#Adding Up With Alliteration

[disscog]

Wiles - a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

At dVerse Laura is hosting Meeting the Bar with an invitation to write an Alliterisen – For today’s MTB prompt our poetry follows the style of The Alliterisen, created by Udit Bhatia. It is a 7-line poem (septet) containing a set number of alliterations per line and adhering to a specific syllable structure. I have chosen the non-rhyme scheme version. For more detail follow the link…

[fluviusevos]

okay so i've been going by sam since aug 2022 meaning that since being enrolled in my uni it's been there as my chosen name. for someee reason it showed up everywhere except my email so i'd get people greeting me with my legal name through email if they didn't know me personally etc. but since i've been out of school i havent checked my email much and i just did for the first time in ages and my chosen name (sam) is there with my last name <3

[moonlight-at-dawn]

Meoto de Safari - Safari Spouses - chapter 1, part 1

Story by: Shouji Gatoh Art by: Rei Translation, typesetting, etc by: Altraya (me) @/askfullmetalpanic Visit Comic-Walker to read for free! Be sure to hit the heart at the end of the chapter to show your support!

[lactoseintolerentswag]

Big Mama's Dialogue

I've heard a few people lament on how Big Mama is difficult to write because of how she speaks, so I thought I'd share my tips and tricks.

I start out by writing what I intend for her to say without the flowery language added on. For example:

"I look nice in the new jacket I bought."

Doesn't sound like Big Mama at all, but it'll help you have a place to start so you don't have to be intimidated by scrolling through thesaurus.

Now, Big M has a tendency to do the following:

Use outdated American slang (anywhere from the 1920's to the 60's)

Apply alliterations (using the same letter at the beginning of a word to the adjacent/close word)

Use adverbs, so describing words with the end suffix -ly (i.e. softly, mysteriously, quickly)

Sprinkle in a few made-up words

So let's take the base sentence I provided an shape it to Big M's standards.

Resources for American slang:

Instead of word vomiting out all the outdated American slang I know, I'm going to link some resources/websites you all can look at and come back to. She mostly uses 20's slang, so the links are centered around that.

1920's slang PDF, alphabetically organized!!!

List of slang phrases originating from the 1920's to the 2010's

Short list of slang flapper's from the 1920's used

So let's edit our base sentence a little, now it's:

"This new jacket I bought is the cat's meow."

Adding the next layer:

I did mention that Big Mama tended to use both alliterations and adverbs in copious amounts, but don't feel pressured to use both at once in a sentence. If it fits, it fits. If it doesn't, some trimming might be useful. This is why having a base sentence is important, so the intention behind the dialogue isn't lost under all the additions you're adding. So with that in mind, I'm going to alter our example:

"This new jazzy jacket I just bought is the cat's meow."

The last part:

I save the "fake words" part for last, because beginning with them can make your sentences clunky or not make sense. This part really relies on your personal touch or the context and tone of the situation at hand. The example I gave make Big Mama sound like she's preening about her looks, so I'm going to lean into that.

"This newsie-woozie jazzy jackety I just bought is the cat's meow! Grr!"

And for comparison, here's where we started.

"I look nice in the new jacket I bought."

And well, that's it!!! Hope it was helpful to those that needed it!!!

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

First time between virgin reader and viktor??🫢

how to lose your virginity like a pretentious poet

word count: 1,8k

this turned out rather vague, but still explicit enough to... titillate, so to speak. virgin!viktor, virgin!fem!reader, protected sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk. this was supposed to have a different ending, but i figured why write about a perfect first time when i can do a more realistic scenario where it doesn't exactly work out? plus, i'm known for edging my readers, so... there you go.

and i'm sorry for how... strangely this is written. i read too much anaïs nin and it shows.

—

His fist swallows him, bottomless, in a dry toe-arching vortex of his climax—a conflux of cum and spit shriveling in the oblique of a lean hip. Vortex climax conflux. A lewd stanza that he croaks at, snicker-like, thinking of its triple-X ending waning alongside his own—perplex, postsex, unorthodox. The poetry of touching oneself to sleep. 

His mind is all thighs and ankles. A shy affinity inching on a fetish. Every night, he yearns for it in a fist-fight with his cock. All but twists his nipple out of the aureole and wishes it were yours instead, dotting his skin a hot, sticky white of sheer hunger. 

In person, it’s much tamer. He’s almost through with the conduit: of groping uphill, from knees to chests to necks, of name-whimpering litanies waiting to become fleshed-out moans, of artifices in friction not yet daring to evolve into orgasms. You know he yearns for resumption. He knows you yearn twice as fierce. The ouroboros of awareness has been choking on its tail for a while. And you envy it. You’d like to choke on a certain appendage, too. 

The night he caves, you lose the nylon and let him topple inside: a thousand taste buds flat against your thigh like a tickle. A hundred tiny spit-flicks fumbling with the peach fuzz. Which then diminishes into a dozen meek bites and, finally, mere units of thrusts—airtight, approbatory, avid. It’s a poem. It has been one, all along. Now, clumsy stanzas are licking through: Viktor simply added some alliteration. Ah. Ah. Ah. Right here. Right there. Ri—mhm! 

“You taste… acidic,” Viktor says. Looks up from beneath your skirt and pushes the linen out of your fist: his fingers are rather selfish. Still damp from whatever preceded this mouth-to-mound endeavour, they claw at your palm and pin it down—a sparring of digits bending into loops. 

And it’s such a silly thing. You, prying your hand free and squeezing his chin in a way that’s both commanding and inept—tugging his tongue out to assess the slight swell. Him, almost slipping off the bed on a numb knee. The regrouping that follows—a tangle of legs and elbows. A kick here, a tackle there. Splicing until the rhythm is back and the poem becomes sloppy—a vers libre, shirtless and blouseless. The underwear hasn’t slid to its ‘less’ yet. It billows around your ankle—with a frilly twist, baby pink all over. A sinful stain still wet on the very gusset he’d licked before pushing the thing aside. 

“Acidic?” You push a finger into his mouth and gasp when the muscle bends under your touch—pliant, sheepish tongue swirling around your thumb like sleazy sin. And then it gnaws at you—the playful force of his teeth, aiming at your phalanx in a tender strike. Drawing an offended ‘ouch’ and lining into a grin—about thirty whites beaming at you mockingly. 

“Mhm,” he finally answers. Sexily. Perhaps just a little conceited. 

“Acidic?!”

“Er, savoury might be a better word.” 

“Might it really?” 

“Why the frown? I like savoury.” 

“Can’t you just talk dirty to me like a normal person?”

“I can certainly try. Just be mindful of my… non-existent experience. I’m a debutant, after all.”

“So am I, but you don’t see me telling you that you taste weird.”

He laughs, undismayed. Prowls to your mouth with a smile so quivering that yours falters along and tumbles under this Klimt-esque endeavour. It tinges you tart. Licks stolen sour right back into you. Peels your bra off one flushed nipple after a strained ‘May I?’ and bites down, harshly soft. Breaks a moan into toothy half-whimpers and dribbles, treacly, down your ribs in a stream of besotted spit—a clumsy glaze of startled gooseflesh reaching a bumpy aureole. 

“You taste—“ Viktor rasps, slick-jawed, “s-so good.” Throws your thigh over a shaky forearm and pulls you close, lisping an earnest ‘sorry’ when your nipple gets caught in his brace. “I want you to— I want to–“ he gulps, “Oh, if I had it my way, I’d devour you until you burn a hole through my tongue. Yes, render me physically speechless. I doubt I’ll be doing much talking from now on. My mouth has found its purpose between your legs.” 

That disarms you. Languishes your mouth in a way that leaves it agape and rolls some breathy praise into his throat—and he swallows it, chokes on it, spits it back into you. “How did I do?” mumbles toothily. Like he doesn’t already know the answer. 

“Good. For a pretentious poet, that is.” 

“A pretentious poet?” He snickers, humbled. Grabs you by the calf—reverently, with an obsessive humm—and tugs you upright, chest to flushed chest, wondering what strained sound to pick for your next remark. His repertoire is scarce. A chuckle, for something cheeky. A moan, for something obscene. 

And, sure enough, you’re licking into his ear. “Mhm. Are you fucking me or serenading me?” 

Ah. A moaning chuckle, in that case. “Can’t it be both? Clearly, it’s efficient.”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“There’s no need for that. The evidence—“ he reaches under your skirt and plows a finger over slickened folds, “is overwhelming.” 

The silence, aside from the audacious moan he draws from you, lingers. By convention, it evolves into a kiss, then into a teeth-clattering sparring. It stains everything bloody—more clumsy than malicious, yet bloody nonetheless—and this time he doesn’t come out unscathed: there’s rouge saliva shining on his chin, no doubt thick and tasting of intermingled iron. Viktor licks it up, too—the ever intrepid gourmand—and stares at you with the splendour of, well, a victor. 

“Condom,” you gasp—an order, “I want to fuck that attitude out of you.”

His eyes turn glassy—voidy pupils bursting out of irises. “A-Are you certain?” A stumble, that’s nice for a change. “I’ve never done this before—“

“Neither have I.”

“Precisely. Are you—“ He clears his throat, then retaliates with a gentler, “Are we certain we can go all the way tonight?”

“Do you want that attitude ridden out of you or not?” 

His gaze snaps back to its usual almondy shrewdness. “I do. If you’re up for the task.” 

And you reach for his nape, whispering a promising, “Take your pants off.”

The filthy poem reads on.

He fumbles with the rubber with contrived effort, wiping puzzled perspiration off his flushed forehead—a man ungracious, fatigued with his want. You crawl from behind his shoulder—a cautious succession over each bony slope—a pendulum of strike and stroke swinging between each sweet option. Then a comfort, sibilant, is tongued into his hair—a deliciously inane plea that wraps around his cock in a supportive squeeze: keeping it upright so the slick cover slides right on in a satisfying roll. 

“It’s funny,” he says, leaning back. Bucks against your shoulder in a delirious shove and moans, half-undone, at the loving bob of your hand. “I was touching myself to the thought of this just this morning.” 

Your laughter pinpricks his neck. An aspiration—hasty, homely, husky. “The thought of what, exactly? Struggling with condoms?”

He twitches—internally, with a transient cramp. Peels your wrist off of him in a confluence of plea and order and turns around, excitedly, to help you onto his lap: hands on hips-on haunches-on heel spurs. The fetish finally reaches its utmost. 

