#'comma right comma' etc etc

[weather-advisory]

What's your type in men?

Not really sure, honestly. For a long time I didn’t even think about that, just went with whoever was decently looking and nearby, and then I met Whizzer.

I like brown eyes. Soft hair, and skin, visible hair on like, arms and stuff is nice too. I’m not super into huge muscular guys but a bit of strength is never a bad thing. I don’t usually like when they’re taller than me but…i guess i’ve gotten used to it.

uh but yeah anyways- i don’t know really.

[twilightarcade]

OC-tober day 11 - hot cocoa palette!

[pipskippy]

in hxh when gon said "killua, you have it easy...since it means nothing to you" and when antigone said to her sister ismene "you will not die, not with me you won't. you had nothing to do with this" amnd in code ge ass when suzaku said to lelouch "nothing that happens now is any of your concern! your very existence is a mistake! you need to be erased from this earth!" collecting many such phrases

[accursedthing]

People on here love to post vines and say "tiktok can't do this 😏" and then none of the vines are even funny anymore

[birdofmay]

Frequently occurring scenario in 4 steps:

a nonverbal/nonspeaking autistic who struggles to express themself in "proper English" talks about an issue within the autistic community

-> almost no likes, no reblogs

I write about the same thing later; good wording and clear structure

-> many likes, lots of reblogs, people commenting "Oh, that's so important to know, thank you!"

Honestly....... It may be confusing at first, but once you know the pattern it's actually pretty easy to understand ungrammatical sentences on AAC.

You know that many autistics struggle with "I" and pronouns, right? Assume they'll simply drop it and refer to themselves in third person (their name).

Many AAC devices make punctuation difficult. There will be a period after a word because the device just . does . this . thing . here. And often no commas because that's complicated too.

Maybe "I am", "This is", "There is" or "It's" are difficult to find - assume it's "is", or sometimes "I am" is just "Am".

Future and past tense can be difficult too. The context helps here.

"Is not [name] . Say. Is . Say . Green." - "That's not what I said. I said it's green."

Plus, sometimes words are hard to find so it's easier to describe them.

"Red water" or "waterfall eyes" could be easier/faster to find and write than "blood" or "I am crying/sad", depending on the device or the language skills.

And if you really don't understand something because the preposition is unclear and you don't know if the thing in question is in the bathroom, in front of the bathroom, on the sink, under the sink, etc..... Just ask for clarification.

Once you know what words are important for the meaning of the sentence, it's not that hard. Don't ignore those of us who struggle with expressive language just because you're used to "proper" English.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya! I’m so happy your requests are open omg your writing is impeccable. So I’ve been with this concept in my head for so long since I read this prompt somewhere: what is with your weird fascination with me?

And just immediately my head started creating a story about reader having the nickname ‘Death’ because she has the highest body count known, skilled as no other and, also, imposible to know on a deeper level because she is like a wall, not letting anyone in. Until John Price needs her for a mission and is, as the prompt says, fascinated by her (and feeling other things he doesn’t want to admit), and is able to break her a little when he gets hurt in a mission after months of working together.

Glory to the Reaper

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: He was strange, you admitted to yourself. Always around even when you didn't want him to be. But perhaps the Brit just might surprise you.

WORDCOUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, gore, canon typical violence, avoidance tactics, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: I switched around the codename but it's still the same plot! Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your eyes slip over the file on the table, slowly caressing the parchment with easy and careful consideration of every word and comma—searching. Focusing. You hum under your breath and slide the page away to spy on the one behind it, the room quiet and the air cold. Outside the window the entire compound is asleep, only the light of the street lamps illuminating the land; inside this office, your feet barely shuffle over the tuft of the rug.

Clicking your tongue, you go to the next document in the pile. 

The still-warm body flinches and jerks below you, but you barely notice—he hadn’t put up much of a fight; wasn’t memorable. Sighing and itching over the mask along the bottom of your face, you snatch the last six papers from the desk and fold them four times, stuffing them into your vest pocket. 

Stalking with sure steps, you press into the radio on your gear as you step over the body and head to the door. Bloody bootprints follow behind you like a crimson shadow of surefire death.

“Actual, intel secured. Heading to Evac now.” Laswell was listening intently on the other end, your Op of the highest priority. 

You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, surely. The small click from the other end greets you as you shove open the office’s door and saunter down the hallway paved with glints of marble and pools of viscera like a Roman horror story. Eyes numbly slide past the scores of bodies; necks slit and stomachs burst from bullets fired through silencers. 

“Good job, Tomb,” Laswell utters, voice fast and serious as always. “What’s the clean-up status?”

Your lips flinch upward, “I suggest fire and a prayer, Actual. But no one knows I’m here. Main house is neutralized.” 

A small pause later and a huff of dull amusement. 

“Copy, Tomb. Your ride is waiting—best not to miss it, we need you back sooner than later.” The structure of your lungs rearranges in a small chuckle that echoes off the ceiling; molten silver from the moon slips over your darkened form. The patch upon your right shoulder is illuminated in steady intervals, the familiar image of a mausoleum and a guarding Sphinx. 

Alone, that patch is, with no other dark affiliations beyond that demonic cause. Many see it right before they meet their end, but the insignia was entirely left to ruin—no one sees it and lives besides other soldiers.

“Copy.” Your voice is easy and bland as the curtains from the single open window shake in the breeze. “Tell the boys I’m on my way.” You pass the window and slap a gloved hand to it, hearing the squeak of the frame as it hits back down before you turn the corner, slinking away to reform into a figure that evokes grim glances and sliced sentences. 

—

You stare into blue eyes with a sheen of disinterest coating your own, hands stuffed into your pockets and gear heavy on your chest. From your shoulder, the strap of your rifle sits as you speak, tilting your head, “Captain Jonathan Price of Task Force 141.” 

The man was tall, you admit, fit and formed to harsh military life. Undoublity he’d been in the service for decades. You’d seen his face before—the brunette beard and the strong jaw; small eyes with wrinkles, it’s how you had ID’d him. Plus the bucket hat. Laswell had told you he’d been inquiring about your file and you’d done your own digging off the books. 

John grunts a greeting before nodding.

“Pleasure. Tomb, was it?” On the tarmac, you glance around with stiff shoulders as the blades of the helicopter slow down behind you. Morning was just on the horizon, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the flight back.

Lips thin, before your vision slides back into place. John’s hands are crossed casually, but his blue holds glints of intrigue. You don’t like that. “...The one and only. Excuse me.” 

Walking past, you move like a crane, legs taking long, steady, strides. A hand comes up to scratch at your cheek through your face covering. Laswell was expecting you immediately. 

And those feet at your side were not supposed to be there. Your eyes shimmer lowly at the shadow of John as he follows.

“Should tell you that Laswell’s in building two, then.” Pace halting, the Captain continues off on his own as your sharp gaze burns into his neck. He spares a glance over his expansive shoulder before adjusting his course to the East. “Told me to bring you to her. We need to have a little chat, yeah?”

You stay silent, watching John travel to the larger building where Laswell was apparently now waiting for you. After a still minute where you listen to the birds waking up and the scent of dew is in your hidden nostrils, you sigh deeply and roll your shoulders before beginning to walk behind. 

“Hm,” Garbled grunts are only heard by you as you stay well enough back from the man. Cautious as you stare at his head. 

He holds the door open for you when you finally make it, and you stand blankly from the opening as John’s calloused hand clenches over the door. When you don’t enter, the Captain shakes his head and releases a deep chuckle. 

“Alright, then,” he mutters, shuffling through the door first. You follow the strain of his back until you look away and reach for the barrier, pushing it back from you. Making your way inside, you sigh and wonder what you’re getting into. 

“Laswell said you don’t like strangers,” eyes peek back at you as the buzzing from the overhead lights echoes in your ears. Your throat releases a hum; shoulders showing a picture of wound ease. “Can’t say she’s wrong, now can you?”

Watching another soldier pass the two of you, you tilt your head to make sure the stranger’s footsteps turn the corner before you answer John’s question with a raised brow to mirror his own. 

“Did she also tell you that I don’t plan on joining One-Four-One, Captain?” His bearded smirk catches you slightly off-guard, perplexed by not even the hint of shock in his gaze. He’d done his research.

John grunts as his eyelids narrow, amused. Your muscles tense.

“Affirmative.” The meeting room door is opened and this time he allows you to ease your paranoia by slinking in first. 

