zoey writes

Realization after the Blackrock Ending

ok but upon realizing that Zoey is the princess of an entire realm, do you think that Rythian began to feel unworthy of her? think about it, he already felt dependent on her for being his reason to live and giving his life meaning. he already went through that angst period where he felt like he was the luckiest person in the world for being around her. he established himself as a lowly outcast from society. do you think he decided he had no place next to a princess with a larger claim to life than he did? do you think he started to fall into a depression of sorts and that Zoey then had to knock him out of because hey, she’s the same person she always was and she has always valued him and all they had been through together and nothing could ever change that. do you think Rythian began to realize how ridiculous that line of thinking was and the two of them embraced afterwards?

because he totally would overthink every aspect of their lives and believe he’s inadequate compared to everything she is

keeping me up (chris/darren, nc-17)

contents: blowjob, face-fucking, handjob, dirty talk, mild begging, swearing and a bit fluff. no plot, just porn.

It was raining heavily outside.

The raindrops belted harshly and violently against the windows of their house, making loud noises as its fresh, calming scent surrounded them and swallowed them whole. The coldness of the night hit Darren and made him shiver as he pressed his lover against the cool wall with all of his strength, bringing his mouth to Chris’ and kissing him hard. His arms wrapped around the younger boy’s waist, under the plain T-shirt, feeling the soft, flawless porcelain skin there. One of his legs was hooked between Chris’, rubbing against his boyfriend’s groin and making Chris moan wordlessly into their joined mouths.

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What's in a name?

Zoey’s Japanese name is Nozomi while Dawn’s is Hikari.

The Nozomi and the Hikari are two types of bullet trains in Japan. The Nozomi is the fastest on the main Tokaido line, while the Hikari is the second fastest. 

I think naming the two coordinators Nozomi and Hikari was intentional. Zoey was always supposed to be one step ahead of Dawn, just like the Nozomi is always traveling faster than the Hikari.
And although the Nozomi always arrives at its destination first, the Hikari gets there eventually. It might be an hour or two later, but the Hikari will make it. And so will Dawn.


alexandritedagreat  asked:

Hello there. I want to write a character who uses rather "fancy" words often, accurately of course - but English is not my native language and I write my stories in English. I can speak and write English well - well enough to write stories at least, but I'm more familiar with 'daily language' than such richer words. Any sources or advices you have for a more sophisticated language? It may help both my writing and expand my English vocabulary.

Hello there, writerly friend~ ♥︎

I absolutely understand where you’re coming from. Now, any other person would point you to a list of words that are ‘fancy,’ but not me. That would be as good as tossing you a thesaurus. You see, English is not my native language either– and the 'fancy’ characters I’ve written in the past did not come to me out of a list of words… but out of books.

I can pin-point with, deathly accuracy, the first time I stumbled upon the proto-typical fancy, elegant, high class, Bourgeoisie, character. I was in highschool. I had picked up a book from the library because my father had recommend it to me. It was by this guy: 'Oscar Wilde.’ There was a picture of him on the back. He looked pretty fancy himself, leaning back on a chair while wearing a fur coat and holding a cane with one hand. I thought it looked interesting enough.

The book was titled… “The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

If I can get you to read a book, read The Picture of Dorian Gray (actually if I can get you to read two books, then read 'On Writing’ by Stephen King and THEN read 'The Picture of Dorian Gray’).

Now, you see, 'fancy’ characters are 10% about language and 90% about attitude. I don’t know what you picture when you think of a 'fancy’ character… but I picture a man, dark of hair, wearing a fur coat and leaning back on a chair, looking as relaxed as royalty, and having upon his face an expression that is equal parts amusement and boredom– as though he is waiting for the world and its chaos to make his life more interesting.

Kind of like… this bloke:

That’s Oscar Wilde, by the way. Nobody takes selfies like an Oscar Wilde selfie.