Your world comes propping down onto his shoulder—a descent conferred. It’s a staunch thing—breathy, crude, a little undirected. He offers his skin for the lancing of five prickly nails and waits, politely impatient, for you to take the staking. A delicious one, he hopes. But it’s a fit tight enough to strangle. Now, which head is a question of your aim. 

The tip scorches its way inside through a curse. You wince, then leave his worried pout behind blurry eyelids, stilling mid-downward slope. A cautious kiss upon your jaw tips your gut out of the spasm and soothes it, darlingly, to a mushy, liquid feeling somewhere between tense legs. When you open your eyes again, a pair of huge, pensive ones looks back into you. 

“I’m fine.” A promise, strangely coherent. You lean him against the headboard, weaving shaky fingers into his hair just in time to muffle the thump. And he whines for it, gratefully, and rushes to pet the cramp out of your calf. The smile that follows prompts an attempt to take another inch. 

“Do you need me to—“ Viktor swallows his words and looks at the impressive stretch of you around him. Pulls you into another kiss and chokes on cloying saliva, easing you into the friction of excited taste buds. 

It ends with a wet plop. Bumps sweaty foreheads together and has you gulping as you assess the sensation. “No. It’s…” Immense? Wet? Sultry? “Good. Feels good. Just a little intense. Er… prickly.” 

“Ah.” He chuckles, relieved. “Certainly. I, eh, could touch you, if you like?”

And you like. Of course you do. You plunge downward, and squeeze him to the hilt, and pull him, graspingly, by the strap of his brace into a halation of glowing eyes and spitslick mouths contorted in none other than a drawn out ‘Please’, which arcs into a ‘Fuck’ when his fingers come down in a tender onslaught on your clit, schlicking along the very first clumsy thrust. 

Then comes the comatose. Of insides, taut and startled, burning in a pervasive pooling of ‘way too much’. Painting you a pained rouge and causing a rasp that you all but spew into his shoulder, crestfallen. And he seeks you, shakily, from beneath the tousle of his hair—bleeds disjointed confirmations, incidentally, in a language you don’t understand, having caught but an isolated ‘Lásko?ʼ

“I.. I think I—“ It comes out of you gutturally, with a spasmodic writhe. “I think my… eagerness got the best of me.” 

He nods, mouth agape, with his tongue arched under his palate. “Would you like to stop?” Asks piously, swiping a careful peck across your knuckles. 

You cower, arching off of him—a clumsy hesitation between retreat and resumption. And, surely, the former prevails, easing you from around him with a guilty gasp. “Yes. I would.” Then, an addendum, meek and muffled, “I’m sorry.”

Viktor frowns and hurtles you into a tangle of arms—moulds your face into his in a fleeting touch of lips, and smoothes a palm over your shaky thigh. “None of that, please. Come hold me. I’ll get this, er—“ He winces, poking the shrivelled condom, “thing off.”

You laugh—bubbly, perhaps just a little hoarse. Stumbling over a purr-like sound, you curl into the sheets as he pushes his limbs under yours—a beauty, dishevelled, and staring at you, awestruck. You nose his clavicle, contemplating a playful suck.

“Could we—” you offer, sheepishly, “reschedule this? For later tonight. I promise I won’t rush this time.” 

The chin above you comes to rest on your head. “Only if I get to carry on with my pretentious obscenities.”

And you smile at him, wanly, for the umpteenth endearing time. 

“Of course. Serenade me all you please.”

[macaroni-stars]

(tags via @/cable-salamder)

My friend proposed skysolo be renamed hanwalker

[zarla-s]

Hopefully not an odd question, but how did you come up with the “Ads” in Spamtons speech for your Defragmentation comic?

Like know where to put them and what they would be

A lot of the time it's just free association. Every time there's a word that CAN be replaced to obscure or muddy something, I consider it. Something to remember about his speech pattern is that his bracket words aren't all ads or slogans! He replaces normal words too, sometimes with the same word (presumably) or sometimes with a strange tangent. If a word in the sentence makes you think of something else (and can hide or confuse something), just follow that train of thought a few stops and see where it takes you.

For example, let's say he wanted to say something like "I SAW YOUR RUNNING AWAY." I made a typo while typing that and I usually keep those. "Running" jumps out at me - easy word to replace with something strange. What's another unusual word for running? "Skedaddle", no one uses that. What's a step further out from that? "Skip-to-my-loo my darling", they both have a "sk" sound and convey movement. Sentence turns into "I SAW YOUR [ Skip-to-my-loo] MY [prize3d CUstomer]!" That's my general approach, haha. Sometimes the words just have pleasing alliteration or a nice rhythm or just rhyme in a way I like. "[Prime-Time] [High-Time]" for example, or "[Blinkers Poppers Firestarters]". Anything that can be replaced with something vaguely threatening or scary is a good option too (Spamton screaming in agony about burning in acid or talking about death for example).

I made a way longer post about the details of his speech pattern (it's surprisingly fiddly) but here's some quick bulletpoints of things I don't see too often when people write for him.

Typos

Wrong punctuation/no punctuation

Punctuation inside words (LIGH;TN>er)

Too much punctuation (can never have enough !!!!s)

Numbers in words

Incorrect capitalizations in and out of brackets

Weird grammar and misspellings

Tense mix-ups, plural mix-ups

Complete sentences (he CAN do these! they're just rare)

Missing words, single words

Too many spaces, spaces in weird places

Repetition (usually panicky but he does get stuck sometimes in general)

Small short words ([guts], [eyes], [mouth])

Weird word choices (skedaddle up there for example)

Follow your train of thought wherever it goes. Song lyrics, movie titles, famous catchphrases, jingles, memes (not too many of these though), technical jargon, just whatever your brain grabs onto. You might want to check out old VHS recordings on archive.org that include commercials and see what they sound like. The 90s are a good year, Spamton loves 1997!

[olliesallamericanbitch]

Chapter One - Lando

Synopsis: As Cadillac gears up for their first-ever F1 season, Nicola and Y/n Vanderbilt take their time to familiarize themselves with the sport. Y/n finds herself befriending a certain curly haired muppet.

Prologue Chapter Two

ynvbilt PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!! MY MOMMY'S BETTER THAN YOURS!!! @pjrockefeller @jdgordy

↪️ pjrockefeller my mom's dead y/n, you went to her funeral!?!?!?

↪️ jdgordy I hate my stepmom

↪️ ynvbilt omg I forgot!!! @pjrockefeller rip Mrs. Rockefeller you are missed. @jdgordy can you say that on social media?

↪️ jdgordy if nobody knew now then there's something wrong with them

user420 not y/n making sure everyone knows her mom is THAT bitch

↪️ user711 we love a mama's girl

user7 haasbands are back bithces!!!

↪️ user3 *bitches and they're not haas drivers anymore

↪️ user7 leave me alone I'm dyslexic what should they be called then?

↪️ user0 cadillac... consorts?

↪️ user7 *le gasp* so alliterated, so original, so medieval, so.... perfect! CADILLAC CONSORTS!!!!

kmagnussen so thankful to @nicolavbilt for taking a chance on us

↪️ nicolavbilt @ynvbilt would've hated me if I didn't

↪️ ynvbilt THAT'S RIGHT! I'm the reason you're still on the grid buddy boy

landonorris buddy boy?

↪️ ynvbilt don't question my nicknames, nowins

↪️ landonorris I have 3 wins

↪️ ynvbilt lando threewins doesn't hit the same

↪️ landonorris what ever you say

ynvbilt because everyone and their moms kept dming me you're welcome

↪️ landonorris aww, don't be like that

↪️ ynvbilt 😝

user8 ^yall seeing this

↪️ user5 new wag?

↪️ user3 idk y/n's pretty iffy about dating

↪️ user5 @user3 for a good reason

landonorris you know you love me

↪️ ynvbilt if that helps you sleep at night

jdgordy it took us weeks, months even. white man did it in one day @pjrockefeller

↪️ pjrockefeller not surprised

user6 WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THEIR COMMENTS??

↪️ user2 Ikr I need the rumor to be confirmed expeditiously

↪️ user69 y/n doesn't date tho

↪️ user420 minds can change

↪️ pjrockefeller nah y/n's stubborn like that

Y/n's a rather private person, only sharing little candids of her life online. She's never been one for the spotlight, but with the circling rumors about her and Lando, y/n knew she should take a step back. There's just one problem... she can't. The thrill of it all enthralled her, or maybe that was the Vanderbilt part of her. The part that loved attention, even sought it out. This game with the press was too fun, she couldn't stop now. Not when there's others to play with.

cara's paddock: I know it's not much, but I'm still trying to get a feel for how I want this story to go. For right now, all chapters will be social media with little to no writing. The only chapter that is a fully written chapter is the Interlude. I hope you liked this and I can't wait to show you more.

taglist: @ferakillia @raynetargaryan2 if you want to be added to the taglist, leave a comment.

[klonnieshippersclub]

Just Nik

It’s Day 3 of Klonnie Weekend, and the prompt is “Arranged Marriage!” Inspired by Queen Charlotte, Bonnie's already planning her escape from a marriage she never wanted. But when she runs into a handsome stranger in the garden, things take an unexpected turn.

The gown was too tight, the jewels too heavy, and the garden wall far higher than it looked. Bonnie hiked up her skirts, braced her foot on the ivy, and scrambled over with a graceless thud into the grass below. She ran away from the palace, the altar, and the judgmental eyes of the court.

Then, from the hedges, a figure emerged. He wasn’t a guard. Or a royal. Just boots, an open shirt, and eyes that watched her in confusion.

“Forgive me,” Bonnie said breathlessly. “Are you lost?”

The man chuckled. “That depends. Are you offering directions or looking for a companion?”

“I’m offering nothing.” She narrowed her eyes. “Unless you know of any women nearby willing to take my place.”

“Your place?”

“In this gown. At that altar. In that life.”

The man looked her up and down, slowly. “Doubtful.”

“Doubtful?”

“I doubt any woman would look half as good in that gown as you do. A beautiful woman,” he said, “is not so easily replaced.”

Bonnie was startled by his flattery. “That’s not even the point!”

He smirked. “Oh, forgive me. What is the point?”

“This was never supposed to be my wedding. Or marriage. My mother left years ago—fled the country, left her debts behind. And now I’m the one meant to pay for it all. With this.” She gestured to the palace behind them.

“I see,” the man said quietly.

“You’re handsome,” Bonnie said bluntly. “Surely you know women—young women—who would gladly marry a king.”

“Most women,” he said, “would give anything to be a queen.”

