#But it's easier for everyone to read if I just omit them

[faerielandtrolls]

Rhosak, your lusus is a chameleon right, did you inherit any chameleon-like abilities or qualities from it, or nah?

"Much like my dad, I'm able to cloak myself to blend in with my surroundings, although it's hard to do when most of my uniforms have bright fucking red streaks somewhere on them... But I guess that's just part of the job."

"And although it's different from his, I do have quite a long tongue~ But that's unimportant"

[cantsomeoneelsedoit]

Undead Unluck Theory

So I've been reading Undead Unluck since the beginning, but I haven't actually ever joined the fandom, (i.e., the contents of this blog may be Old News to everyone and/or everyone hates it and I just didn't realize...) but I was showing the anime to a friend and trying to explain my UU theory, so I googled and couldn't find anyone who had laid out something like this. If it already exists, apologies, but this is my version of what UU is all about.

Undead Unluck is a story about writing.

Spoilery things ahead!

The most important thing to know about Undead Unluck is that it's a story-within-a-story. An embedded narrative. Our characters are stock archetypes who are barely on the cusp of learning that they are in a story.

The main story outline stays the same as the author goes through various iterations and edits (aka Loops), testing out new ideas and often scrapping them. Characters evolve into different versions of themselves as the author edits. Our settings are varied as if the author were trying to fit all kinds of different genres into one story. AND THEY ARE!

Suggested listening, btw:

The Author, AKA God, adds variables to the story in the form of rules.

For example, a children's book about a goldfish has no need to mention that there is an entire galaxy of stars in the sky. The goldfish doesn't need to know. The readers don't care. It's irrelevant. That rule can be omitted from a story.

When the author changes the story, for instance, to make the story about a goldfish who goes into outer space, suddenly they need to add the concept of a galaxy, along with all the ancillary ideas (i.e., UFOs).

With their pencil eraser or backspace button, the author changes the reality for ALL of the characters in the work, so that the existence of outer space becomes a Known Thing in-universe. No biggie. It's always been that way, as far as they know. The instant the author changes something, it's done.

This Hand of God kind of author appears in other ways, like the way the Union members arrive via a crack in the sky. They literally fall from the sky like characters in the Barbie movie.

The crack in the sky is a wall-break, but it's not the fourth wall that's broken. It's the wall between the author and the characters!

Remember that cartoon where Daffy Duck argues with the animator's hand? Characters are just playthings for the author. They can be dressed up or imperiled just because.

When you begin to read UU from this perspective, some characters seem more sentient than others.

The characters are tired of being screwed over. They're tired of suffering. They're tired of being tested for no reason. Can't God just give them an easy life? Do all characters hate their authors this much?

Ragnarok is when the author effectively overturns the dollhouse and starts a new story with the same characters, settings, and themes, but adding the kind of slight variations that an author's idle mind might create. The basic "frame" of the dollhouse remains, but we can try out new scenarios like:

"What if X met Y in another time or place?"

"How would X be different if they'd grown up in a harsher or easier environment?"

"What if X was a villain?"

And so the author begins again, pitting their characters in new situations to observe and see how they react. Authors love that shit. Just look at all the ask blogs on tumblr!

Authors enjoy looking at their characters from new perspectives. Even the bad ones! Many times, an author has had a character (say...Victor) in their imagination for a long time, but the character evolves into a slightly different version of themselves (Andy). It's natural to want to keep both versions of this character. And since this is the author's dollhouse, they can do whatever they want, even if this confuses and disturbs Andy/Victor.

Victor and Juiz are, I think, God's starter OCs. Their story is one of seriousness, mystery, and a romance with unresolved tension. They want to be together; we want them to be together; but the author won't let them be happy because keeping that tension burning is what makes the story good. Of course they had a falling out! Of course they're eternally separated in a tragic and beautiful way. After all, they were the main characters for a long time.

You're probably saying, "This theory can't work because we've SEEN God! We've seen Luna!" My idea is that Luna and God are two aspects of the author.

God (Sun) as the author as a writer: Makes brutal changes, can delete everything, loves to start over and test the characters in different environments, never satisfied with the ending.

God wants to make things HARDER for the characters because they are trying to write an interesting shonen story.

God (Luna) as the author as a reader: Authors also like to sit back and read their own works. Sometimes they have a nice cup of tea with them. The tea signifies that Luna is acting as a reader.

Luna, as a reader, has gotten attached to the characters. They want them to succeed. They are trying to make things EASIER for the characters bc they're emotionally invested in the story. Luna also keeps the memories of past rough drafts in the form of artifacts that can be used to bring back discarded story elements.

I don't think either Sun nor Luna truly understand that our characters are capable of suffering, btw.

Luna and God are in a competition with themselves, just like the internal struggle of an author as they want to:

Create an interesting story that will be a success. To get the story "right" and fully explore all the possibilities

but also

2. Just have fun with the characters and help them reach the end of the story.

Killing God means finding a final end to the story so that the characters can have a stable existence. The characters can achieve this by resisting the author's attempts to rewrite.

So, that's the gist of my insanity. I have a bit more in the drafts if anyone is interested in hearing more. I would enjoy doing a read-through blog someday, but I thought I might test the waters with my theory first.

[rayclubs]

Do you have any advice on how to improve writing characters and character interactions?

Yes! Oh my god, this ask got me so excited I’m actually typing out the response in a word document. Let’s fucking go. I’ll try to omit any well-known advice like “read other books” and “practice a lot”, y’all know that already, so I’ll get straight to practical tips. I’ll also be bringing up examples from my TF2 fics because it’s easier for me to make my points this way, and also because my fics are epic and you should totally read them.

Branch out from the widely recognized go-to emotion signifiers. Watch the people around you and notice how often they raise an eyebrow when confused, or tilt their head when inquisitive, or clench their fists when angry – it’s not entirely implausible that they do it, but chances are, they also do something else that’s way more unique, more interesting, more “them”.

It makes emotions personal, but it also makes gestures and non-verbal interactions personal. In the beginning of my fic “Kill the Red”, Soldier salutes Pyro in the way of encouragement because that is how Soldier acts when he’s trying to be reassuring and confident. At the end of the fic, this happens: “(Pyro) glanced up, found Soldier’s eyes, and gave him back that salute he owed.” It’s a very small bit, but it reinforces Soldier’s characterization as an assuring, commanding presence, as well as Pyro’s impressionable but proactive personality, and helps define their unique dynamic. I could have had Soldier give Pyro a pat on the back instead and be done with it, and the fic wouldn’t suffer too much, but what I went with in the end is way better.

Dialogue is my favorite part of the writing process, but it’s also the easiest to mess up. Here’s few important things to keep in mind when writing dialogue.

Get to the point. Skip the vocal fills, greetings and goodbyes, and all deceivingly human junk that is so easy to get caught up in. Have your characters say what they want to say, in the way that only they would say it, and be done with it. If there’s no consequence or weight to the way someone says “sorry”, write simply that the character apologized, but don’t dignify it with quotes and a dialogue tag. That’s for special occasions only.

Make dialogue tags into actions. There’s a bunch of examples for this in all my fics, here’s some from “Close Call”.

“Coming to a professional?” Spy smiled, eyes narrow like those of a mischievous cat.

“Where?” Soldier squinted and leaned forward but seemed to be looking in the wrong direction, just slightly too far to the left.

“I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.” A cardboard folder was pressed into Sniper’s chest. Spy grinned proudly. “Take a look.”

He clutched the steering wheel. “It’s the only big enough clearing in these bloody woods.”

Like, it’s such a technical advice, but I read fanfiction and I know how many people struggle with this, and it just helps the flow of conversation so much? You can say “said” and “replied” and other such words, but it really does wonders to intersperse them with actions that do not imply speaking at all. This is also how I manage conversations among multiple people without constantly going “X asked” and “Y answered”. It establishes the presence of every character in the scene in a proactive manner but doesn’t overburden the text with needless clarifications.

Count your lines. That’s a simple one. Count your paragraphs to make it so the characters’ lines alternate. Even if nobody says anything, count that paragraph as a line too. It just makes text so much clearer.

Make characters say what they think. This is so basic but like. I saw the exact opposite advice once and it bugs me so much. No, you don’t obscure the characters’ intentions and feelings in fifty layers of unnecessary misunderstandings to create pointless drama, that’s the opposite of a good story! That’s how you get the one part of Shrek 1 that literally everyone criticized! Goddammit!

There’s a weird example of this with chapter three of my “Vignette Collection”, ironically titled “misunderstanding”. The gist of the fic is that Pyro communicates via gestures and social cues that Medic is too autistic to understand. It works – again, ironically – because both of them say exactly what they mean, even if they don’t understand each other and see the world differently. The resolution is fucking hilarious fitting because the conflict doesn’t exist strictly on the level of phrasing, there is an actual clash of interest in there. Does that make sense? I feel like it doesn’t make sense. Good god.

Make characters be wrong. It’s hard to explain but there’s a really good example in my “Acceptable Losses”. The context of the scene is that Medic is injured and Spy is worried about him, though, importantly, he doesn’t say it verbally. The story is from Medic’s POV, and at some point this happens: “Spy reached into his front pocket for the cigarette case, but reconsidered, for some reason.”

The “for some reason” bit is Medic’s thoughts. I know the reason. You – the reader – know the reason. The reason is that the man is concerned and doesn’t want to smoke up the kitchen when his friend needs clean air and a healthy meal. The only one who doesn’t get this is the point-of-view character. This characterizes him as someone who is accepting of other people’s occasionally strange disposition, but ultimately oblivious to social clues.

This bit alone doesn’t amount to much, but this trait reinforced like fifty times throughout the story works to built that character trait well.

Incorporate metaphors into characterization. I fucking love doing this so much. I have two fics that practically do nothing but this – “What’s it called, Engie?” and “Seasons”. I could write fucking essays about my thought process for both of them but this is already so long so let’s just briefly consider the former. On a side note, I hate that I named it that, I usually have nice names for my fics but that one fucking pisses me off. Anyway.

In “What’s it called, Engie?” Soldier and Engineer alternate POV’s as the story sees them build a close relationship over the course of several unconnected scenes. The core theme is that Soldier cannot express his emotions verbally in a manner that makes sense, so he works through associations instead, and Engie helps him navigate it, all while learning more about the way he sees the world in the process. Well, within this metaphor, Engie is a bee – a busy creature with a nurturing nature and an unexpected sting, while Soldier is an old tree – big and easy to stand out but purposeless and “dry”, as in emotionally. So here’s a few lines from the fic that practically state that directly:

Dell’s voice sounded like watching a bus leave seconds before you could reach it. Like waking up in the middle of the night finding no water at the bedside. Like winter striking too early and forcing the bees to hide.

Bees picked the nicest flowers with open petals, overflowing with nectar and so full of pollen it made people sneeze. Jane couldn’t imagine why such a hard-working genius bee would waste its time trying to nurture a dried-out old twig.

He stayed quiet. Like the silence of a flower to the buzz of a bee, sometimes no answer was an answer too.

And here are a few lines that are not about any of that at all:

“Here, how’s that feelin’?” – and up went the metal case, unfolding into a dispenser, adding its soft hum to the buzz of the workshop.

The clock ticked and tacked like a woodpecker fussing over a worm-eaten tree trunk.

There was a long pause before more words followed, shaky like tree branches in the wind.

“Can I still keep coming to your workshop though? I like how it buzzes.”

Here’s the kicker: THEY’RE ALL THE SAME IMAGERY. They’re the same fucking thing. Trees, bees, hums, buzzing, they’re the same metaphor. There’s one metaphor in that goddamn fic. This is so easy to write but can be so effective, it feels like it should be illegal.

(Another side note: I could write a dissertation about all the shit going on in that fic, like, there’s the naming of characters, the vibrant metaphors of Soldier’s POV contrasting with the practical view that Engie has of the world, the tiny little bits of blink-and-you-miss-it characterization, etc etc okay sorry to brag so much I’m just insane)

This is getting REALLY long so here’s just a few more points with very brief examples to wrap up, and let me know if you want to hear me ramble about writing some more because I love it to a ridiculous degree like. Okay.

