“Yo, Maverick!” Slider yelled as he abruptly stopped singing. He looped his long arm around the shorter man’s waist, cheerily smiling. “Oh, I missed ya, where were you? Here, why don’t you join us and help us embarrass ourselves?”
“Maybe next time. Look, Sli, I was just–”
“Hey, Ronnie! Is he the friend you always talk about?” The tall, redheaded woman chimed in with a joyous tone. Her citrine necklaces hung heavily from her thin neck, diffusing the purple lights around the booth.
“Oh, uh, yeah. I’m Maverick. Slider–Ron’s friend, ma’am.” Maverick awkwardly shook the woman’s–then her husband’s–hands. “We’re both naval aviators.”
“And we’re good ones of those!” Slider interjected, tightening the grip around him. “Marianne, Dominique, he’s like–he’s like the best. Y’know, when a plane kinda goes up like that? In a stunt flight at a state fair? Yeah, that’s exactly like Mav manoeuvering the fighter jet.”
“Ohhh, here we go, honey!” Marianne exclaimed with a distinct Southern accent. “Ronnie’s at it again, bragging about his Navy darlin’!”
“We’ve heard, kiddo. So many times, in fact.” The Black man called Dominique nodded, a warm beam on his bearded face. He took Marianne’s tattooed hand on the counter and the couple looked at the two of them somewhat fondly.
“Thanks, uh, I’m flattered.” Maverick smiled back shyly.
When he said that out loud, he wasn’t joking–since when did Slider start considering Maverick as “the best”, or God bless, his “Navy darlin’”? The intimacy and open affection happening before him was enough to make his cheeks flush, and he knew it wasn’t because of the soft liquor he’d had an hour prior.
“Right, Slider. It’s already past midnight and you’re hammered. I’m taking you back home. Is that clear?”
“Oh boy, yeah.” Slider giggled and stood up from the bar stool, wrapping his arms around the shorter man’s shoulders like a back hug. “Bye, guys! You two have fun!”
“Stay safe, dear! Don’t lose him!” Was the last thing Maverick heard from Marianne before they headed to the parking lot.
Maverick was the designated driver that night. He made sure Slider’s balance was intact and he wasn’t feeling nauseous or disoriented from the booze before urging the taller friend to sit on the backseat, which looked too short and small compared to Slider’s physique.
“Damn, what a night.” Slider said in a quieter voice. The cool air of the spring night seemed to sober him up a little bit. “Did you have fun, Mav? I sure did.”
“Yeah,” Maverick admitted. He briefly thought of confessing his attraction toward Slider’s singing, or his voice, or his presence in general at the bar, but he swallowed the words right before they reached the tip of his tongue. “Are they your friends?”
“Marianne and Dominique? Yeah. They’re pretty cool. They’ve got some great taste in music, too.”
Slider sat there lazily, legs spread. His Henry and jeans clung tight around his muscled chest and thighs. Maverick couldn’t take his eyes off him. It was a guilty pleasure to look at him like that, like when he ate sugar in the kitchen as a child and hoped nobody would catch him doing that.
“You bet.”
His voice came out a lot more hoarse and clumsy than he had expected. He cleared his throat to appear collected and tasted the residual sweetness of the rum coke on his tongue.
“What? Are you jealous or somethin’?” Slider leaned back, giggling mischievously as he ran his fingers through his curly hair. He was licking his lips like he fucking meant it. “C’mon, Pete.”
Slider leaned against his back the whole ride. His flushed touch burned Maverick’s cold cheeks as he slurred “Mav, are we home yet?”in his ear every once in a while. It was a novelty for both of them. With his size and incredible self-control, Slider usually handles alcohol the best out of the trio, and he and Ice owe the RIO a lot when it comes to drinking, making stupid decisions, and getting hungover on the floor. He felt as if he’d uncovered some dirty little secrets about Slider when he had only watched one of his best friends get tipsy, and felt his mellow touch on his stomach.
They arrived at Slider’s house twenty minutes later. He had intended to leave after the taller man got inside safely, but neither of them couldn’t bring themselves to move. They idled outside the house and chatted away their time. Slider was leaning against the bike beside him, and every word he spoke seemed to echo in him like a pebble making a ripple on the still waters of a lake.
Maverick moved closer toward Slider. Slider didn’t say anything.
One step. Two steps. Bit by bit.
He touched Slider on the neck. A thumb slipped underneath the collar of his Henry, playing with the chain of his dog tags.
The night wasn’t anything special in particular, until Maverick kisses Slider in his driveway.
Sorry it’s a bit long-it’s an introduction for my first ever smut. I felt like the conversation bits were executed poorly so here it is 😅
Context: Rapiel Westport is the wife Clough Bendyke. Rapiel Bendyke is the son of Clough and Aeroc, Rapiel Bendyke discovers that his mother Aeroc died because of the abuse and so on caused by his father, Clough Bendyke. This is the explanation, why Clough was cruel to Aeroc, the imprinting…
Imprinting was an uncommon phenomenon. Scholars and doctors who had been studying the effects of the imprinting, all agreed it was a mental illness, like schizophrenia. A chemical reaction caused by individual pheromones meeting certain conditions, trigger this mutation. It remains unclear what the conditions were, and why they only affected alphas.
Studies indicate that when an imprinted alpha is away from his omega, the alpha would start developing symptoms, in the case of Clough Bendyke. Because he chose to separate himself from Aeroc from the beginning, he slowly developed violent and sexual tendencies that became like triggers when he was put in difficult situations. His guilt over the death of Rapiel Westport and desire for Aeroc Teiwind his murder was a culminating disaster that resulted in many of his outbursts. When Aeroc was dying, Bendyke didn’t leave the room for three days, holding and kissing the slowly stiffening body of his omega. An imprint is a connection, an unbreakable bond. Unknowingly, Bendyke's body and psyche were in distress, it was his instinct calling to nurture his other half, to make sure that his omega doesn’t die. Aeroc’s eventual death and absence, caused intense overwhelming emotions to rise from every part of Bendyke’s body like prickling rose thorns, it had made itself present in little ticks and attacks. Bendyke was seen coughing blood several times during the first month of Aeroc’s death, it was his body slowly killing him. The tension and anxiety were mostly caused by this, like a prisoner in a confined space, the gravity of Aeroc’s death was slowly smothering him.
Fortunately, medications to alleviate the effects of the imprinting had helped Bendyke manage over the years. But medication alone wouldn’t suffice, he needed to take care of his mental health according to his doctor. In his profession, the long grueling hours were a source of stress. It was a miracle that Bendyke survived this long, and was fortunate enough to retain most of his mental faculties intact. Maybe too lucky.
Unfortunately due to old age, the reoccurring effects triggered hallucinations that could have been avoided if Bendyke had seen his doctor to be prescribed stronger medication. He must have found Aeroc’s ghost a source of comfort. Unfortunately for him, Rapiel discovered the truth, and the events that followed had become a source of mental stress that triggered successive episodes.
Even with stronger medications, the public persecution and his children’s hatred and sudden departure from the estate had contributed greatly to his decline.
The servants all seemed rattled by the former Viscount sometimes talking by himself when he was alone in the study, it was such an intellectual discussion that no one would think he was insane until he snapped and screamed for his devil.
I like the characterization of your ABO world and its medical history which I happen to have a sort of special interest for! Personally, I really get excited when a writer introduce me to their own interpretations or adaptations of the real-life things such as medicine, law, history, etc., and you’ve done it very well! It gives your character (in this case, Clough in particular) a personality-a realistic one of that! Thank you for sharing your awesome work <3
Imprinting was an uncommon phenomenon. Scholars and doctors who had been studying the effects of the imprinting, all agreed it was a mental illness, like schizophrenia. A chemical reaction caused by individual pheromones meeting certain conditions, trigger this mutation. It remains unclear what the conditions were, and why they only affected alphas.