In the room sits an occupied Laswell, a long table, a projector, and black-out windows. Confused but used to last-minute changes, you simply enter silently and pick a chair with your back to the wall and a good view of the room. 

“Laswell,” you utter in greeting as the woman hums a hello, shifting through numerous files. In your breast pocket, you pull out the files you’d stolen and toss them onto the wood. John stands near the entrance with crossed arms, hips shifting every so often as his feet re-situate themselves. 

He blinks down at the papers and then back to you with a careful glance at Kate.

Your Station Chief chuckles when she looks at you, tilting her head before she snatches the prize. 

“Good work as always, Tomb.” 

“Why is he here?” You get to the point, one hand going up to brush over your hair as the other sits limply on the seat’s arm. Your gear sits heavy on you, but that brutal tic of curiosity blooms. 

John’s lips twitch before he answers, “An offer. Knew I wouldn’t be able to meet if Laswell wasn’t the mediator, eh? You’re bloody difficult to track down.”

“Offer?” Small talk never mattered to you, hadn’t since you’d signed up, and probably never would. You didn’t understand why people beat around the bush—just say what you need to say and get it over with. There was only so much time in a day. 

It seemed John Price carried part of that opinion as well. 

Blunt, you admit to your opinion of the man, and sure of his strengths.

“I need your skill set.” Kate looks back and forth between you two before she focuses on her work, multitasking. John continues, pointing a hand at you in demonstration from their hold on his chest. “Mission in three days. Turkey…” He watches you closely as if gauging your abilities. “You in or out?” 

You wait in a dim silence for a minute or two before you tilt your body to Laswell, eyes still stuck in stormy blue and pale wrinkles inlaid with dirt. 

“Kate?” 

“Totally off the books,” the woman says confidently, pen sliding over paper. “Two targets in Bursa. There’s a file in your office.” Raising a brow, John hides his cheeky smile behind a bored mask.

“Take your Lieutenant,” you glare, “Ghost, was it?”

Price shakes his head, hat flinching along with it. “On assignment. I’ll need an answer today, Tomb. Time’s ticking.”

Your jaw clenches in annoyance, “Capture or kill?” 

John shrugs nonchalantly, “Either. Is this a yes or a no?”

In this game of cat and mouse, you find yourself slipping. Your obligations as a soldier call to you to take the mission immediately, but for the simple fact that this Captain was unknown to you—and apparently, you weren’t unknown to him. 

John was checking all of the boxes of people you didn’t like to be around.

Your voice grits out, eyes burning in their glare, “...When?” 

His smirk makes you want to storm out.

“Tomorrow. 1300.” The air in the room is thick, tense like a thick layer of molasses was overtop everything. Under the table, your foot taps to the steady beat of your heart, your face tensed, and the layers of your facemask suddenly too formed to your neck and chin. 

Twitching your nose you dig your eyes into John, peeling down his expansive shoulders and chest to take in the layers of packs and other miscellaneous items. His thigh holders and the way they hug his legs. You end with one last dead-on look into his eyes, trying to pinpoint intentions and flay the lines of his brain. 

Most people glance away, but John returns the look with a casual tilt of his head and a raised brow. Not at all off-put. 

Your hand steadily clenches over the chair. 

All you give him is a firm nod—nothing more than a mere jerk of your chin. Kate sighs from where she’d been watching. 

“Perfect. John,” she points her pen at the Captain as you both stare off. John grunts before his eyes flicker to the side, leisurely roving back moments later. You blink and rub your forehead. “You have your answer. Now would the both of you get the fuck out of here?”

“Copy, Kate.” John sighs, and you huff; standing as you plan out the amount of time you have to clean up and sleep before you have to leave. With an easy brush of your shoulders, your form shimmies past the Captain with dull enthusiasm. 

You weren’t happy about this, but fine. You’ve been through worse. 

As you shuffle down the hallway to the armory, your ears quirk when the footsteps ring in the drums of your ears like a hiking beacon. Already you’d memorized the walking pattern. 

The thump-bump, bump-thump, of boots and the clink-clank of metal on metal. Shoving down a growl you hiss out into the air, not turning around. 

“Problem, Price?” A gruff humph bounces. 

“Negative, Tomb.” His shadow comes to conjoin with yours, large body standing side-by-side. Eyes flash to the side of your face, hidden from all by the cloth—like a bored cat, you continue to pave your way to silence; hoping whatever thought this man had in his head would disappear. “Just curious, see.” 

“Curious?” your brow raises, the make of your muscles showing your unease. “Can’t help you with that.” 

“No, probably not, eh?” John grunts and reiterates as strange emotion spikes in the lines of his face as he glances along you. “Tomorrow. 1300. Don’t be late.” With nothing more, he halts and pivots, peeling back to leave your side as his sudden absence leaves you devoid of heat. 

Confusion breeds in your chest, but your steady legs carry you on until your tension leaves. Under your breath you utter a question as you enter the armory, shuffling your rifle off of your chest. “What the hell was that about?”

—

Price and you stand inside the safehouse with fast hearts and narrowed eyes. Blood was dripping down your hands, the black gloves flooded with gore that sure as hell doesn’t belong to you. 

“Fuck,” John growls, guttural reverberations echoing off the walls. With stiff ribs, you go and lightly peel back the fabric of the nearest window to study the street below; looking for any suspicious figures. Frowning, you see nothing and let the curtain fall, eyes wafting to the Captain. 

“We either lost them or they have surveillance on the building. Best for you to not leave either way.” The mission had gone sideways—apparently one of the targets had an ID on John as a member of One-Four-One. One thing led to another and resulted in you sticking a knife into some man’s gut to get away when he’d been spotted. You blink at his agitated expression, the black beanie on his head ruffled as he runs a hand over it.

But you don’t say anything else. Peeling off your gloves, you listen to him as a rain of blood splatters the carpet. 

“This sets us back—since when does bloody fuckin’ Metin Baydar know who I am?” John’s hands are clenched, jaw so tight you wonder if his molars will crack under the pressure. A smirk twitches your lips at the thought. “Tomb,” you slowly tilt your eyes to him. The man sets his lips and crosses his arms, the brown casual wear in his chest bunching. “I’ll need you to be my eyes on this, yeah? If I leave this position I jeopardize your safety.”

“My safety?” you huff a laugh and push your gloves into your loose pants. “Captain, I don’t need you to worry about my safety.” 

He seems to pause for a moment, and with a shake of his head his blue eyes shutter closed. A deep, tight, breath is taken and those tiny lids are forced back as you lock gazes. You send a blank look his way and he nods firmly.

“Keep low.” Is all he grunts, feet standing apart and his stare intense. “Copy?” 

A swirl of amusement dances in your gut—you tap the earpiece in your shell with a stained streak of blood on your fingers. John stares, unreadable.

“I’ll leave when the streets cool. Just keep on the line so I can relay my intel, Price.” After a moment of silence, your eyes tighten with intrigue. “How do you wonder Baydar knew your face?” Standing by the window again, you peek out and keep John in view. His form shuffles, and he scoffs before walking beside you. Over your shoulder, he also views the buildings and businesses below. You still at the sensation of his breath on the back of your head, hand twitching over the curtain. It ruffles your hair for a moment before you snap out of it, eyes blinking rapidly. “Your Task Force isn’t exactly known,” you finish your sentence, voice strained. 

Clearing his throat, as if realizing how close he’d gotten with only the intention of gazing outside, the man’s form jerks back; taking a step or two away to give you distance. Your far-gone eyes blankly continue to look outside but your chest gains some tension to it. You don’t know why.

This Brit is strange. You frown, watching a cat traverse the concrete far below. Not that I really have much to go off of. 

“Haven’t a clue.” John sighs again, one hand going to itch at his chin. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing I do know is that we have to fix this. Now.” 

“You should tell Laswell,” you mutter, turning around and walking past him to stand around your packs—all of which hold your gear. Your knife was set into a small sheath inside your shirt, leather wrapped around your waist as you stopped near the coffee table. You pull the lip of your clothes up and grasp at it before peeling the metal out with an inquisitive eye. 

If there was any breakage to the tip, you’d be furious. 

John watches from across the room, catching glances at your bare skin riddled with scars and burns; unmarred flesh foreign. He feels his breath hitch before you drop your shirt back down and bring the blade into the light. 

Holding it parallel, you gaze along the edge and tilt your head, eyelids half-closed. 