You can use association to built unique metaphors. Try to imagine a feeling in your head, pick a few things that feel similar, and then tweak them so they fit the overall theme. My favorite theme is nature and weather metaphors, and my favorite example of this is this line from “Falter” – “Demo plowed through the ocean of their misfortunes with the ferocity of a steam engine, and Soldier clung to him like a flea to a fur coat.”

A character arc does not necessarily have to change your character in a big way. Sniper goes through a character arc in “Close Call”, but it manifests in really small ways, such as him resolving to call his parents, or him letting Spy have his coffee maker.

Also like. Basic but you need to have an idea of where the story is going and why, even if it’s a really small-scale story with very low stakes. That way you can introduce things in the beginning and then call back on them at the end. It’s called a circular plot structure, but on a smaller scale it does not have to be the whole plot, it can just be individual elements that aren’t plot-relevant, like the coffee maker described above.

Use nomenclature as a tool of characterization. Decide what words your characters use to refer to others and to themselves, and stick by that. Differentiate them this way. It’s fun.

Anything can be a bit of characterization. It never exists in a vacuum. You have to get into your character’s brain and just sit there all the time. Good luck.

Hope this was at least a little bit informative. Cheers!

[awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands]

Dear fucker Nikki (fanfiction)

A/N: This little letter was born out of nowhere and will probably give you a toothache but it needed to get out. Plus it was Nikki's birthday yestarday, so why not? A huge thanks to @glamourizedcocaine for their wonderful handwriting <3

Dear Nikki,

you are probably wondering who the fuck I am but don’t bother because I don’t exist. Well, I should say I don’t exist yet but I will. See, I’m Nikki from 2023 your 65 years old version and as you can see we didn’t lose our love for making things as complicated and dramatic as we can.

Let’s start with the big question: how in the hell did we get to 65 years old? I’m still wondering about it myself so I can only give you my honest opinion : we pulled our heads out of our ass and someone up there took mercy on us. Does this answer satisfy you? Probably not, but I’m here to explain.

Right now it’s December 11 1987 for you. You are all alone in your Van Nuys house, shooting up under a Christmas tree and wondering why nobody loves you or why did your family abandon you. “Why does living feel so draining?” you used to say or I should say I used to say but I prefer referring to you as a separate being. Loneliness is eating you alive as much as your addiction is destroying your life piece by piece, you know that but you are too scared to admit it. You need help but you don’t know how to ask for it.

Second question: why are you writing to me, your past self? I could say it’s because I’m an egocentric bastard or because I want to leave something to this world but I’d be lying. The simplest answer is that I felt the need to. 

The more complex one is that we live in a fucked up world, where each day everything seems to fall to pieces and the opioids epidemic seems to take more and more lives. It doesn’t matter how much I try to take action because it never seems enough but if I know something that did help that was the book I wrote about our story so maybe this letter will too.

However deep down I know you can read through my bullshit. Even after all these years I still think I can trick people but I end up looking like a child with a mouth covered in sugar who swears he didn’t eat any candy. I didn’t completely lie when I said I’m doing this to help people but I omitted that I’m one of those people.

“What the fuck dude, you just told me we get to be 65 and now you tell me we are still need help?”  

Well, everyone needs a little comfort sometimes even when you know all the tricks to take care of your mental health. I might be an old man but you still live in me, just like the little Nikki who has been hurted by everyone, simply some days I can hear your voices more loudly than others. I know the symptoms all too well : racing heart, general tiredness, the urge to fuck everything up, emotions all over the place. 

So what do I do? Anything you wouldn’t do: allowing myself to feel the emotions instead of bottling them up, relaxing, distract myself and writing this letter. Knowing who I was and how far I’ve come, getting back in contact with you gives me hope for two reasons : reminds me I don’t want to get back to that and empowers me to heal. I thought nobody was there to comfort me so I’m letting myself from the future do it because sometimes it’s easier to be kinder to our younger versions even if they were a piece of work like you.

You’re worth it, just like I am. Even when the world feels like collapsing on itself, we are still worth it. We were worth it when I was you, a junkie, and we are when I’m just an old man playing bass. I just need to repeat it over and over until it becomes a part of me since the human minds are incredibly forgetful when it comes to their importance.

I want to leave you with hope, the same one that helps me going through all the hard times in my life. We made it, we finally got the family we always wanted : Gunner, Storm,  Decker, Frankie and Ruby are all different ages and we love them with our whole heart. Ruby is only 3 now and she gets to receive everything we didn’t, especially since we are more mature compared to the others. I hope I’m a good enough father for them but sure I tried and keep trying my best. What matters is that it’s possible to break the abuse cycle and we are the living proof. 

The band it’s still going after 40 years and after a brief pause we are still touring. So many teenagers love Motley Crue now because they made a movie about us, which allowed me  to tell your story and show people there’s always light at the end of the tunnel.

Thank you Nikki for not giving up on us and coming back that night. Thank you for allowing me to blurt my feelings out in this letter on my birthday, while I’m hidden in my home’s studio while I get to roll a tear and move on. Thanks to all the other Nikki(s) who fell down and got right up because that’s what we do. And lastly thanks to myself for keeping fighting and making sure that future Nikki can enjoy his old age with a lovely family and badass fans.

It will get better for you and for me.

Sincerely yours

An old man you killed 36 years ago or Nikki Sixx.

[kokobopam]

h i, it's me :') do you have any tips for writing horror (and the suspense that comes with it)? i'm going to need all the help i can get and you felt like the right person to ask

Hi!

I really appreciate you coming to me for horror advice. I gotta say I'm not an expert and I've learned a lot of things intuitively, but I'll list a few things that I always try to keep in mind and work for me.

Contrast is key. Jumping right into the horror might be shocking but it's not really going to scare the reader in a way that really unsettles them. I think it's important to show your characters in a world where the horrible things haven't happened to them yet. That doesn't mean it needs to be all sunshine and rainbows. Your character can be depressed or have been just kicked out of their job, but if you give your audience time to relate to them/their struggles, then the horrors will hit harder.

This is related to the previous one but building up the tension, and letting it simmer for a bit before it boils can really make a difference. You can start small with things that aren't quite right but are hard for your characters and audience to tell what's wrong with them just yet. Then you can progressively make them worse until they're impossible to ignore and it's obvious that something really bad is going to happen.

You don't need to explain everything. Horror doesn't need a magical system to explain the logic behind it (in fact, magic doesn't need it either), most of the time it's something that it's beyond our comprehension. Overexplaining something, trying to make it make sense, takes away the mystery and the dread that come from things that we can't understand. It's a matter of being conscious about what you're saying and what you're purposely omitting. There are a lot of things that can be said in between lines and you're reader's imagination will fill in the gaps in ways that are more scary to them.

Planning in advance is important. And I say this as someone who usually writes very short stories that don't need too much planning, but it makes such a big difference for horror, thrillers, and mysteries. If you know where your story is heading, it's easier to do all the things I mentioned before. You can also play a lot with foreshadowing, leaving little crumbs here and there that will make sense by the end of the story and everyone will be like "omg I read this but I didn't see it coming!" It'll also help you write an ending that isn't just a bigger scare than the previous ones, but something that actually fits the plot and tone of the sotry.

That's all I can think of right now. These are obviously not rules, more like guidelines you can follow (or not) depending on what your story requires. I've personally found them helpful so far.

I hope this makes sense! Let me know if you have any other questions.

[sytortuga]

Deafening silence (Chapter 2/3)

General summary: Pre-canon. Din goes to the Wild Space on a mission to capture a Kaleesh bounty. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, but he didn't expect the mission to have permanent consequences on his life.

Warnings: poisoning, general violence, animal attack, animal injury, depictions of sickness, vomiting, hallucinations, permanent nerve damage, permanent consequences on way of life. Some warnings are omitted to avoid spoilers. Proceed with care if any of the above are triggering subjects.

Author's notes: Here's chapter 2 for this fic that was intended as a contribution to @ailesswhumptober. As I already mentioned for chapter 1, this work wouldn't have never happened without @itzagoodthing. Check out the work of this talented writer if you haven't already! 🤩

You may read this chapter in AO3 if you prefer.

Chapter 2/3: The confrontation.

Chapter summary:  Din makes it back to the covert. He confines himself to his alcove to try and ride out the effects of inhaling the Divvik's gas. Some misunderstandings won't make things easier with the process.This will take him on to revive some painful moments of his life.

Since the elders had determined that they should only leave the Tribe one at a time, training the foundlings had become one of Paz Vizsla's favorite tasks. Daily, he would gather a group of younglings for lessons. Some had sworn the Creed and wore their helmets, while others didn't, be it for age or lack of fighting skills. But that didn't make any difference. They were all motivated to learn, to grow and become Mandalorians, and that was all Paz needed to know from them. It didn't matter where they came from. They were all destined to become fierce warriors, loyal members of the Tribe.

That morning he was making the children work on close combat and he was teaching on the use of the shield and vibroblade. 

"When you're deep in the fight, it will occur that you'll need to rely on close range combat skills. In these situations, more than ever, using body, mind and heart, in synchrony and balance, becomes essential. What I mean is that in close combat, physical condition is of essence. But if not used with concentration, dedication, and strict discipline, a fighter cannot be expected to win." 

Paz watched another foundling join the group as he talked. Without giving it more relevance, he continued. "In the same manner, an intelligent and patient warrior will not succeed without strength and speed. Melee weapons should be on you at all times, regardless of your weapon of choice. It will save your life more times than you'll imagine. Now, when dealing with close range combat, one thing you should always… " 

Paz interrupted his speech when the foundling who had entered the training room last, was whispering something to other foundlings. Annoyed, and before he could react, another tribe member came into the room and approached Paz.

"Paz," the other Mandalorian whispered in the infantryman's ear. "It's the beroya. He just came back but he's returned empty handed. No rewards and none of the supplies were required. Everyone is talking about it," he continued. "Walked down the main corridor, swaying and bumped into me. He seemed drunk, if you ask me. He didn't even bother answering when I asked if he needed any help. Without any word, he just disappeared down the tunnels, towards his quarters."

Lost in his thoughts, the heavy infantry Mandalorian fixed his gaze downwards, pondering on his brother's words.

"You know Djarin best, Paz. I thought you should know."

"Stay with the foundlings," Paz said. "I'll go check on him."

With this, the infantryman took his leave, determined to understand what was going on. He navigated the maze of tunnels towards the hunter's alcove, finding other vode whispering among them. That behavior didn't sound like Djarin. He also knew him well enough to know that he would have never come back to the covert empty handed.

Arriving at the hunter's appointed quarters, Paz found the curtain separating the alcove from the corridor was drawn closed, indicating, as it was customary, that someone was inside.

"Beroya, are you in there?"

Paz got no response. Knowing that Din must be inside, he hollored,"Hey, Djarin!" 

Again, no response, and Paz felt himself quickly losing patience. After waiting what he considered enough time for Din to put on his helmet and come out, he pulled open the alcove's curtain. Paz found Din laying on his cot, immobile.

"At least he's spared me the drama of finding him helmetless,'' he murmured to himself as he stepped into the alcove. The fact that Din hadn't even noticed that he had stepped into the small room had Paz suddenly worried. He looked around and didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He didn't see any obvious injuries on the man, no apparent blood or damage to his armor. He then shoved the Mandalorian's feet off the bed. He had clearly caught Din by complete surprise, as the man jumped awake.

"What the hell, runt?” Paz balked. “What's up with you?"

Just slightly raised from the bed, laying on his right side, Din looked at him in silence. 

"Everyone is talking about your entrance back there. Care to explain what is going on?"

Din seemed completely oblivious to what Paz was saying. 

"Least you can do is answer when you're being talked to!" said Paz. "Come on," he continued, gesturing for him to get up. 

The way Din continued to lay there, not making an effort to get to his feet made Paz snap. 

