wasn’t quite right either, so she strode off toward the fountain to ask the boys if they wanted to go see the Auror spellwork ranges. Dudley’s sodden shirt sleeves dripped all over the Ministry floors. Harry’s hair fell down into his eyes and they both grinned bright enough to rival the spelled sunlight.

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cold coffee. (m)

pairing: jungkook | reader

genre: smut

word count: 4,564

description: “I wasn’t referring to verbal truth. I was referring to,” and then there was a brief pause that was followed by a light press to the center of your stomach. Your back laid flat against the wooden bench before the predatory loom of his figure appeared overhead, “Candor of the body. Which you, my love, are the absolute queen of.”

cr.


With an exchanged swipe, taste forthcoming as the two of you had intended. Too sweet, muttered against your lips – lips that curved into ones of amusement at his feigned disfavor for your particular arrangement of the poison. Too bitter, slipped past your teeth in retort, the air of the syllables brushing against his breath; a dance of icy exhales in a burning winter night. His mouth twitched at that, following your suit into similar enjoyment of the playful critique.

“Maybe not my coffee, but sweet in other aspects, no?” He spoke in a devilish dialect of insinuation and lust; one that, before encountering him, was unfamiliar to you. Adoration, it managed to claw at your chest with great vigor each and every time he glanced down at you through darkened tufts of raven hair. His words wrapping their way around you entirely until they sounded of music. The notes gliding across your bones as his voice conducted your motions.

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advocacy: have some perspective, don’t throw your own people under the bus

I’ve seen a lot of discourse lately about how Blizzard is handling Emily/Tracer wrong - how there’s no sign of it in the game, etc. etc. And there isn’t, yet. There isn’t any sign Tracer is gay in the actual game, so it’s fair comment. I’ve also seem what is pretty unfair conclusions about why this is thrown around, I’ve seen really nasty snark disguised as witty criticism., and it… leaves a bad taste in my mouth, really. 

A very close friend of mine works in an AAA studio. She’s worked in gaming for 10 years. She literally works herself to the bone trying to push social justice in games - and it’s like pushing a fucking boulder uphill forever, let me tell you. I’ve watched what this tireless advocacy is doing to her. Nevertheless, she keeps going. 

It’s because of people like my friend that Overwatch exists - people who have persistently, tirelessly, at threat to their relationships, livelihoods and careers advocated for diversity and representation in games. 

I can only imagine how fucking hard it’s been to change the culture in Blizzard into a company where they publish an AAA game that is as diverse as Overwatch. It’s because of people like my friend, allies, and other supportive people that we have Overwatch at all.

Let’s review some of the great things about the game: a variety of diverse races, ethnicities and identities - consultation was pretty fucking good for most of those. And they listen to our comments about what’s missing, too. We didn’t like that Pharah’s VA wasn’t Egyptian, so what did they do? They got an Egyptian VA living in Egypt to voice Ana. We didn’t like the lack of black characters, and they’ve promised more, and the latest new character is an Omnic created by child genius Efi who is black - and they got a black woman for Orisa’s VA.

Blizzard has handled female characters very well. We complained after they’d released their initial characters that the body type of the female characters was generic and not diverse. So what did they do? They gave us Zarya and Mei. We complained that Tracer was being objectified in one of her poses. What did they do? They changed the fucking pose. They have given us a Muslim single mum who’s 60 old, still a soldier, has sexual agency and is more than just her role as ‘Mum’. The spread of female characters isn’t 16-25 as per most games that have female protagonists, but 19-60, with the majority of them being in their 30s, and that is fucking great

And all of this is aside from the fact that Tracer - the face of the fucking game - is canon, confirmed lesbian in those words by both the devs and in ¾ of a big major comic. She’s in a healthy adult relationship. Plus, there’s more to come. We know more characters are queer, too. 

There’s probably more stuff to add, but off the top of my head - how great is this fucking game?????

Now, it’s not to say that all of this has been done perfectly - there’s always room for improvement. They always could do things better. But the tone of some of the posts I’ve read is as if none of this exists. As if Blizzard has spat in our faces, somehow, by not having Tracer have mentioned Emily in the game yet. The anger, the entitlement, the mockery. 

You’re mocking probably a bunch of queer people, people of colour and women who have pushed and pushed and pushed the gaming industry for decades in order to get a game like Overwatch. You’re mocking people like my friend who has slogged her fucking guts out to get what we’ve got in the games her company produces. Can you imagine what it must be like for those people, responsible for these changes in Blizzard and in the industry, to read people bitching about the fact Tracer doesn’t say anything about Emily (yet) when they’ve pushed so fucking hard just to get what we’ve gotten? 

Do you realise how horribly ungrateful and rude that sounds? You may not be aiming your criticism at these people, but they’re among us. They read social media. They’re real people with real feelings. 

Can we please have some appreciation for just how far Overwatch has taken diversity in games? Because there’s a bunch of minority folks behind this push, mark my words. 

This post is not to discourage criticism, but please, please think of the tone of voice you give it in. Don’t be cruel or unfair. Don’t mock. Don’t be ungateful, please. 

“It’s as if Emily doesn’t even fucking exist, I wonder why that is lollllll fucking blizz” works so much better as “Hey Blizz, I love that Tracer has a girlfriend! Let’s have Tracer mention Emily in the game? :D” 

There are ways to deliver suggestions and feedback that don’t shit all over the people who’ve worked so hard to bring this game to you. Please take an extra 5 seconds to consider not sounding entitled and awful, and think about how else you could deliver this feedback so you’re not hurting the people who have worked their whole lives so you have it <3

Iz Explains Stuff So You Don’t Have to: The Nightwing Debacle.

Hey guys! As promised, here’s a write up of what’s currently making waves in the DC/comic fandom today. Given that this subject somewhat related to the Hydra-cap nonsense, I thought it should be something I cover as well, just to sorta give non-comics fans/DC comics readers who might see this and want some context.