“Well, I don’t care for titles.” She crossed her arms.

“Strange sentiment. Why do you care so little for power?”

“Because I’d rather have freedom.”

That gave him pause.

He tilted his head. “And where have you not been free?”

Bonnie sighed. “Everywhere. My entire life, I’ve been the one who cares. Who gives. Who cleans up. Who stays behind. Now I’m meant to marry a man I’ve never met, live for him, breathe for him, bear his children, and what do I get in return? Nothing. I don’t know anyone here. I have no allies. No way out.”

She took a breath. “Running away is an act of treason. But staying feels worse.”

The man folded his arms, thoughtful. “Power,” he said, “is freedom. You could have anything you wanted. No one would force you to do anything. Not as queen.”

She looked at him. “And what if the king doesn’t agree with what I want?”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Then the king would be a fool.”

That startled a laugh out of her.

“You’re kind,” she said. “But it’s still a terrible idea to go back.”

“Perhaps.”

“There has to be another woman who’d take this life. This crown.” She looked at him. “What do you think of the name McCullough?”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“Or Annie. Annie McCullough. I’ll need a new name if I’m to disappear. Something… plain. Easy to forget. I’ll have to be comfortable never seeing my family again.”

“It’s a fine name,” he said carefully. “But not as fine as Bonnie Bennett.”

She smiled, barely. “You like alliteration?”

“Quite.”

“Shame,” she said, voice quieter. “I don’t want there to be a wedding. I’ve heard things about the groom.”

He arched a brow. “Things?”

“Terrible rumors. That he’s cruel. Cold. Aggressive.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “He might be a monster.”

“Mm,” he said. “He might.”

“You already know my name. Shouldn’t I know yours?”

He hesitated—just for a moment. Then offered a hand.

“Klaus,” he said. “But you can call me Nik. Just Nik.”

Bonnie took his hand, and he placed a kiss upon her knuckles.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For the kindness. I know I’m… dramatic.”

He bowed his head. “Not at all. It’s not every day a beautiful woman runs away from marrying me.”

Bonnie stiffened. “What?”

“I mean,” Nik added casually, “a mere hour before the ceremony, no less. Very theatrical.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. “I—what?”

He smiled wider now, teeth flashing. “Cold feet, was it?”

She gasped, face flooding with heat. “I didn’t mean—I was joking! I mean—of course I wasn’t really leaving. That would be treason! Beheadable treason!”

Nik chuckled. “Relax, darling. You weren’t wrong. Most people are terrified of me.”

She stared at him. “So… you’re the king.”

“I am.”

“And you let me ramble about fake names and treason?”

“I liked hearing what you had to say.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t speak to me like a king.” His gaze softened. “You spoke like someone who wanted something real.”

She examined him with uncertainty. “And what do you want?”

“Someone who challenges me,” Nik said. “Someone who doesn’t bow unless she damn well chooses to. Someone who tells me when I’m being a nightmare.”

Bonnie studied him. “You might regret saying that.”

“I might,” he agreed. “But I don’t think I will.”

[bi-bard]

Arguments & Paradoxes - Tenth Doctor Imagine [Doctor Who]

Title: Arguments & Paradoxes

Pairing: Tenth Doctor X Reader

Word Count: 5,531 words

Warning(s): arguments, discussion of character death

Summary: [Based on Season 3, Episode 10 (Blink)] What starts as a normal day leads to the Doctor, Marth, and (Y/n) finding themselves stuck in 1969. Now that they're stuck waiting, there are many conversations waiting to be had.

Author's Note: This story is pretty directly connected to another story from this OC: A Normal Life

If you have any particular episodes/seasons/doctors etc. that you want to see in this series, then let me know.

MORE STORIES OF THIS OC (AND OTHERS) HERE!

---------------------

There are times when the easiest days become the most complicated.

It could take one moment for everything to turn completely on its head. One sentence, one word. one movement. One small look.

At least, that was how my life ended up going. Maybe that was simply a side effect of traveling with the Doctor. Maybe it was all just because of me.

Martha, the Doctor, and I were heading toward the sight of an incident. Some lizard creature was planning to have her eggs hatch. The swarm would have wiped out the nearest city and then some.

We had gotten a taxi that took us to this small shop. It looked like it was mostly books and movies and things. It was something that I would never have paid any mind to... except for the woman who came running out.

"Doctor!"

He stopped. I stopped with him, turning to look at the girl.

"Hello," he said. "Sorry, bit of a rush. There's a... There's a sort of thing happening. Very important that we stop it."

"Oh my god, it's you. It really is you," the woman replied. I furrowed my eyebrows, looking at the Doctor as if he would take the time to explain who this was. "Oh, you don't remember me, do you?"

"Doctor, we haven't got time for this," Martha spoke up. "Migration's started."

"Look," the Doctor explained to the woman. "I've got a bit of a complex life. Things don't always happen to me in quite the right order. Gets a bit confusing at times, especially at weddings."

"Oh, you're rubbish at weddings," I added.

"I really am... especially my own."

"Oh my God, of course," the woman said. "You're a time traveler. It hasn't happened to you yet! None of it! It's still in your future."

"What hasn't happened?"

"You guys, please," Martha spoke up again. "20 minutes to hatching."

"It was me," the woman explained. "It was me all along. You got it all from me."

"Got what?" the Doctor asked.

"Okay. Listen. One day, you're gonna get stuck in 1969. Make sure you've got this with you. You're gonna need it."

I looked back and saw Martha's worried face before I muttered to the Doctor, "We really need to go."

"Yeah, we do," he nodded. "Sorry, things happening. Well, four things. Well, four things and a lizard."

"Okay, no worries," the woman replied. "On you go. See you around some day."

The Doctor and I took off before he turned around again. "What was your name?"

"Sally Sparrow," she grinned at us both.

"Good to meet you, Sally Sparrow."

There was a man who walked up to her. She looked at him as he gave us a stunned look. She grabbed his hand, said goodbye, and walked back into the store.

I chuckled. "That will make more sense later, I hope."

"Me too," the Doctor replied.

We both turned again to head towards Martha. I felt the Doctor reach for my hand, but I pulled back. I hoped that it could be seen as unintentional. As if I just didn't notice it.

"I like that name," I commented, trying to change the subject. "Sally Sparrow. Good alliteration."

"Yeah," he muttered. "Come on."

Everything else went off without any major incidents. It was a normal day. I thought that it was all over. Until we landed in the next place, of course.

We had just made it back to the TARDIS. The doors had just closed behind us and we were just getting ready to leave. And then, the TARDIS jolted to the side.

"What the hell was that," Matha asked.

I grabbed the screen nearby. "What the... Paradox energy."

"Paradox?" the Doctor moved to look at the screen over my shoulder. "Well, that's not good."

"A paradox?" Martha walked over. "Like in Back to the Future or something?"

"What," I asked.

"I'll show it to you sometime," the Doctor muttered to me before going to move around the console.

"Time isn't always perfect and linear, but it does have rules," I explained. "If one of those rules gets broken, it creates a paradox. Paradoxes can be small or large, deadly at times."

"What caused this one?"

"Not sure yet," I shrugged.

"We'll have to go check," the Doctor added, flipping a switch.

"Hold on," Martha said. "You just said that one of the rules of time got broken. That one of these paradoxes can be deadly."

"Yup," the Doctor confirmed.

"So, you're going to just land in the middle of it?"

"We're not fools, Martha," I promised. "We're going to land on the edge of it."

"Oh, for the love of-"

The TARDIS suddenly lurching caused Martha to cut off the end of her sentence. She grabbed onto the console.

We landed just outside of a gate. There was a path that clearly led from the gate to a large, abandoned house. On the fence was a warning to keep out. None of us paid it any mind.

The house itself had seen many better days. The outside was in mostly okay condition, but there were some parts where the roof and the wall were falling apart.

It was almost a cliche.

"Are we still at the same time?" Martha said as we walked down the path.

"No," I answered. "We're about a year earlier. There was a... spike."

She nodded.

The inside was no better than the outside had been. The wallpaper was falling off. Plants were beginning to grow within the house. Every piece of the floor was creaking. If the lighting fixtures weren't on the floor, they were hanging dangerously low.

"So, any remarkable ideas about this paradox," Martha asked.

"Not yet, but I can feel it... like it's buzzing in my fingertips," I said, stopping in the middle of the room and turning toward her. "Where's the Doctor?"

"Wandered off," she replied with a shrug. "How are you two?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Fine."

"That's it?" she chuckled.

"What else were you expecting me to say?"

"Something a bit more... I don't know... romantic," she suggested. "I thought you two would be deep in the honeymoon phase by now."

I raised an eyebrow at her this time. I knew what she was talking about. It was just easier for me to pretend that I didn't.

To be honest, things had been... strained since the two of us kissed. I couldn't tell how much of it was my lack of knowledge in that area and how much of it was simply my ever-suffocating guilt. I had meant to sit and think about that, but I simply never had the time. There was always something more important to think about.

Martha sighed and held up her hands. "Fine. I'm gonna go check upstairs for some sign of anything... paradox-like."

"Be careful!" I called after her.

"I always am!"

I turned back to the room, trying to find some sign of what could be going on. The first detail that I saw was some sign of spray paint under the wallpaper.

I stepped forward, going to pull the wallpaper off. I only stopped because I spotted something out of the corner of my eye. My hand stopped. I took a step back before slowly turning my head toward the window.

Standing there was a weeping angel.

I let out a shaking breath. I slowly closed my eyes before quickly opening them. It had moved forward.

"Doctor!" I shouted, taking slow steps backward. "Martha!"

I heard the floor behind me creaking. I quickly turned around, finding another weeping angel behind me. I turned back around, finding the other angel now inside. Those panicked motions were enough for the second angel to reach out and grab me.

I found myself standing in some kind of alleyway.

"No," I muttered. "No, no, no, no, no!"

I looked around before starting to walk. At some point, I would have to find something or someone.

It had only been a few minutes before I heard someone behind me.

"(Y/n)!"

I turned around to see Martha and the Doctor walking toward me. I let out a relieved sigh before running in their direction. I hugged Martha first. After I stepped back, I hugged the Doctor.

"Weeping angels," the Doctor said.

"Yes, I know," I replied. "I tried to tell you both but no one responded. You guys must have already been sent back."

"Anyone wanna actually explain this all to me," Martha asked.

"Weeping angels are creatures that basically feed off paradox energy," I explained. "They touch you, zap you back in time, and eat the paradox energy that's left from all the moments that don't happen."