"Get up!" Paz  finally said as he grabbed the smaller Mandalorian by the collar of his flight suit, forcing him to stand up. 

"So, are you going to tell me what happened?" Paz noticed the other man could hardly keep his balance. 

"Speak, di'kut!" said Paz, giving Din's shoulder a shove.

To Paz's surprise, that soft move of aggression had Din swaying. Instinctively, he grabbed Din by his left arm to prevent him from falling. He then noticed how Din's left arm was floppy under his grip, and was solely relying on his right leg to keep himself upright.

"Are you injured, Beroya?" Paz said, now getting worried again that there was indeed something wrong with his brother. The large Mandalorian bent, aiming to find Din's gaze through the visor.

Din jerked away from Paz and had just enough time to turn around. Clumsily falling on his knees against the far end of his alcove, he lifted his helmet enough to empty the contents of his stomach. 

"Is it possible?" Paz asked,  incredulous. "Would you spend credits to get yourself drunk and then have the courage to come back to us empty handed?"

Watching Din continue to retch, Paz no longer expected an answer from the other Mandalorian.

"I understand your mentor's death is still recent, and I know how important he was to you, how much he helped you since your cabur marched away.” Paz continued. “But you need to get back on your feet. Deep inside you must know it wasn't your fault."

Pausing, Paz looked down at his brother. “Look, I get it. I can only imagine the pressure you must be under. Having been appointed Beroya, especially e these trying times, it must be challenging. Honestly I'm not sure I'd be able to do what you do. The pressure to provide, spending all that time alone in space, away from the Tribe. But there used to be a time where we would confide in each other. You needn't be alone.” 

The other Mandalorian gave still no sign of acknowledging him, and Paz said, "You know I can help, just like when you were brought to us."

Still silent, Din panted as he remained on his knees with his back turned to Paz. 

"I don't know you anymore, Djarin. What made you become… this?" Paz continued, but the sight before him just ended up mading Paz burst out in anger.

"DANK FERRICK, DJARIN! JUST SAY SOMETHING!"

Din remained silent and looked like he was  trying to look around while  slowly getting back to his feet. 

"Fine. You want to be alone? Then be alone." Frustrated, Paz kicked him in the side, sending him clattering into the wall of the alcove before falling back to the ground, unconscious. Paz took a moment to look at Din, laying ungracefully next to a pool of his own vomit, passed out from inebriation. 

Disgusted, he stormed out.

— 

Din woke up to someone shoving his feet off his bed. Cracking his eyes open, he looked up to see a blurry blue-clad Mandalorian. He didn’t need to see any more to know it was his old training instructor, Olis, at the Fighting Corps, standing there looking down on him. Din felt confused. Olis had died five years before. His foggy mind couldn’t work out what was going on, but he couldn’t deny that the instructor was standing next to his cot. And he knew what that meant. Training time. Din felt so tired, he didn't think he could get up. But he knew he needed to get on his feet. 

Midnight training sessions were common within the Fighting Corps. They were used to condition warriors to operate with little rest, and taught to stay alert whenever they could afford resting during a mission. He needed to train his body to make small tactical naps whenever possible, despite the conditions. 

It was essential to stay alive in the process while avoiding going beyond that threshold where body and mind would no longer properly function. He already knew by experience that weakness and hallucinations would set in when he didn’t get enough sleep, endangering not only himself but his brothers and sisters on the mission. But today he felt so tired. It wasn't the first time. At 12 years of age, it wasn't the first time he thought to himself that he couldn't possibly get up, and used the momentum of his feet being shoved off the bed to lean on his right side, a significant step forward in reaching verticality. But everything changed when Olis made him stand up by grabbing him by his suit's collar. 

Even though his feet were on the ground, Din felt himself sway. His heart skipped a beat when he realized the effort it took him to not fall. There was something wrong with him. He was exhausted, yes. His muscles ached and he couldn't find the strength to keep his eyes open. All that he was used to, it wasn't anything he hadn't experienced before. But not being capable of properly standing was not normal, and that worried him. 

Din looked back at the blue Mandalorian trying to find some answers. Could this be part of the training? Had he been drugged? But all he could gather was the aggressiveness in his teacher's posture, body language telling him he wasn't happy. But why wasn't he saying anything? 

Unexpectedly, Olis shoved Din's shoulder. The small action made Din’s head turn. Suddenly feeling nauseous, he barely had time to turn around. Falling on his knees, he lifted up his helmet and spilled the contents of his stomach on the floor. With his heart suddenly pounding faster, Din started to get nervous. He couldn't understand what was happening. He had never felt like this during sleep deprivation training. He was exhausted, yes. Nauseous? Occasionally, when he trained or worked past  rest threshold. But never to the point of losing his food. Was he sick? 

He lowered his helmet back in place and tried to make out his surroundings. Alarmed, he realized he wasn't in the apprentices' quarters anymore. He was in his own private quarters. He knew that, but he also knew apprentices didn't have private alcoves. A sensation of panic started to overwhelm him. Confused, he looked up to find Olis gone. Similar blue armor, but this was a much wider man. 

Paz. 

He was towering over him. He wanted so desperately to ask Paz for help. He had always been one to help Din through training, but their relationship had degraded during the last few years. He knew Paz disapproved of some of his merc jobs and the team he had joined, but he knew the heavy infantry Mandalorian would not deny him help should he ask for it. Trying to get in control of his emotions, he took a couple of deep breaths and tried standing. But before he could get very far, he felt himself hit the wall and Din's world went black.

—

Din woke up to his head pounding. Incapable of finding the strength to open his eyes, he tried to listen to his surroundings, trying to figure out where he was. But the strong ringing in his ears made it impossible. The explosions that detonated around him as he ran with his parents across their hometown, still made his ears hurt.  He just laid there, on his side, on the ground. He felt the cold surface taking the little body heat that he seemed to have left. 

For an unknown time that’s all he could do. He could feel the pounding of footsteps, reverberating on the ground. Strong footsteps. The battle droids had killed most of the people he had ever known. Probably also his parents, and now they were coming to finish him as well. He pressed his eyes closed even harder, waiting for the droids to open the hatch to the bunker his parents had hidden him in. He knew a droid eventually found him, but the droid never came.

Eyes still tightly shut, he continued feeling the vibrations of footsteps on the ground. But these were now lighter, and more numerous. He knew where he was. That small vent line in the covert he liked to hide in when emotions became overwhelming. Like now. Losing his cabur had become a traumatic time for him. Anger filled his heart. Anger against whomever or whatever had decided he deserved to lose his parents and his rescuer shortly after. There was no possible way he could forgive this, and even though he knew it was nobody's fault, he felt ok hating everybody for it. 

He felt the footsteps of the other Mandalorians looking for him. But he knew that only his cabur would be able to find him, just like he found him in that bunker. But his cabur wasn't there any more. And he knew he would be safe to process his emotions in privacy. He just wanted to be alone.

More time passed and eventually he managed to open his eyes. He was indeed laying on the ground of what he could tell was his sleeping quarters at the covert. He was alone, that much he could tell. He tried getting up, but he couldn’t make his arms or legs move, making him panic. The strong steps he could feel pounding on the ground must be those of his brothers and sisters. He tried speaking, calling out for help. Being in the covert, surely someone should be able to hear him. But that seemed to be harder than he thought. No sound came out of his mouth, although he couldn't be sure it was just that he didn’t hear it with the strong ringing in his ears.

A feeling of loneliness invaded him. He rarely felt lonely while in the Razor Crest, among the stars, crossing the galaxy over and over hunting for the most profitable bounties to provide for his tribe. But there, laying in his quarters, probably not far from many of the Mandalorians he provided for, he felt lonely. Lonely and scared. Scared that whatever had happened to him would be his end. 

—

Din didn't recall having closed his eyes but the difficulty in breathing woke him up. The paralysis was probably now spreading and making it harder to breathe. No, that wasn't it. Because he looked down on himself to realize he was pinned down by an enormous slab of concrete wall laying on his chest. He felt himself starting to hyperventilate, making the task of breathing more difficult. In desperation to find help, he looked around, but found only destruction: Buildings reduced to ruins, some of them on fire. Smoke invaded the air around him, not making it any easier for him to draw a breath. Bodies, Mandalorian and Imperial alike, were scattered for as far as he could see. 

He closed his eyes, trying hard to control his breathing. His chest felt like it was being crushed under his armor, but he concentrated on decreasing his ventilation rate and getting more meaningful breaths. He knew he would quickly pass out if he didn't. He was startled to see someone running between the ruins, screaming his name. But it was so hard to breathe, his vision started slowly to fade. He put all his strength in getting air in his lungs. A large blue blurr was moving towards him. When they finally became closer, Din realized who it was.

"Din! Thank the Manda I found you," he heard a younger Paz say.

The relief of seeing his brother broke all the progress Din had made at keeping his breathing under control. He felt overwhelmed by the emotions.

"Hey, Din. Hey! Look at me," he heard the big Mandalorian say as he grabbed Din's helmet to make him look at him.

But all Din could think about was how he couldn't breathe. He was trying hard, he was desperate to fill his lungs with air, but it was getting increasingly difficult. Prey to his fears, his breathing was now just a very superficial panting. 

"DJARIN! Slow down, vod. I'm with you. You're not alone," Paz reassured him. "I'm going to get you out of there ok? But you need to calm down. Controlled breaths. In and out."

Din once more closed his eyes and focused on Paz's words: "In … and out…, in… and out…" he heard. "That's it, brother. Good job."

Paz disappeared from his line of view only to quickly return. "I'm going to try and move the slab. You think you can get out of there on your own if I lift it enough?"

Din couldn't be sure, he barely felt anything below the point where the concrete pinned him to the ground. He looked around as if expecting someone else to come and help.

"There's nobody left, vod." Paz explained, reading Din's mind. "The last evac transport left the moon a while ago."

"You stayed…"

"I've known you since you arrived at the covert, Djarin. I know you're hard to kill," the infantryman chuckled. "I was not ready to leave you alone and dying in this karkin' mess."

Tears welled up in Din's eyes, but Paz didn't give him a chance to dwell on the emotion, asking, "So, ready?" 

They both knew that if they wanted to make it out alive, he'd need to get out by himself. The big blue Mandalorian got up, and without any further comment, he took his blaster cannon and prepared to use it as a lever to move the concrete slab.

"Din, are you ready?" 

As Din nodded, Paz put all his strength at lifting the slab. Din grunted in pain as he felt the pressure in his chest slowly decrease. Feeling he was nearly free, he started pushing with his elbows to crawl from under the concrete block. He had barely moved some centimeters when the cannon lost grip, making the weight fall violently back on Din's chest. He didn't have the time to scream with pain before this world went black.

Din woke to the smell of smoke and burnt skin. Paz was using the force of his jetpack to lift up the concrete wall that was pinning him to the ground. Out of sheer stubbornness and blunt force, his brother managed to displace the slab, setting him free. The fire from the jetpack's exhaust filled Din's lungs with smoke, not helping him with the difficult task of breathing. The fire also caught his flightsuit, reaching and burning the skin of his chest. The pure agony made him scream. 

—-

When he next opened his eyes, he was expecting to see Paz, looking triumphantly down on him before he helped him get to safety, out of the Purge's battlefield. At least, he knew that was how it actually happened. But no, he was alone. Very far from Concordia. On Nevarro, laying on the ground of what his covert had determined to be his alcove. He could barely move anymore, the paralysis fully set. He was barely capable of looking down on himself to see his beskar chestplate slightly smoking. The AED system integrated in his armor had activated, and that would only happen should the biomonitors indicate the absence of a sinus rhythm. His heart had stopped. But he had no more energy to fight whatever he had inhaled back at Nirauan. Breathing was already difficult enough. 

Feeling cold and lonely, he gave in and prepared to join the Manda, or whatever, if any, karking thing there was after this life.