1. Who is Nightwing?

You guys know Robin, Batman’s sidekick who they almost always leave out of movies? This is the first (yes there’s more than one, but that’s a topic for another day) and possibly most iconic one to pop-culture. Named Richard “Dick” Grayson, Dick is the son of the flying Grayson’s , two circus acrobats who died due to mob interference during a show (he also has Romani heritage (which the comics often ignore) This will be important later). Bruce took Dick in and the rest is well history.

Dick probably has the most screen time over any Robin in film/tv adaptations, including Teen Titans, Young Justice, The Lego Batman movie, the original Adam West series, and Batman Forever. He’s arguably the best known Robin to non-comic’s readers.

Because time does pass in comics occasionally, Dick grew up and after a series of events that have been retconned so many times it’s not worth getting into, ditched the Robin mantle. He would later take up the title of Nightwing.

2. Why the name Nightwing?

Dick is a HUGE fan of Superman (no really, Superman is pretty much his uncle) and after he ditched the Robin title, Superman and him had a talk where Superman told him of two legendary kryptonian heroes Nightwing and Flamebird. Inspired by the story, Dick would take on the name of the former (the latter name has a much more varied history).

3. Okay, so what’s the big deal besides the Robin thing?

To compress a lot of history into a paragraph, Nightwing is the one DC hero that like almost every other DC hero trusts and likes. Most of the Justice League has known Dick since he was a little kid and trust him implicitly for both his general good nature and reputation of being like, a really fucking good guy. Like a really good guy. A good enough guy that when Batman was told to let his own world die to let a better more “ideal” world survive, he asked if Richard Grayson was in it to make his choice on if it actually was a better world. (Dick was not in this world, which made Batman hard pass on that shit. Really. This is a thing that happened.)

Dick has also led multiple successful superhero teams, worked on the league himself, and donned the Batman title for awhile.

4. Okay, got it. So what’s going on?

Today DC announced a new six issue limited series in an elseworld (which is a world that takes place outside of canon. Think an AU.) This is the summary:

NIGHTWING: THE NEW ORDER is the story of a future world without “weapons”—where superpowers have been eliminated and outlawed. The man responsible? None other than Dick Grayson, a.k.a. Nightwing, now leader of a government task force called the Crusaders who are charged with hunting the remaining Supers. But when events transpire which turn the Crusaders’ aim toward Grayson’s own family, the former Boy Wonder must turn against the very system he helped create, with help from the very people he’s been hunting for years—the last metahumans of the DC Universe.

5. OH NO IS THIS HYDRA CAP ALL OVER AGAIN?

Yes and no. So far, it’s safe to say that this series does echo Hydra Cap in a paragon for good and justice becoming the figurehead of a fascist regime. However, everything else is kind of more murky.

For one, this series is an elseworld, which means unlike Hydra Cap, it doesn’t take place in the regular DC universe. This is not the fate of the Dick Grayson we know and love, nor is it him; it’s a version of him in a different universe. It’s also a limited run, so we got an enddate on this sucker off the bat.

Second, this is more general fascism instead of nazi brand fascism. The first cover echoes other fascist/oppressive regimes but it applies to multiple besides the Nazi party. In the DC universe, metahumans aren’t coded as a minority group (though smaller subsets are, like the Superfamily being coded Jewish), so it’s more sci-fi than an allegory for real life oppression (though if depending on the details of this event, that remains to be seen. The writer took to Twitter to state there is absolutely no genocide here in this book but the first few pages imply otherwise and long story short, I’m not convinced). The group Dick works with is also entirely new and unlike Hydra has no link in history to the Nazi party, making the claim that they’re a general “evil fascist villain” hold water.

Third, unlike Hydra Cap, this book is branded as Dick learning the error of his choices rather than a long saga to try to convince us he has a point. I doubt we’ll see the same extent of “we should feel bad for Dick oppressing all these people” that we see in Hydra cap. However, this also remains to be seen. Long story short, it’s never gonna try to get us to root for the bad guy.

6. So it’s fine?

Now I wouldn’t say that. Making an iconic character a fascist is still something to side eye, and a lot of my above caveats can change if the story itself decides to make those connections (i.e if there are prison camps for example). It’s also important to note, that making a Romani character a fascist, and one under the label of “crusader” is in terrible taste, considering the Romani people’s history with both.

The writer is also someone I don’t have a ton of faith in when it comes to nuance. (though to his credit, he is assuring and validating concerns on twitter rather than laughing us all off as SJWs).

What I’m saying is that it’s gonna be hard to figure out exactly this is going to play out until I see the first issue. I think the storyline and the advertising is something we should be critical of, but a lot still depends on how the book approaches it. This isn’t to say you should “give it a chance” only that we might want to hold off from saying DC is promoting fascism until we see if they’re gonna take this from a “feel bad for Dick angle, not all fascists are bad” or a “Dick fucked up hard” angle. We can just say this storyline is at the very least insensitive given current events and Dick’s ethnic roots.

Plus, Dick turning on Superman is just weird, and the preview pages are not helping my concerns.

So be critical of the concept but be careful not to declare what the narrative is trying to say until we know what the narrative is.

7. And if it does come out to be “feel bad for Dick, not all fascists, narrative supports the fascist regime for just wanting the best for us” angle?

Then go crazy guys. Though even if it does go that way, it still won’t be as Hydra cap. Because at least it’s still only a elseworld.  Which is like the worst consolation prize ever.