"They can't move when you can see them," the Doctor added. "They freeze in place until you look away or blink"

"Okay... so how do we get home?" Martha looked between us.

"Well..." the Doctor dragged the word out.

"You don't know."

"Not yet," he muttered.

I furrowed my eyebrows, looking around us before speaking up, "What year are we in?"

"Um," the Doctor looked around, muttering to himself as he tried to figure it out.

Martha ran over to a nearby bench where a newspaper had been left on it, "1969."

I slapped the Doctor's arm, ignoring him when he complained. "That was the year that the girl at the shop told us about. The one with the really good name... Sally Sparrow."

"Alliteration girl!" the Doctor exclaimed before digging into his pocket. "1969. She gave us instructions."

I grabbed the folder from him, going to sit on the bench where Martha had found the newspaper. I flipped through it. It was a collection of photos and a letter. I held those out for someone to take.

"The letter is addressed to Sally," I said. "She knew someone who got sent back."

"What's this list," Martha asked, sitting next to me. The Doctor took the letter.

"Not sure," I replied, handing it over to her. "Nothing that I recognize."

My eyes landed on a typed-out conversation.

"Look at this." I held it out to him. "It's a conversation. Half of one, anyway. Sally's part."

"She's at the center of this, then," he muttered, taking the folder so he could read it over. "'I'm clever and I'm listening.' I like her."

"Would be nice to meet her when we aren't stuck without our TARDIS," I replied. "Who is she talking to? You?"

"Maybe. She recognized me at the shop."

"And you do talk a lot."

"Thanks." his response was sarcastic.

"I got it," Martha said excitedly. "They're movies. All of them!"

I furrowed my eyebrows.

"And that," she snatched the folder out of the Doctor's hands, "is a script!"

"Half a script," I corrected.

"Well, yeah, but we can figure the other half out," she insisted. "We just need to get the other side of this conversation onto these movies."

"How do we do that?"

"I... I don't know," she replied. "You two are the alien geniuses. I figured out the hard part."

"I never really looked into how humans make their entertainment." I looked at the Doctor. "Have you?"

"It's basic technology," he shrugged. "Getting the film made isn't the problem. The problem is getting the film onto everything on that list."

"We need an inside man," Martha suggested.

"Can't be the Doctor because he has to be in it, so people would get suspicious," I explained.

"You could do it," she said.

"I really couldn't."

"Yes, you could," she replied. "You're a quick learner. You'd know what you're doing."

"But this would take years. We don't have that long."

"What do we do then? Talk to someone in the industry and hope that they believe us when we say we were attacked by monsters that can't move when you can see them?"

"Or we could find someone who would be more inclined to believe us."

Martha's eyebrows furrowed at my suggestion.

"Wait for someone else to be sent back to us," the Doctor said, seemingly agreeing with me.

"That could take ages," Martha replied.

"Sally knew someone who got sent back," I argued. "Maybe that wasn't the only one. Might not take as long as you think."

"What about in the meantime?"

"Well, we'll need to find a place to stay. Shouldn't be too hard."

"Whose paying for that?"

The Doctor and I both stared at her before briefly glancing at each other.

"Oh, you two so owe me for this."

We ended up staying in a small flat near a shop that hired Martha.

She would go work through the day while the Doctor and I busied ourselves with a new device that was meant to help track down other people who came through.

It was a few days into this new pattern that the Doctor decided to turn the conversation away from our current predicament.

"Can I ask you something?"

I had been hunched over some small part of this new device. The Doctor had taken a moment to lean back in his seat a bit.

"Sure," I replied, not turning my head away from the machine.

"Did I do something... wrong?"

It felt as if both of my hearts stopped at the same time. I had to fight the urge to tense as I responded, "No, why do you ask?"

"I just... I thought that things would change."

I couldn't find a string of words that felt like they were enough to explain how I felt. None of them could provide him any comfort. I found myself stuck with nothing more than an uneasy silence.

"I thought that we were..."

"Were what?" I tried to remain disconnected from the whole thing. At the very least, I felt like it would push this conversation away for a little while.

"We kissed," he continued. "I thought that it meant something, but you're acting like nothing happened."

"It happened." I nodded. "It happened and... that's it."

"'That's it'?" he repeated. "(Y/n)... this wasn't something insignificant to me. I have no interest in that being it."

"Well, that's all it's going to be." I shrugged.

The Doctor didn't respond after that. He stared at me for a few moments before going back to studying the machine on the table.

I went to do the same, pretending to be completely unaware of the new and terrible tension in the room.

"I've got it," the Doctor muttered, pushing my hands away.

I sat back, staring at him for a few minutes before standing up. "I'm going to go out for a walk. You know how to reach me if something comes up."

He just hummed to acknowledge that he heard me.

I nodded before heading to the door.

I knew that I had handled the whole situation incorrectly. It was all just too new and sudden for me to have any other way to handle it. There was nothing I could say or do that would be good enough for that conversation.

Everything would be easier if things had just stayed exactly as they were.

My mindless wandering led me to the front steps of a library. I stared at the door. I don't know what compelled me to go inside. Maybe it just felt like I should've been there. Like there were answers to some questions that I had. The whole place was comforting during this time.

I was filled with this sense of comfort that I had never imagined before. I could imagine spending day after day after day there.

And I did.

I never truly thought about just how slow life would feel when the Doctor and I stopped moving. I didn't realize that I hadn't really stopped running since I met him.

Yes, there was my brief time as Jo, but that wasn't me. That was a different version of me. One that was much more equipped to handle a slow, dragging life. One that was going through significantly less emotional turmoil.

I busied myself with books. That library I had found had a very kind woman working there who offered suggestions to pass the time. Stories and art that I had never bothered myself with before. I read what I had been told were classics.

It was strange to fall into such a pattern. I could've gotten used to it, maybe. Under different circumstances. But this whole thing just felt odd.

The Doctor would sit impatiently at his machine. I would sit in some corner of the room, reading my stories and quietly hoping that the machine would finally make some kind of sound to fill the awkward silence. The two of us weren't talking much after our argument. Too stubborn on both fronts, I suppose.

Martha would walk in around the evening and ask what I was reading. She'd ask for any good news from the Doctor.

Over and over. Day after day. It was the same cycle.

Until there was a delightfully noisy interruption. The machine went off, telling us that someone had been sent back.

We all ran outside, Sally's folder in hand. It didn't take long to recognize that we were being led back to the alleyway that we had found ourselves in.

"How are we going to do this," Martha asked. "'Hi, are you from the future? Because we are and we have a job for you.'"

"Something like that," the Doctor said.

"Start with Sally Sparrow," I explained in more detail. "See if they know her. She might be the center of this whole thing."

"I wasn't being serious," he chimed in.

"I wasn't saying that you were. I'm just trying to make sure Martha is as prepared as we are. We should all be on the same page."

"Didn't think you cared much about that."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

I scoffed. "Sorry that I'm prioritizing the thing that is getting people killed. Didn't realize that was an issue."

He didn't respond, instead choosing to walk a little faster so he was ahead of us. I went to speed up so he couldn't get too far away.

"What's going on with you two," Martha asked, grabbing my arm so I'd slow down.

"What are talking about?" I said.

"Don't act stupid," she replied. "You two kissed. You told me. But now you two are acting like you can't be near each other. What's going on?"

"It's nothing," I shook my head, going to catch up with the Doctor.

"No, it's not," she insisted, grabbing my arm again. "You can talk to me, I promise. I can keep my mouth shut. Kept your feelings a secret, didn't I?"

"Martha," I sighed. "It's nothing. I'm fine. We're fine. Let's just... Let's focus on this. Please."

Her lips tightened. As if she had to actively hold back whatever comment was about to push through. She stiffly nodded and let me pull my arm away.

"(Y/n), Martha!"

The two of us looked down the way at the Doctor, whose back was still turned to us. I gestured toward him with my head. Martha nodded again and followed me down the alley.

We rounded the corner to find a man sitting with his back against the wall. He looked panicked and confused. The machine was going slightly mad when we found him.

"Welcome!" the Doctor greeted.

"Where am I," the man asked.

"1969," the Doctor replied. "Not bad, as it goes. You've got the moon landing to look forward to."

"The moon landing's brilliant," Martha added. "We went four times."

"When we had transport," I muttered.

"How did I get here?" the man interrupted us.

"Touch of an angel," the Doctor explained. "Probably the same one that sent us back since you ended up in the same year."

The man went to stand up only to be stopped by the Doctor before he could.

"Don't get up," he said as he plopped down next to the man. "Time travel without a capsule, nasty. Catch your breath, don't go swimming for half an hour."

"I don't... I don't understand."

I leaned on the railing in front of them both. "You got touched by a weeping angel. You probably noticed some big stone angel statues. Pretty fascinating really. They don't kill you directly. Instead, they send you back in time to whatever year they want and feed on the paradox energy that forms when you're gone. The potential energy of the moments that were supposed to happen but never did. They let you live a whole life, just not when you were supposed to."

"The only psychopaths in the universe to kill you nicely," the Doctor added.

"What in God's name are you two on about?"

"They do this a lot," Martha said. "Just nod when they pause for a breath."

"Tracked you down with this," the Doctor continued. "My timey-wimey detector. Goes ding when there's stuff."

"I still don't understand." the man ran his hands over his face. "Where am I?"

"1969, like he said." Martha leaned on the railing next to me.

"We'd offer you a lift home, but our time machine got stolen by the angels." I shrugged. "We have a message that we need you to get to a woman named Sally Sparrow."

"Sally Sparrow? I know her! I just met her."

"Good, that'll make this easier for all of us."

"However," the Doctor spoke up again. "I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry. It's gonna take you a long time."

It felt like there hadn't been a moment to breathe after that. Getting the man a job to work on films was no trouble really. The psychic paper was enough for that.

Getting us on set was a new challenge but still ended up working out alright.

We snuck in during the middle of the night. Everyone in the studio had gone home by then. Billy, the man that we had found in that alleyway, had been very helpful. I think at some point, he knew that there was no good denying what had happened. He seemingly wanted to do some good while he was here.

And so, there we were. The Doctor sitting in front of a plain orange wall with the script and a camera in front of him. Martha and I stayed off to the side, watching as he read off his half of the conversation.

"How are you gonna know how long to wait?" Martha tilted her head. "Like between lines. How do you know you'll give Sally enough time to get her sentence out?"

