#I have to make sure that my words are conveying Exactly What I Intend

[dittomander]

if you've ever wanted a practical example of Why It Takes Me So Long To Answer/Write/Elaborate/Etc., I'm currently working on editing a post that's been in my drafts for a couple weeks at this point. It is a followup on an au concept I offhandedly posted a year-ish ago. I have a bulletpoint list of Things That Need To Go In The Post that has existed since I made the original post. so, the add-on is written, and has been written for over a year. I could type it up exactly as I have it on this sticky note and probably no one would question it. literally all I have to do is transcribe it.

but my goddamn writer brain is not letting me do that without first thinking through the logistics of every single bullet point and how they would actually play out if I were to write this au as a story (which I have no immediate plans to do) and but wait that doesn't address this potential plot hole and wouldn't it make more sense if I did it This Way instead and is this too on-the-nose and wouldn't it be better if and wouldn't the meaning be clearer if and and and-

I've been working on the post edit for 2+ hours at this point and I am halfway through the sticky note and it's not supposed to be a full coherent story it's just silly spitballing and I'm losing my mind and it's like this with every piece of original writing I have, be it a story or analysis or a simple headcanon post or reply to a comment and I'd like to think that helps with quality in the long run but I'd also like to not go through the 5 stages of grief every time I try to write a single word. christ.

[hazelfoureyes]

The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (a Valentino production)

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

Valentino has acquired a living, breathing human in hell. But at the begging of Angel, Alastor makes a deal in exchange for her soul.

tags: Alastor x reader, smut, dubcon, mentions of assault (Val intended to "fuck you to death”), Val's existence, overstimulation, forced (?) orgasms, bondage (shadow tentacles), choking (sexy kind, not murdery kind), cervix wrecked, your aunt is a bitch

(author's note: I've been in Japan for like 7 years and my English has suffered, but your fucking smutty writing on this site has inspired me to write for the first time in years.)

Minors DNI

Angel burst into the hotel lobby, winded. “Please, you gotta do somethin’!” 

To the surprise of everyone, he ran straight to Alastor, tears forming in his eyes.

“Val’s gonna hurt her real bad. I don’t know who else to ask, please. I can't—-“ he cradled his head in his hands, “I can't watch him break any more people.”

Alastor didn’t seem to react at first, but Charlie appeared at Angel’s side and pulled him into a hug, “Angel, take a deep breath. He’s gonna hurt who? What’s wrong?”

“He got a new soul. Some fucking cultist offered her up as sacrifice. But she's not dead yet Charlie—- he dragged her down here alive.” His voice cracked, “He wantsta— he said he’s gonna fuck her to death on camera and wait for her to respawn in hell. He’s convinced he’ll make a fortune off the tapes. Please, for fuck’s sake someone has to do something.”

A human in hell? Well, that was something interesting after all. With a raised brow Alastor spoke, “And how exactly can I help this poor, unfortunate soul?”

“Make a deal or– rip his arms off, I don’t fuckin’ know! There has to be something you can offer Val worth her soul. I’d give you my soul if I could!”

Well that’d be worthless.

But a human? A living, breathing human? Intriguing.

“Alastor you have do something. This isn't right! Hell isn’t for the living.” Charlie’s hair flew upward as her eyes flashed red for a second, “I’ll repay it somehow.”

Well there's no harm in taking a look. 

The demons and sinners who saw Alastor walking into the Vee’s tower oscillated between fleeing for their lives and live tweeting the event. Either a truce or a war would be breaking out and they knew they’d be fucked regardless.

“Alastooor”, Val exhaled,  letting the name drag out lazily, “Come to ruin something, I’m sure.” Val hadn’t seen Alastor since his fight with Vox 7 years ago, and he hadn’t expected to see him in his studio— ever. 

“Ha! No, not today. Word got around that there's a special little guest hidden in your studio.” Alastor’s eyes darted about the room, uninterested in the various parts and bits of the actors changing.

Val glanced at Angel, who’d suspiciously returned some 30 minutes before Alastor appeared. 

“I didn’t say nothing, Val.” Angel’s hands went up in defense. “He came to me askin’ about her.”

“And what exactly do you want with my “little guest”?” Val dropped any pretense of politeness. 

Alastor leaned forward on his microphone, and with a pop of static he practically cooed, “To see the poor creature, of course.”

Val ashed his cigarette into a cameraman’s hair and walked off, “Fuck it, sure. She’s back here.”

The back room was dark, perhaps some would call it mood lighting but what mood exactly it conveyed fell somewhere between dungeon and power outage.

You sat on your knees in the center of a round bed. Arms held above your head by a large clip attached to wrist restraints. Your body swayed slightly, a long rope anchored to the ceiling and tied to the clip above you.  Your body was slightly suspended, knees barely making contact with the bed beneath you. The white nightgown you wore was bloodied and ripped at the collar, causing it to slip down your left shoulder. Jaw clenched, your eyes were covered with a red satin tie. 

Alastor took the scene in. Your lip was cut and swollen, bruises peppered your cheek and exposed shoulder. Yet, you were breathing heavily, like a bull about to rush them. You were clearly defenseless, but somehow still defiant. His smile grew to his ears. It had been decades since he had a human in such a prone state.

“Have you …. broken her in yet?” He asked delicately, eyes never leaving your face.