I’m tired of being sad and having no clue as to why I am this way, so I’ll write about the happy bits of me and why I smile. I dance when I’m alone, when the music gets just right and I’m sure that no one is watching, it’s okay to feel lonely, I used to not like the idea of it, but once you’re comfortable in your own skin even depression starts to feel like a breeze. I’m reading a book that says we are the beliefs and thoughts that we think and believe in. So if I say that I’m happy a thousand times, one of those will come back as true. So if I say I’ll find the love of my life some day, some day she’ll appear in front of me while I’m writing another poem. It’s good to have goals, the only goal I’ve ever had up until recently was to keep myself happy with someone else, that’s not a goal, but an illusion. You can’t live your life for someone else, it’s called your life for a reason. Happiness must happen when I say so, so I’m saying so. We bring into this world the kind of kindness that we’ve been dealt, so when I fake a smile, my mother is omnipresent. Although it’s not real, fake it until you make it, right? The book also says, spend more time doing things that make you lose track of time, so I decided to write again and more often than not, to not compare myself to others because once you start doing that, there’s no going back. I don’t write like someone else, I write like myself. I don’t think like anyone that I know, there’s just you and the beautifully twisted world, we’re all trying to find redemption inside of coral skies and trustworthy friends. I would break my own hand to contain my anger, it is contained. Happiness is what we make it, so if I say that it exists, then it will be so. Listening to your guidance, that makes me happy. You know who you are. Breathless to the words, you paint the sunrise with your pinky and promise that as long as I’m here today, tomorrow will not be filled with sorrow. I keep writing letters to the future person that I will be, I wonder if I’ll change. I probably will, we all do in one way or another. I’m the kind of person that snaps a picture of the sky while I’m driving, I’m reckless, but we’re still alive. Life’s too short and I need to be more careful, I’m certain that death has given up a few passes for me. Do you ever feel like you’re running out of time? Like there’s something trying to make a statement, a lost word that even google couldn’t even get its hands on. Do you ever feel like no one’s really listening? We’re all selfish in the end, but the ones that truly listen– they are the ones that I live for. I maintain online friendships better than I do with my siblings, I guess our thinking is just on different frequencies. On the topic of frequencies– the you that you would like to be is out there, you just need to listen. Hear the right words said by the right person and you’ll be in the right spot to be the you that you’d want to be in this life. Do you ever feel like you’re not good enough? Remember that thing I said about thoughts? Sometimes we just need to let go a little bit, embrace the art of it. To be left to the wind, the unknown will bring us to more adventures and you may not be loved by many, but there’s a chance that you will be– why not take it? I would like to break out of this, I want to smile more and to laugh a little louder, I just want to make myself proud of who I will be versus who I used to be. And you can’t turn back the hands of time, you cannot change your mistakes– they are permanent, but you are not. There is a fire inside of your chest and if you keep suffocating yourself with an indescribable pain then you’ll only suffer in a incomprehensible way. I just want to fill this world with more love and less pain, I see a butterfly and I’m easily distracted– how beauty will fly past you if you’re not even paying attention because you’re so damn sad all of the time. So I drop all signs of negativity and lean towards the positive, I am the only vibe that’ll alter my moods, so I must feel more wealthy than a million silver spoons even if I don’t have any, so I must create the art that likes to spill from my fingertips, we live such short lives– why not be the best version of yourself? Who will you be if tomorrow was your last day on this planet? Will you cry because it’s over? Or will you search the ends of the earth until you’ve found the fountain of youth? I’ve got a secret to share with you. You can be a 100 years old and still have the sweetest smile, you can be in your 20s and have a soul heavy enough to sink the titanic, life is strange, life is strange. We live our youth to buy pretty things, but live our oak days trying to make up more time– it waits for no one, the wrong turn will break you, a simple kiss will turn your thoughts into poetry and a life of self-hate is a road that needs constant validation– why not be your own way out? Be your own lover, be your own brand of music, be your own kind of poem, be your own story of kindness, and if you’re not perfect just look around– nobody is. I’m tired of dreaming, I want to build it instead. You can’t be who you want to be if you’re still having the same thoughts from last year– you can’t change or heal in the right way if you’re not willing to break a few pieces of your heart because the clutter inside of our minds often match the attitude that we give off. So like a quote, so like a poem, so like a bedtime story. If I repeat it enough times, I’ll be happy. I just want to be happy. I just want to let go of the bad feelings. I just want to love myself enough to see a brighter day. You can’t change the world if you can’t even change yourself, right? If I repeat it enough times, then it must be real. I will be happy. Sadness is a crucial emotion because without it, being delighted and euphoric wouldn’t be so dense, but that’s the beauty of the intensity to which we should love ourselves. I want to be so fucking glad to wake up today that it’ll just drown my depression into the white noise. I want to glow in the dark and live like the jellyfishes, give my poetry the immortality to always bring a smile onto the faces of those that love who I am even if I’m a bit flawed because at the end of the day– you’re the only one sleeping on your bed, you’re the only one who’s going to determine if you’ve got enough room to breathe, you’re the only one to have the last say if you’re art or not.
—  I wanted to write something happy for you–
yes, you. The person that’s reading this.

PSA- RESPECTING MUSES OF POWER

       This has to be said because personally I am tired of having to establish this again and again. And it has to do with RESPECTING MUSES OF POWER. And this includes and it never limited any official canon stated titles and positions. Be it Ruthless Queens, Hard Kings, Gang Leaders, or Apocalyptic Masterminds with barb wired bats. Somewhere there is always a nice chunk of muses who are always trying to either; 1) Defy, 2) Rebel, or 3) 1 & 2 but with a try at badass snark. This PSA is concerning all of the above, and all that are included within the category of muses of power.

      It is so important that this made clear that when being a MUSE OF POWER there is something that accompanies that and it is exactly that. POWER. Muses of power ACTUALLY hold a fair amount of ACTUAL power over most muses. Especially if it’s in their favored canon timeline. A Queen or King can have a man executed for speaking foul words against them, or the Apocalyptic Mastermind can have someone beat up and locked away because he damn well felt like it. That’s because they hold a certain amount of real power to do so. And it’s so important that with MUSES OF POWER that this is respected. I’m so tired of seeing muses try to be the FORCE OF GOOD or the REBEL OF LAW and the muns get all upset because the MUSE OF POWER in question reacted accordingly.