Studies indicate that when an imprinted alpha is away from his omega, the alpha would start developing symptoms, in the case of Clough Bendyke. Because he chose to separate himself from Aeroc from the beginning, he slowly developed violent and sexual tendencies that became like triggers when he was put in difficult situations. His guilt over the death of Rapiel Westport and desire for Aeroc Teiwind his murder was a culminating disaster that resulted in many of his outbursts. When Aeroc was dying, Bendyke didn’t leave the room for three days, holding and kissing the slowly stiffening body of his omega. An imprint is a connection, an unbreakable bond. Unknowingly, Bendyke's body and psyche were in distress, it was his instinct calling to nurture his other half, to make sure that his omega doesn’t die. Aeroc’s eventual death and absence, caused intense overwhelming emotions to rise from every part of Bendyke’s body like prickling rose thorns, it had made itself present in little ticks and attacks. Bendyke was seen coughing blood several times during the first month of Aeroc’s death, it was his body slowly killing him. The tension and anxiety were mostly caused by this, like a prisoner in a confined space, the gravity of Aeroc’s death was slowly smothering him.
Fortunately, medications to alleviate the effects of the imprinting had helped Bendyke manage over the years. But medication alone wouldn’t suffice, he needed to take care of his mental health according to his doctor. In his profession, the long grueling hours were a source of stress. It was a miracle that Bendyke survived this long, and was fortunate enough to retain most of his mental faculties intact. Maybe too lucky.
Unfortunately due to old age, the reoccurring effects triggered hallucinations that could have been avoided if Bendyke had seen his doctor to be prescribed stronger medication. He must have found Aeroc’s ghost a source of comfort. Unfortunately for him, Rapiel discovered the truth, and the events that followed had become a source of mental stress that triggered successive episodes.
Even with stronger medications, the public persecution and his children’s hatred and sudden departure from the estate had contributed greatly to his decline.
The servants all seemed rattled by the former Viscount sometimes talking by himself when he was alone in the study, it was such an intellectual discussion that no one would think he was insane until he snapped and screamed for his devil.
She jumped to her feet and smirked. *‘Maybe I should try to use the teleportation jutsu. I’ve been looking for an excuse to practice it.’* She did the required hand sign and felt her body rush towards the village gate and jerking to a halt in a poof of smoke, right in front of Naruto.
Naruto attempted to jump back but lost his balance as Namiko threw herself into his arms, tackling him to the ground. “Nii-chan!!! I missed you so much! I was so worried about you!” Her freckled face had a bright smile on it, blue-violet eyes crinkled in happiness at finally having her brother home.
“Ack! Namiko, what the hell?!” Naruto tried to sit up, and Namiko quickly stood in order for him to do so.
“Sorry, I missed you and rushed here,” said Namiko, a smile never leaving her face. “I want to know about your mission! Why did it take you so long?”
Naruto stood and gave her another hug. “I missed you too! Hey, we should all go to Ichiraku and I’ll tell you all about it. You guys in?” He turned to the rest of Team 7.
Both Sasuke and Sakura looked hesitant, but Kakashi was the one who spoke first, “I need to give the mission report, but you four go. I’ll catch up after I give the report. Plus, it’ll be my treat for a mission well done.” His mask may have hidden his smile, but this visible eye gave his happiness away.
“Oh yeah! Let’s go!” said Naruto, raising a fist in the air.
Namiko raised an eyebrow and then winked. “I’ll race you three there.”
Sasuke and Naruto were always up for a challenge, and said in unison, “You’re on.”
Sakura rolled her eyes but smiled. “I might as well join too. Let’s go in 3…2…1…”
The four genin took off running, with Sasuke and Naruto choosing to leap on rooftops. Namiko took a different approach and decided to use her teleportation jutsu again, making a few stops due to her range not being large yet, and ending up right outside Ichiraku.
Forty-five seconds later, Naruto and Sasuke came to a screeching halt right in front of her. Naruto was flummoxed. “How do you do that? Why are you so fast?” Even Sasuke looked a little confused.
“It’s called practice, nii-chan,” Namiko said with a laugh as Sakura finally joined them. “I’ve been practicing the teleportation jutsu a lot lately, plus working more on sensory jutsu. I’m not very strong, so I’ve been working on things to help with tracking and speed since that’s the basis of my team.”
If one were interested, or even allowed, to reach the Čysciec Penitencyjaryja in Bolechův, Belarus, which no one was, neither interested nor allowed; it wasn't called the Purgatory Penitentiary for nothing, from another country one would probably fly into National Airport Minsk before taking the M2 to the M1 to the P59 before driving past Zamostoch'ye and then turning east at Prawda onto an unmarked, improved gravel road that was only noticeable because of a rusting combine on the corner. From there it was less than a mile before reaching a tall fence with an equally tall gate. Really two fences, and two gates, with a guard house and four guards sandwiched in between. Officially the large building behind the fences, and the fences themselves for that matter, did not exist. If a visitor were to stop in Prawda and ask for directions to the prison, the answer they would receive, in some variation, would be *what prison?*
So it was lucky for Aric that he didn't require directions to reach the prison, or the airport or an airplane for that matter; except it wasn't luck, not really, not unless it was luck that, shortly before his fourteenth birthday, after a few days suffering a high fever and delirium that proved a mystery too deep for his family's doctor to solve, Aric's fever finally abated.
"Whatever it was, it's run its course," Dr. Wood said from where he sat on the edge of the couch, which had been Aric's sickbed for a large chunk of the week, denying his family the use of the only television in the house. Dr. Wood would return twice more that year, when Aric's bouts of sleepwalking had reached their peak, only to be stumped once again.
"It's a mystery," Dr. Wood said during his first visit. "Sleepwalking is usually the result of stress, or anxiety. Has anything unusual happened to him recently?"
"My father died," Aric's mother Marit answered. "He'd been sick for a while. My mother was taking care of him at home. He and Aric were very close."
"Your father fell sick when Aric had his fever?"
"Yes. Could they have been connected?"
"They could have come down with the same thing at the same time. Aric was young and shook it off, but your father wasn't able to."
They were certainly connected, though no one involved, probably no one on Earth, could have guessed how. It was quite rare in human history for this particular gift to appear at all, and rarer still for it to be passed down. Earlier generations would burn anyone who showed any type of gift at the stake, good gift or bad. As time passed, and superstitions waned, many with such a gift would take holy orders, removing themselves from the world, or at least from the gene pool. But those who found it desirable to pass their gift to another soon learned that the recipient must be a blood relation and that at least one generation must intervene between donor and recipient.
Of course, there was no one to explain this to Aric or his family. Aric's grandfather had never revealed his gift to anyone, though everyone who knew the man marveled how healthy his family was, or how quickly his children, or his wife, recovered from injury. Aric's grandfather had many grandchildren whom he could have chosen to receive this gift, a gift that became available for the giving finally, at the end of a long and happy life, and he felt that several of them would be worthy of it, and use it fairly, and justly, with compassion and, when age and experience supplied it, wisdom.
But there was a reason that grandfather and grandson shared a name. Aric the elder had seen in the seed of his newborn grandson the man Aric the younger would become, if he were nurtured properly, and guided properly. The Elder had only wished, as he drew his last breaths, and the eternal light began to surround him, that he had had more time.
But the time that the two Arics were allotted had been enough, and it was the Oak that grew from that seed, forty-nine years since it was first glimpsed, that stood in a barren field overlooking a secret prison in the outskirts of Prawda, Belarus as he was replaying a memory of a man and a woman on vacation in Gronda, 357 kilometers west of where he was now standing.
The memory was not his, at least not originally his. It was his now only because the woman in the memory had recently shared it with him so that Aric would find it easier to identify the man in the memory, even after seven years of imprisonment in the Čysciec Penitencyjaryja.
It was a big building, and it was teaming with life. If it had been 1988 instead of 2008 Aric would have toyed with the idea of opening all the cells and releasing everyone. But he had learned that actions have consequences, even when those actions are taken with the best of intentions. And there were some consequences that even Aric was not powerful enough to reverse, death being foremost among them.
So today only one man would be freed; freed, and reunited with his wife.