“Kate?” Price answers you, clearing his throat. “No, it’s better not to create any more shite. She’ll be good off not knowing, yeah?” The brunette’s brow raises in question.

You hum and don’t reply. 

The rest of the mission was spent with the two of you conversing over the open line of your comms as you scoured the streets for any sign of the target, feet carrying you over the city as the chill of the late afternoon set in. Presently, you didn’t know how to feel about your situation. Working with others was a strain on your focus—on the walls you’ve built up; John had obviously noticed that you didn’t exactly play well with others. It was plainly stated in your file, after all. 

“—attitude, or lack thereof, is a detriment to the structure of any team/unit/platoon that she is placed into under all circumstances. Recommended reserved operations to limit drawbacks.” 

Having a pleasant attitude wasn’t your job. 

Stalking around the corner, your ears twitch to John’s voice. “Sitrep, Tomb. What’s it looking like out there?” 

It was strange, then, that the man over the line was so eager to speak to you. Your sigh hits on deaf ears, and you respond as you carefully walk past civilians making their way home.

“Quiet. No sign.” The silence re-settles and you gradually loosen again. Like a cat, your ears twitch to hear the muttering from the commuters; eyes sliding with watery film across faces. 

Baydar owns a restaurant as a front for funding terrorists. Anyone exiting from this direction could be part of it—

“You said you’d never join One-Four-One,” John’s voice makes you shove down a flinch, ripped out of your focus. In your pockets, your hands close into fists, and a deeply annoyed mask fits itself over your expression. “Why’s that, then?” 

“What is this?” Your voice goes cold, “interrogation time?”

“With a record like yours, you’d get pick of any Task Force or SOF in country.” The Captain seems to ignore your hiss and jab as his deep voice continues; accent low. You hear the drag of a cigar and the puff of smoke. Internally, you’re thankful for the casual yet attentive acknowledgment of your skills—how the man doesn’t seem in the slightest worried about you. “Why is it that you’re always alone out ‘ere? Couldn’t wrap my head ‘round it, truthfully.” A tobacco-slick chuckle, “Bloody hell, people would kill to get you on a mission like I did, eh? No doubt.” 

For a long time, you don’t answer, leaning against the wall across from your target’s restaurant doing recon. Frown tight and face stiff. John’s voice fizzles. 

“Ah, fuckin’ forget it Love, just a man’s curiosity speaking for ‘im. I’ll leave you to focus.” Before the line can click, you open your lips—as if the things have a mind of their own.

“People are unpredictable.” The Captain’s breath is gently puffing over the line. He listens and you know he hangs on every word; it was a strange feeling to know that. From under you, your feet shuffle. “They do things that don’t make sense. I don’t like dealing with it.”

A grunt. “Well, can get behind that…” John had a smirk on his lips, you can hear it. “You’d lose your head if you met MacTavish.” 

Your focus waning, you blink, getting sucked into this strange interaction with an even stranger man. 

“Yeah?” You wonder, head tilting to the side. “One of yours?”

“Hm,” he affirms and the chill of the night caresses your skin. John chuckles. “Sergeant. Bloody good shot, but can get into trouble faster than his fucking gun can fire.” 

Your mouth quirks. “Sounds horrible.”

“Makes my job a living hell,” John admits and you shock yourself by listening. “But no one better to keep by my six…You’d ease up to him.” 

“I’m not joining, Price,” Your voice mutters out like how a dragonfly snaps its translucent wings on still air. “This is it.”

In the safehouse, John hums under his breath, staring out the window at the blinking lights of the city as you watch the restaurant with far-off thoughts. A smile twitches his lips. For some reason there was something about you he wanted to figure out—something to unravel. You were like Ghost sometimes, but more… fascinating. Darker.

And you knew how to get the job done better than anyone.

John wanted you on his Task Force, your expertise, and the only way to get that was to take you apart like a puzzle of razor blades. Study you. Learn you as the edges cut up his flesh. The Captain had no idea what picture you’d make when everything was in its proper place, but he’d be willing to try with the very tenacity that had gotten him this far. 

But there was something else there, too. Some kind of tightness in his chest when you looked at him; he'd gotten it when he’d seen you on the tarmac back not so long ago like some schoolboy. Those blank eyes of yours…why did he want them to light up? 

Why did he want to see your laugh? 

John wasn’t immature enough to not know his own feelings or attractions, but this was an entire section of its own. Blinking, the man grunts to himself and smirks. “Well, better make it last, then.” 

You feel your eyelids carefully pull in surprise. 

“I…” Your voice starts but dies off, swallowing saliva down as your mouth clacks shut with a connection of teeth. Closing your eyes, you steady your heart, which had suddenly created a concerning skip in its beats. 

John places the cigar back to his lips and takes a long drag, leaning out of the window to watch the smoke disappear into the twinkling lights. Lips peeling his beard hairs back.

—

As it turned out, the mission in Turkey wasn’t the only time you’d have to deal with John Price, and it certainly wasn’t the last time you’d see his face in front of yours. One mission turned into two—two into three and so on. You hadn’t exactly wanted it, but you found you couldn’t turn him down either. 

At whichever base you were stationed at, all of a sudden he’d just show up; standing on the tarmac with his arms crossed and that casual set to his shoulders. The first time you’d seen him after Turkey, you had half convinced yourself he was a mirage. And then he’d smirk at you and tilt his head and you’d have no control over your words. 

It was pathetic…disgusting…it was…it was…

You shake yourself back to the present when a bullet whizzes past your head, a sharp call from across the utter warzone you’d found yourself in the middle of.

“Tomb, what in the hell’s wrong with you?!” John’s voice is harsh, and you lock onto it. “Get your gun up!” 

You sigh, unperturbed. Peaking past the large crate you use as cover, your eyes glare at the enemy soldiers across the dock, fixing your finger’s position over your M4A1. The small unit you’d been dragged into by John was mostly dead—only four of you remaining from the ten.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. 

Jerking back, a splintering of wood explodes in front of you as the next fast piece of metal nearly takes your nose off. With a grit of your teeth, you flick your safety off and swivel your shoulders. 

Popping from the top of the crate, your sharp eyes lock onto the first visible body before you press your finger to the trigger with practiced ease as the word shrieks all around you. Recoil is eaten into the padded kevlar of the junction of your shoulder and arm. 

When you dart back, the body has yet to hit the ground. 

“There she is!” John calls, and you look forward with a steady stare as the brunette laughs from behind his own crate a few feet away. “Keep your head in the game, Tomb.”

You frown, normal facemask back over your chin hiding it. While you loathe to admit it, John had grown on you in these…what was it…? Months? Yes, that seemed about right.

Months of joint missions. You could hardly believe that he’d dragged you out like this.

“Tell the others to flank,” Your voice whisps over the line like smoke, “Left side—there’s a gap in the crates.”

John looks you in the eyes and blinks, eyelids twitching. With his beard covered in gunpowder, the man looks across the open space between the gunbattle to the left. Sure enough, right before he’s forced to snap back down to cover, the Captain spies a very well-hidden gap in the defenses.

He smiles viciously like a dog, and barks a laugh to you, nodding, “Good eye! Boys,” the two don’t pause their assault but call their questioning voices over the line. You don’t listen, occupied with giving off bursts of gunfire and trying to avoid the eyes of your fellow dead soldiers. Your lungs are compressed inside of your ribcage like prisoners. “Flank left. We’ll cover you!” 

“Sir!” Steadying your breath, you avoid John’s confused glances and scoff to yourself, resituating your clammy hands. 

When all’s said and done the four of you are the only ones left. Letting your gun sit on your chest you use the body as an armrest, allowing it to hang off the side from the trigger-guard. Your fingers twitch, and as John speaks to the two men, you stare silently at the gushing bodies of your fellows like phantoms spring from their chests.

John’s voice slows when he sees you apart from them, glancing at the soldiers at your feet before ordering the remaining men to get to the evac point. They try to argue everyone should be going together, and on all accounts, they’re completely right, but John won’t hear it. 

“Go—that’s an order.” Reluctantly, the two glance at each other and speed off. 

You jolt at a call of your name, head turning to face stormy blue as they gaze at you with concern. Stopping a few feet away, John stands still and folds his arms, face going rigid with concern as he glances you over for wounds.

His head slightly leans in, chin down.

“...You alright?” Hand flinching, you clear your throat. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, fixing the position of your feet and forcing away the images of dead bodies and blank eyes. 