[librathefangirl]

Marks of a Brother

ao3 (1k+; One-Shot)

When Zeldris was just a little baby, there was a gomicl dragon attacking the palace. Meliodas had barely started his official training with Chandler, he was in no position to do anything – but he knew where his father's priorities were. His baby brother was the only pure thing left in this wretched place. Someone had to keep him safe. Febuwhump Day 5: “That’s gonna scar”.

Warnings: Blood and Injury, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, The Demon King's A+ Parenting.

Finally found the motivation to write this, thank you Febuwhump!

Read on ao3 or under the cut!

Meliodas paced back and forth while his body screamed in protest. He was still unused to the heavy strain of training full-time, feeling like collapsing at the end of every night. Though today had been cut short with Chandler telling him – no, ordering him – to stay put in his room. Truthfully, Meliodas wouldn’t have had a problem with it under any other circumstances. All he really wanted to do was fall face-first onto the bed and sleep for a couple decades.

But there was a gomicl dragon loose in the capital. It was attacking the fucking palace. And Meliodas was well aware of his father’s priorities.

Meliodas stopped moving, glaring at the door. There was no way he was just staying here. His baby brother was still so little – too little. Meliodas had to make sure someone was keeping him safe. Which meant obeying orders wasn’t an option.

It was easier than it normally would have been to leave his room and sneak through the palace hallways. Most times if Meliodas had been confined to his room, nobody would stand guard per se, but someone would notice if he left. Now though everyone was too focused on the gomicl attack. Nobody would bother about one small prince in the midst of disaster. Well, Chandler would, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. That meant Meliodas could easily make his way to the nursery without anyone stopping him.

He knew the way there by heart already. He had spent so much free time just watching Zeldris sleep or talk to him or just be with him without anyone watching or judging his every move. His footsteps echoed as he ran, hearts beating fast. He had no armor – because he didn’t need it yet – and no weapons – because he hadn’t earned them yet – and this was probably the most reckless and stupid thing he could be doing right now – but he didn’t care. Zeldris was still pure, the only good thing left in this place. Meliodas would be damned if he let their father ruin him before he could even walk.

Meliodas stopped outside the door, trying to catch his breath. The room was intact, but deserted. A ruckus of screams and fighting was heard nearby. Meliodas closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds. Identify the sound. Isolate it and omit all others. Focus... There! Two hallways down and one to the left. Damn. The gomicl was close.

Not wasting any time, Meliodas rushed through the door and up to the crib. Zeldris was crying. His small limbs kicking and flailing in all directions. Darkness covered his eyes. He couldn’t really do anything with it yet, but the defensive instinct was still there. His body screaming for protection. The thought ached in all of Meliodas’ hearts. Yet he couldn’t help but sigh in relief as he saw his brother unharmed. He was upset, scared and safe.

“It’s okay, Zel,” Meliodas mumbled. He reached down and stroked his fingers across Zeldris’ cheek. It was wet with tears. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

Zeldris grabbed hold of his finger. His grip tighter than what seemed possible from such a tiny being. He hiccupped loudly but the screaming stopped as he stared up at Meliodas with wide eyes.

“I…” Meliodas trailed off, rubbing at Zeldris’ little hand. He didn’t know what to say as he watched the darkness bleed away from Zeldris’ eyes. Just Meliodas presence seemingly settling some of his distress. Green eyes watched him; green eyes full of trust Meliodas didn’t know what to do with.

Suddenly there was a loud roar. Zeldris cried out in fear when the whole building seemed to shake. Meliodas froze, listening. The gomicl was moving; it was coming. Fast!

Meliodas barely had time to pull Zeldris up into his arms – stumbling slightly under the weight – and throw himself backwards when the window exploded. Meliodas scrambled backwards until his back hit the wall as the gomicl pressed itself into the room, breaking the wall in the process. Meliodas watched as the gomicl approach the crib, sniffing around it. His hearts beat frantically in his ears. He glanced around the room as he pulled Zeldris closer to him. There was nowhere to hide.

“It-it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here, I’m-I’m here,” Meliodas stammered, trying to calm Zeldris down. It was no use. He was terrified, and with good reason. Meliodas felt tears burn his own eyes as the gomicl turned around. It was staring right at them now. Even if the dragon had poor eyesight, there was no way it wouldn’t find them now. It could hear them; it could smell them. There was just them and it in the room. There had to be guards close by, right? Someone had been fighting the dragon just moments earlier. They would come. They wouldn’t let the Demon King’s sons die. They couldn’t. Unless the gomicl had already killed them all.

Meliodas closed his eyes, pressing his face against Zeldris’ tuft of black hair, praying.

“I’m here,” he promised one last time. “Big brother is going to protect you.”

He could hear the gomicl approach them. Its long sharp claws rasping across the floor as it walked. He could feel the temperature shift as its warm breath reached them. It ghosted over his skin with a promise of death. A low, growing growl rose from the dragon as it prepared for an attack.

Meliodas didn’t think, he threw himself on the floor. Zeldris was caged beneath his body, surrounded by his limbs on each side. Meliodas formed his wings and wrapped them around them as well, channeling whatever darkness he could in his frightened state. And he prayed and begged and hoped. Please, please, please, let it be enough.

Meliodas blacked out with blood running down his back and his brother held close to his chest.

As he woke, the gomicl dragon was gone. So was the nursery and Zeldris too. Meliodas’ arms felt empty and cold as he lied flat on his stomach on a soft cot. He blinked his eyes open blearily, shifting slightly as he tried to make his eyes focus. He had to find Zeldris.

“It’s so good to see you awake, Prince Meliodas,” a voice said as hands helped his sit up. They stayed on his shoulder as he swayed slightly, seemingly uncertain if they should push him back down.

The clear presence of another immediately shot through Meliodas like a poison. His body tensed, his posture straight, and he glared at the demon in question with a suddenly sharp gaze. Never let them see you waver.

Oh. It was a healer, his mind caught up with the situation. He was in the infirmary being treated. After apparently not being killed by the gomicl. Maybe it hadn’t killed all the guards after all.

“Your back is still badly injured,” the healer told him – as if he couldn’t feel it set on fire with his every breath. “You’re lucky the guards managed to kill the gomicl when they did.”

As opposed to unlucky and dead, he was lucky and stuck in Hell with wounds that just felt like death. It seemed a bit odd though. Sure, their healers were no goddesses, but they knew what they were doing. Wounds of this degree of damage were a rarity. Especially for Meliodas. Not that he usually got this injured, but as the Demon King’s firstborn his health – and thereby fighting capabilities – was a priority. Unlike an infant’s safety, evidentially.

An infant’s safety.

“Zel?” Meliodas tried to ask, suddenly forgetting all about his own injuries. What had happened to Zeldris? Where was his brother? Meliodas cleared his throat painfully when his voice wouldn’t cooperate. Had he been screaming? He couldn’t remember, but his throat felt raw.

“Zeldris?” Meliodas asked again. This time, although it sounded like he had glass shoved down his throat, the word at least was intelligible. The healer tilted their head for a moment, regarding him.

“Your brother is unharmed,” they said. “He’s with his nursemaids and Sir Cusack, getting settled into his new room.”

So his brother was with the people who had abandoned him in the first place. At least Cusack was there too. The demon seemed to be the only one other than Meliodas who genuinely cared for Zeldris well-being. Well, as much Chandler would care for Meliodas’: absolutely but with certain conditions. It seemed no matter how much his master cared for him, Meliodas knew the loyalty to his father would always be greater.

Also, how long had Meliodas been out? Zeldris was already getting a new room? Was that because it was deemed a priority or because it had just been that long since the attack? Meliodas itched to find his brother, to see with his own eyes that he was safe.

“Can I leave?”

The healer hesitated. They looked conflicted as they shifted from foot to foot for a moment. Then they sighed subtly and nodded their head.

“Of course, my lord,” they said, helping Meliodas stand up from the cot. “Sir Chandler wanted me to tell you that you are to rest in your room, there will be no training today.”

Meliodas was secretly relieved. Getting to his room would be hard enough. There was no way he would ever be able to train today, especially with Chandler’s standards. But that also meant he wouldn’t be able to see Zeldris today either. Even if he could make it to his new room, he doubted he could get away with disobeying two orders in one… however long it had been.

“That’s gonna scar,” the healer added before he could leave.

Yeah, Meliodas had figured that one out by now too. The healers did know what they were doing. If his injuries were still this bad, it was only because his father wanted them to be.

“Rub some of this on your back every morning and night,” the healer continued, handing Meliodas a small bottle. “It’ll help keep the wounds clean. They should heal up nicely in a week or so.”

The wounds, not the scars. Meliodas would always carry the scars from a gomicl dragon on his back. To his father they’d be a reminder of his foolish actions, of what happened when you rushed in without thinking. To Meliodas they were a promise that he would always protect his baby brother.

[chompsloudly]

An au I'm working on. It's basically underverse but everyone isn't sans. The current characters I have are ink-flowey and error-muffet. Aside from the dreamtale twins of course. I need help reworking some of the backstories to fit why they're in their roles, so any help would be appreciated. Also I need naming help as the current name for this is undertaleverse and that's not a good name.

[Past NM chara]

Flowers instead of apples.

Garden of Feelings instead of Tree of Feelings

Told Asriel about what was happening.

More resilient than their sans version

Don't take shit

Cares deeply for Asriel

Reads and knits.

Takes job seriously.

Brave

Passive unless provoked.

Loyal till they die

[Present NM chara]

Still cares for Asriel somewhat, despite what happened.

Gang consists of dustbelief papurus, cannibal grillby, and killer sans until I find a replacement

"It's not goop, it's nectar!"

Easier to anger than og nightmare

Red-yellow instead of teal

Despite being in a different multiverse, nightmare is still dadmare

"Why am I like this? Because it's fun!"

Lost mind to the negativity goop.

Partially deranged

Cares about their kids

Genderless, they/them

Taunts azzy in battle, saying that he can join them

Love-hate opinion of azzy

[Past dream asriel]

Kind

Loves Chara

Loves helping people

Found out what was happening

Tried to stop the bulliyng

*It's all your fault*

Positivity flowers

Liked gardening, specifically trimming hedges

Likes designing and building

Turned the flowers of feeling from a flower patch into a garden

Loves playing with the village kids and chara

Doesn't take shit

Takes job seriously

[Present dream asriel]

Feels guilty

Is partnered with flowey ink and underscramble mettaton

Weapons are positivity blaster(basically a positivity gun) and star bombs/shurikens (haven't decided yet)

Happi boi

"Nightmare! You don't have to do this!" "...w-what happened to you..."

Hates fighting his sibling, but still does it

Just wants things to go back to normal

Likes to garden

"I-i.... I'm sorry"

Tired

Likes to cook

Likes to cook and clean, finds it great for getting his mind off of stuff

Always has some sort of flower somewhere on his outfit

Soul shaped like flower, type of flower may change but it is typically a rose

-Guide- [catagory] (author note) {potiential idea} <possible scene, might omit> ⟨alternate story route,might use ⟩

[STORY-BASIC]

nim (toriel), was dying, and needed someone to watch over feelings when she died. She scanned the multiverse and saw a pair of siblings whose bond and dedication were unbreakable, a Chara and Asriel. She chose for the Chara to be negativity and the positivity to be Asriel. She then created the new twins and died, turning into a flower patch.

The twins lived, the village was built yadda yadda. One day nightmare decided that the bulliyng was enough and told dream about what was happening. Dream was pissed and basically told the villagers if they couldn't be nice to nightmare then he would leave and stay with the garden, and that he was temporarily leave as punishment for their asshole-ish-ness.

Villagers didn't like that and thought nightmare the 'demon child' had corrupted dream and came up with a plan to rid themselves of nightmare. On the Garden of Feelings festival they attacked nightmare who was in the garden of feelings and the garden itself, intending to get rid of the negativity flowers aswell, dream tried to hold them off with all he could and nightmare did too.

Nightmare ended up accidentally damaging one of the positivity flowers and the rest started to get corrupted too. Nightmare tried desperately to get rid of the corrupted flowers, ripping them away from the ground in an attempt to stop the spread.