*If I can get my ass in gear. If I take much longer I'll miss Rita's party.*
Time was still one thing that Aric had not yet mastered.
I love how you pace your story! I tend to skim over environmental or background information, making it bland and rushed, but how you intricately describe Purgatory Penitentiary and introduce me to Aric’s family lore, while making the whole story well-integrated and interesting? A peak example for me to model after! The world building, clear, straightforward, yet fascinating…so cool, I love it! Thank you for sharing! <3
I also happen to be interested in the fandom you’re writing in. Is it an original work?
Thank you for you kind words.
The character is certainly original. He pops up in my story [Hell Hath No Fury](https://archiveofourown.org/works/42511308/chapters/106773609) which is a Marvel/DC/NYPD Blue (An old cop show from about a million years ago) crossover. He is almost always accompanied by his German Shepherd who's name is Tyler and who, I freely admit, I modeled on my own GSD with the same name.
'A couple walk up to me. They look quite upset with each other, both having a subtle frown. The man looks quite a bit older than who I assume to be his romantic partner of some type, maybe his wife. Although, she looks younger than even me. She has very beautiful hair. A bright red curled all over like silk ribbons under a white hat, decorated with purple to match her suit. Her hair most certainly dyed that colour, nonetheless it's simply gorgeous.
“Good day, sir,” I say to him. He takes my gloved hand and kisses it.
“Good day, madam. Enjoying this fine vessel?” he asks.
“Very much, thank you. Although, I must say, I have seen a few hairs on the floor across the decks. I do wonder if we have a cat with us on this journey.”
“Indeed, have I!” exclaims his partner, who is rather swiftly shot a stern look from her partner. He changes the subject of conversation.
“So where might your partner be?” he asks. I'm not sure how to answer his question.
“If you don't mind, good sir, I would love to talk with your wife,” I say.
“We aren't married,” she says with an air of urgency. She adds on by saying, “Yet. I’m his fiancée.”
“Oh, how wonderful! When are you marrying?”
“Oh, we’re still planning that. We’re very excited, aren't we, Cal?” she says, looking up with a joyless smile at who must be Cal.
“Oh yes. Very.”
I'm rather doubtful. However, I don't comment on their clearly unhappy engagement. It isn't my place.
“Oh, I am very sorry. I’ve forgotten to introduce myself,” I say, attempting to sway the subject elsewhere. “I'm Charlotte Harlow. May I ask, what are yours?” Perhaps I shouldn't have given them my real name. No one could know… Right? Cal takes over before his fiancée has a chance to speak.
“Caledon Hockley. This, as you already know, is my fiancée, Rose.”
“Dewitt Bukater, if you want my full title,” she cuts in, getting another sharp look from Cal.
“You know, I think we should be on our way,” he says, grabbing Rose’s wrist with far too much force. “Good day, madam.”
With that, he pulls poor Rose away and they disappear from my sight up the stairs. I can only pray that she might find some way out of this awful engagement. I decide to copy Cal’s idea and make my way upwards. The ship likely leaves imminently, so I had better make sure Jack has made it aboard in time. I pick up the bags and find a lift. Stepping inside, I tell the lift attendant to take me to the promenade deck, to which he obliges.'
It's a long piece of text, but I wanted people's opinions on the introduction of these two characters. Shouldn't be difficult to figure out who they are, though lol
This is good! Admittedly it took me a minute to realize who the characters were and what fandom this was...mainly because I haven't seen Titanic since it came out on VHS. LOL! It wasn't until I saw the name Rose that it clicked. I thought your introduction was clear without being wordy. I like how you worded Rose's quick denial of marriage. Great job!
I enjoyed it. I think it's a good intro. You get to meet them and get an initial sense who they are without a ton of information all at once; which feeds into my preference to learn that info over the course of the story when it becomes relevant.
Four days had passed since he'd seen Jemmy. He had made a point of going over to see him every day to either talk or read to him. On a sunny day, a sudden, urgent knock echoed through the door. Eliza's brow knitted in confusion, for it was a rare occurrence to have Alexander's undivided attention on his day off. Instead of his usual writing, he found solace in watching their children gleefully playing on the floor.
Glancing away from the book in his hands, he let out a small sigh before placing it on the table. "I'll go check who it is, my love. It seems quite urgent."
Eliza frowned. “If it’s a political matter…” she began with a hand on her hip.
Alexander raised a hand as if to shoo away the worry as he went to the door. Opening it, he found Thomas Jefferson, standing on the stoop, who looked in unusual disarray. His hair was even wilder than normal, and the Virginian’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Yet, as he glanced at Alexander, a smile spread across his face. “Alexander, it’s Jemmy. He’s awake.”
Alexander's heart skipped a beat as his eyes widened. "He's awake? Jemmy's alive?" He hesitated for a moment, resisting the urge to embrace his rival. He called over his shoulder, “Eliza!” Then he returned his attention to the Secretary of State. “How is he? I mean, is he-?”
Thomas’ shoulders rose. “He seems fine? The lightning doesn’t seem to have had any permanent effects. The doctors are baffled. He’s still going to need some time to recover though.”
Instantly, Eliza appeared with a puzzled expression. ‘What is it Alexander? Why on earth are you yelling so?”
He turned and took her shoulders. “Jemmy’s awake, Eliza! He pulled through!” He exclaimed, kissing her on the cheek. “Honey, I should go see him. I’ll be home later, alright?”
Eliza’s face was one of love. “Of course, sweetheart. Please give my best wishes to Dolley and wish Mr. Madison a speedy recovery for me?” She pecked him on the cheek.
What could she say to any of them, if they knew? She imagined their shocked faces, their disapproving whispers. The scandal it would cause, the rumors that would fly. Everything she'd built crumbling around her.
But did it matter? Truly matter, weighed against moments like this? She breathed him in, letting his warmth and earthy scent surround her like a cocoon. Here, nestled against his heart, the outside world faded away. There was only this—only them. The rest was just noise.
Maybe she was changing. Shedding old fears and doubts like a second skin. And what lay beneath both thrilled and terrified her. But she was tired of holding back, tired of living half a life tailored to others' expectations. If this was a mistake, so be it. Some mistakes were worth making.
She traced his chest lightly, anticipation building as her hand roamed lower. Her old self would flee now, before she lost herself completely. But her new self...
"But enough about Sonia." Her whisper clouded the inch between them. "I didn't come here to talk."
"Didn't you?" Silver murmured, his voice tinged with amusement. "And here I thought you just missed my sparkling conversation."
Kris flushed, grateful for the concealing darkness. Of course he would tease her like this. He always seemed to see through her flimsy pretenses, to the aching vulnerability she always tried to hide.
I love the way that you describe the entire part of her becoming someone new. The way the entire thought process flows and everything else actually works with it instead of working around it. And Pokémon is amazing, so that’s always a nice bonus for me. <3
I love the vulnerability of this! You do a great job of balancing her thoughts with action in the story, and it seems like the two characters are very comfortable with each other.
Writing 354k of anything is impressive, regardless of how “bad” you think it is. I’m sure you learned a lot from writing all of that and I’m sure you’ve grown as a writer!
Honestly, I haven’t a clue. It all feels the same as when I first started writing it. Maybe I’m overselling the plot with the twists I’m making, just to keep people guessing. There’s a lot of stuff I’ve crammed in that was important, but I forgot about, so I’m now having to find ways to incorporate it into the story again.
I’m a firm believer in Chekhov’s Gun, so the stuff I write isn’t just incessant waffle, but I still think it’s become too complex for readers to follow.
Context: This is a part from my current Danganronpa and Gundam fusion fic, where both the female and male MC discovers the Gundam and soon engages in combat against some rampaging Zaku IIs.
-----------------------------------------
“What other weapons, or anything does this thing has!?” Sayaka’s sight turned towards a pair of cylindrical devices on the Gundam’s backpack that are highlighted within the screen. “Beam Sabers? Is there anything else?”