You’d seen scores of men dead before—friend and foe—but you had thought you’d never have to see more of your own fall. It had been a long time since you’d felt the distant lull of numb horror in the back of your brain; like some ocean wave that drowns you under every time it comes back. It always comes back. 

John narrows his eyes and frowns deeply, glancing around and hiding the slight way his right arm sags. 

“Tomb?” He says it so lowly that you really have to focus, ears straining. That gravel was back, and you found yourself latching onto it. “Eh, you just focus on me, yeah? I’m right ‘ere.” 

“I know,” you snap, eyes shuttering away only to find more vacant stares. You flinch back and look up into the sky; a sudden burn in your brain that you need to quell.

The man grows even more concerned with you, taking a step forward and clenching his jaw. He studies you, your shaking tension and the clench and loosening of your fists—attention always on you but roving to the dead men all around. Something clicks with a violent inhale.

John moves to you without a word and grasps you around the shoulders quickly. You gasp at that, immediate reaction to shove away, but only gape at the warmth that he brings you instead—the steady presence and chest to lean on. As the Brit drags you, you focus instead on calming your breathing. 

The Captain lightly shimmies down your facemask and you suck down tight air as you go limp into his side. 

“C’mon, Tomb. It’s alright. I’m here. I’m right here.” He’s muttering to you, disguising his pained grunts in favor of taking care of you. 

That strange affection for you had grown in your time together…not that he’d said anything. It was more proper of him to watch out from a distance, not sure of your own feelings or the probability of you gazing back at him with the same amount of concealed longing. Many a night he’d sat on his bed and wondered. Wondered how an animal so extraordinary and remarkable took the form of a woman with a black sphinx patch and sharp eyes. 

John had heard you laugh once through your expeditions together—sniping in Greenland. Once had been enough; if he never heard it again, he could still recall the pitch and frequency to the yawning of his soul. He didn’t need to hear it again. 

It was locked into the fabric that made up your skin and speech, and every time he stared at you he could find it in your eyes. 

The Captain puts you down near a crate around the corner, letting you lean into it as he turns and captures your neck from either side. You shake under him, blurry vision stuck to his dog tags as they wink against his chest. 

“Tomb,” John says again, and with a lick of your chapped lips, you carefully turn your head up. Blue eyes crease worriedly. The thumbs on the sides of your neck caress up and down your rapid pulse steadily; calluses creating stimuli. A small smile meets you. “There we are, atta girl. Focus.”

Tears dribble down your cheeks, and you flatten your lips, whispering out brokenly, “I said I don’t like teams.”

John’s heart breaks. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” his hand captures the back of your head and you’re brought into a deep and firm embrace—gear pinching and prodding but neither of you care. 

When was the last time you’d been held like this? The feeling makes your mouth quiver, your face stuck into the junction of the Brit’s neck and shoulder.

“John…” You whimper out and his arms around you only tighten—his tense nose shoved into your scalp as his eyes closed tightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, heart racing, “I’m so, so, sorry.” 

You don’t know long he holds you there, the air filled with blood and death but just so soundly resting atop his vest and limp to his gentle swaying. The tears dry at some point, they always have to. Sniffling, your burning face takes in the scent of beard oil and gunpowder and you find yourself calmed by it.

Calmed by John. 

The man holding you waits a moment more before he slightly leans back, staring down at you intently; nervously. You lick at the tears drying into the line of your mouth to taste the saltiness on your tongue as fingers grasp at your chin. 

Angled up, your face is on full display. 

John sighs and the drowned keratin of your lashes flutters, embarrassment flooding you. His eyes crease before his hands come up to take away your sorrows with a soft brush of his digits. The man clears his throat tinily, voice deep with emotion.

“Better?” Your eyes dip away from his, knowing you’d been staring. 

“I…” Glancing over his right shoulder absentmindedly, you only get a word off before you see a fountain of red. Blinking away the last of your tears, John’s finger on your cheek stops moving as you freeze—stiff to the touch. 

His panic spikes again. 

“What’s going on—”

“When did you get hit?” Your voice is hard and laced with something you can’t name. Shaving back from John you frantically grab at his arm. In an instant, the Captain is whirled around and shoved back into the crate; he grunts loudly, eyes snapping wide.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He grumbles, but flinches when you peel at the bloodied layers of his compression shirt. John smirks, letting your touch rove him as your nose scrunches. He represses a shiver at the bite of your nails, whispering out, “If you wanted to throw me ‘round, Love…all you had to do was ask.” 

You blink rapidly and turn your fast gaze to his eyes as you stutter, fingers covered in blood and holding apart the fabric of his outfit to show a bullet graze to his pale upper bicep. John’s cheeky smirk grows and against all the pain and the dark corners, you feel a bubbling in your gut. 

A small chuckle snakes out, like twinkling bells. 

“Shut up,” your smile leaves him breathless, smirk falling to a small open-mouthed screen of obvious admiration. A hum marks the back of his throat, eyebrows loosely curving upon his forehead. 

You look over and find him like this—his gaze trapping you like his arms had. Like music, it takes you into its melody. Staring, your smile, gradually too, leaks out. 

“What are you doing?” Your question is breathy. "What is your fascination with me?" John’s eyes stick with you, the shining, shimmering, blue. There are tempests held there and if this man was anything, he was a storm of intentions and promises. 

“Looking,” John answers lowly. "Just looking." 

You take down a breath, “At what, John?”

He chuckles at you, face close and pleasant, “Y’know, I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, Love.” 

Blindly you wonder how the world can still turn while you both stand here—was it, even? How can life go on when such things are uttered to light? When they’re buried deep into your marrow like the dirt on top of a grave? 

How can the Reaper knock at your doorways when love exists in such quantity…in the fractures of his eyes? Only when his lips brush yours do you understand. 

It’s all here, and then it’s gone. Nothing can truly be as it was in the past, and therein lies the small, glorious, deaths. Both a blessing and a curse.

Your lips press deeply into one another and the blood of old wounds dries. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Revising vs. Editing

Revising and editing are usually grouped together.

When you’re making changes to a rough draft, you typically revise and edit it.

However, notice that you revise and edit it.

The two words are different tasks and focus on different aspects of writing:

Revising

Focuses on how effectively writing responds to a prompt and how clearly the supporting ideas develop a main idea

Considers writing at the content level

Usually done during the early stages of drafting — more revisions lead to more drafts

Considers the written work as a whole

Clarifies thoughts and ideas

Considers aspects of writing such as tone and language

Sometimes involves adding new ideas, elaborating on current ideas, re-arranging the organization of ideas, or condensing ideas

Ensures that writing is thorough and ideas are developed and well supported

Considers what ideas belong or do not belong to ensure focused writing

Editing

Considers mechanical and grammatical aspects of writing

Usually done during final read throughs, right before submission

Considers punctuation (i.e., commas, periods, question marks, semicolons, etc.)

Looks at sentence structures

Checks for correct spelling

Reads at the sentence-level — does not consider what the sentence says, but how it is written

Involves correction of typos and other mistakes

Focuses on surface-level changes

Does not consider context, content, or the big picture

[kiwi-cult]

PARSELSCRIPT!!

Hi. This is mostly for the people from Discord but tadah! I'm finally making that Tumblr post I've been talking about for months.

(Warning this will probably be very chaotic)

To anyone new who sees this: me and some friends made an alphabet for Parseltongue from Harry Potter, aka Parselscript. I'll take you on a little journey to explain my process and give you some tips, should you want to start writing it.

Disclaimer: I wanted to make this script usable for the writer I made it for so it's less of an actual language and more just some characters to represent the Latin (or ‘English’) letters. Like a cipher. It is not realistic. If I made this realistic I'd have to add all sorts of things to indicate body language and smell etc and also have to figure out what sounds Parseltongue actually has etcetera etcetera. No.

Alright.

It all started when we started talking about Parselscript in a Discord server and I asked my friend Ava to visualise the script because she seemed to have a clear vision of it, so I could use it to go from there.

That's how we got this.

I think we all wanted to go with something flowery for some reason, so we did.

After this I just messed around with brushes and shapes in Procreate for a while, tweaking things and trying to make it more writeable. I ended up with something like this (still a rough draft).

It may look a bit like random squiggles at first, and it kinda was at this point. As you can see there's also a lot of added dots and lines, which can be a bit hard to remember and I see you wondering what it looks like without them.