The Picture of Dorian Gray has a very special character, my mental image of 'fancy’, of 'decadence’. He is one of the main characters, and happens to be the second person to be introduced. His name is Lord Henry Wotton– and he is a decadent man, grey in morality but colorful in language. He is an awful person. The biproduct of a world where people with money and power no longer had to worry about anything in life. He is the living picture of decadence– and he is a delight to read.

If you have ever seen an Oscar Wilde quote, then you have read Lord Henry Wotton. He is the source of 99% of Wilde’s quotes. No. Seriously. He is.

What I am getting to, is that anyone can just open up a thesaurus and BLOW UP a character’s dialogue– but if you truly mean to create a character who is fancy, elegant, or may we say… decadent. Then I think you should do yourself a favor and pick up The Picture of Dorian Gray.

The book is ancient, and thus it’s open domain so you can just download it from here, or even better– you could listen to a free audiobook adaptation (thank you, LibriVox!).

I will stop fangirling about The Picture of Dorian Gray (actually I won’t, because I love the book), but before you shrug this off as me just giving you more homework… think of this: vocabulary grows with reading. There is no other way around this c;

I hope this helps! If any of you has any other recommendations for books with 'fancy’ characters, feel free to let me, and our writerly friend, know~ ♥︎

Family Heirlooms

A ficlet for zoey-chu’s transcendence au, based on part of this post. Most of it is under the cut because it’s a little bit long. x)

            Coughing as a cloud of dust billowed up from the box when she opened it, Ennis looked at the old junk inside with a disappointed sigh. She’d hoped there’d be something in the attic that she could bring in to school next week for show-and-tell in rune translation class, but digging through an old plastic tote of family heirlooms that looked about ready to fall apart, Ennis didn’t see anything that even had readable runes anymore. They were all too faded to make out. Ennis thought of taking the box downstairs and suggesting that her parents donate some of the stuff to the state’s supernatural history museum.

            “Ow!” The twelve-year-old felt something cut into her finger, and she pulled her hand out of the box to suck the blood away before reaching back in to find what had nicked her.

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zoey-and-dakota  asked:

For sweet affectionate moments- Fenhawke and #8 maybe?

A First Kiss

Hawke’s first kiss was at the age of eight, with the baker’s boy Todd, who initiated it, but, afterward, immediately ran off and told the other kids that little Leo had kissed a boy. Naturally that resulted in a fist fight that, in turn, resulted in both lads having their backsides tanned by their fathers.

Fenris liked the story. Leandra had been the first to tell it to him, complete with reenactments of the resentful watery pout her boy had shot at his father every time he tried to sit down for the next week. He liked to think of the man he loved, innocent and bright eyed and hopeful, with his happy home and his loving family, even if Fenris was certain he would never had fit into that Hawke’s life, had circumstances been different, had Hawke not lost quite so much before their meeting.

Fenris did not think about the first kiss he could remember. The strange taste of it, the reluctance gnawing sickly in his belly, warring with the all-consuming desire simply to please, to do as he was told.

It was far and away a different creature from his first kiss with Hawke – bold and fast and curious and hardly a real kiss at all. Nothing compared to the second one, with Hawke’s big hands cupping his face, cradling him as if he were something important, his mouth soft and exploring and tentative, ready to pull away the moment he objected.

Or the fifth kiss, in the Hanged Man, feeling bold and daring and only a little drunk, straddling Hawke’s thigh and kissing him before he could lose his nerve – kissing him hard, as he’d been dreaming about for a week, while their friends whooped and cheered and threw inappropriate suggestions their way.

Or even the tenth kiss, in Hawke’s mansion, the mage’s body pressing him into the wall as he burned for something he’d never expected to want.

Fenris liked the story of Hawke’s first kiss, but he thought first kisses were  given too much importance. It was the ones that came after that were worth remembering. 