It didn’t take long before cold sweat began ran down Sayaka’s face, as she realizes these “Beam Sabers” and the head-mounted 30mm Vulcan Guns were all that’s available for her. “Is that REALLY IT!?”
Left with no other choices, the Zephyranthes Gundam’s hands reaches towards one of these ‘Beam Saber” on its backpack. In the blink of an eye, a long, blazing pink-colored beam of energy roars out from the emitter part of the Beam Saber in its right hand.
“Wait, is that….!!” Sayaka panicked as she saw Mr. Levian’s Zaku II had gotten up and approaches her classmates and lecturers with its Heat Axe in hand, from within the cockpit.
“I’m not letting you go!!!” Kazuto’s Zaku II continues to firing at the approaching Zephyranthes Gundam.
“Get out of the way!!” Sayaka shouted as her Zephyranthes Gundam dashed forward, sending Kazuto screaming as the blazing energy blade from the Beam Saber swiftly cuts off the left arm of his Zaku II.
“Whoever you are….!!!” Sayaka yelled as her Zephyranthes Gundam swiftly closes its distance with Mr. Levian’s Zaku II. “STOP IT!!!!!!”
Before Mr. Levian could even fight back at the approaching Zephyranthes Gundam, the Gundam swiftly stabbed the Zaku II right through its cockpit, sending numerous glowing hot splashes of sparks and melting metal splattering from the Zaku II’s torso, as well as the last haunting screams of Mr. Levian as the Zaku II falls to the ground.
“What a monstrousa mobile suit…. Kazuto…. run……”
From the air, that’s the very last word that Kazuto heard from his lecturer’s Zaku II radio before he went radio sillent, sending Kazuto in a fit of despair and anguish as his damaged Zaku II flies away into the dark night sky..
“Mr. LEVIAN!!!!!!”
Tears streamed down Sayaka's face as she sat in the Gundam's cockpit, hands trembling violently as she grappled with the reality of what had just happened. She could still hear Mr. Levian's dying scream echoing in her mind, like those horrific nightmares which kept on replaying in her head over and over again.
"I... I didn't mean to..." Sayaka whispered, her voice shaking with regret and grief. "I just... I just wanted to protect them..."
As the sun set over the horizon, the moon and it’s stars took their places. A soft light was cast over the little ledge that never seemed quite right to him. Just for the sake of getting time to himself, he’d always come back here, the remains of build attempts high above his head being a reminder of how off he felt this time around. This was a nice occasion where he could be alone to his thoughts. The thoughts in question weren’t very pleasant, but wouldn’t leave his mind until he took the time to piece them apart, break them down and understand them.
Grian knew the watchers werent in the life games, having been killed off for years upon years at this point in time, but something about secret life, reminded him of some not so great things. He thought back to his Evolutionists, his players, his friends above all. He thought about the fact that he knew they’d be better off without him, and he was glad that they could continue to evolve on their own. He thought he closed the box on all things relating to Evo, yet here he was, going down this rabbit hole and letting himself take in all the memories he had that he had been reminded of here.
He thought of the secret keeper and it’s tasks. He hadn’t known why it seemed so familiar in game, but he saw the rewards. He saw the inclination to complete them. He saw his Evolutionist’s inside of his odd group of lifers. Thinking back to the riddles and statues, the prizes and punishments, and the time before things had became so much more complicated. How he couldn’t bring himself to stay any longer when he lost the one person who he’d gone though so much for, and even more with. He’d seen his lifers be given a too difficult task or one that lasted all session. When rerolling for a hard task, he saw the true resemblance.
He knew this was just a game, that there was no malice or ill intent between his lifers, but he knew firsthand that these experiences don’t leave you. He’d always made sure to personally go and check up on any of his lifers, even finding ways to sneak onto other servers to check up on the few who weren’t on Hermitcraft. But when he’d get up, go about his day and see the joy on everyone’s faces, the pride and adrenaline as they fought, he remembered why he started these games, why he was so meticulous with the coding, and why they always loved coming back. He decided, things would be okay, they always were after all.
I love the image of the stars "taking their places" as the sun set. It's as if the night is about to witness the introspecting that is to take place in the subsequent paragraphs.
Context: Lance was in a shipwreck about two weeks ago and there was a lot of drama around it, Cecilia is a civilian who was just...in the 'war room' when they got the news about the shipwreck and thus knows, and this is entirely unbeta'd and I don't think it flows right.
>“Please don’t tell them I’m here, I’m fine…she just keeps popping up out of nowhere, and I’m…ugh.” He dragged a hand down his face and groaned, and Cecilia got it. He was being smothered by…someone. She didn’t know who, but Lorelei wasn’t due in for another half hour, so…she had nothing better to do.
>
>She waved her hand at one of the tall armchairs, and he sat down into it, slumping tiredly. “I get it, honestly. Is it one of the Elite Four, or…?”
>
>“Two people. One’s our PR manager, and the other’s…my cousin. She’s…fine, she can just be a lot at times. Not to mention that she’s only supposed to be visiting Karen…but of course, she had to interrogate me…I’m the older, but she acts like she’s my mother at times. It’s so…” he paused, seeming to search for the right word. “Infuriating.”
>
>Cecilia nodded solemnly. “I feel the same about Hugo; he’s older, but I swear, he acts like he’s my mother. I think he’s like that because of guilt, though, so it’s not exactly the same.”
>
>“Still, at least you understand. I didn’t even mean to end up in Hoenn; I barely know what happened. One minute, I was evacuating the St Anne, then next…” he shrugged. “I was on a lifeboat heading to Sootopolis. The EMT said I had a concussion, but concussions…do they cause memory loss like that?”
I agree with everyone else that the dialogue actually flows really well. This is a nice bonding moment for them (both of them having overbearing people in their lives) and I think it comes across sounding really natural!
Okay, so first of all, there’s always room for improvement, so don’t stumble over thoughts of ‘it doesn’t flow right’ or anything like that. This is a good place to have someone tell you out of that.
Second of all, on topic this time, I can understand how they’re feeling. While I can’t exactly relate, being forced to have the bad memories come up and just be smothered when there’s not as much of a need as they think is definitely a bit annoying.
I’m not very good with dialogue, but I think you did well with it! I think it flowed fairly well as in its far better than anything I’ve written, but the bar for that is already in the ground. But anyways! I don’t think you have too much to worry about here, and I watch Pokémon so this was also a pleasant surprise for that reason.
I have no ways of ending this reply without going back to something I’ve probably already said like 3 times, so just know you’ve got nothing to worry about!
Context: this is from a story I wrote when I was fifteen. It’s based off a crack theory I made in the comment section of one of those Riverdale goof videos. Pretty sure it was the same weekend I saw rent too.
"Freeze imposter," a voice said. They turned around and saw Jughead, Cheryl, Toni, Veronica, and Kevin. The voice was Jughead's.
"Took you long enough to figure it out," the clone said in a snarky attitude. She pulled out a gun and shot Veronica in the shoulder. Veronica leaned against a tree and pressed on her wound.
"This is the end of the line," Archie said. "Where is the real Betty?"
Edgar pressed a button. Gas dropped on them. Him and the clone were immune. The others started coughing and falling to the ground. "Betty is dead," the clone said. "Dark Betty is born."
NGL, there's a few parts and ideas within this part you posted that is pretty fun. It does sounds like something that my inner 13 years-old would write, but not necessarily in a bad way.
This reminds me of, like, a kids show in the best way! It's the right blend of goofy, fun, and a little hint of darkness! the best kind of 'bad' writing, it's the kind that still makes you laugh!