Well here it is.

I showed this to the people I brainstormed with in Discord and we decided to go with the more complicated version because it looks better lol.

This is one of the final versions.

It says: "Hello, my name is Kiwi Cult. I made this script after reading a fanfic called Terrible, But Great written by Isalise the loml on Archive Of Our Own."

Now, to talk about some of the (boring) logistics.

It is read from left to right, top to bottom.

Every separate combination of squiggles you see above is a separate word. Every word is made up of a starting character, one or more letter characters and an ending character.

The very first character you see in the top left corner, with the three petal looking thingies, is a silent starting character that indicates the start of a sentence. Not word: sentence. The end of the character, that little circle thingy, is a comma. So, the first combination says: "Hello,".

Then, the second combination starts with a kind of hook going down and right. This is also a silent character and more meant as an interpunction, that's why you don't pronounce it. It's kind of just a way to start the word when there isn't anything special about it (aka it's not the start of a sentence, a name, an exclamation or a question. But every character is special in its own right🥲). The same kind of hook can be found at the bottom of the combination, except going up. It has the same use, basically just a way to end the word when there isn't anything special about it. Now, you might ask: why does it go right and not left?

We talked about this a while, because I wanted the direction to have some kind of meaning. We wondered about gender, tone, blah blah all kinds of complicated things but in the end I just wanted this script to be writable so I chose to have proficient writers in Parseltongue make their hooks go left and beginners have their hooks go right.

Now, you might notice that I end my words with a hook going right. That is because I don't see myself as a pro in writing in Parselscript okay? It's hard!😭💀

Now, other than the character indicating the start of a sentence, the circle, and the simple hook, there are a few other characters to start or end a combination (don't worry I'll show them all to you at the end, you won't have to use your imagination for long).

We have a character to indicate a name. Now, the rule is: name indicator over start of sentence indicator. So, if you start a sentence with a name, you'll use the symbol to indicate a name, NOT BOTH. (That's not even possible but I don't even want to see you try and butcher my child).

There is a character to indicate a sentence that would usually be followed by an exclamation mark (!), but at the start of the sentence. Then you’d end the exclamated sentence with a period.

The same goes for a question mark (?): put it at the start of a question, not the end. Again, it wouldn't even be possible to use it at the end of a combination but I DON'T EVEN WANNA SEE YOU TRY.

Finally we have a period (.), which looks a bit like a flower with four petals. You do use this one at the end of a word, and it is always followed by a start of sentence indicator or a name indicator. I know people are rejecting capitals these days in their typing but I don't wanna see it. If you start a word after a period with a hook I will find you.

If a sentence starts with a name that is also a question or exclamation you’d use the question/exclamation mark above the name indicator, otherwise it would take away a vital part of the sentence while a name can still be read even if it doesn’t have its indicator.

So, to put it all next to each other, the symbols we have are: -start of sentence indicator -name indicator -exclamation mark (!) -question mark (?) -period (.) -hook (direction depends on efficiency) -comma (,) (direction depends on efficiency)

I didn't make adjusted characters to indicate a capital letter like we do in the Latin alphabet, meaning that the only things you can kind of 'capitalise' are the start of a sentence and the start of a name.

It is also slightly phonetic. Emphasis on slightly. I made separate characters for almost all letters in the Latin alphabet, so you can just write your word normally with Parselscript characters. The only difference is that I made only one character for the 'f/v' sounds and that there is no 'c' character. If a word has a 'c' in it, you'll have to use the character for a 'k' or an 's'. Also a ‘q’ can be made with ‘k’ and ‘w’ etc.

A few examples: -character=karakter -parselscript=parselskript -crazy=krazy -science=siense

-quiz=kwuiz

I know it looks a bit confusing, but I trust you guys' ability to read context clues and figure out what someone means when you try to decipher Parselscript.

Now, for a word like 'phonetic' or 'decipher' I don't really care whether you use the separate characters for 'p' and 'h' or just the one for the 'f/v' sound. You do you.

I also don’t use any double letters because they basically sound the same and it looks ugly but if you want to use double symbols feel free.

I also made some numbers that do not look like they fit with the rest of the script but I promise you that's just because you're not used to it yet. Our own numbers don't belong with our alphabet either because we nicked them from the Arabs (I think, don't quote me on this) but we don’t notice that either.

Tadah. (Yes I know it’s out of order I told you this was gonna be chaotic af)

Other than that, feel free to ask me questions if I've forgotten anything or if you're wondering about anything. I can't guarantee that I have a good answer because I might not even have thought about it myself, but I can always try to come up with something. I am one person, I'm afraid I haven't been able to take everything about a script into consideration.

Now, without further ado; here is the key.

No, your eyes didn't deceive you: there are two versions. The first has a bit more loose squiggles than the second one. I realised that when I was writing physically, the second version was much nicer to write, so it is kind of like Simplified Parselscript. I haven't decided yet if I'm gonna put some lore behind it or not yet. But I included the og one if you're a tryhard and wanna take it on.

Now, if you're gonna start writing it yourself, here is the stroke order.

I tried to make it as clear as possible but please ask me if you're confused on anything.

Red is the starting point of the whole symbol, the arrows indicate the direction to go in, x marks the start of the small extra's.

Now, I'd also recommend writing on some type of paper with vertical lines like this if you're gonna do it physically.

You can just turn a paper with normal, horizontal lines a quarter to get vertical lines. Also, do NOT write in between the lines. They are meant to help you keep the start and ending on the same line so you don't start going into crazy directions while writing. So, start your sentence symbol or hook or whatever in the middle of the line and try to keep coming back to that vertical line after every letter. As you gain more proficiency you'll probably go straight into the next letter without going back to the line all the time but I think this is a good starting point.

I also recommend writing with a fountain pen or something else that flows well because it’s easier to write that way.

Here is another rough draft I made on physical paper to get a feel for it. As you can see this draft had a lot more different starting characters and ending characters so just ignore that. Hope this motivates you a bit or smth.

Lmk if you want me to post a video of me writing in this Parselscript.

Also please let me know if you know of someone else who's also made a Parselscript because I tried to look for it on Tumblr and Twitter etc but I couldn't find anything.

I also feel like there’s a big mistake I made that I realised the last time I worked on this script but I’ve forgotten it now so if you find out please comment or dm or anything💀

Also feel free to use in your own fic, tho a little tiny shoutout in the a/n would be nice :) I’m @/kiwi_cult on Ao3, @/slvtr_ on Wattpad, @/kiwi cult on ff.net, @/slvtr.1 on TikTok and @/.slvtr on Discord.

Credits:

@natis-balamnimaja @asterialvia and @/zee (who unfortunately left the server and I don't know the Tumblr @ of) for brainstorming with me and @isalisewrites for inspiring us and making the server we discussed this in.

Okay bye :) tell me if I forgot anything.

🥝

[deception-united]

Hello! Hope this ask finds you well 😄

Do you have a guide on how to incorporate dialogue into a story? I'm quite confused in this aspect, like, do I end every dialogue in a comma? (excluding questions and exclamations)

Also just writing things like, "he said, she cried, they snickered, John retorted, Jane whined" becomes tiring after a little while.

I've seen some authors just write dialogue without specifying who said it and the reader relies on context clues to decipher it.

All the rules on writing dialogue is perplexing and any guidance you have on this is much appreciated 🙏

Thank you!

Hi, thanks for asking and so sorry for the late reply! Seamlessly incorporating dialogue into your story is an essential aspect of storytelling that can really bring your characters to life.

Let's start with punctuation. Generally, you would use a comma to separate the dialogue tag from the spoken words; however, this isn't a strict rule. You can also use periods or other punctuation marks depending on the structure of your sentence. For example:

"Hello," he said. "Hello." He smiled. "But," he insisted, "I never actually saw her." "But—" He paused. "Never mind."

Regarding your concern about repetitive dialogue tags, you're absolutely right. Using "he said," "she cried," etc., repeatedly can become tiresome. It's good to mix it up and use a variety of dialogue tags, or even omit them altogether when it's clear who is speaking.

Using context clues to identify the speaker is a great technique. It adds a layer of engagement for the reader and can make the dialogue feel more natural. Here's an example:

"I can't believe you did that." The anger in her voice was palpable.

In this case, we don't need a dialogue tag because the context clues ("the anger in her voice") indicate who is speaking.