     This is also me making note that a MUSE OF POWER is not required at all to be nice or friendly toward anyone, not everyone is kind or courteous.  And neither is a MUSE OF POWER required to be so. Do not show up and expect someone to be loving of this or that muse just because sweet words were given.

       IT IS ALSO RUDE TO USE STEREOTYPICAL NEGATIVE BELIEFS OR NEGATIVE TRAITS AND MISCONCEPTIONS JUST TO CREATE ONE SIDED ANGST FOR YOUR SIDE  TO MAKE THE MUSE OF POWER LOOK LIKE AN ASSHOLE AND YOURS THE SWEET CORRUPTED INNOCENT.

      If the defiance and rebuttal is plotted; then it is alright. Because both of the muns have a full understanding of what is happening and the consequences of said actions. WHICH THERE IS ALWAYS CONSEQUENCES WHERE MUSES OF POWER ARE CONCERNED. You insult someone or spit in their face- I can personally promise you something bad is going to happen. But again, plotted and planned, are always acceptable because as I said. Everyone is on an understanding and everyone is on the same page.

    all in all:  RESPECT MUSES OF POWER

birds

Corvids

  1. Crows and ravens are not bad omens, as much as people may want you to think they are.
  2. If corvids are following you, they’re there to protect you.
  3. If bad things happen when corvids are your guardians, those things were made to make you stronger.
  4. They won’t let anything get to you that you aren’t strong enough to handle.
  5. They will lead you into liminal spaces, but they will not lead you back out. Enter only if you are sure you can find your way back out again.
  6. Crow Girls will play games with you, and they may hurt you, but they mean no harm. They do not know their own strength. Treat them with kindness, but also with playfulness, and they will reward you in kind.

Owls

  1. Owls are wisdom, but they are also folly.
  2. They will try to lead you down the wrong path, not out of malice, but as a test to your convictions. Stick to your morals and you will find loyalty.
  3. Owls will protect you during the Thirteenth Hour, but only insofar as you are of use to them. Be sure you can offer enough to keep their protection for that long.
  4. Owls will bend those laws you understand, and break those you don’t.
  5. They are regal for as long as you revere them.
  6. Only when they are humbled are they truly wise. They are not humbled easily.

Parrots

  1. Parrots are shits, but they can be controlled.
  2. They will eat your balcony and crap on your car and cheat with your wife.
  3. If you give them enough shiny things, they’ll eat and shit and fornicate somewhere else.
  4. If you give them more than enough they’ll let you pick where that is.
  5. If you give them nothing, you’d better get used to five a.m wake-up calls.

Gulls

  1. Gulls are dirty, scrappy creatures.
  2. Gulls will fight you in the Woolworth’s car park at three in the morning, but only if there’s a cashier taking a smoke break by the bins and a clear sky overhead.
  3. If you win, you become part of their cabal.
  4. If you lose, they get claim over your gizzards. They can collect at any time.
  5. Becoming a Gull gets you protection by the colony from all dangers, and gives you privileges. Be certain you need them before fighting.
  6. Fighting without certainty that you need the colony ensures your loss.

Doves

  1. Doves are lies wrapped in decadence.
  2. Pigeons are the only truthful doves, but their words are wrapped in riddles.
  3. When you hear a dove speak, assume the opposite is true, if you can understand what is being said in the first place.
  4. Doves will give you gifts, but each will only be valuable to one person in the world. If you are very, very lucky, you’ll be given one that means something to you.
  5. Doves watch over the spirit, but do not protect it. They are there only for information.
  6. Doves are bad at their jobs.

Swans

  1. Swans are evil.
  2. No matter what, do not let a swan into your home.
  3. If you find yourself stalked by swans, they will coerce you into something.
  4. They will trick you using any means necessary. They are vengeful and do not forget a grudge, do not forgive a slight.
  5. Swans will lure you with pretty words and promises of riches and love. Beware the shiny plumage; beneath lies the sharp beak, powerful talons.
  6. Do not follow the swan song, do not dance with the swan, for it will steal you away to the Other, and you will not find your way home.
In Motion (M) | 01

Character: Jeon Jungkook x oc/reader (with POV switches)

Genre / words: Smut / 6,721 words

Summary: The rule is simple - you can look but you can’t touch. You’ve been attending the event for a few times but it was only when a certain boy arrives at one occasion did you feel the fire of lust burning inside

Warning: exhibitionism, public display of masturbations, graphic smut scenes, mutual masturbations, mentions/use of sex toys

Warning 2.0: this is only the beginning

(Cr.)


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Dear Future Girlfriend

Dear future girlfriend,
Lemme say I’m sorry in advance for all the times we will fight because it will probably be my fault. And I’m really sorry for all the chances you will give me to kiss you or hold your hand and I don’t. I’m kinda slow with that sorta thing so just grab my hand or grab my shirt and pull me toward you. I’m sorry for all the times I should say ‘babe you look BEAUTIFUL’ and dont. I just want you to know that its because your beauty has left me speechless.
Dear future girlfriend,
When I say that I love you I mean it. In that one phrase I will have given you my heart. So please don’t break it. I know its a little torn and missing but its not your fault.You’re not the first girl I have trusted with it. So I’m sorry if it takes time for me to open up to you. When I do I promise it will be worth the wait.
Dear future girlfriend,
I love you and will always love you. I would give you the moon if I could. I promise I will be faithful to you and only you. I will never look at another girl the way I look at you. You are my world and I will give you everything I have.
Dear future girlfriend,
I can’t wait for you to be mine

Love,
Me

trottingalongthelines  asked:

In YOI episode 3 when Yurio is about to start his program and Yuuko is freaking out over his costume, why is Victor shown as if he's in deep thought? Or just why was the clip shown in the first place? I feel like they wouldn't have put it there just because, but I cant figure out what it's significants is..Do you know why?

I love episode 3.

It’s one of my favorites. There are so many interesting character moments to analyze, and this is one of them. 

There are several potential interpretations you could apply to this scene.