"Didn't think about that," the Doctor muttered. "Guess I'll just hope for the best... gonna sound a little silly no matter what I do, isn't it?"

We both nodded.

"Good luck," I said, almost before I had a chance to stop myself.

The Doctor grinned at me. I let out a small sigh.

"Ready," Billy asked. The Doctor nodded.

It was as silly as it seemed. Small bits of a conversation that just sounded meaningless when there was no context to it. Had I not known the whole situation, I would've started laughing.

"I'm a time traveler. Or I was. I'm stuck in 1969-"

"We're stuck," Martha chimed in, leaning into frame. "I was promised all of space and time and now I'm working in a shop to support these two-"

"Martha," I pulled on her arm to get her to move back, trying to keep myself from chuckling at the whole thing.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

The Doctor fixed his suit before continuing on with the script.

"People don't understand time," he explained. "It's not what you think it is."

I thought about the lines that Sally had written down for herself. I grinned. She really was very clever.

"People assume that time is a strict progression of cause and effect, but actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey... stuff."

I scoffed, hiding my face behind my hand. I barely caught sight of the Doctor's small glare focused on me.

"What matters is we can communicate," the Doctor continued. "We have got big problems now. They have taken the blue box, haven't they? The angels have the phone box?

"Creatures from another world... The Lonely Assassins, they used to be called. No one quite knows where they came from, but they're as old as the universe, or very nearly, and they have survived this long because they have the most perfect defense system ever evolved. They're quantum-locked. They don't exist while they're being observed. The moment they're seen by any other living creature, they freeze into rock. No choice, it's a fact of their biology. In the sight of any living thing, they literally turn to stone. And you can't kill a stone.

"Of course, a stone can't kill you either, but then you turn your head away. Then you blink. And oh, yes, it can.

"That's why they cover their eyes. They can't risk looking at each other. Their greatest asset is their great curse. They can never be seen. Loneliest creatures in the universe."

I could make an argument against that statement but now wasn't the time.

"And I'm sorry. I am very, very sorry. It's up to you now. The blue box. It's my time machine. There's a world of time energy in there they could feast on forever, but the damage they could do could switch off the sun. You have got to send it back to me.

"And... that's it, I'm afraid. There's no more from you on the transcript, that's the last I've got.

"I don't know what stopped you talking, but I can guess. They're coming. The angels are coming for you, but listen because your life could depend on this. Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don't blink. Good luck."

And with that, the camera stopped. We bid our goodbyes and our best wishes to Billy and left the studio.

"So... what now," Martha asked.

"We see if it worked," the Doctor replied. "If the message got to Sally as it was supposed to, then the TARDIS should be on its way to us."

"At the old house," she concluded.

"At the old house." he nodded.

"Well, come on then," she pushed us both away from the studio. "Let's get out of here."

The house was still being built when we got there. It was mostly put together, but it was waiting on furniture and decorations and wallpaper.

"One last thing to do," the Doctor pulled out two small cans of paint and some paintbrushes as he spoke. I was always a bit jealous of his jacket.

"The message." I nodded. I grabbed the picture of it from the folder that Sally had given us. "Should go on this wall here."

"Won't someone just paint over it," Martha asked.

"Chances are that whoever comes to put the wallpaper up after we're gone will just see this as kids messing around," the Doctor said. "They're putting up wallpaper, no need to paint something so small."

She nodded.

I placed the picture down, leaning it against the wall.

"I'll start the top part. You start the bottom part," I explained, handing the Doctor a brush. "You have to sign your name on it anyway."

"Alright," he muttered.

Martha stood there for a moment, glancing around.

"I'm gonna check around the house," she said, turning to walk out of the room.

"Be careful!" I called after her. "Yell if you see anything!"

She didn't respond, probably because what I had said had seemed incredibly obvious to her.

I turned back to the wall. My eyes jumped between it and the picture of what Sally was supposed to find in the future.

I reached up, beginning to paint "Beware the weeping angels" as clearly as I could.

We worked in silence for a while. It was strange. I had grown used to there being some kind of rambling. The silence made my stomach twist.

I stepped away from the wall after finishing the first line, going to compare it to the photo.

"We need to talk," the Doctor said, still seemingly as focused on his part of the wall as mine.

"Is now the time for this?" I muttered. I couldn't avoid this conversation now. We were going to be here for too long.

"Yup," he replied bluntly, turning to look at me. "I don't like how we left things earlier. We haven't fought like that in ages."

"I know."

When that was all that I said, the Doctor continued, "Ages. We haven't argued like that since you hated me."

"Doctor, I know," I repeated as I looked at him.

"Then, you should also know why I feel like it's appropriate for us to have some kind of conversation about it."

I put the paint down on the floor. "Fine."

I paused when I saw the look in his eyes properly. There wasn't any anger or judgment. He just looked worried. Almost scared. It made me feel guilty for all of the anger that I had held toward him through the last few days.

"It's... It's Rose," I said.

The Doctor's eyebrows furrowed at me.

I sighed. "She was the first person that I could consider a friend. Before we got along, she was all I had. She helped me choose my name. She made me better. And I know how she felt about you and how you felt about her. I... I can't help but feel like I took something from her. It just... It felt selfish."

The silence after that was suffocating. It made me feel sick to my stomach.

"I'm sorry," I muttered after a moment.

"You don't need to apologize," the Doctor took a few steps closer to me. I took a deep breath as he did. "I care about you. And I am willing to wait. As long as you need."

I took a deep breath. "I don't remember patience being a gift of yours."

"Well," he grinned. "Not always. But now... for you... it's worth it."

I stepped forward and hugged him. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me."

"Shut up and accept it." I stepped back. "We should finish the painting."

We were just finishing the last few letters when Martha ran in. "I found the TARDIS! It's in the basement."

"Yes!" I ran after her as she ran back downstairs.

A few moments later, I heard the Doctor running behind us. It was clear that he had waited for a few moments to finish up the message.

I cheered again as I laid eyes on the TARDIS. "Oh, I have missed you!"

"Oh, look at that beauty," the Doctor said. "Thought you'd never come back to us."

"Who wants to do the honors," I asked, looking at the two of them.

"Dibs!" Martha called quickly. "My turn to look cool."

I shook my head as I chuckled at her.

I looked back at the Doctor as Martha unlocked the door. He was already smiling at me. I smiled back, feeling a sudden calm settle over us both. It was nice to not feel so scared now.

The familiar creak of the TARDIS door made me look back at Martha, who was smiling proudly in the doorway.

"Let's go. I am happy to be out of... this year for a while," she said.

We followed her inside, letting out a collective sigh as the door closed behind us.

"What now," I asked.

"Well, we have the TARDIS back," the Doctor walked around the console. "And I'd suggest just flying off into the vast expanse of space, but... we have to make a small pitstop first."

"Of course we do," I muttered. "Cardiff?"

"Yup."

"What's in Cardiff?" Martha looked between the two of us.

"There's this little crack in the fabric of the universe."

"Originally, there were these gaseous beings using it as a door before a very clever woman sacrificed herself to close it," I added.

"But it didn't close all the way," the Doctor continued. "There's still a small crack. Like a scar."

"Park the TARDIS on it and the TARDIS can absorb the energy coming from it and use it to repair damage... like damage from the Weeping Angels trying to use it as an infinite food supply."

"Won't take long," the Doctor promised.

"Don't say that," I interjected. "Last time we did this, we almost dropped Cardiff into the rift."

"I'm sorry... what," Martha asked.

"That... was not our fault. No Slitheen this time." the Doctor said.

"Comforting," she muttered, sarcasm as clear as day.

I wrapped an arm around her, giving her a small side hug for her troubles. She grinned over at me as the Doctor ran around the console.

There was a new wave of calm through the TARDIS. Not the same kind of calm that happened after we made it out of some dire situation. This one was smaller, but still significant.

I could only hope that it would last long enough for us to truly enjoy it.

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Bonus feature 2 the last post which I feel! strongly! abt! Jarring Linguistic Drift:

Louis’ accidental drift…

… is slang/idiom from his mortal era, so turn of the 20th century-ish (tho he HAS still got the Roaring 20s morbs)

He’ll also be intentionally anachronistic as punctuation, usually 21st century AAVE turns of phrase, in baby-boomer use cases (ie correct usage in #Dad deadpans).

Back to the Mad Decade—he also revisits 20s hepcat slang upon the reprise of below’s Quaker Castigation. we lov a deconstruction.

& the drawl is Longest when a #bitch, and Roundest when unsettled (by catbird-esque Iberian falsetto, for instance; also below)

Armand’s archaisms—

clock as formality, I think (in languages with informal & formal pronouns/etc he chooses the latter), also ft strategic/comedic slang.

Maître's radiodrama patter was comedy insufficiently tailored to the Theatre:(:(

Armand’s use of the Shakespearean-era royal we/informal thee is EXCLUSIVELY RUDE. Conversely, it’s an ambush tailored, particularly to Lestat, so sufficiently, Lestat Will Not Notice As It Happens, it’s not satisfying either…dire wolf hunting ground-sloths in a tar pit, never foreseeing it will be mired as well…prosaic yet poignant…

(Neither can Armand rush the deceit, because the scientific method ALWAYS satisfies. One must seize data collation, especially on the conditions necessary to goad Lestat into returning Early Modern English fire, and perhaps finally conclude whether he can be Pissdt Off into a sarcasm older than Gorboduc-retro.)

Lestat’s trail-mix

Is often, in English, not something that was grammatically correct in a previous era’s dialect, either—he’s just francophone and would rather die than give a shit.

His multilingual trail-mix is ALSO vastly ignorable, by being on a grandpa-audacious tip with his misuse of modern slang, & kinda avant-garde with olde anachronism—supposedly to float lyrics for his next album. Also supposedly, the limericks Nicki would laugh at were only told as Patch Adams-esque emotional labor.

Aussi une tendance anglophobe, Lestat does bitch-comedy in American accents from parts of the East-Coast he's never fucking been to. Or Charo impression, pitch-perfect yet implacably Portuguese (you’d think it’s a consonant thing, via French & Portuguese, but Auvergnat seems to do those Spanish-style—he’s fuckin around with his diphthongs though)…

The OG Quaker Castigation, aka The Pillorizing of Plain-Speech, is some shit he and Armand did, while bored, in Britain, during the Napoleonic Blockade in 1810ish. For 0 deeply personal reasons, from either of them—Quakers r just easily scandalized, & talk funny, also did I say they were bored? They were.

y Bugs:

Daniel perfected his queenvoice @ a time when he could reclaim shit from fuck. Alack.