Dream saw this and ended up taking some positivity flowers from the ground, about the size of a bouquet (only way I could think of to let him have positivity flowers, edit if better idea is found(better idea found read further to see it)). As nightmare tried to get rid of the corrupted flowers they started to corrupt, pure negativity began leaking from them. Yet they still continued to try to stop the spread.

They tried until they couldn't do anything anymore, {leaving a small patch?} being completely consumed by negativity and couldn't take the pain anymore, then began the agonizing process of turning into the nightmare we all know and love. Dream was watching on, horrified. He tried to help, but it was too late.

Nightmare was driven insane by the corruption and when it was done, used new goop powers to kill everyone in the village. <Dream begged nightmare to stop, that there were other ways. Less extreme> . Nightmare killed on. Dream was terrified and confused, wondering why this was happening, he tried to protect the villagers, to not let them die. He failed. When everyone died, nightmare turned their full attention to dream.

They demanded dream give over the last golden flowers, but dream refused. They fought, although it was mostly just dodging from dreams side. Flowers somehow fused with his soul ig. Finally dream turned to stone and ⟨nightmare left their au since their was no one left⟩. ⟨ nightmare tortured whoever was left, then left their au once everyone was gone⟩

Undertaleverse theme plays

Also this is just a draft and not all of the fine details have been worked out yet, any critique is appreciated

[foiazoli]

First Silmarillion readthrough - foreword and preface

Okay so! First post actually reading the book, lets go. For clarity’s sake, I have the second edition of the Silm in front of me, the first Copyright date is 1977, and this printing is from 2001 (I got it from a local thrift store)

Foreword -

So, the bits about it being started in 1917 and there being so many contradictory drafts I already knew, but good to get that established early. Also interesting that Chris is establishing that the changing of the texts over time can be attributed to in-universe tales changing over time here, and that’s part of why they don’t quite fit. Definitely helps establish the mythic tone and offers up something for the discrepancies I’m sure I’ll find.

I did NOT realize however that the Ainulindale, Valaquenta, Akallabeth, and Rings of Power are technically separate texts that are just included with the silm. “The number of names that occur in the book is very large” yeah I sure do know that already bud, goddamn. If they had names that weren’t so SIMILAR to each other as well, that sure would have helped too. The number of times I had to look at a fcking family tree to learn the difference between “fingon” and “finrod”......

Preface - 

Of course Tolkein would send letters with footnotes in them. He fucking would. But Chris, if you’re gonna reproduce the letter for us, why omit them once you’ve told us they exist? Commit. 

On the contents of the letter itself, I feel like I hear about a number of authors who have been growing their worlds since childhood but it felt like a more modern phenomenon? Like, the idea that they could make a book out of their fantasy world and its story is something only possible because fantasy books are so popular and accessible, so it's interesting to see that one of the guys who made fantasy what it is today was also like that, even though in his time it wasn’t a done thing to have a whole universe of lore for your stories.

“Myth and fairy-story must, as all art, reflect and contain in solution elements of moral and religious truth (or error), but not explicit…” Oh Boy so, two things to unpack here. 

First, ”must contain moral and religious truth or error” - moral I can agree with, religious, I do not. Fairy tales as we know them today are all about morals and life lessons. Jack and Jill, Hansel and Gretel, The tortoise and the hare, they’re all there to teach us something. Religion also can serve to teach its believers things, and many religious stories serve similar functions of moral storytelling. David and Goliath is similar to the tortoise and the hare in that they both teach you to not underestimate the underdog. (That’s what I got out of David and goliath anyway, if there was anything god-related in that story I have legitimately totally forgotten it) But is religious influence necessary for myth and fairy-story? I argue no, not at all. See Dragonriders of Pern, by Anne McAffrey. First book published in 1969, 27 volumes in total, last one published in 2011. Zero religion in the books. Only mention of religion is by a character who is an outsider who is amazed that the entire planet has no religion. I argue that as it contains a multitude of dragons and stories of characters earlier in time become myths to those who come later (the books span like, 2000 years and the characters are all humans and dragons) it qualifies as myth and/or fairy story despite also being sci-fi.

Second thing, “but not explicit” - so the catholicism isn’t gonna be overt. It’s still gonna be there, everyone’s biases come out eventually, and when you write something for this long you’ve got plenty of time for it. Also, I’ve heard about the dwarves and the anti-semitism, Tolkein's biases definitely will show up at some points and it’s important to be aware of them! That’s why I listed mine in that first post I made; the more aware you are of your biases the easier it is to confront them when it influences your thinking, although it’s not perfect.

Okay, so back to the preface. Interesting that he wanted to create an English mythos at first. Not sure anything in LOTR or the Hobbit ended up particularly english-y other than in that general vaguely-european way that a lot of modern fantasy is, that I suppose can be partly attributed to Tolkein (ah the dangers of reading the classics AFTER a multitude of other works in the genre. This happened to me with 1984 too).

“It should be ‘high’, purged of the gross” - dearly hoping that means that he’s just not gonna talk about slogging through mud or digging latrines or how people piss themselves after they die, and not like, cutting “unsavory” groups of people out of history. Cause the second was my first thought, and it's yicky.

“The cycles should be linked to a majestic whole, and yet leave scope for other minds and hands…” - FANFIC FANFIC FANFIC FANFIC

“All this stuff is mainly concerned with Fall, Mortality, and the Machine” - first thought, thanks for giving me the themes I’m supposed to be looking for before I start reading the book like a high school english teacher. Second thought, yeah that tracks with what I’ve seen through fandom so far. Very anti-industrialist vibes from this guy, and as someone enjoying many modern conveniences only available because of it, I somewhat disagree, but I’ll refute specific points as they come up. Fall as a theme, verrrrrry juicy. Love me a good tragedy. And then the following fix-it fanfic. But sometimes the fluffy sunny snuggles are incredibly boring if you didn’t have to wade through the dredges of despair to get there. It’s the contrast, ya know? And speaking of contrast, mortality. When you stick immortal elves next to mortal men….. Will be waiting to see what Tolkein actually has to say about the matter as I’m pretty sure everything I’ve seen has been filtered through 2-3 other perspectives first.

This next paragraph is fun, it seems to be that elven magic is not magic not only because it is intrinsic to them, but because they are good and use it only for good. An entire race? All fully good? I will have things to say about Eol later I think. But “magic” is evil when used as Power, to dominate and re-form creation. Sure fine, I can accept the premise of that one I guess. 

The Valar have “delegated authority in their spheres (of rule and government, not creation, making, or re-making)” - iiiiiiiinteresting, I think fandom has either lost track of this a tad or decided to throw it out for being less fun. It also doesn’t make much sense. Valar being the embodiment of physics does explain a few things (how the water cycle works when the sun’s a fruit carried by a “person” on a chariot for instance, Ulmo just does it) but like, Nienna? How do you govern pity and decide how it works in the world? It feels like there's a sliding scale of “how much sense this statement makes” correlated positively to “is this Valar’s domain something we typically think of as a force of nature”. So you’ve got like; Manwe, Ulmo, Varda, Yavanna, Namo at one end, Orome, Irmo, Este, Aule somewhere middle-ish, and Nienna, Nessa, Vaire, Vana at the other end. Tulkas fucks it up though, “fighting evil” makes a ton of sense as something to govern but is not a typical force of nature. Melkor and “being evil” also fucks it up but that probably wasn’t his original purpose so idk where he fits either

Hngfdfnhgjfhgfh “This is, of course, meant to provide beings [Valar] of the same order of beauty, power, and majesty as the ‘gods’ of higher mythology, which can be accepted - well, shall we say baldly, by a mind that believes in the Blessed Trinity.” WHAT did you JUST SAY about not liking allegory and including christianity in the story ???? I mean, I understand he’s just trying to make it clear the level of divinity the inhabitants of middle earth view the Valar with, but come on bro.

“The knowledge of the Creation Drama was incomplete: incomplete in each individual ‘god’, and incomplete if all the knowledge of the pantheon were pooled” and he goes on to say they don’t know anything about men or elves other than that they’re gonna wake up at some point, and it’s this lack of knowledge and difference to them that makes the Valar love them and be interested in them. Also interesting in that fandom has lost this a bit somewhere, I feel like the Valar, Namo and Manwe particularly, are typically presented as knowing literally everything involving elves, when that’s the area in which they know the least about anything.

Elves are called “first-born” and Men are called “Followers”???? Favorite child anybody? Yikes.

“The doom of the Elves is to be immortal…..The Doom (or the Gift) of Men is mortality, freedom from the circles of the world” - interesting capitalization and word choices going on here

It looks like the rest of this is just gonna be a summary of the Silmarillion and I’ve written nearly 3 full pages about only 10 pages of text, so I’ll cap this post here and continue with the Ainulindale in the next one!

[01001000-01000001-01001100]

Dropping random facts about my trollstuck AU on my silly little sideblog while the other people involved in it are asleep B]

(because I might come to my senses and delete this later)

So you've got Hal, see, and he's a fuchsiablood, so he's a seadweller

Yeah this mf wears a wetsuit everywhere (all the easier to clean the blood off of amirite)

Short for a fuchsiablood his age but like. Still over 6 feet tall (BEFORE HIS ADULT MOLT! He's gonna be like 11 feet tall after it :,) because even if I can't be absurdly tall he can)

Since """"biological sex"""" is even less of a thing for trolls than for humans, one could argue that it doesn't make sense for him to be trans in the first place since theoretically gender is arbitrary and every troll is inherently trans and intersex therefore none of them are, but he's still trans Because I Said So

Adding on to that, since he's a royalblood (and according to the wiki they're all female) everyone probably just went 'wait, MALE?????' and so he probably had The Trans Experience™ of being frequently misgendered by strangers. At least before he grew to notoriety

bitch why does misgendered have the red squiggly line under it it's a real fucking word

*clears throat* ANYWAYS

Trolls have a bunch of cat behaviors also Because I Said So (I'm a catboy ok what did you expect). Like purring and shit

Similarly, there's a like. Biological response (I guess? I'm bullshitting here. It's pheromonal or some shit idk) to keep moirails from murdering each other when one is in a capital-r Rage (or even just regular pissed and murdery) and the other is within Murdering Distance (This is canon compliant as far as I know)

Hal literally stole someone's bones one time it's genuinely established canon (I'm not even kidding he telekinetically ripped out their fucking bones one at a time. He was very, VERY pissed and, well, in a Rage)

He changed his typing quirk at some point to match his moirail's more closely

}It used t() l()()k s()mething like this, if I re((all ((()rre((tly{

(Well. That's the in-universe reason. Really it was annoying to read so I changed it)

This AU has been rotating slowly in the back of my mind for quite some time so the Ye Olde typing quirk was actually a thing I came up with months ago in real time and the changing it thing was more recent

I'm brainrotting send help

Hal can't kill the condesce for. Normal reasons (*coughs into my fist* brainwashing actually but shh.)

Yeah it’s a whole thing

There’s also the whole. Helming thing

I am SOOO normal about mind fuckery *kicking my feet and giggling*

Anyways. Hal's weapon of choice is a naginata rather than a katana because something something fish->spear->weeb

Yeah sure he PREFERS to fight with telekinesis generally but "there's something so satisfying about stabbing people y'know???" (for legal reasons this is a joke I have never stabbed anyone)

He would do anything for his moirail tbh (this comes up often. It... causes problems down the line. The sheer devotion of this man smh.... it's also due to Normal Reasons btw)

why am I being vague about who his moirail is the only people who might see this post already know it's just Dirk :\

fuck it we ball. *commits to the bit*

who am I even talking to here I've addressed statements toward a General Audience but also don't intend for random people to see this

uhhhhh anyways. one eye is fuchsia the other is good ol' #e00707

(I project on to this mf SO MUCH- like I even fuckin realized his relationship with the condesce could be seen as an allegory for my relationship with my father and the trauma bonding wait why I am talking about this on the World Wide Web jegus grist)

uhhh uhh anyways he's in a kismesissitude with Jake

I have a shipping chart of this actually it's titled "THE POLYCULE"

It's on paper but it looks something like this (the other two alpha kids are omitted):

Yeah

he's a femboy

I typically use the term 'boi' to refer to him yes this is deliberate and not just Ha Ha Funneeee Meme

He's absolutely just. Gender goals.

though it's unorthodox for the higher-blooded moirail in a moirallegiance to do, he wears lots of accessories of his moirail's blood color because Fuck The Hemospectrum

This doesn't stop him from showering his moirail in gifts of clothes and jewelry of his own blood color tho. Probably a troll thing tbh

There are So Many things where I'm just like 'ha ha troll instinct' I should probably write down all the random shit that is canonically (in this AU anyway) just A Troll Thing.