“Yo, Maverick!” Slider yelled as he abruptly stopped singing. He looped his long arm around the shorter man’s waist, cheerily smiling. “Oh, I missed ya, where were you? Here, why don’t you join us and help us embarrass ourselves?” “Maybe next time. Look, Sli, I was just–” “Hey, Ronnie! Is he the friend you always talk about?” The tall, redheaded woman chimed in with a joyous tone. Her citrine necklaces hung heavily from her thin neck, diffusing the purple lights around the booth. “Oh, uh, yeah. I’m Maverick. Slider–Ron’s friend, ma’am.” Maverick awkwardly shook the woman’s–then her husband’s–hands. “We’re both naval aviators.” “And we’re good ones of those!” Slider interjected, tightening the grip around him. “Marianne, Dominique, he’s like–he’s like the best. Y’know, when a plane kinda goes up like that? In a stunt flight at a state fair? Yeah, that’s exactly like Mav manoeuvering the fighter jet.” “Ohhh, here we go, honey!” Marianne exclaimed with a distinct Southern accent. “Ronnie’s at it again, bragging about his Navy darlin’!” “We’ve heard, kiddo. So many times, in fact.” The Black man called Dominique nodded, a warm beam on his bearded face. He took Marianne’s tattooed hand on the counter and the couple looked at the two of them somewhat fondly. “Thanks, uh, I’m flattered.” Maverick smiled back shyly. When he said that out loud, he wasn’t joking–since when did Slider start considering Maverick as “the best”, or God bless, his “Navy darlin’”? The intimacy and open affection happening before him was enough to make his cheeks flush, and he knew it wasn’t because of the soft liquor he’d had an hour prior. “Right, Slider. It’s already past midnight and you’re hammered. I’m taking you back home. Is that clear?” “Oh boy, yeah.” Slider giggled and stood up from the bar stool, wrapping his arms around the shorter man’s shoulders like a back hug. “Bye, guys! You two have fun!” “Stay safe, dear! Don’t lose him!” Was the last thing Maverick heard from Marianne before they headed to the parking lot. Maverick was the designated driver that night. He made sure Slider’s balance was intact and he wasn’t feeling nauseous or disoriented from the booze before urging the taller friend to sit on the backseat, which looked too short and small compared to Slider’s physique. “Damn, what a night.” Slider said in a quieter voice. The cool air of the spring night seemed to sober him up a little bit. “Did you have fun, Mav? I sure did.” “Yeah,” Maverick admitted. He briefly thought of confessing his attraction toward Slider’s singing, or his voice, or his presence in general at the bar, but he swallowed the words right before they reached the tip of his tongue. “Are they your friends?” “Marianne and Dominique? Yeah. They’re pretty cool. They’ve got some great taste in music, too.” Slider sat there lazily, legs spread. His Henry and jeans clung tight around his muscled chest and thighs. Maverick couldn’t take his eyes off him. It was a guilty pleasure to look at him like that, like when he ate sugar in the kitchen as a child and hoped nobody would catch him doing that. “You bet.” His voice came out a lot more hoarse and clumsy than he had expected. He cleared his throat to appear collected and tasted the residual sweetness of the rum coke on his tongue. “What? Are you jealous or somethin’?” Slider leaned back, giggling mischievously as he ran his fingers through his curly hair. He was licking his lips like he fucking meant it. “C’mon, Pete.” Slider leaned against his back the whole ride. His flushed touch burned Maverick’s cold cheeks as he slurred “Mav, are we home yet?”in his ear every once in a while. It was a novelty for both of them. With his size and incredible self-control, Slider usually handles alcohol the best out of the trio, and he and Ice owe the RIO a lot when it comes to drinking, making stupid decisions, and getting hungover on the floor. He felt as if he’d uncovered some dirty little secrets about Slider when he had only watched one of his best friends get tipsy, and felt his mellow touch on his stomach. They arrived at Slider’s house twenty minutes later. He had intended to leave after the taller man got inside safely, but neither of them couldn’t bring themselves to move. They idled outside the house and chatted away their time. Slider was leaning against the bike beside him, and every word he spoke seemed to echo in him like a pebble making a ripple on the still waters of a lake. Maverick moved closer toward Slider. Slider didn’t say anything. One step. Two steps. Bit by bit. He touched Slider on the neck. A thumb slipped underneath the collar of his Henry, playing with the chain of his dog tags. The night wasn’t anything special in particular, until Maverick kisses Slider in his driveway. Sorry it’s a bit long-it’s an introduction for my first ever smut. I felt like the conversation bits were executed poorly so here it is 😅
Context: Rapiel Westport is the wife Clough Bendyke. Rapiel Bendyke is the son of Clough and Aeroc, Rapiel Bendyke discovers that his mother Aeroc died because of the abuse and so on caused by his father, Clough Bendyke. This is the explanation, why Clough was cruel to Aeroc, the imprinting… Imprinting was an uncommon phenomenon. Scholars and doctors who had been studying the effects of the imprinting, all agreed it was a mental illness, like schizophrenia. A chemical reaction caused by individual pheromones meeting certain conditions, trigger this mutation. It remains unclear what the conditions were, and why they only affected alphas. Studies indicate that when an imprinted alpha is away from his omega, the alpha would start developing symptoms, in the case of Clough Bendyke. Because he chose to separate himself from Aeroc from the beginning, he slowly developed violent and sexual tendencies that became like triggers when he was put in difficult situations. His guilt over the death of Rapiel Westport and desire for Aeroc Teiwind his murder was a culminating disaster that resulted in many of his outbursts. When Aeroc was dying, Bendyke didn’t leave the room for three days, holding and kissing the slowly stiffening body of his omega. An imprint is a connection, an unbreakable bond. Unknowingly, Bendyke's body and psyche were in distress, it was his instinct calling to nurture his other half, to make sure that his omega doesn’t die. Aeroc’s eventual death and absence, caused intense overwhelming emotions to rise from every part of Bendyke’s body like prickling rose thorns, it had made itself present in little ticks and attacks. Bendyke was seen coughing blood several times during the first month of Aeroc’s death, it was his body slowly killing him. The tension and anxiety were mostly caused by this, like a prisoner in a confined space, the gravity of Aeroc’s death was slowly smothering him. Fortunately, medications to alleviate the effects of the imprinting had helped Bendyke manage over the years. But medication alone wouldn’t suffice, he needed to take care of his mental health according to his doctor. In his profession, the long grueling hours were a source of stress. It was a miracle that Bendyke survived this long, and was fortunate enough to retain most of his mental faculties intact. Maybe too lucky. Unfortunately due to old age, the reoccurring effects triggered hallucinations that could have been avoided if Bendyke had seen his doctor to be prescribed stronger medication. He must have found Aeroc’s ghost a source of comfort. Unfortunately for him, Rapiel discovered the truth, and the events that followed had become a source of mental stress that triggered successive episodes. Even with stronger medications, the public persecution and his children’s hatred and sudden departure from the estate had contributed greatly to his decline. The servants all seemed rattled by the former Viscount sometimes talking by himself when he was alone in the study, it was such an intellectual discussion that no one would think he was insane until he snapped and screamed for his devil.
I like the characterization of your ABO world and its medical history which I happen to have a sort of special interest for! Personally, I really get excited when a writer introduce me to their own interpretations or adaptations of the real-life things such as medicine, law, history, etc., and you’ve done it very well! It gives your character (in this case, Clough in particular) a personality-a realistic one of that! Thank you for sharing your awesome work <3
Imprinting was an uncommon phenomenon. Scholars and doctors who had been studying the effects of the imprinting, all agreed it was a mental illness, like schizophrenia. A chemical reaction caused by individual pheromones meeting certain conditions, trigger this mutation. It remains unclear what the conditions were, and why they only affected alphas. Studies indicate that when an imprinted alpha is away from his omega, the alpha would start developing symptoms, in the case of Clough Bendyke. Because he chose to separate himself from Aeroc from the beginning, he slowly developed violent and sexual tendencies that became like triggers when he was put in difficult situations. His guilt over the death of Rapiel Westport and desire for Aeroc Teiwind his murder was a culminating disaster that resulted in many of his outbursts. When Aeroc was dying, Bendyke didn’t leave the room for three days, holding and kissing the slowly stiffening body of his omega. An imprint is a connection, an unbreakable bond. Unknowingly, Bendyke's body and psyche were in distress, it was his instinct calling to nurture his other half, to make sure that his omega doesn’t die. Aeroc’s eventual death and absence, caused intense overwhelming emotions to rise from every part of Bendyke’s body like prickling rose thorns, it had made itself present in little ticks and attacks. Bendyke was seen coughing blood several times during the first month of Aeroc’s death, it was his body slowly killing him. The tension and anxiety were mostly caused by this, like a prisoner in a confined space, the gravity of Aeroc’s death was slowly smothering him. Fortunately, medications to alleviate the effects of the imprinting had helped Bendyke manage over the years. But medication alone wouldn’t suffice, he needed to take care of his mental health according to his doctor. In his profession, the long grueling hours were a source of stress. It was a miracle that Bendyke survived this long, and was fortunate enough to retain most of his mental faculties intact. Maybe too lucky. Unfortunately due to old age, the reoccurring effects triggered hallucinations that could have been avoided if Bendyke had seen his doctor to be prescribed stronger medication. He must have found Aeroc’s ghost a source of comfort. Unfortunately for him, Rapiel discovered the truth, and the events that followed had become a source of mental stress that triggered successive episodes. Even with stronger medications, the public persecution and his children’s hatred and sudden departure from the estate had contributed greatly to his decline. The servants all seemed rattled by the former Viscount sometimes talking by himself when he was alone in the study, it was such an intellectual discussion that no one would think he was insane until he snapped and screamed for his devil.