While no canon of the dannyboy is Jewish, I enjoy the hc, & therefore the cultural (iirc US, but as for regional I’m not atm sure) rising-intonation-of-questions/non-rhetorically framed sarcasms.

(Considering them his strategic/comedic deployments, just bc Eric Bogosian seems to, specifically, do downward-dog-casm deliveries, which I would like to marry upon looking more into West-Coast Jewish mores)

Also enjoy hc-ing Daniel as autistic, & therefore actually auditorily stim’d by Lestat’s ad-lib alliterating—AND Armand’s transcontinental Noir monologues.

He’s also the only one besides Armand that Louis can regress into idiomatic disco fever with, and the only one who can keep up long enough to emotionally exhaust everybody else.

[viccharine]

panic, meet the press

[commentary, process pics, and alternate version under the cut! reblogs appreciated !]

full disclosure guys, I wasn’t the BIGGEST fan of London Beckoned when I first listened to afycso, but like the majority of the album it grew on me after the second listen—london beckoned, I constantly thank god, and the only difference are by no means my favorite songs on the album (tbh, they probably are the most forgettable songs if I HAD to choose) but afycso is such a good album overall that even the “worst” songs are insanely good

(although, I genuinely despise I write sins—i legitimately feel as though it is the weakest song on the album, possibly because it is overplayed but also I don’t think it holds up as well as the other songs off the album)

anyway, this wasn’t originally supposed to be patd fanart but the disco ball was too on the nose, so I just added in a lyric that I felt was fitting. which, by the way, this sort of pseudo-alliteration (for lack of a better phrase) appears a LOT in afycso—some more that come to mind: “relax, relapse” “alone in this bed, house and head”

and now here’s some process pics:

i feel like these pics really kinda illustrate what i meant by “carving the figure out” that I described in the commentary under my build god post—if you ignore the fact that i took the disco ball from a picture of the disco ball i had at my 18th birthday (i didn’t want to draw a disco ball. sue me). ignore the fact that a LOT is missing from this progression, i forgot to record my process

anyway, just to wrap up, i really like the execution on this one!! it’s very similar (but i think slightly better than) my build god piece, so i think this is a good sign of improvement! maybe I’ll make this a series and draw every song off afycso in this style, who knows! just started school again today, so we shall see how much free time i have haha

here’s the build god piece for reference btw (plus an alternate orientation of the london beckoned piece!):

k thx thats all byeeeeeeeeeeeee! (btw, does anyone wanna share afycso rankings?)

[camelspit]

Lady Vespera by @tw-5

Luzia Vacker by @average-alliteration-admirer

Definition of a sexywoman: An often pathetic and/or evil woman who is sexy (but perhaps not in the conventional sense)

Propaganda:

Lady Vespera:

"breaking news: evil, cruel woman goes to jail for thousands of years, gets broken out by a gang that forcibly adopted her, wears nothing but slutty gowns and headdresses, slices up a 15-year-old girl, and gets blown up by her evil girlfriend" @arsonistblue

"please please please. she's evil. and hot. and I would let her do her evil experiments on me (Im so gay)" anonymous

"I'd let her experiment on me any day 😏" anonymous

"She’s literally evil, she doesn’t care or reveals in your pain. She is disturbingly beautiful after being locked away for hundreds of years. She is eternal" @hellbent-boy

"Beautiful, likes to torture people/species, evil, conniving, intelligent, literally all a girl could ever want" @keefetheshimmerbooty

"certifiably evil torturer of humans went numb and not only that but kind of a bitch and a hater. her disdain towards gisela is soo funny. to be fair she’s not terribly pathetic but it is kind of a loser move to explode into unidentifiable shards. if u think about it" anonymous

"women in stem" anonymous

"she's STILL beautiful after being locked away for millennia, she's hot, she's numb, she's ruthless, she doesn't care AT ALL, what more do you need" anonymous

"Guys, Vespera literally tortured and conducted experiments on humans out of goddamn curiosity! SHE IS FUCKING OUT OF HER MIND and her death? How more pathetic can it get?? She died by having rocks thrown at her- FUCKING ROCKS that weren't even that big! PLEASE VOTE HER PLEASEEE" @ann-lol

Luzia Vacker:

"she's so funny to me, imagine you're an insanely powerful illusionist whose lesbian situationship turns out to be evil, and instead of acknowledging that, you just seclude yourself in your house for thousands of years and build a secret illegal troll hive in your backyard, then you give the house to your great-great-great-etc grandson and don't bother mentioning it, and it turns out the organization that your evil ex situationship is now a part of post-jailbreak is using that hive to make bloodthirsty mutant trolls. and also you have to help a 15-year-old save some baby horses." @arsonistblue

"she’s pathetic. her friend was killed by fintan’s everblaze incident thousands of years ago and she’s still not over it. she has a child but no husband in sight. she's probably divorced. she’s probably a lesbian!! she has a weird history with vespera. she’s been doing illegal troll experimentation for years and nobody knew about it until recently. loml" @crescentpaws

"if you want sexy she has it. if you want morally ambiguous to evil she has it. luzia is the sexywoman of all time. she literally invented troll eugenics and has traumatized the vacker family with generational trauma for millenniums. plus she totally hooked up with vespera in their evil experiments era. i need her to step on me and call me a slur. without her we wouldn’t have “what if i told you i stopped pressing buttons?” she is iconic. she is the moment. she is everything. a vote for luzia is a vote for toxic girl bosses stuck in toxic yuri situationships with their fellow evil scientist everywhere." @chocolate-mallowmelt

Want to submit propaganda? Do so here and it will be added in the next round!

[phantoms-lair]

45 for the crossover roulette.

MarvelxDC

~

"You okay?"

Peter looked up at the kid wearing a domino mask.

"Okay, kind of dumb question, but can you move? I don't think you want to be there if Klarion's next portal summons a monster."

"Who's Klarion?" Peter asked, confused.

"That," said the boy who on closer inspections was wearing...a really weird outfit and cape with a stylized R on the chest. He was pointing to what looked to be a floating kid in a school uniform with pale, almost blue skin and hair styled into horns. 'Klarion' was laughing as space and time seemed to rend around him.

"Okay, and what does Klarion want?" Peter asked, almost afraid to know.

"Chaos." Cape Boy said grimly. "No other goals. That's why we got you through a portal too, even though you're a hero."

"How do you know I'm a hero?" Not that it didn't feel good to be called that, but Cape Kid (Better, that one had alliteration) seemed to be putting a lot of faith in someone who fell through a random portal.

"You can see through the portals right before something falls out." Cape Kid point to one that now showed a stormy seas. "So we saw you saving that lady before you fell through. Awesome flip by the way. Can you teach me it? My older brother is an acrobat and I'd love to be able to show him up."

"Sorry," Peter apologized. "It's kind of something I can only do because of my mutati-" His Spider sense screamed and on instinct he grabbed Cape Kid and pulled him out of the way of a massive tentacle that slammed out of the sea-scape.

"ROBIN!" a voice called out.

"I'm okay B," Caped Kid, er Robin called out (guess that was what the R was for). "Portal Friend pulled me out of the way."

A man dressed in all in black landed next to them. For all the eared cowl and cape should have looked silly, this man carried it as intimidating. "Thank you. Your name?"

"Spiderman". It was impossible to see through the cowl, but Peter got the sense of an unimpressed eyebrow raised.

"It's no worse that Batman," Robin chided.

"It's not about the name. It's about the fact that he's trying to carry himself as an adult when he's clearly around your age."

What. The. F-.

"What are you talking about?" Peter tried to bluff. Sure he wasn't the tallest. But with the added muscle he looked more like a short adult than a teenager, right?

"You're in High School. Not even a senior." Batman said with absolute certainty.

Maybe he was psychic or something? Peter deflated.

"You're a teenager trying to carry yourself as an adult and you were fighting alone." It sounded like that that bit was what was upsetting him.

"Well, no one else knows I'm a teenager." Peter said nervously. "Most teenagers can't pick up cars." Not could most adults, but that was besides the point. "So any other heroes in NYC think I'm an adult too."

"Hn,"

"B says they're idiots," Robin translated cheerfully.

"Robin," Batman's tone held warning.

"Am I wrong?" Robin asked cheekily

"We need to focus on the matter at hand."

"That means I'm right," Robin stage whispered.

Peter couldn't help himself, he grinned. "So how can I help?"

"If you can keep Klarion distracted, I should be able to help Zatana get into place to stop the portals."

Peter grinned. "Oh don't worry, I can be very distracting."

~

"That was hilarious," Robin was almost bent in two laughing.

"Thank you, thank you." Peter mock bowed. "Man, Nightwing is going to be sorry he missed this. Oh Man, when you shot that web right in his face, gluing his mouth shut when he was gloating? That was great. Or when your asked what they were feeling him at the Victorian orphanage to turn his skin blue, and implied he just came out because he had the munchies-"

"Have you eaten?" Batman asked, ignoring Robin.

"Sorry?" the question took Peter off guard.

"Your suit was already scuffed when you arrived, so you'd either already been in a fight or at the end of a long patrol. You kept up a lot of high-energy movement and a powers like yours usually come with an increase in caloric needs. Have you eaten?" Batman repeated.

Peter's stomach answered for him with a low rumble.

"Hn."

"Batburger," Robin asked hopefully.

"No."

"...It's because of the fries, isn't it."

"You need to eat healthier."

"It's totally because of the fries." Robin nodded to himself.

"The fries?" Peter asked, confused.

"So this guy go the idea to open up a fast food burger place themed after Gotham's local vigilantes. The food pretty good for what it is, but recently they added a new option to the menu, seasoned fried with a spicy kick. But they called it Jokerizing the fries, and B is upset because he thinks it's trivializing what the Joker's victims go through."

Peter had no idea who the Joker was, but was guessing a villain. "...So would you say B's a little salty about the fries?"

Batman just looked to the smog filled sky, as if asking why all vigilantes acrobats had the same sense of humor.

"Finger's Deli."

"Yeah sure, their sandwiches are good." Robin shrugged. "What's your usual order?"

Oh, he was talking to him. "A cuban with pickles, squished real flat."

"Squished?' Robin asked. wrinkling his nose.

"It makes it crunchier." Peter defended.

"Stay here," Batman ordered, then fired his grapple gun and flew away. Hmm, maybe that was a feature he could add to his web slingers. "So do we know how I'm getting home?" Peter asked tentatively.