A solid 80% of the things Hal does are 'to piss off condy'

gotDAMN do I want to rp right now. I want to like. Go onto pesterchum and inflict his presence onto people. maybe he can bond with some random-ass Dirk over how much they both hate the condesce

is the fact that she's just normal HIC a plot hole? lil bit

it's technically a no-sburb/sgrub AU but in a 'they don't play the game' way. my idea is that maybe Something got fucked up with the coding of the game and now it's a Time problem because the players exist, but they don't end up playing the game, despite needing to in order to exist in the first place idk I'll figure that out later

Aaaaaaaanyways. post-crash, Hal might change his trolltag I haven't decided yet

[valerie-is-in-the-cupboard]

Out of darkness - Chapter One: Lost and Found - Alastor x human!fem!reader

Go to the table of contents.

A/N: Hi there! I wanted to share an idea that’s been bouncing around in my head, so I thought I'd let the world in on it. A few things to note: 1. Some elements of this story are not canon for the HH universe—they’re mostly here to drive the plot. 2. Alastor might seem a bit different at first, but I aim to portray him as accurately as possible overall. 3. For the sake of the story, he won’t be aroace. 4. Some chapters will contain explicit NSFW content, specifically sexual scenes. To make it easy for you to skip these if they're not to your taste, I'll clearly separate them from the main chapters (e.g. Chapter 3.5, Chapter 4.5 etc.). These chapters won’t impact the main plot, so you won’t miss any essential story elements by skipping them. Please note, the story will also include elements like blood, gore, swearing and violence—integral parts of the Hazbin Hotel universe that cannot be omitted. If you're uncomfortable with any of these aspects, you might want to avoid reading the story altogether. However, if it's just the sexual content you're not interested in, you can simply skip the designated NSFW chapters. TW: Blood, mentions of murder. I hope you enjoy it! <3

Prologue

When a human strays from the right path, their eternity is doomed to be spent in the realm of suffering and pain – Hell. Normally, demons are confined within this place by a barrier, meant to protect poor souls from their wrath. But over time, the barrier’s magic has weakened, creating tiny fissures that link the human and demon worlds.

While these portals are easier for humans and angels to pass through, they have a fatal impact on demonic beings. Most demons are destroyed before they can even step into the human world. Those that do pass through are so weakened that they can be easily killed by human priests or simple humans with strong faith. And once a demon dies in the human world, their soul is forever destroyed. Consequently, demons have learned to ignore these portals, accepting their fate in Hell rather than attempting to escape.

Yet, the world is full of demons. Some live low-profile lives, trying to catch up on everything they missed while away, while others continue their mischief, hoping to go undetected and perhaps extend their existence a bit longer.

Chapter one: Lost and found

Days in Hell were monotonous. Murders, violence, and other horrific acts were considered normal here. Today was one of those days, with Hell engulfed by screams emanating from the infamous Radio Demon’s radio towers. This had been a common occurrence since Alastor spawned in Hell about seventy years ago. People could only speculate about the mystery surrounding his existence, making him even more ominous.

“And with that, my fellow sinners, we end today’s broadcast,” Alastor’s voice echoed through the towers. “I hope your day goes horribly wrong and maybe, just maybe, you’ll hear the next broadcast… or not.” His mischievous laughter sent shivers down the spines of sinners.

Pleased with his work, Alastor exited his tower, heading to buy some venison (or whatever kind of meat people sold here, pretending it was venison). As usual, he wore his wide smile, making everyone move out of his way. No one wanted to mess with the Radio Demon, and Alastor relished his power over the pitiful sinners.

As he walked the streets, a bright light caught his attention. His eyes widened in surprise as a portal opened in a dark alley. Despite his senses warning him, curiosity got the better of him. The thought of returning to the human world, as powerful as he was, never left his mind. He chuckled at the idea and approached the portal, feeling its warmth engulf his hand.

           Dark. Everything went dark.

Suddenly, Alastor’s ears were filled with voices, and flashing lights surrounded him. Unbearable pain tore through his body, his skin and flesh being ripped apart. He heard dogs barking and then a loud bang. He woke up, drenched in a thin layer of cold sweat, disoriented and confused. Frantically scanning his surroundings, he realized he was in an unfamiliar apartment, starkly different from the horrors of Hell.

“Hello?” a voice startled him as he turned, only to face an unknown woman, looking at him and holding a cup of tea. She looked… human. Was this the human world? Was he back?

He tried to get up, only to be met with incredible exhaustion, almost like his muscles failed to work. A deep groan escaped his mouth, as he laid back on the soft sofa.

The woman rushed towards him. “It’s ok. I think you need to rest a bit.” She said, placing the cup on the table. Alastor's heart was racing, a feeling of utter confusion and dread overcoming him. This human world was not what he expected and the excruciating pain that he had just endured... it made no sense. As the woman spoke, he looked at her with narrowed eyes, wariness filling his gaze.

"Who... are you?" his voice came out hoarse and unfamiliar to himself.

She softly smiled. “My name is (y/n).” She answered. Alastor's expression barely changed, still wary of the situation. He slowly pushed himself back into a sitting position, wincing slightly from the effort.

"And... how did I end up here? In your... home?" he inquired, his eyes roaming the surroundings, taking in every detail of the room.

“I’ll explain everything. First of all, do you want me to call someone? An ambulance… maybe a relative?”

Alastor's expression hardened even further, a look of confusion on his face. He slowly shook his head, his voice growing a bit colder.

"No. No one. I don't… have anyone." he replied, a pang of loneliness he hadn't experienced in a long time slowly creeping upon him. He continued to look at her, his eyes now more guarded, less vulnerable.

“Well, in this case…” she started, but first handed him the cup of tea, Alastor reluctantly grabbing it. “You were freezing… It’s the middle of November… The last thing you want is getting hypothermia.”

Alastor's expression softened slightly as he looked at the cup in his hands. The warmth from the liquid instantly flooded his senses, a subtle comfort washing over him.

"The weather... It was cold," he murmured as he took a small sip, the hot liquid sending a jolt through his still-weakened body.

The girl smiled, trying to hide the worry in her mind. Maybe he had memory loss or perhaps he was attacked by someone. A thousand questions flooded her mind.

“I found you in front of my door, passed out.” She explained. “It was almost freezing outside and your clothes didn’t seem so… cosy.”

Alastor silently nodded, listening to her words. He took a moment to look down at his attire, his usual red and black suit looking a bit rough. A soft, scoff-like laugh escaped his lips as he realized how ridiculous he must have looked. Suddenly, he looked at his hands… They were human. Confusion washed over him once more as he tried to stand up, looking for a mirror.

“Hey, I don’t think you sho-“ the girl tried to stop him, but the adrenaline kicked in, making him stand up and run to a mirror he saw on a desk. He looked at himself… It was still him but… his human self from when he was alive.

Alastor's eyes widened with shock as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. It was him, yet not at the same time. His human form... He barely recognized it, the last time he saw it so long ago.

"Impossible," he muttered, his hand slowly going to his face, his fingers caressing his human skin, still in disbelief.

(y/n) looked at him confused… and a bit scared. She was waiting for her brother whom, she messaged before Alastor woke up. Truthfully, she was afraid to be alone with a strange man and now knowing he had no one, she couldn’t let him wander alone in this state.

“You seem… confused. Were you attacked by someone?” she asked, genuinely worried.

Alastor's gaze flickered from the mirror to the girl, a mix of confusion and annoyance in his eyes. He hated being in this vulnerable state, being questioned... but he had nowhere else to go.

"Attacked?" he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. "No. I wasn't... attacked," he answered, his eyes falling to the ground for a moment, his thoughts elsewhere, replaying the memories of the portal, the pain...

"I..." he began but then stopped. There was no point in trying to explain it to a human. (y/n) gently touched his arm, making him cringe slightly. Her skin was warm, a stark contrast to his usual coldness. She guided him back to the couch and sat in front of him.

“You need to give me some explanation so I can help you… What’s your name?” she said.

"My... name?" he echoed, his eyes meeting hers. There was a moment of silence, a small battle between his instinct to lie and the strange feeling of… trust. "Al... Alastor." he finally said, his voice almost a whisper.

“Alastor, do you have any place to go?”

Alastor's lips curled into a bitter smile. He didn't have a home and hadn't had one for 70 years. Hell was his home and yet, here he was, sitting in a human's living room.

"No," he replied, his eyes wandering around the room, avoiding her gaze. (y/n) sighed, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, someone rang the door and the girl got up, closing the door of the living room behind her.

Alastor could hear someone come in and then muffled voices.

“What did you want me to do?” (y/n) would almost whisper, frustration in her voice.

“I don’t know, call the police maybe?” a male voice would whisper back, angrily. “It’s not like you found a puppy at your door. You found a man! A man who could've hurt you, (y/n)!”

Alastor could easily hear the conversation from the other room. His eyes narrowed annoyance and dread washing over him. The police... he couldn't afford to get tangled with the police. The door opened and a tall, muscular guy, followed by (y/n) entered, his gaze fixated on Alastor.

“Hey, man!” He said and extended his arm towards Alastor. “I’m David, (y/n)’s brother.” He clarified.

Alastor looked up at David, his eyes studying him. He instinctively recoiled at the sudden presence, not thrilled about the new arrival. Yet, he didn't have much of a choice. He tentatively took the extended hand, shaking it with a firm grip.

"Alastor," he replied plainly, his voice guarded. His eyes darted towards her, still trying to gauge his situation and his chances of escaping it. David sat down, trying to find his words.

“Are you ok? Are you injured or anything?” David asked him.

Alastor let out a low sigh, his eyes roaming over his body. He had no major injuries, just the exhaustion and weakness that came with the... human form.

"No. I'm..." he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, "I'm fine. Just... tired." he answered, his gaze flickering to the side, avoiding David's intense stare. The man prepared to ask more questions when (y/n) intervened.

“Maybe you should rest, Alastor. It’s late and even if you wanted, it wouldn’t be safe for you to leave now. We’ll see what we can do tomorrow, okay?” (y/n) said, smiling, trying to make him relax.

Alastor's gaze slowly shifted towards her, his expression remaining stoic. She was right. He was too weakened now to do anything. He had to think. He slowly nodded, a small gesture but one that came a bit reluctantly.

"Fine. But only for tonight," he replied, his voice firm yet guarded.

(y/n) looked in some of her drawers and took out some clothes, handing them to Alastor.

“My cousin gave me these so I can wear them around the house. I never did though, they’re too big for me. I think they will fit you.” She said. “There’s the bathroom if you wanna take a shower.”

Alastor looked at the clothes, his eyes widening as he analyzed them. He couldn't remember the last time he wore something made from such a soft material. It wasn't his style, but he silently accepted them.

"Thank you," he said, his voice gruff but surprisingly civil. He got up from the couch, the clothes in his hands, and walked to the bathroom.

The warmth of the water engulfed his body, sending shivers down his spine. It seemed like an eternity since showers felt so good. He let the water fall onto his body, thinking about what to do. Should he kill them? But where could he go? He didn’t even know what changed since he died… No, he had to think this through. He had to wait. His thoughts tossed and churned in his head, a maelstrom of emotions and memories. But deep within, there was a flicker of determination, a spark of survival instinct that kept him grounded. He turned off the water and got dressed in the new clothes.