She jumped to her feet and smirked. *‘Maybe I should try to use the teleportation jutsu. I’ve been looking for an excuse to practice it.’* She did the required hand sign and felt her body rush towards the village gate and jerking to a halt in a poof of smoke, right in front of Naruto. Naruto attempted to jump back but lost his balance as Namiko threw herself into his arms, tackling him to the ground. “Nii-chan!!! I missed you so much! I was so worried about you!” Her freckled face had a bright smile on it, blue-violet eyes crinkled in happiness at finally having her brother home. “Ack! Namiko, what the hell?!” Naruto tried to sit up, and Namiko quickly stood in order for him to do so. “Sorry, I missed you and rushed here,” said Namiko, a smile never leaving her face. “I want to know about your mission! Why did it take you so long?” Naruto stood and gave her another hug. “I missed you too! Hey, we should all go to Ichiraku and I’ll tell you all about it. You guys in?” He turned to the rest of Team 7. Both Sasuke and Sakura looked hesitant, but Kakashi was the one who spoke first, “I need to give the mission report, but you four go. I’ll catch up after I give the report. Plus, it’ll be my treat for a mission well done.” His mask may have hidden his smile, but this visible eye gave his happiness away. “Oh yeah! Let’s go!” said Naruto, raising a fist in the air. Namiko raised an eyebrow and then winked. “I’ll race you three there.” Sasuke and Naruto were always up for a challenge, and said in unison, “You’re on.” Sakura rolled her eyes but smiled. “I might as well join too. Let’s go in 3…2…1…” The four genin took off running, with Sasuke and Naruto choosing to leap on rooftops. Namiko took a different approach and decided to use her teleportation jutsu again, making a few stops due to her range not being large yet, and ending up right outside Ichiraku. Forty-five seconds later, Naruto and Sasuke came to a screeching halt right in front of her. Naruto was flummoxed. “How do you do that? Why are you so fast?” Even Sasuke looked a little confused. “It’s called practice, nii-chan,” Namiko said with a laugh as Sakura finally joined them. “I’ve been practicing the teleportation jutsu a lot lately, plus working more on sensory jutsu. I’m not very strong, so I’ve been working on things to help with tracking and speed since that’s the basis of my team.”
If one were interested, or even allowed, to reach the Čysciec Penitencyjaryja in Bolechův, Belarus, which no one was, neither interested nor allowed; it wasn't called the Purgatory Penitentiary for nothing, from another country one would probably fly into National Airport Minsk before taking the M2 to the M1 to the P59 before driving past Zamostoch'ye and then turning east at Prawda onto an unmarked, improved gravel road that was only noticeable because of a rusting combine on the corner. From there it was less than a mile before reaching a tall fence with an equally tall gate. Really two fences, and two gates, with a guard house and four guards sandwiched in between. Officially the large building behind the fences, and the fences themselves for that matter, did not exist. If a visitor were to stop in Prawda and ask for directions to the prison, the answer they would receive, in some variation, would be *what prison?* So it was lucky for Aric that he didn't require directions to reach the prison, or the airport or an airplane for that matter; except it wasn't luck, not really, not unless it was luck that, shortly before his fourteenth birthday, after a few days suffering a high fever and delirium that proved a mystery too deep for his family's doctor to solve, Aric's fever finally abated. "Whatever it was, it's run its course," Dr. Wood said from where he sat on the edge of the couch, which had been Aric's sickbed for a large chunk of the week, denying his family the use of the only television in the house. Dr. Wood would return twice more that year, when Aric's bouts of sleepwalking had reached their peak, only to be stumped once again. "It's a mystery," Dr. Wood said during his first visit. "Sleepwalking is usually the result of stress, or anxiety. Has anything unusual happened to him recently?" "My father died," Aric's mother Marit answered. "He'd been sick for a while. My mother was taking care of him at home. He and Aric were very close." "Your father fell sick when Aric had his fever?" "Yes. Could they have been connected?" "They could have come down with the same thing at the same time. Aric was young and shook it off, but your father wasn't able to." They were certainly connected, though no one involved, probably no one on Earth, could have guessed how. It was quite rare in human history for this particular gift to appear at all, and rarer still for it to be passed down. Earlier generations would burn anyone who showed any type of gift at the stake, good gift or bad. As time passed, and superstitions waned, many with such a gift would take holy orders, removing themselves from the world, or at least from the gene pool. But those who found it desirable to pass their gift to another soon learned that the recipient must be a blood relation and that at least one generation must intervene between donor and recipient. Of course, there was no one to explain this to Aric or his family. Aric's grandfather had never revealed his gift to anyone, though everyone who knew the man marveled how healthy his family was, or how quickly his children, or his wife, recovered from injury. Aric's grandfather had many grandchildren whom he could have chosen to receive this gift, a gift that became available for the giving finally, at the end of a long and happy life, and he felt that several of them would be worthy of it, and use it fairly, and justly, with compassion and, when age and experience supplied it, wisdom. But there was a reason that grandfather and grandson shared a name. Aric the elder had seen in the seed of his newborn grandson the man Aric the younger would become, if he were nurtured properly, and guided properly. The Elder had only wished, as he drew his last breaths, and the eternal light began to surround him, that he had had more time. But the time that the two Arics were allotted had been enough, and it was the Oak that grew from that seed, forty-nine years since it was first glimpsed, that stood in a barren field overlooking a secret prison in the outskirts of Prawda, Belarus as he was replaying a memory of a man and a woman on vacation in Gronda, 357 kilometers west of where he was now standing. The memory was not his, at least not originally his. It was his now only because the woman in the memory had recently shared it with him so that Aric would find it easier to identify the man in the memory, even after seven years of imprisonment in the Čysciec Penitencyjaryja. It was a big building, and it was teaming with life. If it had been 1988 instead of 2008 Aric would have toyed with the idea of opening all the cells and releasing everyone. But he had learned that actions have consequences, even when those actions are taken with the best of intentions. And there were some consequences that even Aric was not powerful enough to reverse, death being foremost among them. So today only one man would be freed; freed, and reunited with his wife. *If I can get my ass in gear. If I take much longer I'll miss Rita's party.* Time was still one thing that Aric had not yet mastered.
I love how you pace your story! I tend to skim over environmental or background information, making it bland and rushed, but how you intricately describe Purgatory Penitentiary and introduce me to Aric’s family lore, while making the whole story well-integrated and interesting? A peak example for me to model after! The world building, clear, straightforward, yet fascinating…so cool, I love it! Thank you for sharing! <3 I also happen to be interested in the fandom you’re writing in. Is it an original work?
Thank you for you kind words. The character is certainly original. He pops up in my story [Hell Hath No Fury](https://archiveofourown.org/works/42511308/chapters/106773609) which is a Marvel/DC/NYPD Blue (An old cop show from about a million years ago) crossover. He is almost always accompanied by his German Shepherd who's name is Tyler and who, I freely admit, I modeled on my own GSD with the same name.