Yuri is scowling as he’s warming up to perform “Agape” - which is not Agape-like behavior. Victor could be thinking “Well, I guess he hasn’t tapped into the concept of Agape after all…” 

If you notice earlier in the episode, we see Victor looking at Yuri much the same way - particularly right before he sends him off to the waterfall. Victor is not seeing what he wants in Yuri’s demeanor.

You could also speculate that Victor might see a younger version of himself in Yuri, who is standing there in Victor’s costume from his junior years.

But here’s another theory…

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anonymous asked:

17. Jungkook, fuckboy au

thank you for requesting! i hope you like it!

17. “I want you to keep it.” 

WORD COUNT: 1,346

Originally posted by foreveryoongz

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2

A ravager and his Twig

Ya know this is actually going to be submitted as part of my uni work. Because I’m at this stage where no fucks are given > < The eye searing colours are intentional; one thing I love about GOTG was how colourful everything is. So this gets to be colourful too. The Zeus with a lightning bolt look is intentional because whenever Yondu puckers those lips I feel like the tide of the battle has turned. He is kind of a one man army by himself. Was going to add Rocket on the other shoulder but yeeeeah > <

*Whispers I’m exhausted T T And also I did promise a process sheet last time. I am sorry and also not sorry about the huge ass watermark, like I can’t be bothered chasing down reposters but I will slap my name everywhere instead.

anonymous asked:

Hi ! After knowing harry's meaning of SOTT what do you think of it? Honestly that's not what i was thinking... like i never thought it would be a perspective of a mother dying. all the interpretations everyone's made idk harry is so difficult to read what are your thoughts?

Lol!

The Rolling Stone/ Cameron Crowe interview was quite a nice bit of theater this morning, wasn’t it?

On the one hand, we have Harry state in radio promo interview that SOTT was his most literal and personal song on the album. On the other hand, he offers an interpretation of a mother dying in childbirth and urging her child forward. He paints quite a dramatic tableau– but if it’s personal/ literal, which one was Harry? The mom? Or the child?

Was the dying mother the one shouting, “We’ve got to–away”? Because she, this dramatic character, wasn’t going to make it. Or was it the baby talking to– the neonatal intensive care unit staff?

Then we have contradicting versions of how the song was written. A prior interview had said Harry sat down at a piano, thrummed out some chords in the rented Jamaica house that ended up being the opening of the song.

The Rolling Stones interview says, “The song began as a seven-minute voice note on Styles’ phone, and ended up as a sweeping piano ballade.”

So which one was it? A spontaneous improvisation on a Jamaican piano, or a voice note?

I think the clue to these contradiction lies in the one true thing Harry said:

“Like, fuck, I don’t know what Prince eats for breakfast. That mystery … it’s just what I like.”

I was talking to @lawyerlarrie about the French deconstructionists, Foucault and Derrida. Deconstructionism is a movement of literary criticism which focuses on literary texts to the exclusion of authorial intent. “Pride and Prejudice” means something because of the words (the text) themselves, not because of what Jane Austen wanted them to mean. In this school, it doesn’t really matter what Austen wanted. What we have is the text.

Similarly, when songs are written, they acquire an existence of their own, regardless of what the songwriter wants them to mean.

You can carry this to an absurd end, of course. Other ways of interpreting are valid, including a psychosocial reading connecting the song to a songwriter’s biography. For example, we now know that Stevie Nicks wrote “Sara” about her abortion of the baby she conceived with Don Henley. That fact is relevant to the song, no matter what the literary interpretation is.

SOTT’s lyrics describe separation and oppression; a promised end that never comes; a relationship in which one person has been given reprieve/ freedom while the other person is left behind. It is about false reassurances, about someone giving comfort despite knowing that a situation is hopeless. It’s a song about an impossible escape. And about the guilt of the person (the singer) who has been given the freedom. The cost of his freedom was pain to the person he loves. That meaning is unarguable.

These words have meaning, no matter what the writers want them to mean. A mother dying is one way to express this situation. But a mother dying is a metaphoric representation of the situation. In other words, it can’t be literal– not for Harry. The literal meaning is hidden. Harry didn’t say it; he didn’t want to say it.

So much is left unsaid or obfuscated in this interview. I (with some discomfort) admire Harry the Escape Artist. He has left just a smoky outline of himself on the page. There’s an irony in his honesty. “I’m honest because I’ve told no lies”; this isn’t the same as “I’m honest because I’m telling the truth.”

We say he’s “swerving,” but I don’t think that’s a great description either.

I think the whole solo promo has been about creating another theatrical persona for Harry– one who is a hip, down-to-earth, creative, sweet, genuine, charming, HONEST musician who doesn’t get many dates, and whose heart is broken over and over by intense (heterosexual) love affairs, which are then converted to art. And who, finally, gets to do exactly what he wants– so it’s all above ground and transparent, right?

Wrong. It’s all illusory.

Harry has created an iron curtain between his public and private lives, which no one but family are privy to. I’m not just talking about his sexuality, but the whole question of his privacy. The iron curtain deflects peskier personal questions and allows him to work. It separates his celebrity status from his artistic achievements. Not that he’s above using celebrity to promote his art– why else would he do the interview? Of course he’s going to use his celebrity when the occasion arises. But he’s treading a thin line.

The iron curtain lets him swim in the private cove of his Jamaican imagination without being under public scrutiny.

The ocean doesn’t care who he is. It doesn’t care whether he was in love with Taylor Swift. It is big enough for him to disappear in.

So if his whole album is filled with love songs dedicated to female pronouns, so be it. He has raised the wall.