He exited the bathroom and saw (y/n), preparing what seemed to be a bedroom, probably the one he’ll spend his night in. His eyes followed her around. She was… so nice to him, so attentive. It’s been a while since someone acted like this towards him without wanting something in return. She looked at him and smiled.

“Feeling better?” She asked.

Alastor silently nodded, his eyes fixed on her movements. There was something... comforting in her smile, something unfamiliar yet somehow soothing. He walked closer to her, his footsteps a bit more steady than when he first arrived.

"A bit," he replied, his voice still low but lacking some of its earlier sharpness. "You... you have done a lot for a stranger."

She smiled kindly.

“Ah, don’t mention it! It’s the bare minimum.” She said and looked at him, but her expression suddenly turned into confusion. “Hey, are you hurt?” she asked pointing at his shoulder.

Alastor's gaze followed hers, only then noticing the blood on his shoulder. He tried to recall if he felt any pain, but nothing came to mind.

“May I see?” (y/n) asked.

He nodded silently, his voice quiet. "Yeah. Sure," he said. He reluctantly took off his shirt, noticing her blushing at his actions.

He could feel her eyes on the injury as she approached, the proximity making him slightly uncomfortable, but he let her look at his shoulder without protest.

She inspected the wound and rushed to a drawer, taking out a bottle and some bandages. "it seems to be a scratch that probably started bleeding in the shower." she clarified. "May I?" she asked, showing him the supplies, suggesting that she take care of it.

Alastor's eyes darted between the supplies and her face, a hint of irritation in his gaze. He wasn't a fan of being tended to, but he knew he was in no position to protest.

"Fine. Go ahead," he grumbled, his expression guarded, almost reluctant.

(y/n) started taking care of the wound, her warm hands brushing over his skin, making shivers run down his spine. He wanted to hate it but he didn’t entirely.

“Tell me if I hurt you.” She said, but his mind was too preoccupied with taking in every warm touch.

Alastor sat stiffly as she worked on his shoulder, her hands warm against his skin. It was an almost soothing experience, the sensation of her touch, her gentle care, stirring something within him that he had long forgotten.

His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, his instincts screaming at him to withdraw, to push her away. But his heart longed for more.

After bandaging the wound, her hands left his body, coldness attacking it once again. As her hands left his body, Alastor felt a chill run through him, a pang of emptiness filling the space where she once touched. He didn’t want to admit it, but he longed for her warmth, for the strange comfort that she provided without even realising it.

He tried to shake off the feeling, his mind screaming at him to remain cold and detached. But the lingering memory of her touch still burned in his heart.

“I’m gonna bring you a new shirt.” She said and looked at the stained one. “I swear, a part of me hopes you are a serial killer so you can help me get this stain off.” She chuckled. If only she knew who Alastor was…

Alastor allowed a small, wry smile to tug at the corners of his lips at her unintended jest. A serial killer... If only she knew the true extent of his past, the countless lives he had sent to their doom.

He watched her leave, his gaze lingering on the door as it closed behind her. He quietly sat on the edge of the bed, his thoughts swirling in his head, the memory of her touch still warm on his skin.

Shortly after, she returned and handed him the shirt. “You good?” She asked him as he put the shirt on.

Alastor silently slipped the shirt on, the material soft against his skin. He nodded, his gaze meeting hers. "Yeah. I’m good," he replied, his voice a bit more gruff than before.

He was far from “good” he was far from even being “ok”. But there was no way he would let her know that.

She smiled. “I’m in the living room if you need anything. ‘Night, Alastor!” She said and closed the door behind her.

Alastor watched her leave, her gentle smile etched in his mind. As the door closed behind her, he couldn’t help but let out a sigh. The room suddenly felt cold and empty. He lay down on the bed, the silence of the room surrounding him like a shroud.

He tried to make sense of the strange emotions swirling inside him. The warmth he felt in her presence, the comfort of her touch... It was all new to him. Something happened to him through that portal. His demon self was too weakened.

He looked at the ceiling, thinking of what to do. Maybe he should kill them… Before they get too close to finding the truth. He thought a few hours about this. He would kill David first, while he was asleep. There was no way he could take him in a fight in this state, so this was the best solution. As for (y/n)... His stomach twisted a bit at the thought of killing her. He wasn’t a fan of killing women when he was alive either… Besides, she was so kind to him, so sweet. No, he would not kill her. At least not now.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins. He quickly got up and went to the bathroom, quietly looking through the drawers and he found what he needed.

Alastor silently took the pair of scissors and entered the living room, making sure the two were asleep. He watched (y/n) sleeping on the couch, her knees to her chest. She seemed so peaceful. He had to be quick because he knew she would scream.

He approached David, who slept on the armchair, snoring. Alastor raised the scissors… He had to do it.

Go to: Next Chapter

[forgotten-daydreamer]

hi! sorry if this is annoying, but I'm queer and learning Italian (my teacher is awesome!) and I know there are no "gender neutral pronouns" but I've heard that queer people with languages kinda make up their own? Is that also true for Italian? ty! 🩷

Hi! Not annoying at all.

So, Italian doesn't have an official neutral form. Latin used to have it, but we lost it in Italian. There are a few ways to get around the problem when it comes to written communication.

Some use ə (schwa) to replace the gendered vowel at the end of most adjectives. -> for "beautiful", we have bello (m.), bella (f.), bellə (g.n.)

Some people directly omit the gendered vowel (e.g. bell)

Some people substitute the gendered vowel with an x (e.g. bellx) or with an asterisk (e.g. brav*)

Some replace the gendered vowel with "u" (e.g. bellu)

Now, pronouns- we have "egli/lui" (he) and "ella/lei" (she), and a written gender neutral option can be "ləi". Same goes for "essi" (them, m.) and "esse" (them, f.) but honestly nobody uses these anymore, we just say "loro" (g.n.).

Unfortunately, this doesn't really work with oral communication, because the schwa doesn't belong to Italian phonology, so even though we can absolutely pronounce it, it doesn't sound natural. For context, ə is what we have in words like /ˈtʃɪldrən/ (children). Italian doesn't have it, since its phonology only includes /a, ɛ, e, i, ɔ, o, u/

The substitution with "u" is the only option that works when speaking out loud, and it doesn't sound too off, nor too different from ə (not to untrained ears, anyway), so you can go with that.

And of course, you can't just pronounce the x like that at the end of a word- in English, it's either /ks/ or /gz/ depending on its position, but the Italian language doesn't work like that. We have words with x, such as ''ex'', ''extra'', ''xenofobia'', but as you notice they're all words imported from Latin (sometimes Greek), and despite popular beliefs, Italian and Latin are widely different- even if most of us could, technically, understand about 70% of any text written in Latin.

Also, * and x at the end of words are not immediately understandable for people who use text-to-speech.

It's easier when it comes to nouns, because fortunately most nouns have a gender neutral option that wasn't ''crafted'' with that purpose.

For example, instead of saying ''Sono solo una povera ragazza." (''I'm just a poor girl'') I use ''persona'', which is ''person'' (duh). OFC, in this case, the adjective ''povera'' will remain feminine because the noun ''persona'' is feminine- but just like it happens in English, the noun ''persona'' is for everyone, male, female, enby. It's neutral, it just means ''person''.

Nobody prevents you from using gender neutral nouns instead of gendered nouns, and same goes for adjectives, but sometimes you need to think ahead.

Some examples may be: bell-o/a > di bell'aspetto; simpatic-o/a > divertente; maestr-o/a and professor-e/essa> insegnante; dottor-e/essa > medico; carin-o/a > adorabile/gentile (context); buon-o/a > piacevole.

Now, the devil (for Italian kids, too): the dreaded apostrophe. What's the difference between ''un atleta'' and ''un'atleta'' (an athlete)? The first one is masculine, the second one is feminine. With nouns that are preceded by indefinite articles (sing.), and that start with a vowel, if the noun that follows is feminine, you need to add an apostrophe.

Even if you didn't know Italian, if you read ''un'ombra'', ''un orso'', ''un elicottero'', ''un'elica'', ''un'ape'', ''un amo'', etc, you'd be immediately able to distinguish feminine and masculine nouns.

So, going back to the ''atleta'' example, even if it's a gender-neutral option, when writing (because the presence of the apostrophe doesn't influence on the pronounciation) you're still going to have to give a gender to it, unless you get around it by saying ''Faccio l'atleta'' (lit. ''I do the athlete''. It's a correct way to say ''I'm an athlete''.)

A gendered sentence like "Ciao, mi chiamo X, sono una ragazza di 20 anni e sono un'atleta. Mi dicono tutti che sono bella, ma io mi sento orrenda. Da grande, vorrei fare la dottoressa." can be turned into ''Ciao, mi chiamo X, ho 20 anni e faccio l'atleta. Mi dicono tutti che sono di bell'aspetto, ma io mi sento inguardabile. Da grande, vorrei fare il medico."

("Hi, my name's X, I'm a 20 yr-old girl and I'm an athlete. Everyone tells me I'm pretty, but I feel ugly. When I grow up, I'd like to be a doctor.")

You have to think outside the box, you know? Personally, as a non-binary person, I use ə when I refer to myself (written), and try to use as many gender-neutral options as I can, both when I write and speak. I don't use the "u" substitution but I should start- it takes effort and 'training'. NGL, it's hard, and sometimes there's just no way of getting around it, but it's mostly doable!!

I hope this answers your question!

[cupcraft]

DSMPBLR SURVEY: DSMP BLORBO NICKNAMES SURVEY 1

Hello everyone here's my first survey-ish before you read below cut make sure you stick around for a few stipulations/notes that i'll type here also in the first slide below cut.

Data was modified to be easier to present (more explained in the slide): such as making spellings of the same answer the same for ex, or making similar answers the same. Some answers were also omitted (only 1 majorly...). This is not a very scientific study so i am being very transparent about this for a silly /lh survey i made on a whim. Except for the srs omission answer, please refer to the raw data for like unmodified answers.

Warnings: there is use of the w word, s word, and c word, some character crit answers, and also mentions of abuse (1 answer for cdream). Just mentioning it here as warning before you scroll through! You will also see some character critical comments, as I did not delete those comments. Let me know if i should tag anything!

superlatives: These are all /lh and no crit to anyone at all! I had fun making them :)!

All answers are presented anonymously in the slides!

Overall this survey was made on a bored whim and was all lighthearted and such so expect the survey results to reflect that. I have more plans for more seriously done surveys in the future so look out for that! ENJOY DSMPBLR!

(and if you see any mistakes you can let me know but just know it's not my highest effort as it was all for fun. also feel free to send me asks related to this)

ORIGINAL SURVEY : DATA

You can only do 10 images per post so the survey is via link (read only/no download):

survey tag list

@wetchickenbreast

[exn0bisstudios]

Scene - Nova in Soggy Cat mode

Talks on the server reminded me how much I enjoy when the usually-smooth Nova is... not so smooth. So, here is an early draft of a scene that does a good job of illustrating Soggy Cat Nova.

The version in this post doesn't include any of the variations or player choices, so don't worry if it doesn't fit the type of MC you want to play. This format just makes it easier to read for now.

Context: Early book one. MC has only known Stella & Nova for about a week. Unexpected disaster separated everyone. This is the route that has MC meeting Andrai first, and this scene introduces Désiré (though the bulk of that has been omitted).

Hope you enjoy!

Your arrival only receives the barest acknowledgment.

There's an uncomfortable mood hanging over the makeshift camp. Like they're all far too busy trying to sink into the ground to notice the new arrivals with the giant tiger. Definitely not what you expected from a crew of criminals.

But, the mood becomes understandable once your taciturn guide leads you to the heart of the camp.

Nova.

How loudly the Nightmare is complaining stifles your relief in finding someone familiar. Or, maybe it was more like whining? You catch at least 4 uses of the word 'terrible' and 6 of 'unfair' before you finally come to a stop at the edge of the group. Definitely whining, then.