Here are a few more tips to help you navigate writing dialogue:

Use action beats: Instead of using dialogue tags, you can describe the actions of the characters to indicate who is speaking. For example:

John slammed his fist on the table. "I won't stand for this!"

Sarah wiped away a tear. "Please don't leave me."

Vary your dialogue tags: Instead of always using "said," try using different verbs that convey how the character is speaking, such as whispered, shouted, muttered, etc.

Omit dialogue tags when possible: If it's clear who is speaking based on the context—for instance, when two characters are talking back and forth—you can omit dialogue tags altogether.

Show, don't tell: Use dialogue to reveal character traits, emotions, and relationships between characters.

Read dialogue aloud: This can help you identify any awkward phrasing or unnatural-sounding dialogue.

Remember: writing dialogue, like any skill, will undoubtedly improve with practice and research. Don't be afraid to experiment and find what works best for your story. Happy writing!

Previous | Next

[moonshynecybin]

if you could typecast the grid as stereotypical americans who would be who? (idk if i'm making any sense) but for example bezz gives very cali stoner energy.

god this one is hard because they are all so stunningly european. truly. american men do not act like that. the jean tightness alone. ummm. okay let’s start with the easy ones

pecco: pecco is from a suburb like three hours from chicago and he tells everyone he’s from chicago. framed bulls jerseys on the wall etc

pedro acosta: someone said baseball player from north carolina and yeah. i can imagine bumping into this guy at cookout. like he’s giving charlotte/macklenberg county. serving gastonia. he went to nc state with my friend thomas and he has strong basketball opinions.

bez: califoniaaaaa you’re right. of the surfer or skater variety… either way he’s in baggy as fuck clothes skulking around outside kicking it whenever he can. eating a sandwich

vale: new jersey. my trashy italian american clown princess

mav: screams boston 2 me

aleix: too european im being real. insane amounts of european. kind of breaking my brain sooo im not assigning him one

enea: gay ass san fran guy with his lil dog. walkin around the castro the dog gets hot. he picks up the dog. gay pride flag in the background. i cheer. he’s drinking espresso that costs fourteen american dollars. that’s like 12.50 euro google is telling me

casey stoner: this bitch is from vermont

luca: right across the river from vale in new york citayyyy… i think he would thrive in an environment where he doesn’t look insane wearing something very elegant and a lil dressier. like you can’t really do that in idk. most of the south or midwest or southwest or— anyways we’re sending him to nyc

jorge martin: i COULD see him hanging out in florida but like slutty florida not trashy florida. just on a beach in miami in the tiniest shorts imaginable with aleix comma also there europeanly. idk

joan mir: LOUSIANA. need to take his pissy ass to the bayou.

jack miller: attended the university of alabama and was perhaps too invested in SEC football culture. i would end this by saying roll tide for comedy but that would make me gag here in real life. anyways

marc and alex. hmmmmmmm. i could see outside austin texas as that seems 2 be hallowed ground for marc lol. alternatively. kentucky. horse boys. this is another hard one i’m open to suggestions here cuz nothin is jumping out at me tbh

franky: seems into mindfulness in a way that is giving seattle. runs a bookstore with REALLY good staff picks. big ass armchairs HUGE used book section that smells good. sitting there petting the store cat in a flannel with the sleeves rolled up. sipping his coffee. works nights at the local bar sometimes. who said that.

brad binder: denver.

[janeaustenbrandysmuggler]

That comma

Or, connections my brain makes when I don't sleep well for over a week because of a cold - read at your own risk :)

"I went to one meeting ten years ago. They were wittering on about the Christmas lights and passed a resolution condemning the improper use of apostrophes on signs in windows." (Mr. Arnold, s2e5)

This line always makes me laugh because I get super twitchy about certain grammar and punctuation errors. But errors happen, and you can usually tell what someone meant vs. what they wrote, so you correct it in your mind based on what you presume they meant and move on because there are bigger things to worry about in the world. Right?

Maybe we shouldn't always be so quick to presume and move on, though. Sometimes, things are supposed to be written a certain way for a reason. That reason is important, so we're taught the right way to write that thing. We all learn how to do it, and it's generally not something we screw up because there are consequences for doing it wrong. Like an address, for example. Addresses tell something or someone where to go. Maybe to a pub called The Resurrectionist - that one's at 66 Goat Gate in Edinburgh, right? It said so on the record that Maggie gave Aziraphale:

The Resurrectionist

66, Goat Gate

Edinburgh

Except - there's this annoying little comma in there that I've been ignoring for months. Right after the 66. Exactly where it shouldn't be - not if you're writing a street address. So I'm going to stop ignoring it and ask a question.

Is this actually a street address? I'm not questioning that the pub is in Edinburgh - that's well-established. It's that middle line - 66, Goat Gate - that I'm not sure of anymore. I'm having trouble making excuses for that comma.

If it isn't a street address, then what is it? I'm not sure, and I don't know if we have all the information to figure it out. My sleep-deprived brain has come up with a couple of crazy questions and ideas though. Starting with - what if the Clue is actually multiple Clues? What if we've just been thinking about the pub, but that second line contains a separate clue or clues about Edinburgh, so that Aziraphale Knows Where [He's] Going? (see what I did there?)

These ideas do require an assumption that we shouldn't just take season 2 at face value, but they aren't tied to any specific theories like time loops, dreams, etc.

This post from onceuponathyme about references to the number 66 in the show and promo posters, and gallup24's comment that the press pass in Newspaperman!Aziraphale's hat also has the number 66 on it got me thinking about whether the "address" and the hat are meant to be connected. The references to the number 66 could be an easter egg - the Book of Revelations is the 66th book of the Bible. But is it an in-show clue, too? Is the 66 on Everyday single telling Aziraphale to wear it on his hat, maybe as a signal to someone? ("The clarinet, it makes beautiful music.")

Moving on to Goat Gate. It could still be the name of a road. I have two other ideas though:

We've already seen goats turned into crows. Gate is an old term that can mean road or street. Goat Gate = Crow Road? (I don't know that I love this, but I'll put it out there anyway.)

There's also the symbolism of goats tied to Hell, Satan, and Crowley in particular - drconstellation has a lovely meta about sheep vs goats, so I'm not going to go any farther into that. But I do want to stay on Crowley, and the second place we see Aziraphale - the cemetery.

Not quite this, but I can find a gif for just about every other part of the scene except for the line I'm looking for. The one where after a bunch of hilarious noises, he says, "Do I sound like a goat?"

And then, a short while later...

The ground opens up (a gate to Hell?), and Crowley disappears, pulled down to Hell. And then we get one continuous shot of Aziraphale turning around in that spot that starts in 1827 and ends in present day.

We still don't know exactly why Aziraphale went to the cemetery. Maybe "Goat Gate" is the clue that sent him there?

One final thing I noticed in that episode that feels a little off to me now - Crowley's reaction when Aziraphale calls and asks him if he remembers Mr. Dalrymple. "Oh yeah, not a doctor, a mister! Whatever happened to him?" It's surprisingly normal and relaxed, considering what happened at the end of the night, isn't it?

[doxypsychlean]

Aegon II Targaryen x reader who is manipulative and uses the motherly love he never got to get her own way. They both love each other but in a toxic yandere kinda way 😂

Wrapped around your finger

Yandere!Aegon ii Targaryen x Yandere!Reader

Headcanons|

Warnings: none? pls tell me if I've missed sth

Thou shan't repost/copy/ translate any of my work or I'll sneak into your home late at night and bite your nose off!

English isn't my first language. I don't proofread. I slap commas wherever I feel they're needed.

A/N: Aegon and Halaena aren't together in this one. It's also pretty sweet, despite their ?yandere? tendencies.

Oh, he really thinks he's that good.

Then you come around.

You, a lady of noble descent and a member of one of the greater houses in Westeros, are also one of his greatest rivals when it comes to having the worst reputation in all the realms.

At first, it's just harmless fun. Nothing too serious.

But then you become a witness to the way his family treats him.

You work your way into his heart and head. I mean, who in their right mind would miss out on the opportunity of being Queen of Westeros one day, amirite?

He bites the bait pretty quickly.

Aegon is obsessed with the way you shower him with affection and love.

He'd be spending most of his time in your arms, begging for you to tell him how much you love, how unfair his mother is to him.

Alicent hates you at first.

The hatred turns to admiration with time, seeing as you gain complete control over her son and mold him to your liking.