“The mystery … it’s just what I like.”

slavic mythology asks
  • Perun: the sky tears open with thunder - are you scared or are you one with the storm?
  • Veles: someone breaks a promise that meant everything to you - what do you do?
  • Jarilo: the spring came and with it the memories - which spring do you remember best and why?
  • Morana: the time of your death has come but you are given a choice - how do you want to go?
  • Mokosh: a plant grows on your grave after you die, carrying a piece of your soul - what plant would it be?
  • Svarog: summer's sun burns your skin and breaks your heart - which summer do you regret the most?
  • Zorja Utrennjaja: you open your eyes to the delicate light of dawn - what is the first thing you think about?
  • Zorja Vechernjaja: the sky is dark and the air sweet - what pleasure do you long for?
  • Leshy: you walk through a forest filled with whispers and hungry eyes - do you stray from the path?
  • Baba Yaga: the night is heavy and bitter - what is the worst nightmare you ever had?
  • Topielec: you wade in water on a quiet evening - is it a lake, a river, or maybe sea?
  • Żmij: you see before you a creature of hundred eyes and sly smiles - do you banish it or befriend it?
Reminiscence (Calum imagine)

Summary: You spend Valentine’s Day reminiscing

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: This has to be one of my favourite things that I’ve ever written :) Please pay attention to the dates and times! It begins in the present, and then there are a series of flashbacks. They’re all in chronological order for ease of reading, but please pay attention to the timings if you’re unsure!

This is for @calumsbicth and @calsdream‘s Valentines!5sos blurb night!

Originally posted by hemmoxhood96

Present day, Valentine’s Day

With a cream envelope held between your fingers, you can’t prevent the smile from spreading across your lips. A greying memory slips into your mind, your eyes fluttering to a close as you let yourself get taken away to the land of fantasies.

Valentine’s day, two years ago, 1pm

“Y/N!”

At the sound of your name, you looked up.  You were in a park, sitting on a picnic blanket. Surrounding you were hundreds of tiny daisies, scattered amongst the green grass like a sprinkling of icing sugar.

“Hmm?” You looked across the blanket to see Calum, your boyfriend, with a wide smile spread across his face.

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Ok so, anti Kylo Ren people - I don’t understand them. Not in the sense that I can’t understand why someone wouldn’t like Kylo - you like what you like or not - but it’s the analysis of the character, something you can interpret on a sliding scale of better or worse accuracy, that strikes me as profoundly odd. It’s completely in defiance not in just to what we’ve been given in the material but also to the things the directors and actors have said themselves explicitly. Which is just…weird. It’s like alternative facts land. It gets especially weird when comparing him to Anakin, which antis always seem to do in a way that treats suffering as a vulgar balance beam of precisely measurable and predictable quantity and quality. 

“Unlike Anakin, Kyle Ron grew up with 2 parents who loved him”

No offense but - so?? Barring the very few wrongheaded outliers who label Han and Leia as abusive and uncaring (and to whom antis seem determined to sniff out and then cling to like a barnacle as a way of judging the wider fandom), most of us recognize the genuine parental love Han and Leia have for their son. My question is since when has love alone ever been enough to keep a young man from falling into darkness? Especially when said young man is growing up in a complicated family situation. If that were the case our world would be a less fucked up place than it is now.

Yes, Han and Leia loved Ben. But guess what? You can love your child and still be a dysfunctional family. You can care a lot for your kid and still make bad choices. You can still try to do your best and fail miserably. You can even do these things and inflict damage because you love them so much. Leia recognizes this - she thought she was doing good in sending Ben away to Luke for training. She was wrong and the decision hurt rather than helped, regardless of her intentions. She said so in the fucking movie.

I find it funny that the people who are vehemently against the idea of love, either from Leia or Rey or Luke or whoever, playing a part in Kylo’s redemption because they think love doesn’t redeem bad men and the notion is toxic are the same people who think love should have kept Ben Solo from becoming Kylo Ren in the first place. That’s some outstanding cognitive dissonance. The idea that because Han and Leia loved Ben and he grew up in a materially comfortable setting compared to his granddaddy somehow eliminates for him profound suffering and turmoil or immunizes Han or Leia from making long-lasting errors as parents and human beings is laughable to me. 

I grew up with a super critical and moody father. It often felt like he didn’t like me or my brother. It was only later that my dad confessed that he thought he was being helpful by chewing us out all the time even though it had the opposite effect on us. And my dad loved the shit out of me. But he didn’t realize the damage he was doing and it wasn’t intended but his own flaws kept him from realizing that and by then, the damage was done and there was no taking it back. Granted, I didn’t join a murderous regime, but then again I don’t live in a galaxy far, far away.

To refresh, reminder that these are canon facts: 1. Han admitted to being uncomfortable around Ben because of his powers. 2. According to both Carrie (”We neglected him a little”) and Adam Driver (”having these incredible powers and not having his parents really be around”), and supplemental material (Bloodline) that Leia and Han ran a contentious household with their work keeping them divided at times. 3. Ben didn’t even know about his true heritage and he found out not through his family but through someone outing his mother as Vader’s daughter. By then he had already been sent to Luke to learn to control himself.

And honestly, to reduce the Solo/Organa family situation as being informed above all else by the love Han and Leia had for their son is to completely erase the strength that outside forces had in tearing the family apart. 

Antis will unfavorably compare Anakin’s life to Kylo by saying “Anakin was a former slave who was then manipulated by Palpatine so it makes him more understandable” but like uh Ben was preyed upon by a dark entity since he was in the womb - since he was in the womb. Mama Leia says even says in the movie that it was Snoke who seduced their son, so I don’t get what distinguishing Palpatine’s manipulations while erasing Snoke’s does except make anti-Kylos look like hypocrites. 

And then there is this whole “Han offered Kylo redemption and he didn’t take it so that’s that!” 

Yeah. Han offered Kylo a chance to come back. It was the last thing he did. And he did it 6 years after Kylo fell. And after 29 years of constant struggle and misunderstanding that constituted Ben/Kylo’s life. He did so at Leia’s prompting. Not that he didn’t want his son back too - he did and he was sincere about it - but he also showed more doubt than his wife. This is gonna sound harsh but from an in-universe perspective and certainly from the character’s perspectives that’s not good enough. That’s not to downplay the love with which the gesture was made or the wrongness of Kylo’s decision. But what Han offered in that moment was just that - a moment. And redemption needs more than a moment, it requires a journey. Han even acknowledges his failures in the last moments of his life, hoping that Kylo will someday forgive him too.