6

I’m sorry, but if you don’t love Zoey, why and how?
This amazing human being has helped out so many people, with discovering who they are, knowing it’s okay to be who they are, coming out, her videos that never fail to put smiles on peoples faces, need I go on?
If it wasn’t for Zoey, I wouldn’t be out to my mum now. Exactly a year ago today I came out to my mum and friends, after watching her video last year.
Thank you, Zoey. For everything. We understand things are changing a lot for you lately, and we’ll be here for you no matter what. Thank you, Zoey, from the bottom of our hearts, you are awesome :)

I went to church and they told me:
“God is right and the devil is wrong.”
And I ate stale animal crackers and read watered down bible verses in rooms that smelled like carpet cleaner and fresh ink,
And I nodded, but I did not agree.
Because I thought we were all very much like fallen angels, and that earth was very much like Hell.
We thought we were right, because everyone thinks they’re right, don’t they?
There’s pride in humility, and there’s no escaping our own nature.
But I brushed my hair and tied bows around my waist and sat in the back of the car with a purple children’s bible on my lap as my mother drove me to Sunday School.
And I never told them what I thought.
Because children are never right, no, they are too young to know that things are black and white and right and wrong, and there’s no room for human nature in heaven.
And I always wondered, what we would do in a place that shunned our desires.
Because we want streets paved with gold and lives filled with sin, and we are of the earth, and crave the world.
And I thought that the devil was far more human than God, and far more interesting.
But I ate stale animal crackers and stale ideas, and I nodded.
Because why did Lucifer know what Adam and Eve wanted in The Garden of Eden?
Why did he know that we desired the forbidden- and why does he know what to tempt us with?
And why did he fall from heaven for the same reasons we stray from God?
I always thought that Lucifer was cast out of heaven because he was not an angel,
But a man.
And I thought it was strange that we hated him for being as human as we are.
I thought it was strange how we turned up our noses at human nature.
And I wondered why God made us with desires he considered sin.
I wondered why the seven most loathsome sins are undeniable truths of the human existence.
I did not want to meet God. I wanted to meet Lucifer.
But I kept my mouth shut and nodded, because children aren’t meant to pity the devil.
—  “I’ve Been Damned to Hell Since I Knew It Existed”

~1000 words of hurt/comfort, with Darren convincing Chris that he’s beautiful, because obviously I have no life. But, no, in all seriousness being comforted by someone that you love, being able to let your walls down and feel so exposed in front of them, just to be reminded that you’re loved and cared for is the best feeling one can ever have. And Chris deserves it.

Chris tried to hide it, he really did. However, Darren’s ability to sense it whenever something isn’t okay is a thing he can never get to understand.

Therefore, the night, which was supposed to be all magical and wonderful and fun, because it was Ryan’s night, and to both of them Ryan is family, has ended up with Chris sobbing into Darren’s chest, while babbling isolated words, that, muffled by Darren’s shirt, are very hard to hear out.

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Blonde is the New Black

Title: Blonde is the New Black
Pairing: Kaisoo
Word Count: 380
Rating: G for excessive fluffiness
Summary: Everyone hates Jongin’s new hair. Well, almost everyone.

AN: I wrote this on Doro’s tablet back in August and then completely forgot about it. Oops.

“It’s so blonde.”

“Did you do something to piss off the hair stylist, Jongin?”

“He must have done something, ‘cause no one in their right mind could think that color would look good with his skintone.”

The other members quiet when Jongin turns to glare icily at them. Chanyeol tries to grin innocently but only succeeds in looking like a crazed schizophrenic,  while Baekhyun suddenly becomes very interested in the seam detail on Chanyeol’s shirt sleeve. Satisfied with the silence, Jongin returns his attention to the drama playing on the tv screen in front of them. But the tranquility is short lived, because not even a minute later Sehun finally decides to take a break from his Unicorn Dash spree he’d been absorbed in to comment dryly, “You look like someone spilled bleach all over you and then left you in the sun to dry for a month.”

Jongin whips his head around again, while Baekhyun and Chanyeol dissolve into a fit of giggles. “Your hair looked like a bowl of Fruit Loops last week, Sehun, I dont think you get the right to talk.”

Sehun shrugs nonchalantly as he returns his attention to his cellphone. “At least I can pull it off. You, not so much.”