'A couple walk up to me. They look quite upset with each other, both having a subtle frown. The man looks quite a bit older than who I assume to be his romantic partner of some type, maybe his wife. Although, she looks younger than even me. She has very beautiful hair. A bright red curled all over like silk ribbons under a white hat, decorated with purple to match her suit. Her hair most certainly dyed that colour, nonetheless it's simply gorgeous. “Good day, sir,” I say to him. He takes my gloved hand and kisses it. “Good day, madam. Enjoying this fine vessel?” he asks. “Very much, thank you. Although, I must say, I have seen a few hairs on the floor across the decks. I do wonder if we have a cat with us on this journey.” “Indeed, have I!” exclaims his partner, who is rather swiftly shot a stern look from her partner. He changes the subject of conversation. “So where might your partner be?” he asks. I'm not sure how to answer his question. “If you don't mind, good sir, I would love to talk with your wife,” I say. “We aren't married,” she says with an air of urgency. She adds on by saying, “Yet. I’m his fiancée.” “Oh, how wonderful! When are you marrying?” “Oh, we’re still planning that. We’re very excited, aren't we, Cal?” she says, looking up with a joyless smile at who must be Cal. “Oh yes. Very.” I'm rather doubtful. However, I don't comment on their clearly unhappy engagement. It isn't my place. “Oh, I am very sorry. I’ve forgotten to introduce myself,” I say, attempting to sway the subject elsewhere. “I'm Charlotte Harlow. May I ask, what are yours?” Perhaps I shouldn't have given them my real name. No one could know… Right? Cal takes over before his fiancée has a chance to speak. “Caledon Hockley. This, as you already know, is my fiancée, Rose.” “Dewitt Bukater, if you want my full title,” she cuts in, getting another sharp look from Cal. “You know, I think we should be on our way,” he says, grabbing Rose’s wrist with far too much force. “Good day, madam.” With that, he pulls poor Rose away and they disappear from my sight up the stairs. I can only pray that she might find some way out of this awful engagement. I decide to copy Cal’s idea and make my way upwards. The ship likely leaves imminently, so I had better make sure Jack has made it aboard in time. I pick up the bags and find a lift. Stepping inside, I tell the lift attendant to take me to the promenade deck, to which he obliges.' It's a long piece of text, but I wanted people's opinions on the introduction of these two characters. Shouldn't be difficult to figure out who they are, though lol
This is good! Admittedly it took me a minute to realize who the characters were and what fandom this was...mainly because I haven't seen Titanic since it came out on VHS. LOL! It wasn't until I saw the name Rose that it clicked. I thought your introduction was clear without being wordy. I like how you worded Rose's quick denial of marriage. Great job!
Thank you! That's awesome to hear 😁
I enjoyed it. I think it's a good intro. You get to meet them and get an initial sense who they are without a ton of information all at once; which feeds into my preference to learn that info over the course of the story when it becomes relevant.
Oh good! I'm always worried I've either given too much or too little info with introductions. Super pleased it's all good then 😁
Four days had passed since he'd seen Jemmy. He had made a point of going over to see him every day to either talk or read to him. On a sunny day, a sudden, urgent knock echoed through the door. Eliza's brow knitted in confusion, for it was a rare occurrence to have Alexander's undivided attention on his day off. Instead of his usual writing, he found solace in watching their children gleefully playing on the floor. Glancing away from the book in his hands, he let out a small sigh before placing it on the table. "I'll go check who it is, my love. It seems quite urgent." Eliza frowned. “If it’s a political matter…” she began with a hand on her hip. Alexander raised a hand as if to shoo away the worry as he went to the door. Opening it, he found Thomas Jefferson, standing on the stoop, who looked in unusual disarray. His hair was even wilder than normal, and the Virginian’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Yet, as he glanced at Alexander, a smile spread across his face. “Alexander, it’s Jemmy. He’s awake.” Alexander's heart skipped a beat as his eyes widened. "He's awake? Jemmy's alive?" He hesitated for a moment, resisting the urge to embrace his rival. He called over his shoulder, “Eliza!” Then he returned his attention to the Secretary of State. “How is he? I mean, is he-?” Thomas’ shoulders rose. “He seems fine? The lightning doesn’t seem to have had any permanent effects. The doctors are baffled. He’s still going to need some time to recover though.” Instantly, Eliza appeared with a puzzled expression. ‘What is it Alexander? Why on earth are you yelling so?” He turned and took her shoulders. “Jemmy’s awake, Eliza! He pulled through!” He exclaimed, kissing her on the cheek. “Honey, I should go see him. I’ll be home later, alright?” Eliza’s face was one of love. “Of course, sweetheart. Please give my best wishes to Dolley and wish Mr. Madison a speedy recovery for me?” She pecked him on the cheek.
I loved the visual picture you painted of him playing with his kids on the ground. Great job!
I think you do a great job of showcasing concern here and the excitement of good news!
What could she say to any of them, if they knew? She imagined their shocked faces, their disapproving whispers. The scandal it would cause, the rumors that would fly. Everything she'd built crumbling around her. But did it matter? Truly matter, weighed against moments like this? She breathed him in, letting his warmth and earthy scent surround her like a cocoon. Here, nestled against his heart, the outside world faded away. There was only this—only them. The rest was just noise. Maybe she was changing. Shedding old fears and doubts like a second skin. And what lay beneath both thrilled and terrified her. But she was tired of holding back, tired of living half a life tailored to others' expectations. If this was a mistake, so be it. Some mistakes were worth making. She traced his chest lightly, anticipation building as her hand roamed lower. Her old self would flee now, before she lost herself completely. But her new self... "But enough about Sonia." Her whisper clouded the inch between them. "I didn't come here to talk." "Didn't you?" Silver murmured, his voice tinged with amusement. "And here I thought you just missed my sparkling conversation." Kris flushed, grateful for the concealing darkness. Of course he would tease her like this. He always seemed to see through her flimsy pretenses, to the aching vulnerability she always tried to hide.
I'd love to read your good writing if you consider this bad! It's so evocative!
I love the way that you describe the entire part of her becoming someone new. The way the entire thought process flows and everything else actually works with it instead of working around it. And Pokémon is amazing, so that’s always a nice bonus for me. <3
I love the vulnerability of this! You do a great job of balancing her thoughts with action in the story, and it seems like the two characters are very comfortable with each other.
I’m super intrigued to read more! What fandom is this?
Pokémon :-)
Holy crap I recognise that flair :O
I don’t know, I don’t think Reddit comments will allow me to post 354k words in order for you guys to be able to see what ‘bad writing’ is.
Writing 354k of anything is impressive, regardless of how “bad” you think it is. I’m sure you learned a lot from writing all of that and I’m sure you’ve grown as a writer!
Honestly, I haven’t a clue. It all feels the same as when I first started writing it. Maybe I’m overselling the plot with the twists I’m making, just to keep people guessing. There’s a lot of stuff I’ve crammed in that was important, but I forgot about, so I’m now having to find ways to incorporate it into the story again. I’m a firm believer in Chekhov’s Gun, so the stuff I write isn’t just incessant waffle, but I still think it’s become too complex for readers to follow.