What Han did wasn’t showing a way back, it was a more of a drop-everything-and-run-away-with-me proposition that did not resolve all the underlying issues subsequent actions that led to their estrangement in the first place. 

Again, there is a certain irony that anti-Kylo/anti-redemption folks who quip this line that Han was offering redemption and Kylo rejecting it and killing him therefore his chance are over are often the same ones who scorn the idea of Rey or Leia playing a role in Kylo’s redemption. Yet (putting aside that this is mischaracterizing how most of us envision the redemption arc going) by taking the position of the former, aren’t you contradicting yourself with the latter by acknowledging that yes, redemption can be given through love? Because that is what is being said when you say Han had the solution. 

At any rate, the way back must be something that Kylo finds on his own, not have given to him, with others serving as influences and inspirations but not as his patrons of good. This whole analysis of redemption being closed to Kylo Ren, of him being a “privileged white boy” who threw it all away or of his life being so comparatively better than Anakin’s thus rendering any parallels between them moot is just wrongheaded. There is a lot we don’t know yet and have been promised by those involved in the film to see, including Kylo’s “humanity”. If you’re one of those people with the viewpoint that I have spent this entire post taking down, my honest to god non-snarky recommendation is that you either adjust your reading of the material and change your expectations or not see Episode 8 at all. You will be profoundly confused, angered or disappointed otherwise.

Huntress in the Snow

What if Rhys had met Feyre back when she was still a little girl, alone in the woods and hunting for her family? Inspired by this beautiful work of art, here’s the hypothetical meeting between an abused, tired Rhysand and a tiny Feyre.

 

Rhysand rarely leaves Amarantha’s court Under the Mountain.

He rarely leaves her bedroom, for that matter. Life is just a frenzy of lies, sex, dancing, drinking, hatred and torture these days and he has long given up on making his existence bearable. He doesn’t really care anymore.

He doesn’t care for the stares they give him, the names. He doesn’t care for those pitying glances. He doesn’t care when Amarantha is straddling him, using him, her fingers pulling his hair.

Spring Court is covered in masks right now, but Rhysand might as well be wearing one, too. He doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror anymore. He murmurs things in her ears, he lies, promises, he kills on her behalf, he smirks and laughs and betrays, and he isn’t sure he can ever get back from that.

He’s doing it for Velaris and his beloved ones. That is what he tells himself, over and over and over again, when he’s buried inside her or when he snaps someone’s neck. It’s the only reason he’s still holding on. Velaris. Mor. Amren. His brothers. His court.

Court of Dreams. It’s like a bitter joke, ashes in his mouth. He doesn’t know if he will ever see them again. Doesn’t know if he wants to- after what he’s done.  

He probably won’t ever see them again. This nightmare will never end.

Life is miserable. Rhys doesn’t care.

With the way things are developing right now, his old enemy Tamlin is going to join them in a few years- 42 years have passed and that fool, that idiotic fool hasn’t managed to break the curse. If he realizes that he could save them all, Rhysand doesn’t know. Perhaps Tamlin is just trying to protect those he loves as well. Perhaps he’s trying- perhaps he’s fighting.

Perhaps he’s not.

Rhysand doesn’t care.

He also doesn’t care that Amarantha sends him to the human realm today. To find a group of fae from Dawn Court that have escaped; find them, bring them to her, watch her torture and kill them and fuck her afterwards. It’s nothing to him. He’ll play his part. He’ll be urgent and passionate- I’ve been aching for you, my queen, my everything, woman of my dreams- only you, only ever you- he’ll make her scream his name and kiss her afterwards.

All the while, he’ll be somewhere else. He’ll be talking to Amren, quietly. He’ll be drinking with Cass and Azriel, playing cards. He’ll be dancing with Mor. He’ll be walking through the streets of Velaris.

That’s the only thing he has. And even those memories are further and further away from him with each passing day. Rhysand is afraid that he’ll wake up some morning and find that there’s no fight left inside him- that he’ll just give up.

He looks around.

He’s in a forest, close to the wall. It’s spring, but snow still covers the trees and the ground. He will encounter no humans here- none of them would be so foolish, so daring to get this close to the wall. He sits down next to a stream, closes his eyes and just doesn’t think. A few, scattered moments of peace- he takes what he gets.

Just a few moments. Then he’ll hunt those poor bastards down.

Feyre is twelve, and she’s been roaming this forest for a year now. She’s been following the village’s hunters; copy the way they set their snarls, carry their bows. She has a dream: she’ll hunt so much food her father will get better again. Nesta and Elain will get fatter, rounder, and they will both find very handsome men to marry. Then it’ll be Feyre and her father, and she’ll hunt for him while he reads at home, and in the evening, she’ll cook for him and paint a little.

So far, she hasn’t ever shot anything bigger than a rabbit, and that one time was on accident. The snarls are what works better.

Nesta turned fifteen yesterday. Feyre knows her sister has hoped their father would say something, but he has forgotten all of their birthdays. Nesta has looked like murder all day long. Elain tried to talk to her, but she locked herself in their room.

Elain and Nesta are very sad, Feyre knows that. They remember more of their mother and they talk about her sometimes, exchanging bits and pieces of who she used to be. In the beginning, right after they moved into the little hut at the village’s edge, they tried to be there for her- but they have too much to worry about, now. They never even play with each other. They don’t thank her when she brings food home.

Feyre makes her way through the trees. She must always stay away from the wall- dangerous creatures are there, fae. She’s so afraid of them she has nightmares sometimes.

But today, some inner voice tells her that the wall is not dangerous. That no fae will hurt her. And almost by themselves, their feet make her walk closer and closer to the buzzing, invisible thing that separates their human world from the fae.