"And as if getting shipwrecked wasn't bad enough," they lament, potentially for the 3rd time, "I get washed into a bog! A bog!"

Andrai grumbles beside you, so quiet you assume it is unintentional. "It's a saltwater swamp…"

"I am soaked! I am filthy! Look at my clothes! My boots!"

You glance around at the other faces in the group as the tirade continues, finding no one else familiar. The group is diverse, and they all seem to be withering beneath Nova's complaints. Some meet your gaze but return to shifting around uncomfortably when you don't jump in to save them.

The complete lack of security or suspicion irks you. Whether it is from overconfidence or inexperience, they are far too lax for a group of criminals. You're about to write them off when you feel a strange prickle against your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. There is a predator nearby. A threat.

[[ INSERT MEETING DEZ FOR THE FIRST TIME HERE ]]

"You!" The force of the accusation interrupts all else, causing an involuntary flinch. So, Nova has finally noticed your presence.

"This is your fault!" They're standing now, voice shrill and indignant. Their shoulders hiked up to their ears as they point aggressively in your direction. "I never would have had to leave my house if it wasn't for you and your damn Hunter! I hope her armor made her sink!"

"Hey!"

"Oh, don't you dare!" You clamp your mouth shut. Now you get why the smugglers had deflated into an uncomfortable silence and awkward shuffling. This was a rampaging Nightmare no Seer could stop; best to let it run its course, then.

"I have seawater in places it has no business being," Nova continues, ticking off on their fingers. You marvel at how they still manage to strike such a haughty air while looking like a drowned rat. "I'm soaked to the bone and covered in mud, grime, and Void knows what else. This reek I am subjected to is unspeakable, and I promise you, Eau de bog is definitely not in season right now."

The ranger at your side shifts like it physically pains him to not correct the misclassification.

"There is no amount of laundering in the world that could possibly save my current outfit." They gesture wildly at the once-colorful silk of their ensemble, stained and sopping. "Oh, and also! It's a shame that fish don't enjoy the bespoke! Considering all my luggage, all of it, is sitting at the bottom of the ocean right now. An entire wardrobe, worth more than you make in a lifetime, gone, just like that!" They take a sharp breath. Their hands ball into fists, trembling in a uniquely regal kind of rage as their meltdown peaks.

"And my boots, [Name]! My! Boots!"

Silence descends, and it carries the kind of gravity that should only go with war crimes and great tragedies. Though, you imagine Nova finds that appropriate. A glance around confirms the whole camp, save the dispassionate smuggler, seems to be holding its breath. Waiting, still as can be, hopeful the Nightmare is finally done. And, wary of setting them off again.

That hope seems to bloom when Nova finally releases a deep, slow sigh, their tension going with it. It seems they're exhausted from their extended outburst. They start to lean, likely to flop back against the crate behind them in one final act of drama. You teeter on the edge of celebration with the rest, peace and quiet so close you can taste it—

"Oh but, wait."

You blink, a flash of collective confusion when a new voice breaks the silence. All eyes move to watch as the assassin, Stella, materializes next to the dispassionate smuggler as if he'd been there the whole time. He likely was, you realize, and he shoots you a winning smile across the group.

But once more, any relief in seeing a familiar face halts, this time stopped by the dispassionate smuggler. He's finally stopped staring at you to start emoting, eyes closing beneath a furrowed brow. He looks… tired? And you quickly realize why.

"Dreamwalker, babe," Stella coos, grin positively gleeful despite his voice being over-laden with sympathy. Nova's eyes re-sharpen. You swear you see multiple smugglers jolt to stop Stella from speaking. If only.

"There's something weird in your hair."

Time stops. Until, slowly, Nova raises shaking hands to their head, eyes wide. They repeat Stella's claim in a mumble before a look of unadulterated horror skews their face. The no-longer-dispassionate smuggler releases a sigh that can only be described as long-suffering. Andrai is pinching the bridge of his nose in supreme annoyance, the feeling echoed in the chuff let out by his tiger. Stella's grin has become maliciously revelrous as they lovingly deliver the final push.

"Looks kinda slimy, actually. Need some help?"

Chaos descends, and it is a cacophony: Nova's shrieks, the mournful groans of a camp denied peace, and the positively delighted cackling of an assassin who you'd very much like to strangle.

[anon-e-miss]

One of the things I love about your writing style is you take common words and phrases and change them to fit in the tf universe. You don’t just omit them. It’s especially prevalent with food, but I enjoy seeing how you’ll change something to make it work.

I used to try and create all my own terms but I've found it just makes it harder for fics to read.

Many of the food items I use are canon but others are just human foods with some crystal names added. Maybe it's a cheat but I do think it's easier for everyone involved.

[raggaraddy]

Little Lie

Summary: You just wanted to go to a party, but Jimin is determined to make sure everyone knows you are his.

Trigger warning: Smut, yandere themes, non-con, abuse, facial.

Jimin

Yandere! Jimin Playboy! Jimin

"Jimin," you whine, both from pleasure and from frustration. You were trying to be mad at him, but right now you were struggling to remember your own name.

You had been getting ready to go to your friend's party this afternoon. It would be the first time in months you'd be going out without him because he has a family event tonight that you were not invited to. He wasn't thrilled about the idea but after much convincing, he agreed to let you go.

While you were almost ready to leave, Jimin had started pawing at you, groping you. You had dealt with this mood of his 100 times before and it was always easier and quicker just to give him what he wanted than to argue with him.

Soon, he was rocking his hips against you, pressing you hard into the kitchen table. You were moaning and moving with him. The both of you pushing the other to climax. Crying his name and clinging to him as he filled you.

As he pulls out of you you need to clamp your thighs shut. He came so much that you can feel it flowing down your thighs and onto the table in an instant. Kissing you again and again he stretches your dress lower, helping you back onto the floor. The movement further making his release drip from inside you, the top of your thighs becoming slick.

Noting your discomfort, he has a striking grin plastered on his face, looking calmed and euphoric in the afterglow while he watches you run your hands down your outfit.

"Come on, let's go.  I'll take you to see your ex-boyfriend." He suddenly says taking your hand.

"What?" you mutter, looking across his face for an explanation.

"He's going to be there, right?" he smirks.

"Ah," you stutter, searching for a response.

Of course, you knew your ex would be going, but you had decided it was best to lie just a little to avoid any conflict or trouble. Not even really a lie, just omitting certain facts. Plus, it's not like you had feelings for your ex anymore. You more than likely wouldn't even talk to him during the night. But you knew Jimin wouldn't like it and you didn't want to risk not being allowed to go tonight.

Unfortunately for you, since your friends had started getting ready early, they were already posting pictures online. Whether it was out of curiosity, boredom, or because he was checking up on you, while you were showering Jimin was scrolling through their feed when he saw your ex-boyfriend in a few of the pictures.

And as he often did, Jimin pushed rational thinking aside and assumed that you were lying to him because you had feelings for this other man.

"Let's go. I'll drop you off," he says again. Nervously you accept his hand, unable to read his mood under the bright smile he has on. Right away he starts leading you towards the front of the house.

"I'm not going to talk to him. I'm going for everyone else, not him." You try to reassure him.

"Okay," he unexpectedly shrugs it off. Sounding unbothered.

"You're not mad?" You ask tepidly receiving a shake of the head.

"Nope. I want you to have fun, Y/n." 

You can't believe how decent he is being. You were certain the night was about to be ruined for you. But here he is adverting your expectations. Letting you go off by yourself, even after everything.

Stopping at the entrance toilet, you pull from him only to have your arm snatched back and to be held in place.

"Nuh-uh." he draws you towards the front door again.

"Huh?" you tug back fighting through your confusion. Forcing a small smile to match his energy. "Jimin, I need to clean up," you explain with a small glow of embarrassment on your cheeks.

"No, you don't. You're perfect like this." he chuckles, leaning into you kissing you softly.

"But," You look up at him with a pout and furrowed brows. "there is cum running down my legs," you whisper.

"Good." His arms wrap around you tightly, his fingers digging into your skin. He kisses you again, grinning with a chuckle.

"What?" You're sure he can't be serious. There has to be some kind of misunderstanding.  "No, I'm going to get cum on my dress, and it's too short. People will see." you try again to clarify, looking up at him utterly puzzled.

"Good," he repeats.

You're flustered. You don't want to go out like this. There is no way he can mean it. It would be so embarrassing if anyone noticed.

"Stop! I know you're just trying to make me stay home." You scold.

Out of space to resist, you reluctantly let him push his tongue into your mouth. You're certain Jimin has to be angry. He is being so stubborn and crude right now. However, he is also being very affectionate and bubbly. Which is not just making you confused but also frustrated by his unreasonableness.

Breaking the kiss, he keeps peppering small ones along your jaw until his mouth comes to your ear. "No, I'm not. I'll take you there right now."

"Jimin. I'm not going there like this!" you yell, shaking your head trying to make him listen to you.

Laughing, he ignores you, only continuing to yanks you and drag you out the front door, crushing your hand and forcing you to take large steps to keep pace with him.

By the time he shoves you into the passenger side, your dress, thighs, and now his car seat are a sticky mess. You yank on the door handle as soon as it shuts, but it doesn't open. Jimin had flicked on the child lock when he pushed you in.

You're starting to panic. You have to get him to stop. He is going to humiliate you. And on top of everything you haven't even got your jacket, purse, shoes, or underwear. It's just you and your thigh-high black dress. He is really about to put you out there, in front of all of your friends, while you're exposed like this. Even if you were to rush to the bathroom right away, you'd have to get there first. Which means there is too high a risk that someone would notice.

"Jimin! Stop being a dick!" you snap as soon as he opens his door, trying to sound authoritative. "Let me out. I am not playing anymore."

He slides in beside you, slamming his door loudly, smacking his hands against the steering wheel. Remaining determined, you do your best not to let his aggressive movements intimidate you.  Honestly, you'd almost rather he hit you right now because you know he wouldn't let you go out with a black eye.

"You wanted to sneak out and see your ex, Angel. So let's go see him." the smile in his eyes goes cold. His tone becoming distant.

"Oh for the love of-" you roll your eyes. "So what? Your plan is to mark your territory by making me see him with your cum all over me? Stop being pathetic!"

"Pathetic?!" he hisses.

His eyes go dark as he lunges at you across the centre console. You jerk back, banging into the door and window to try to avoid him. But you don't have a chance. Pressing his body weight into you, he keeps you trapped in the corner by digging his forearms across your throat. You thump your palms into his side, into his face, hoping to get him off you but no amount of struggling seems to phase him.

Prying his free hand between your thighs, he forces his fingers into you roughly, pushing them deep, curling them inside you.

"Ji-" you gasp from pain as Jimin pumps a third finger inside you. "Stop, it hurts!" you scream.

"Let's see," he pauses, pulling out of you. "if any of them," he brings his wet hand up and smacks it to your cheek, rubbing and smothering his cum over all your face. "want you after this."

Finally, he lets loose your throat, dropping back into his seat with a snicker.

Frozen, panting in the corner, you're staring straight ahead in shock at what he just did. At what he just said. Tears spring to your eyes, horrified by his plan.

He can't make you go out like this.

Yanking on the handle again, trying to lower the power windows, you have no better luck than before.

He starts the car, pulling on the road. A satisfied smirk smile on his face.

You wipe at your cheeks, your lips, your forehead. But the more you try to clear, the more it spreads and drys on your skin.

You had been trying so hard to hide from your friends how badly Jimin treats you. You'd gotten questions here and there about some of the bruises you had on your arms and legs, but you'd always managed to explain them away. But after this. After he kicks you out of the car looking like some kind of abuse victim, they'll never look at you the same.

"Jimin." You cry. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry baby." you lean over the seat stroking his arm, trying to get him to lighten up. To change his mind. "Please. Please don't make me go. Please." you beg, tears pouring out of you. 

But your pleas fall on deaf ears.

"Don't worry Angel," he turns to you, once more with a dazzling smile on his face. "we're just gonna show you around for a little bit. Then I'll bring you home."