Jongin holds back the urge to lean over the couch to punch their maknae in the face, and his “hyungs” (he’s honestly 384% certain that they have the mental age of 12 year olds) resume their previous activity of snickering about Jongin’s hair. Kyungsoo happens to walk in at that moment, a bowl of popcorn in his hands. “What’s going on?”

“Chanyeol and I are thinking off things that look better than Jongin with blonde hair,” Baekhyun pipes up, an angelic smile on his face.

“We’ve already come up with mold, the wolf outfit that Wufan hyung wore at the airport last week, and hairless cats,” Chanyeol adds.

Kyungsoo frowns and crosses the room to sit on the couch next to Jongin, eyes trained on Jongin’s hair. Jongin cringes, expecting yet another comment on how “Lindsay Lohan wants her dye job back,” when Kyungsoo smiles and reaches up to run his fingers through the bleached strands reassuringly.  “I like it,” he says confidently, tilting his head ever so slighly to the right to smile at him. “You could pull off any hair color, Jongin.”

Jongin does little to hide the shit eating grin that threatens to split his face in half. “Thanks, hyung.”

He doesn’t miss the confused look that Baekhyun and Chanyeol exchange, nor the crude hand motions that Sehun makes. But thanks to Kyungsoo, hair color stays off the discussion agenda for the rest of the week. Until…

“Oh my God, Kyungsoo hyung, your hair is so RED…”

goblinseatingrazzledazzleberries  asked:

I just found your blog today, and in scrolling through some of your stuff (which I love already, by the way!) it doesn't seem you have much pertaining to high fantasy which just so happens to be what I write. I'm wondering if in your opinion it is okay to modify some of your prompts and whatnot when I write to make them for better in a high fantasy setting or if it would be better for me as a writer to force myself to write in a setting I don't overly enjoy or do not have as much familiarity?

Hello there~ ♥︎

I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not the only one to ask me that first question— and I’m not entirely sure where the doubt comes from :0

Can I modify your prompts to fit what I’m working on?

Is there a blog out there that is going around telling people not to play-around with their prompts? No wonder I’m not following them :x So, here’s the funny thing. In college I had the greatest Creative Writing professor. She’s honestly the inspiration behind the Virtual Writing Academy. And, although there were very few rules in her classroom— there was one that was unbreakable:

If you want to modify the writing exercises so that they work with your current story, then you must.

Marcy was pretty strict about that, and so am I.

I don’t know where you got that doubt, but you can toss it out the window now. You have my permission to play with my prompts. Change them. Twist them. Whatever you need to do, whatever it takes you to write, do it.

Because writing is better than not writing.

And really, I’m not policing the prompts. All I want is people to write, because if I can get you to write— then little by little your fears may go away. It’s hard to get writer’s block when you’re writing all the time.

Now, there’s something else in your ask that bothers me— it makes me angry, actually. Nothing makes me angrier than the ‘self-sacrificing writer’ mentality, that you have to hurt and be miserable in order to be happy later. You should enjoy what you do. Happiness is not something you get— it’s something you do. The act of writing should make you happy. The act of writing should be FUN.

I will scream this from the rooftops if I have to.

If you don’t enjoy writing High Fantasy… then don’t write High Fantasy.

Write something that excites you. If there’s something that interests you about High Fantasy, then write about that. Yes, you can write a whole story about that one thing. Yes, I’m serious. I have written a dozen books with that idea as the center of my philosophy. Here, look at my planning guide and the way I write stories.

Now, as for your final bit. If you’re unfamiliar with a ‘genre,’ all it takes is to do a little reading. Simple as that. Or… even better, you could do no reading at all and just start writing and finding things out on your own. After all, I’m pretty sure J.R.R. Tolkien didn’t research Fantasy Books before writing The Lord of the Rings. And I’m pretty darn sure Mary Shelley didn’t research Science Fiction before writing Frankenstein.

This brings me to something I’ve been hearing a lot:

“Max sure tells people to just go and write.”