"No worries." Robin assured. "Zatana said everything Klarion pulled through will pop back into it's own reality in the next few hours. Yourself included."

"Cool, cool." So that was his big worry down. "Is Batman, like, your Dad or something?"

"He is." Robin confirmed "Not supposed to admit it, but it's kinda obvious. Like everyone assumes it anyways?"

"I can't imagine fighting crime with my un- a relative."

"Problems with your Dad?" Robin guessed.

"Not...really? He died when I was little. I don't even really remember him or Mom." Peter confessed.

Robin winced. "Sorry, I forget how often vigilantes are orphans."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, a lot of us. Including me and my brother and B."

"Um?"

"Adopted." Oh, that made sense. "Yeah, B keeps adopting kids who remind him of himself and then wonders why we're such drama queens who will go out in costumes to fight crime, including sneaking out if he tries to ban us." Robin laughed. "I can't complain though. Stealing his tires was the best decision I even made."

Peter made a choking noise "What?"

Robin shrugged. "I was young, homeless, and knew I could get top dollar for them. Like enough to keep me fed during winter. He catches me, I hit him with a tire iron because I'm sure I'm either going to juvie or he's going to steal my bones or something, and he just...asks me if I want to eat something. Took me to Batburger."

"Before the fries?"

"Before the fries?" Robin laughed, but it was a melancholy joy. "B's the best thing that ever happened to me. He gave me food and home, and never asked anything in return except for me to live my best life. I decided I wanted to be Robin because...I know what it's like to be that hopeless. And I want to give hope to everyone the way B gave it to me."

"There was a time when I was really afraid we were going to be homeless," Peter admitted. "And I know that's no where as bad as actually being, but..." Where was he going with this? He didn't like thinking of his early days. His disastrous wrestling career that ended in Uncle Ben's Death, trying to go to the Fantastic Four for a job and them telling him he couldn't get paid for being a hero.

Robin snorted. "I was there too, before the actually homeless thing happened. Don't feel like you haven't suffered enough to be at the trauma party because the absolute worst didn't happen. I'm guessing this is better since you have-" he gestured to Spiderman's costume, "-that setup." Pater laughed. "Dude, this outfit is completely scavenged. I sewed it out of old wrestler outfits. Made these," He pulled back his gloves, "out of scavenged metal and my uncles tools. The web fluid...okay I may have 'borrowed' some of what I needed from the high school chemistry department, but I've got a living culture now that just needs upkeep."

"That stuff's alive?" Robin's eyebrows shot up. "Sort of? It's a protean chain, crystalline in shape, but compressed. Once released it decompresses and expands exponentially before drying. Upside it also breaks down on it's own and is environmentally safe." Peter shrugged. "We are doing better though. My Guardian applied for some programs and I got a job. We're doing pretty okay now." Uncle Ben's life insurance had also helped. But there was no way he was counting that. He'd rather be homeless with his Uncle alive.

"I'm glad they applied for those programs. There al a lot of people who are either too proud, or think it's something that will be used against them." Robin said. And there was that melancholy twinge in his tone again. Had his parents refused those same programs before he was orphaned?

"I'm back." Batman interrupted in the same tone he had all night. He had a large plastic bag with him. Had he ordered in costume or changed out and changed back? Was this something he and Robin did often?

He sat down with them, pulled out the sandwich on top and then set it aside. He then pulled out another sandwich and a little side dish cup and handed them to Robin.

"Steamed vegetables?" Robin complained.

"I told you. You need to eat healthier." Batman said simply before handing the remaining bag contents to Peter. Three cubans -squished flat, a fruit cup, mac and cheese, and his own steamed vegetables.

"This is too much," Peter protested.

"It's not, I assure you." Batman paused. "Unless you meant it was too much to eat in one sitting, in which case it hopefully can travel with you when you go back."

"If I have to eat the veggies you do to," said Robin, tearing into his muffuletta.

"You don't even know me..." Peter said, "Why are you being so nice?"

Batman put his pastrami on rye down. He seemed to be cycling through several things to say.

"What does your support look like at home?"

"Like, my legal guardian?" Peter asked, confused.

"Does he know about your alternate identity?"

"She doesn't. She can't. She would blame herself for not figuring it our earlier, and the last thing I want to do is hurt her again. Besides, she's not exactly a fan of Spiderman."

"Friends?"

"Even worse. I had to send my best friend's Dad to jail. He will kill me, maybe literally, if he finds out I'm Spiderman."

"Work friends?" Robin asked, knowing Peter also held a job.

Peter snorted at that. "Don't have any. And even if I did it wouldn't be safe. My boss is the main printer of the articles about how Spiderman's a menace and needs to be hunted down."

Batman was frowning. "Other heroes?"

"Not really close to any. I've done some impromptu team-ups, but I think most of them find me kinda of annoying." Peter admitted.

Batman pinched his nose. "Because they assume you're an adult and picked up on your tones and mannerisms being more like a teenagers and rather than challenge the assumption of your age, decided you were an adult who was immature." he took a deep breath. "Spiderman this kind of life...it isn't one the works if you're by yourself. I was doing this for years before Robin joined me, but back then I had someone behind the scenes, even if he did nothing more than welcome me home at the end of each night. People need support, and that includes you. Whether it's your guardian, a friend of a fellow vigilante, as a human you need someone to lean on. Everyone does."

"And no offense, but it sounds like your civilian life is kind of a toxic echo chamber about your vigilante identity." Robin added. "That can not be good for your psyche."

"It's fine." Peter insisted, stuffing one of the sandwiches in his mouth. Neither Batman or Robin looked like they believed him.

"And maybe they're not wrong. Maybe I am bad at being a hero." Peter said, oddly defensively for someone deriding himself.

"I don't think that's true at all." Batman said gently. "I've barely known you an hour, Spiderman. And in that time you saved an elderly lady from your world, saved Robin, and helped fend off an avatar of Chaos."

"It was a good day." Peter muttered, busying himself with his sandwich.

"I think it's more you're a good person." Batman said kindly.

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean I'm not a screw up."

Batman's smile turned to a frown. "Who told you that?"

Technically lots of people. "Nobody had to."

"I don't believe that." Batman said with full confidence. Which was heartwarming until-

"Was it your Guardian?"

"Aunt May would never!" Peter spat out. "She's kind and so supportive. She's always been there even thought it's my fault-" Peter broke off.

"What's your fault?"

"It's my fault my Uncle's dead." Peter's voice cracked. Robin started to rise to his feet, but Batman stalled him with a raised hand.

"What happened?" Batman asked in his calm and even voice.

"I saw a guy getting robbed and I did nothing. I let it happen. All because the guy who was being robbed was a crook who'd cheated me out of money I'd earned. I thought it was karma. But that thief broke into our house when I wasn't home and he shot him!" Peter felt strangely exposed. He curled in on himself.

"You've never told anyone about this, have you?" Batman said, a statement more than an ask.

Peter shook his head.

Slowly Batman moved to put his hand on his shoulder. "I could tell. Because it seems you've never had anyone tell you it wasn't your fault."

Peter's head shot up. Adrenaline crashed through his body and he wasn't even sure why. "I let the guy go."

"You made a mistake in judgement. But given you had already been cheated by the man being robbed, you also had no way of knowing that first robbery wasn't personal."

"I still should have done something! With great power comes great responsibility." Peter insisted.

"Perhaps. But no amount of responsibility can equate to being omniscient. There was no way you could have foreseen what would happen."

"But....but..."

"Spiderman, when I was just a child myself, there was a movie I wanted to go see. I convinced my parents to take me." Robin moved in, shoulder to shoulder with Batman, reassuring him. "The movie was wonderful, everything I'd hoped. And then on the way home we were mugged. Neither of my parents made it."

Peter's breath caught in his throat.

"I blamed myself for wanting to see the movie and it took a lot of time and a very stubborn old man to help me understand it wasn't my fault. And I'm guessing the only reason no one's told you that is no one know you're blaming yourself. You're not responsible for your Uncle's death any more than I was responsible for my parents. You are a child. You deserve a support system. You deserve people you can open up with all the way. You deserve to not be constantly punishing yourself for giving the wrong person a second chance."

"I know I'm not persuasive enough to make you believe with one talk. And once Klarion's portal reverses I'll not have a chance to talk to you again. So please find someone in your world you can trust. If not your Aunt, another hero. If they're worth the title, they'll help."

"Maybe, I-" Peter cut off as his spider-sense gave a low tingle. "Uhhh, I think something's happening." "You're going back." Batman grabbed the rest of Peter's food and shoved it into his arms. "Tale the food and please talk to someone. You're doing so well and you deserve to have help and support." "I-" Anything Peter was going to say was cut off as Peter suddenly found himself sitting alone on a roof in NYC, the daylight suddenly glaring to eyes that had adjusted to the darkness of Gotham. He was back home. Batman and Robin were gone. He sat down on the roof and almost on auto pilot pulled out one of the sandwiches he was still holding. The paper was oddly deformed, he noticed as he unwrapped it. Almost like it had been-

Batman had squished his sandwiches after buying them. Because the deli hadn't and he'd wanted Peter to have the sandwich he wanted. It was such an Uncle Ben thing to do.

Maybe Batman was that world's Uncle Ben. Maybe Robin was that world's version of him. It was nice to think of that. That somewhere in the multiverse there was a world where he and Ben were in this together. Batman had said there was someone waited for him at home. That world's Aunt May?

He'd said he needed help, that he was allowed to ask for help. And Uncle Ben had never been wrong before.

~

Captain America let out a breath as the last of the Doombots fell. This had been a big one. An all hands on deck, fate-of-NYC. And God above it felt like this was becoming a monthly event. He was looking forward to heading home and taking a good long shower when Spiderman landed next to him.

"Hey Cap, can talk to you? For just a minute?"

As much as he wanted that shower, it was rare to see the cocky and wisecracking Webhead sound insecure. "Certainly. Shall I assume this requires more privacy that an open street?"

"Yeah, that would be good." Spiderman nodded enthusiastically. "We could go to a roof-no you don't have webslingers. That's rude."

Now Cap was getting concerned. Spiderman was acting...very not himself. He lead Spiderman away from the battle to a series of alleys he knew very well. If this was an imposter, he wasn't letting him pick the secondary location and made sure he had an advantage in terrain. Spiderman couldn't get full momentum of his swings here, but he himself could ricochet his shield into a near barrier. "Well?"

"Sorry," Spiderman said after a moment. "I'm trying really hard not to talk myself out of this for a third time."