When she comes onto a clearing, she sees a man. He is sitting on a fallen tree branch next to a river and his head his lowered, almost as if he were praying. He doesn’t carry weapons, but his clothes are fine and elegant- he must be a rich merchant, lost in the woods.

Perhaps she’ll get a reward if she leads him out of here. Curiosity gets the better of her. “Are you okay?”, she calls over to him, and that is the exact same moment he looks up and meets her eyes.

It knocks the breath out of her. He’s a fae. His ears are long and pointed, and there is something otherworldly in his features that marks him as different.

This is it. She is going to die. Nesta and Elain and her father will starve because she’s not there anymore. How could she be so careless, hunting so close to the wall?

The man takes in her unwashed hair, her threadbare clothes, her make-shift bow. “You should not be here”, he rasps. “You should run.”

Feyre tries to be a still as she can be. The man doesn’t get up, doesn’t come closer. As if he knows that she’ll start screaming if he does.

“Go”, he commands, angry. “Don’t ever come here again. Understand me? Don’t go into the forest at all. Stay at home.”

And she should do just that, run until she’s far away from him, but…

“I have to”, Feyre says. “I have to hunt.”

“No, you don’t. A small girl like you should stay with her family.”

“You don’t understand.” She steps closer, her bow still ready in her hand. “My family will starve if I don’t. I am doing all of this for them.”

The man breathes in, sharply, and she swears that she sees devastation in his eyes. “What?”

“My father can’t take care of us.” Why the words are spilling from her mouth like that, Feyre doesn’t know. “And my sisters are scared. I have to be strong, even when I’m afraid- for them.”

The man stares at her.

“Are you going to hurt me?”, Feyre asks. She tries to hide that she is scared of that fae. She tries to pretend that she could shoot him, if she wanted.

He shakes his head, slowly. “Of course not.”

“What are you doing here, then? Shouldn’t fae be on the other side of the wall?”

The man smiles a bitter smile. “Usually, we should. But I…was allowed a little freedom today.”

“Are you a hunter, too?”

He closes his eyes. “I suppose.”

“Then you’re a little bit like me.”

“Well.” He laughs. “Not really. But I am doing this for my family, too. All of this.”

Feyre doesn’t know why, but for some strange reason, it makes her very happy that the man has a family. That he’s not alone.

“That’s good”, she smiles. “You should go be with them, not sit in the forest by yourself.”

He nods. “You’re right, of course. As should you.”

Feyre steps as close to him as she dares. The fae is very pretty, she realizes. All the older village girls would probably be in love with him. But he looks sad, she thinks, and she doesn’t know why, but it makes her heart ache a little. She wants him smiling.

“Here.” The fae nods his head and suddenly, a basket filled with bread and meat appears in the snow. “Take that home to your family. It should give you enough food to eat for the next few weeks. I can’t- I wish I could do more. But my hands are quite literally tied.”

“Is this some sort of trick?”, Feyre asks. “Some bargain? Some fairy magic?”

The fae shakes his head, a flicker of amusement on his face. “No bargain, little girl. Although I’m impressed you’re already so wary for your age.”

Feyre picks up the basket. This is better than the time she shot the rabbit. This is all of her birthdays combined. “Thank you- what’s your name?”

“Rhys”, he says, looking at his hands. “That’s what my friends call me.”

“That family you told me about?”

“Yes”, Rhys says softly. “My family.”

Feyre smiles at him. It comes so easy, the smile- because something deep inside her core tells her that she doesn’t need to be afraid of him. And she trusts that. “Thank you, Rhys. Your family is lucky to have you. You just saved mine today.”

He still looks so very sad. “Then that’s something”, he says hoarsely. “Before you go- one thing.”

And suddenly there are talons in her head, and she can’t move anymore.

“It’ll be over in a few moments”, Rhys says. “But I can’t let you remember me. She’ll find out, somehow. She’ll break you just for fun.”

Some white blanket is thrown over her mind, and the next second, Feyre finds herself alone in the woods.

What just happened? Why is she here?

Oh, yes- she remembers- the rich merchant who she met on her way here showed mercy and handed her the basket-

What on earth is she doing so close to the wall?

Feyre turns around and runs. Today is such a good day. She feels happy, not just because of the gift…but because of something else.

And maybe she can get through all of this.

Maybe she’ll find a way out of this someday.  

Rhys has never done something like this, but he forces himself to forget her. He pushes her image into the very, very back of his mind, he uses his magic on himself and forces himself to forget about that girl in the snow, that tiny, little huntress.

Because for some reason, he knows that she is important. For what, he doesn’t know. But he’ll do what it takes to keep her hidden from Amarantha.  

It makes him cry out in pain to use those talons on himself, but-

Rhys finds himself standing somewhere in the forest.

Why is he still here? He should go- hunt those Dawn fae down.

There’s a weird feeling of goodness in the back of his mind. Of happiness. And he remembers- that those he loves are out there. That somehow, someday, he’ll see them again. That there is a reason for everything.

He feels hope, and he doesn’t know why.

I have to be strong, even when I’m afraid- for them, whispers a voice inside his head. He knows who said it-

A girl-

He can’t remember. But that feeling lingers.

That night, when Amarantha is on top of him, moving and moaning about how good this feels after a kill, all he can think is the clock is ticking, you bitch. You’ll go down soon. Someone will come and end you.

When she leaves him, he showers and washes her scent off him. Someone is out there, he thinks. Someone good. This world is not completely lost. And for some reason, he cares again. Cares about what happens. Cares about who wins. Suddenly, he wants to fight.

That night, he has the strangest dream. It’s a hand, unpacking a basket full of bread, apples and meat. A small hand; a child’s hands. But it makes him so inexplicably happy he thinks about that dream for days.

A few years later, when Rhysand has long forgotten about everything, he dreams of that same hand again.

Only this time that delicate, female hand is drawing flowers on a table.

And something inside Rhysand whispers, soon.

Soon.

Soon.