Yeah, I do. You know why? Because that’s the only way you’re going to learn— and I will scream this louder because I honestly can’t believe ‘Encouraging People to Write’ is the thing that makes me stand up from the other writing blogs. You should write. You know why? Because it will make you better. Because you will find your own way. Because in time you will discover your own tricks. AND BECAUSE WRITING WILL FOREVER BE SUPERIOR TO NOT WRITING.

Seriously. You could be the next Mary Shelley or J.R.R. Tolkien. You could birth an entire new genre. You could create something that stands the test of time. Or, at the very least, you could write something that excited you, and was fun, and made you happy.

I don’t know about you, but I like those odds.

sanjana10145  asked:

Ugh I need some brotherly Rivamika please

He teaches her how to spin her blades only three days after the cloak and dagger reveal of their kinship. The grass is brown and the permafrost crunches beneath their boots with every calculated weight shift. “Relax your wrists more,” he suggests, moving beside her through the almost-katas. “If you cannot do it slow you’ll lose an arm trying to do it at full speed. 

The younger Ackerman nods, and closes her eyes as she attempts to do as he requested. 

Training with Levi was nothing like she’d imagined it would be. Somehow, among the rubble and haze of her mind after the siege of Trost, she’d imagined him to be ruthless without break. Imagined his training sessions to be only fire and blood and the sharp way steel sang when drawn too fast.

And she wasn’t entirely wrong. Levi did expect a tremendous amount from her, but the dark man was a mentor of far more duality than she’d expected. “Remember to square your hips as you move the blade over your shoulder.” His hands are sure as they adjust her frame, and Mikasa is reminded of her mother’s soft eyes and the sting of her wrist. “Yessir,” and the next time her blade arcs into the air it’s met with a nod of approval from the man beside her.

“Well done,” Levi almost-smiles, and Mikasa feels pride bloom in her chest.

Silence is a synonym for love.
You tell me, anyways.
But I don’t feel anything in your silence except-
Apathy.
You don’t care.
I tell you my passions and you are bread sopping up soup in a second-rate diner,
Where the florescent lights are so bright you need to squint at your food,
And you can’t smile at the waitress, because your teeth would blind her.

I tell you my passions and you smile and say, “that’s nice”
But the broth is spilling from your mouth and the longer I talk,
The soggier your words become, because you do not care.
It’s politesse, but empty gestures don’t fill my bowl,
And I feel like I’m wasting your time but you smile and say “that’s nice, dear”
I can’t tell what you think of me, but I know you don’t think I’m spending my life:
CORRECTLY
And you have a crystalline vision of what 80 years on earth ought to be
And my arts and crafts attempt at making a living on sentiment and a quickened pulse-
Doesn’t fit.

“One day the yarn will unravel,” your eyes say. “One day your dreams will kill you”
But one day you will die and your ambitions will crawl from your corpse like spiders and die in the dusty dampness of the grave.
And I will let mine build webs in the corners of my apartment and catch winged shards,
Of satisfaction.
One day you will die and regret all the things you never did.
Monotony will murder you in the night, and you will stare at the ceiling with empty eyes,
Your still heart craving all the desires you never allowed yourself to pursue.

I will die and you will shake your head and meet with your friends for eggs and toast at six in the morning like you do every Saturday,
And you will say “isn’t it such a shame” you’ll say “yes, isn’t it such a shame that some people think their dreams will work out?”
And I’ll say “isn’t it such a shame that our dreams don’t work out because you won’t let them?”
Yes. I’ll say, “isn’t it such a shame that you gave up your dreams for someone else’s?”
My dreams won’t kill me.
Yours will.

—  “I’m Just an Artist, But You Want to Paint Me The Color Of Your Regret”

burningflyme  asked:

Did you write the whole story so far in Blackrock? Or did Zoey and Teep also write it.

I “wrote” it, yeah. Zoey and Tee both had lots of input on their characters. And Zoey’s ideas were big parts of why some story elements happened the way they did, too.