But there's more to what she's feeling towards you- fear. With the way things are going, all it would take is for you to snap your fingers and Aegon would kill them all. For you.

You never do, thank the Gods, and for that you have the Queen's utmost respect and gratitude.

She never lays a hand on him again. She doesn't have to, but she's also too scared to do it.

He still drinks, maybe not as much as he did before, but he no longer chases after the servant girls. As if you'd even allow it to happen.

The first time you realize what you feel for him might be actual love, is when you order for some noble lady to be "displaced" from the Red Keep. You didn't like the way she stared at him. Cue, girly losing her eyes for that one.

He was yours and the only way to get him away would be to pull him out of your cold fingers. And you had no intention of dying any time soon.

Aegon rarely goes out of the Red Keep anymore and when he does, you're always with him. The Prince has glued himself to you, whether you like it or not.

On the rare occasions of you two not being present in the castle, golden scales could be seen shimmering high above King's Landing. Sunfyre loves you, the golden beast could feel the strong bond between his rider and you.

Expect lots of expensive gifts- lavish dresses, the rarest perfumes from Essos, jewelry, books, horses, ginormous bouquets of your favorite flowers, commissioned portraits of you two, gold, sweets, etc.

You want it? You'll have it. Simple as that.

He'd never thought of himself as a jealous man, but the second he sees his brother talking to you and you laughing... All Seven Hells break loose.

Aegon turns into a sniveling, whining mess, hands wrapping around you as if his life depends on it.

All the while shooting daggers at Aemond behind your back, daring him to come closer so he could claw his remaining eye out.

Few soft words from you and he's melting.

You love him. He loves you. Everything is more than fine. He completely forgets about Aemond, who's slowly backing away from you two.

You get married not long after. Neither one of your families is brave enough to say a word against the union, seeing as ...

You absolutely never tried to hide it from the public.

You're all over eachother for the most of it.

Both men and women are dropping like flies around you, if they just as much as stared at either of you for a second too long.

Both yours and his family are equally scared and would rather keep away, than try and separate you.

Word spreads around quickly. You're with child.

Aegon's over the moon. You're his. He's yours. Completely.

The prove pops out not long after. Then another. And another.

He would 100% elbow the midwife in the face if she tries to keep him away from you while you're giving birth.

"My Prince, you cannot..."

"Out of my way, you old hag, my wife is in there!"

He was there while you were making them, he has every right to be there while you squeeze them out.

Definitely cries his ass off when he holds your firstborn.

His tunic is discarded quickly as he holds the small bundle close to his bare chest.

Then he wraps one hand around you, almost crushing your neck with how strong he's squeezing you.

Same thing goes down every single time- he storms in, kid comes out, he's bawling his eyes out at the sight.

You pick the dragon eggs for each and every one of them together.

Aegon's just as obsessed with your children, as he is with you.

Gods forbid someone makes one of his little bundles of joy cry...Heads will be flying in all directions, no matter who they belong to.

Not even the Stranger would be able to pull you apart.

Even in death, you'd find a way to be back together.

[leahsfiction]

mustard red and the divine comma arbitrage are each other's right hand arm man/confidante/companion/silly rabbit etc

[em-dash-press]

Grammar, Spelling, and Punctuation: Writing 101

I adored grammar lessons in grade school, but I realized they were specific to the school I was in when I switched school systems.

Not everyone gets to grow up with grammar quizzes and sentence diagram tests. Don’t feel bad if you can’t tell an em dash from a hyphen! Browse this guide and you’ll refresh yourself on everything you need to know.

Note: this is for American English and assumes you already speak it as a first or second language. It won’t explain verbs, nouns, etc. Also, some parts will vary by in-house style guides with various publishers. However, you can use these refreshers to problem-solve your WIP and feel more confident about how you wield your words.

1. Punctuation Around Dialogue

American English grammar rules almost always firmly state that punctuation around dialogue goes inside quotation marks.

Examples:

Wrong: “I don’t want to go to the park”, she said.

Right: “I don’t want to go to the park,” she said.

This rule won’t apply if you’re asking about something someone said. Otherwise, punctuation always goes inside the quotation marks to end what’s being said.

Examples:

Wrong: Did the teacher say, “Do your homework?”

Right: Did the teacher say, “Do your homework”?

Also, dialogue tags always have a comma separating what’s being said from the tag itself. That’s because the tag is an integral part of the dialogue since it identifies who’s saying the spoken words.

Examples:

Wrong: “I love chocolate ice cream.” he said.

Right: “I love chocolate ice cream,” he said.

2. Adjectives vs. Adverbs

Adjectives and adverbs often get confused. They both start with “ad” and describe other words. So what do they mean?

Adjectives are descriptors that apply to nouns.

Adverbs are descriptors that often end in -ly and apply to verbs, adjectives, and other adverbs. (Basically anything but nouns.)

Examples:

Adjective: He is a hairy cat. [“Hairy” describes the noun “cat.”]

Adverb: The hairy cat ran quickly across my yard. [“Quickly” describes the verb “ran.”]

Adverb: He really likes to roam. [“Really” describes the verb “likes.”]

Adverb: Even though we have a very small neighborhood. [“Very” describes the adjective “small.]

Adjectives are also considered stronger descriptors in writing because they’re more specific. Using adverbs occasionally is often fine, but publishers and editors that sift through submissions with a fine-tooth comb don’t like repeated adverb usage when a more direct description could fit the sentence.

Examples:

Adverb: I really enjoy going to the movies.

Stronger verb: I love going to the movies.

3. There, They’re, and Their

People often get these confused because the English language is very confusing. To put it bluntly:

There: a location

They’re: a contraction for “they are”

Their: the possessive pronoun form of “they”

Example:

They’re driving their car to that store over there.

4. Run-On Sentences and Fragments

Run-on sentences go on for too long. Fragments are incomplete sentences.

You’ll know both when you spot them because it isn’t how people normally talk. People pause to collect their thoughts, take a breath, and describe their thoughts in complete sentences (even with slang, the sentences still make sense).

Examples:

Run-On Sentence: She went to work and had a meeting at 11:00 before going to lunch at the restaurant across the street which had her favorite food on the dessert menu so she enjoyed it before going back to work and clocking out at 5:00. [This sentence addresses six different actions in too many phrases for a running list of commas with a conjunction at the end.]

Fragment: Every single animal. [Every animal what? There’s no context, so the sentence is incomplete. Sometimes writers use fragments as creative descriptors if they break grammar rules effectively, but you have to know how to avoid fragments to use them well.]

5. Em Dashes

Ah, the em dash. I’m so biased when it comes to this punctuation mark.

Em dashes indicate a purposeful pause, followed by essential information. They can also distinguish phrases or lists in the middle of a sentence.

Most importantly, they’re the length of an m.

You’ll know you’re using them correctly if you can replace your em dash with a pair of commas, a colon, or a semicolon.

Examples:

I love using em dashes—especially for sentences like this—so I may use them a little too often. [You could replace the em dashes with commas and it would still be correct.]

I couldn’t resist it—Em Dash Press had to be the name for my blog. [This em dash could be a semicolon.]

6. En Dashes

En dashes are the little sibling to em dashes. En dashes are two hyphens long or the length of an n. They point out the range in numbers or time, but can also stand in for “to” or “and.”

Examples:

The war lasted from 1434–1442.

I’ll be at the library from 6:30–7:30 p.m.

The final score was 32–34.

You have a ticket on the Chicago–New York flight tomorrow evening.

7. Hyphens

At this point, you’re likely wondering what’s even left for hyphens to do. The answer is quite a lot.

It’s one dash wide and joins words.

Examples:

Hello, my name is Alvina Stuart-Kelly.

I’m looking for a dog-friendly apartment.

She has a two-year-old child.

Typically, they don’t go after adverbs and don’t join words after nouns.

Examples:

Incorrect: My apartment is dog-friendly.

Incorrect: That child is two-years-old.

8. Commas (Oxford and Otherwise)

Commas are a curse and a gift for writers. Myself included. 

We often use commas that are unnecessary because in our mind, that’s where we’re pausing to breathe or collect our thoughts as we type the sentence.

Sometimes it just feels right to use too many—until it’s time to edit.

There are multiple types of commas. The first is the comma that connects a coordinating conjunction (and, but, or, for, so, yet, nor).

Example:

He’d love to hang out, but he has to finish his homework.

A comma can also go after an introductory phrase.