The third time? Interesting.

He took a deep breath. "My name is Peter. I'm 16 years old. I'm barely keeping my head above water and I need help."

[choccy-milky]

hey! They already asked you but I don't know if you forgot hehe, what are the mbti of Clora and Sebastian? 😸

OK, I FINALLY HAVE AN ANSWER!! took me a hot minute to figure out sebs, but after reading all the pages and comparing, i do think entp fits him the best. also i saw this picture on pinterest about a relationship between isfj and entp and its so true, esp the "do not listen to each other's advice, still get each other out of trouble" LMFAO. also the 'protecting isfj at all costs' 🥺🥺🥺im soft. (ALSO DONT COME AT ME I KNOW I SPELLED KNOWLEDGEABLE WRONG IM TOO LAZY TO FIX IT😭) OKAY!! and its been a while so i'll be using this ask to reply to a buncha others🙏🙏

my fanfic does follow the plot of the game, but with sebastian added to every sidequest/story mission. and then from around the third (niamh's) trial, it starts to branch more into (mostly all) original stuff!^^

yes actually LMAO, clora's lawley-slap wasn't even planned. but as i was writing it i started to get so offended on her behalf i was like GIRL, SLAP THIS BITCH🤬 so she did😇😇 id say its normal, yeah! even tho i stick to my outlines, a lot of what happens just kinda happens without my prior planning as i begin to write bahaha, especially dialogue scenes.

aw, im glad u like my blog so much and that it can help u even in the smallest of ways 😭thank u!!💖💖

BAHAHA AWW TYY IM GLAD U LIKE IT SO MUCH!! i saw u re-reading it recently on wattpad and ur comments always have me dying. also im just gonna address your other ask here in this one, but as u know seb has now met mr.clemons, and you 10000% nailed the dynamic between seb and clora's dad LMFAOO, they will absolutely bond over disagreeing with how careless she is and wanting to protect her/stressing over her LOOL. ty again for all ur messages, i love seeing how much u love my art/fic😭💖

OMG u are so right i need to draw this

also god idk....following the sebinis example, i guess they'd be...sebora?? reminds me of sephora LMAO. ive also had someone call them "alliteration shipping" which i think is so cute BAHAHA. HONESTLY PPL CAN JUST SAY WHATEVER THEY WANT, i aint picky.

oh god its been too long since ive read the books (tho i do really wanna re-read them esp in the winter) but my fav movie is half blood prince, just because i love all the ron/hermione moments and the highschool drama BAHAHA. what do u mean harry potter isnt a romcom??? ok and last but DEFS not least

THE UNHINGED ENERGY OF THIS ASK CRACKED ME UP SO MUCH WHEN U SENT IT BAHAHAH, couldnt even fit the whole thing in my screenshot. IM GLAD U LIKED/HATED THE CHAP, and also your pfp just makes everything you say funnier, i love it LMAOOO. ty🙏🙏

[calamarispiderart]

hello hello!!! random question before i get started on work haha

how do you come up with dialogue for ur hms comics? the back n forth of them feels so heavy and realistic. especially the casualness paired with the bleeding-brooding (alliteration for fun) violence makes everything just. hit. in a tragic and hopeless way imo. it’s so neat :0

i’ve been trying that kind of writing out a bit lately too. this is what i’ve managed with my iambic pentameter gang (hms but rain world iterator). MiND is being threatened by the rage pent up inside himself. and, strangely enough, it has the voice of HeART.

constructive feedback is welcome ^_^!

once again, hello hello! sending good wishes and all :]. i love ur work ^_^ 💛

oooo hmm... this isnt something ive ever really thought about trying to explain, thank you for the question! big fan of the posing in the piece youve added here btw, i like the alliteration in 'heliocentric heathen' B:•∆

honestly the way i go about writing them isnt something i feel i can put into words with a clear structure of process... often with my comics it starts with me simply having a vague idea of 'i want to make a comic today', and drawing what feels right to lead into it. the words typically link in with the actions as well - i usually draw something, draw the next thing, write a bit of dialogue, draw the next thing, write more dialogue.... not in that exact order but the words always feel to be a reaction to the actions and the actions are a reaction to the words (and/or, words and actions work in tandem). people rarely talk in a vacuum, especially when theyre having the conversation in person, so i find it helpful to see the actions as part of the dialogue and vice versa.

occasionally ive scripted out dialogue beforehand (always with actions included within the script.) but even with a script what actually is said needs to adjust with whats been drawn. when i dont write with a script (which is the norm), its often while im drawing the next frame that im thinking over whats being said. typically i just go over and over a sentence mentally, adjusting bits until it feels right, looking at it once its written on the page and adjusting it more if necessary.

perhaps a bit vague? apologies! i do have certain mental rules i try keep in mind for each of the threes characters while writing. 'how would heart respond, how would he word this? mind? i cant word it this way because i know he doesnt do this...' <subconscious questions and thoughts but they are important to keep in mind. i find it the most helpful to keep the core traits i personally see in them in mind, and let those traits kind of... guide what is said. if i think of how that collection of traits and facets would respond to something, the vague concept that creates can then go through the filters of dialogue traits i have in mind for them. ...ehhh, put more simply... 'what is the general response this character would have to this situation' and then 'how would they structure that response through words and/or actions?'.

i, being who i am, cccc being what it is, am somewhat naturally inclined to writing grim and bleeding-brooding (nice word) things. i also consider myself to be quite a grounded person, which i hope comes through in my work! however, natural inclinations aside, cccc itself is quite a bleeding-brooding album (at least it is to me). its one about depression and self hatred and it really doesnt pull many punches in that respect. or at least, thats my read on it! as a result, that becomes reflected in my interpretation of hms. however, id also note that cccc is silly at times, theres humor in it. all good grim things need a bit of levity to really make it feel Real... people joke in the worst of times, not just the best, and it really helps in writing serious things to have just a little bit of joke to it, even if its not immediately noticable... this is hard to really give examples of honestly but it is relevant i promise. im unsure if youve read much of my writing aside from my comics, but theres just a bit of absurdity and humor in both my cccc pieces that would make the writing feel sorely lacking without in my opinion. notable with how violent and tense both those pieces are.

lots of words now! hopefully helpful ones B:•] or at least interesting! ill try write out some of the core traits and details i keep in mind when writing hms so as to give better reference points to all my prior words:

heart: reactive, not instigative. he doesnt start fights, he finishes them. he also doesnt need an insane amount of prompting to get going... but he does need prompting. apathetic, a bit fanciful. hes depressed, and not in a cute way. he talks casually but he uses serious words. no point in simplifying his language - he wants to be taken seriously, and while he makes himself look small and weak at times he is Not weak and he is Not small. hes just as much of a wordsmith as the other two. he covers his mouth when he speaks sometimes, and he puts his hand over his chest... a bit defensive? muffling his own input, but notably he still speaks. lies by omission or by twisting facts - if full honesty helps his case, thats what he uses. if a white lie works better... i personally see him as a bit of a planner too. sometimes his reaction to things is built up to; it never comes out of nowhere, even if it may seem like it.

mind: instigative, less reactive. he still reacts to things but hes generally the one starting shit and hes honestly very bad at Not talking shit. uses contractions. <this is a small one but mind says 'dont' and 'cant' and i dont think ive ever heard him Not use contractions to any notable degree. kind of weak! hes proud of himself, very proud of himself, and even in the moments of the album where theyre getting along he cant drop his superiority complex. hes bad at making compromises that put him as the lesser one. hes also quick to point blame and to lie (even if hes a bit roundabout abt it). hes also not That smart - or at least, hes not any smarter than the other two. he Thinks hes smart and hes quite confident about that but that doesnt actually mean hes right lol. aggressive verbally, passive physically. hypocritical.

both of them tend to see soul as an afterthought, or as something to benefit from. note the 'something', not 'someone'. imo, they dont really see him as a valid living entity in the same way they see themselves. speaking of soul...

soul: hes difficult. hes a difficult and complicated guy. vague, fanciful, depressed, suicidal, tired... i personally see him as quite passive. both passive and active... hes violent, towards himself and towards the others. just as they dont see him as an individual, i believe hes too apathetic and burnt out to see them as individuals either. when he threatens to hang himself, thats a direct threat to the two if them as well - and it functions as one, seeing as they are all linked in that way! his suicidality isnt purely self destructive in the way it would be in other story contexts which i find important to remember. i see him as someone who sleeps a lot... and as someone who is treated more like a tool than anything else. but he is, simultaneously, idealistic. he hopes for the best and would do anything (Anything.) to try and achieve it. he wants things to Get Better or to Stop. most of the time when i write or draw him its within the 'Stopping is the only option to Get Better' stage of things. hes tired and he doesnt want to deal with things but he has to and he doesnt want to and hes at the end of his rope. honestly within the album he feels a bit like a ghost. hes granted a similar level of personhood as the shadow of what could be, which is both more and less than mind and heart get.... hes confusing! hea a difficult guy. honestly you can take a lot of my notes and thoughts on his character with a grain of salt because hes always been such a puzzle to me haha. i find him easiest to convey in art... OH yes one last thought/trait is hes a bit... arrogant? hes tired and hes careless. listen to me or fuck off and die. arrogant. what a guy.

ahaaha this kinda became me just rambling about my reads on the three but.. hopefully helpful!! this is all stuff i try keep in mind when im writing and drawing them. theres certainly nuances ive missed and things i havent worded as well as i could, but you get the idea i hope! all of that informs how i write them and... in a way they almost lead me through the piece.

also! this isnt something i often think about because its just a natural part of the process, but sometimes i end up scrapping stuff! entire paragraphs, panels and poses, because it hits a stasis where i cant find any way for one or the other to continue the interaction - theres a distinct difference between this and the interaction hitting its ending point. if ive written one person saying or doing something and none of the parties involved are able to respond in any way at all, thats a sign that ive conveyed their characters wrong and i need to go back. people *always* have a response to something, whether thats continuing the conversation or leaving or anything. if none of them can come up with a response that feels like them, ive messed up somewhere. dont be afraid to go back and rewrite things.

ummm yeah thats all i can think of to say now! thank you for the question, and thank you for the nice words!! B:•∆ im very happy my comics come off the way youve described, and very happy youve enjoyed my work enough to want to ask me about it!! means a lot to me B:•] your rainworld iterator hms concept sounds swag as hell, id just say to keep at it!! from what youve shown here youve already got a great start B:•∆ thank you again! hope you and anyone else reading this has a good week!