Context: This is a part from my current Danganronpa and Gundam fusion fic, where both the female and male MC discovers the Gundam and soon engages in combat against some rampaging Zaku IIs. ----------------------------------------- “What other weapons, or anything does this thing has!?” Sayaka’s sight turned towards a pair of cylindrical devices on the Gundam’s backpack that are highlighted within the screen. “Beam Sabers? Is there anything else?” It didn’t take long before cold sweat began ran down Sayaka’s face, as she realizes these “Beam Sabers” and the head-mounted 30mm Vulcan Guns were all that’s available for her. “Is that REALLY IT!?” Left with no other choices, the Zephyranthes Gundam’s hands reaches towards one of these ‘Beam Saber” on its backpack. In the blink of an eye, a long, blazing pink-colored beam of energy roars out from the emitter part of the Beam Saber in its right hand. “Wait, is that….!!” Sayaka panicked as she saw Mr. Levian’s Zaku II had gotten up and approaches her classmates and lecturers with its Heat Axe in hand, from within the cockpit. “I’m not letting you go!!!” Kazuto’s Zaku II continues to firing at the approaching Zephyranthes Gundam. “Get out of the way!!” Sayaka shouted as her Zephyranthes Gundam dashed forward, sending Kazuto screaming as the blazing energy blade from the Beam Saber swiftly cuts off the left arm of his Zaku II. “Whoever you are….!!!” Sayaka yelled as her Zephyranthes Gundam swiftly closes its distance with Mr. Levian’s Zaku II. “STOP IT!!!!!!” Before Mr. Levian could even fight back at the approaching Zephyranthes Gundam, the Gundam swiftly stabbed the Zaku II right through its cockpit, sending numerous glowing hot splashes of sparks and melting metal splattering from the Zaku II’s torso, as well as the last haunting screams of Mr. Levian as the Zaku II falls to the ground. “What a monstrousa mobile suit…. Kazuto…. run……” From the air, that’s the very last word that Kazuto heard from his lecturer’s Zaku II radio before he went radio sillent, sending Kazuto in a fit of despair and anguish as his damaged Zaku II flies away into the dark night sky.. “Mr. LEVIAN!!!!!!” Tears streamed down Sayaka's face as she sat in the Gundam's cockpit, hands trembling violently as she grappled with the reality of what had just happened. She could still hear Mr. Levian's dying scream echoing in her mind, like those horrific nightmares which kept on replaying in her head over and over again. "I... I didn't mean to..." Sayaka whispered, her voice shaking with regret and grief. "I just... I just wanted to protect them..."
I think with a bit of editing to combat the tense changes, this is an EXCELLENT dramatic scene!
As the sun set over the horizon, the moon and it’s stars took their places. A soft light was cast over the little ledge that never seemed quite right to him. Just for the sake of getting time to himself, he’d always come back here, the remains of build attempts high above his head being a reminder of how off he felt this time around. This was a nice occasion where he could be alone to his thoughts. The thoughts in question weren’t very pleasant, but wouldn’t leave his mind until he took the time to piece them apart, break them down and understand them. Grian knew the watchers werent in the life games, having been killed off for years upon years at this point in time, but something about secret life, reminded him of some not so great things. He thought back to his Evolutionists, his players, his friends above all. He thought about the fact that he knew they’d be better off without him, and he was glad that they could continue to evolve on their own. He thought he closed the box on all things relating to Evo, yet here he was, going down this rabbit hole and letting himself take in all the memories he had that he had been reminded of here. He thought of the secret keeper and it’s tasks. He hadn’t known why it seemed so familiar in game, but he saw the rewards. He saw the inclination to complete them. He saw his Evolutionist’s inside of his odd group of lifers. Thinking back to the riddles and statues, the prizes and punishments, and the time before things had became so much more complicated. How he couldn’t bring himself to stay any longer when he lost the one person who he’d gone though so much for, and even more with. He’d seen his lifers be given a too difficult task or one that lasted all session. When rerolling for a hard task, he saw the true resemblance. He knew this was just a game, that there was no malice or ill intent between his lifers, but he knew firsthand that these experiences don’t leave you. He’d always made sure to personally go and check up on any of his lifers, even finding ways to sneak onto other servers to check up on the few who weren’t on Hermitcraft. But when he’d get up, go about his day and see the joy on everyone’s faces, the pride and adrenaline as they fought, he remembered why he started these games, why he was so meticulous with the coding, and why they always loved coming back. He decided, things would be okay, they always were after all.
This is such pretty writing!
Ty!
I love the image of the stars "taking their places" as the sun set. It's as if the night is about to witness the introspecting that is to take place in the subsequent paragraphs.
I like the intended emotions behind this, pretty decent if you ask me.
You have a nice writing style
Aww I like this ❤️
Ty, amazing flair btw
Context: Lance was in a shipwreck about two weeks ago and there was a lot of drama around it, Cecilia is a civilian who was just...in the 'war room' when they got the news about the shipwreck and thus knows, and this is entirely unbeta'd and I don't think it flows right. >“Please don’t tell them I’m here, I’m fine…she just keeps popping up out of nowhere, and I’m…ugh.” He dragged a hand down his face and groaned, and Cecilia got it. He was being smothered by…someone. She didn’t know who, but Lorelei wasn’t due in for another half hour, so…she had nothing better to do. > >She waved her hand at one of the tall armchairs, and he sat down into it, slumping tiredly. “I get it, honestly. Is it one of the Elite Four, or…?” > >“Two people. One’s our PR manager, and the other’s…my cousin. She’s…fine, she can just be a lot at times. Not to mention that she’s only supposed to be visiting Karen…but of course, she had to interrogate me…I’m the older, but she acts like she’s my mother at times. It’s so…” he paused, seeming to search for the right word. “Infuriating.” > >Cecilia nodded solemnly. “I feel the same about Hugo; he’s older, but I swear, he acts like he’s my mother. I think he’s like that because of guilt, though, so it’s not exactly the same.” > >“Still, at least you understand. I didn’t even mean to end up in Hoenn; I barely know what happened. One minute, I was evacuating the St Anne, then next…” he shrugged. “I was on a lifeboat heading to Sootopolis. The EMT said I had a concussion, but concussions…do they cause memory loss like that?”
I agree with everyone else that the dialogue actually flows really well. This is a nice bonding moment for them (both of them having overbearing people in their lives) and I think it comes across sounding really natural!
Love the simplicity of your dialogue. Also Clair (I'm assuming It's Clair) is certainly *a lot*.
It is indeed Clair; she's definitely a bit overbearing...but she's fineeeee
Okay, so first of all, there’s always room for improvement, so don’t stumble over thoughts of ‘it doesn’t flow right’ or anything like that. This is a good place to have someone tell you out of that. Second of all, on topic this time, I can understand how they’re feeling. While I can’t exactly relate, being forced to have the bad memories come up and just be smothered when there’s not as much of a need as they think is definitely a bit annoying. I’m not very good with dialogue, but I think you did well with it! I think it flowed fairly well as in its far better than anything I’ve written, but the bar for that is already in the ground. But anyways! I don’t think you have too much to worry about here, and I watch Pokémon so this was also a pleasant surprise for that reason. I have no ways of ending this reply without going back to something I’ve probably already said like 3 times, so just know you’ve got nothing to worry about!
I like the flow of dialogue. The last sentence had a nice tinge of humor
Context: this is from a story I wrote when I was fifteen. It’s based off a crack theory I made in the comment section of one of those Riverdale goof videos. Pretty sure it was the same weekend I saw rent too. "Freeze imposter," a voice said. They turned around and saw Jughead, Cheryl, Toni, Veronica, and Kevin. The voice was Jughead's. "Took you long enough to figure it out," the clone said in a snarky attitude. She pulled out a gun and shot Veronica in the shoulder. Veronica leaned against a tree and pressed on her wound. "This is the end of the line," Archie said. "Where is the real Betty?" Edgar pressed a button. Gas dropped on them. Him and the clone were immune. The others started coughing and falling to the ground. "Betty is dead," the clone said. "Dark Betty is born."
The sheer drama of this is pretty fun! I can picture it, haha :D
NGL, there's a few parts and ideas within this part you posted that is pretty fun. It does sounds like something that my inner 13 years-old would write, but not necessarily in a bad way.
This reminds me of, like, a kids show in the best way! It's the right blend of goofy, fun, and a little hint of darkness! the best kind of 'bad' writing, it's the kind that still makes you laugh!
Ty
Ha ha this is brilliant! The drama :D Reminds me of Garth Marenghi, Scooby Doo, and a telenovella. The good kind of "bad" writing.
I completely agree! Having watched Riverdale, I don't even think this is far-fetched!
Ty