Example:

When we last spoke, it was still November.

Commas also go around phrases within a sentence.

Example:

My neighbor, who is a great painter, is open for commissions.

Then there’s the Oxford comma, which goes before the coordinating conjunction at the end of a list.

Example:

We need to get paper towels, apples, and flour at the supermarket.

You can also place a comma in between two nouns that are interchangeable.

Example:

The fresh, cheesy soup is delicious.

The cheesy, fresh soup is delicious.

There should be a comma after a conjunctive adverb at the beginning of a sentence if it’s contrasting something.

Example:

I don’t like swimming in rivers. However, I’ll make an exception for you.

Introductory prepositional phrases (you can find a complete list of prepositions below) also get followed by a comma if they’re more than four words long. However, you can put them after smaller prepositional phrases too. 

Examples:

[“After the game” is the prepositional phrase below.]

Correct: After the game we should get milkshakes.

Also correct: After the game, we should get milkshakes.

Also correct: After the game ends tonight, we should get milkshakes.

When a prepositional phrase ends a sentence, you don’t need to put a comma before it because they’re typically describing a verb.

Incorrect: We should get milkshakes, after the game ends.

Correct: We should get milkshakes after the game ends. [“After the game ends” is describing the timing of the verb “get” in relation to the object “milkshakes.”]

9. Prepositions

Prepositions are words that come before a noun, verb, or pronoun to indicate details like the place, time, direction, location and relationship to an object.

There are too many prepositions to list in this post, but you can find a ton of them over on this website.

Examples:

He left ~for college~.

They were born ~in 1972~.

~From September to November,~ I’m going to be very busy.

You’ll know you’re using a preposition incorrectly when it’s essentially dangling at the end of the sentence or can be removed without changing the meaning of the sentence.

Examples:

Incorrect: Where’s the mouse at?

Correct: Where’s the mouse?

Incorrect: He leapt off of the couch.

Correct: He leapt off the couch.

Notably, some uses of prepositions are colloquial. In real-world conversations, you might say things like, “Where are you at?” and that’s absolutely fine. It’s even fine to use them like that when writing dialogue for characters who have a specific vernacular usage of them, like regional or cultural phrasing.

When neither of those are present in the written word, editors will recommend revising your sentences to reflect prepositional usage rules like the ones above.

10. Apostrophes

Apostrophes have a couple different jobs.

First, they show possession when something or someone owns something.

Examples:

That is Henry’s car.

Watch out for the tree’s loose branches.

Apostrophes also go after an “s” if the plural noun has possession of something.

Examples:

The stores’ new parking lot looks much better.

The wagons’ wheels were made of wood.

The classmates’ party just began.

When a plural noun doesn’t end in an s, it usually gets the standard apostrophe before an s.

Examples:

The sheep’s pen needs a repair.

The people’s voice matters.

The women’s shoe section is over there.

Apostrophes join words to create contractions too. Contractions join two separate words to save time, effort, or word count. They’re what most people use in everyday language because contractions are less formal in tone. (I just used one in that previous sentence!)

Examples:

It’s time to go to bed.

They’re making dinner now.

I can’t run very far.

11. Colons

We use colons to make sense of too much information. Basically, they give order to lists, phrases, or titles.

Examples:

They need to call the following guests: Isabelle, Ana, and Richard.

The Urgent Need for Answers: A Call for Solutions to Healthcare Inequities [This would be the title of an academic paper, book, or article.]

We have one thing in common: the desire to write more stories.

12. Semicolons

Don’t be afraid of semicolons; they are here to help you!

Semicolons join two related ideas or clarify lists with multiple long phrases.

Examples:

I ate dessert before dinner; life is about doing what makes you happy. [The second half of the sentence provides clarity or reasoning to the first half. The semicolon could get replaced by an em dash or “, because” if you preferred it that way.]

When I wake up, I brush my teeth with an electric toothbrush; swish a sensitive-teeth mouthwash in my mouth for 30 seconds; and wash my face while I shower. [If you replaced the semicolons with commas, the phrases would be considered too wordy. Semicolons provide more visual order for readers in this context.]

13. Exclamation Marks

Some people avoid ever using exclamation marks. Others use them all the time.

I say that the correct usage depends on the situation.

If an overly enthusiastic, excited kid were telling their friends they were going to Disney World, they might breathlessly say something like, “I just got the best news! My mom got time off of work! So we’re going to Disney World!”

However, if a more serious or laid-back person said they had a good day and wanted to describe it, they’d likely say, “My day was good! I had a great lunch and the drive home was easy.” Finishing the last sentence with an extra exclamation mark would be out of character for them.

You also wouldn’t want to use exclamation marks in formal writing settings, like academic papers or newspaper articles, because it would come across as too casual. But it’s fine if you’re writing a social media post or texting a friend.

As long as the exclamation mark indicates excitement or urgency, you’re using it correctly. Consider who’s speaking and why to figure out if their dialogue would result in more than an occasional exclamation mark.

-----

I hope this helps clarify the basics so you’re more confident about writing your next story. Grammar is complicated and ever-changing (I’m looking at you, AP Style Guide), but you can count on these basics to structure things correctly for your readers.

[catt-nuevenor]

IT WORKS! BY HECK, IT WORKS!!!!!

Is it slightly mad to get this excited about text animation?

Yes. Yes it is. But this took me the better part of 3 DAYS to get working. So I reserve the right to get unreasonably excited.

Text from Pléhtin's route, with Leiz and Leíla talking about aggravating their elder brother. Early stuff, so there are probably spelling and grammar mistakes, apologies.

There is a mouse click in between the two animated lines. The plain black presentation is NOT how it will be in the final game, I'm just using a clean file to run experiments in.

It might not be that clear what's going on here, but effectively what I'm doing is scripting each line to print in a mimicry of the timing experienced if the characters were speaking, small pauses for commas, different pacing for if a section is spoken quickly or slowly, etc. The timings here are not as I want them, and I'd like to overlay a fade to make everything read as less robotic.

There's a ludicrous amount going on under the hood to make this all behave nicely.

[ourflagmeanswaystar]

your handprint’s on my soul (i wanna be your endgame)

ao3 | buck/eddie | rated: T | 45k words

hi!! i just posted the last chapter of my latest buddie fic (excerpt below) and am gonna post the epilogue later tonight (9/4)!

i’m really proud of completing this, i think it’s like a fun lil jaunt through some light angst and self-discovery and pining that ends heartwarming. i originally said it was kinda a vehicle for my favorite headcanons and tropes so in honor of that, here’s some of the most poignant tags, descriptors, tropes, etc.:

every chapter is named after a song that often gave me the idea for whatever happens in that chapter

post-s7

getting together

buck being christopher diaz’s second father

eddie gay awakening ft. bobby’s hot priest

fwb to lovers

idiots in love

gratuitous italics and commas and em dashes sorry

:)

Eddie was 16 when Adriana got her first pair of glasses. He drove her to the appointment. He still remembers when they stepped outside the doctor’s office and she froze, little hand grabbing his arm. “Oh my gosh, Eddie, the trees.” He looked out across the parking lot where she was pointing, but he just saw the same old trees how they always looked this time of year, the leaves starting to dry up. “They— they don’t look like blurry blobs anymore!” She ran across the parking lot to the biggest trees, with Eddie instinctively looking both ways on her behalf and chasing after her. Her beaming smile up at him as she examined the details of the leaves has stuck with him all these years. Eddie doesn’t care if it may not be the most tasteful analogy to use for sex with Evan Buckley, but it’s the one that works. He could say their first kiss felt like he’s actually breathing correctly, using his full lung capacity for the first time. He could say falling into his messy bed sheets together felt like the rest of the world could have apocalyptically burned down and he wouldn’t have noticed. He could say this is what everyone’s been talking about this whole time. But this is what makes the most sense: How people describe getting glasses and seeing leaves on the trees for the first time. It’s like until two weeks ago, he couldn’t even see the trees at all. He had just adapted to a barren tree-less landscape, and it was fine, he didn’t even know anything was missing. Then his eyes were opened to this whole new world a little after midnight in an overstimulating gay bar in West Hollywood. But he didn’t realize until now that he was still only seeing the surface. Those two other guys, who he can’t even remember right now, were like the blurry blob trees Adriana had described. And now, with someone who knows him better than anyone else in the world, he sees everything. Every last leaf; he sees and catalogs every last detail of Buck.