“Nah, just roughed her up a little. I want to capture her raw reaction on camera when she takes her first demon cock.” Valentino clenched his fist to emphasize the word “first”. 

Your head fell forward as you pulled down on your wrist restraints, a growl rising in your throat.

Alastor felt his breath get caught in his own, your nightgown riding slowly up your legs as you struggled. 

“Hey!” Val snapped his fingers in your direction. “Don’t embarrass me. Our guest came to see you. He’s considering making an offer for you, I’m sure, so say hello like a good girl.” Val rolled his eyes, “Sluts always fucking embarrassing me.”

You tried to gather enough saliva to speak, finding the taste of blood still on your tongue. “Fuck you and your friend.” barely made it from your chapped lips. When was your last drink of water? Last meal? How long had you been unconscious before this all began?

“Not friends.” Alastor was quick to retort, “The name’s Alastor, my dear. It’s a pleasure.”

You sneered, a pleasure? What a sick joke. 

“Alastor.” you repeated it, disdain dripping from your lips.

The absolute contempt with which you said his name did something to him. His eyes darted from your mouth back to your inner thighs, exposed from the rising dress. Your mouth was so rude but your body looked so sweet. A little lamb– no, a doe.  

“Say it again.” It wasn’t a request, Alastor himself was surprised to hear himself say it with such demand.

You thrashed. “Oh is that what gets you off? You wanna hear your name in my mouth?” You said mockingly. “You’re just as FUCKED as him.” The nightgown rode up even further. Alastor’s tongue stuck to his teeth as his mouth went dry. Had you been delivered to Val without panties? Offered to him in just this sheer cotton night dress? What was happening to him…

 Static bit your skin as a low hum filled the room. 

“Say it.” Alastor’s voice dropped an octave, eyes suddenly taking on a slight glow. You couldn’t see the danger before you, but you felt it. Something primal in you knew you were in the presence of a predator.

No, you couldn’t see him, but his presence was pressing in all around you. 

“Alastor.” You seethed, “ALASTOR.” Pulling down on the restraints yet again you tried to find the strength to stand, “ALASTOR! ALASTOR!!” Your legs buckled under you having gone numb hours ago, his name devolving into a gutteral scream. All of your anger and despair ripped from your chest as you shouted his name. The nightgown had now ridden to your hips but you couldn’t find an ounce of shame in you to care. 

You were so full of rage, so defiant still. You were so…. alive.

He felt the blood rushing to his crotch in an all together forgotten sensation, and knew immediately his decision. “Let’s make a deal.” His eyes didn’t leave you, but Valentino knew he was talking to him.

Val let out a laugh, “I have some time to waste while they finish the set. Why not.”

Seated in his personal quarters, Val motioned for Alastor to sit opposite him. You had been left in the dark of that room, only knowing you were alone when the static died down and the hair on the nape of your neck relaxed. 

“Listen, Radio Demon. There’s nothing you have that could tempt me to hand over the little bitch.” His long arms rested over the back of his sofa, a heart shaped puff of smoke leaving his lips. Alastor swatted at the air as it approached. 

“What do you even need her for? You don’t deal in souls, but flesh. Surely you can find another toy to break on camera.” Alastor waved his microphone away.

“Hmm”, Val brought a finger to his chin in thought, seriously considering what Alastor could possibly offer him. “Oooh, I know.” His head lolled to the side,  “People have seen me fuck a thousand times. But no one’s ever even seen you with a partner. ‘Radio Demon fucks human sacrifice’” He motioned from left to right as if reading the words off an imaginary marquee, “Now THAT would make money. Real money. Fuck GOD levels of money.” A red liquid leaked from his lips as they were stretched across clenched teeth, his hips involuntarily humped at the air, “oh fuck. Yes. You do the porn, and I’ll give her to you. Soul and body.”

Alastor was looking at Val but his mind was still in front of you, his name tumbling from your lips. The uninterrupted skin where your thighs met your hips. The desperation in your scream. How absolutely soft and fragile you were. He adjusted his hips, trying to calm the twitching of his cock at the thought of you helplessly before him. 

“What exactly are you proposing?” His fingers came to rest entwined on his knee, one leg over the other.

“First, I have full rights to the video to do as I please.” Val counted out on his fingers, “The porno has to show penetration. No dry humping or some bullshit like that. I need you fucking that whore if I’m gonna sell this shit. Aaand”, A sickening grin grew on Valentino’s face, “She has to cum. And I’ll know if she’s faking it. If you don’t manage all three, the deal is off. I keep the human and all rights to the video for per— no, *in* pep-“ he sputtered, “perpur- forever! Fuck.” 

Alastor’s default grin was now so wide his gums could be seen peeking past his lips, his eyes flashing to dials, “It’s a deal.” He extended his hand to Valentino as he stood. A green light was shining from the open palm but Val shook it regardless, confident the deal's conditions wouldn’t be met. He’d seen a lot of fucked up shit on his set, but the Radio Demon, famously uninterested in sex, wasn’t going to make a battered human cum. How stupid could Alastor be, he thought. And he’ll have the video of Alastor failing to please someone to broadcast all over the pride ring and beyond. “May I have a moment alone with her before the filming?”

Val rolled his eyes, “yeah but don’t fuck her off camera.”

The sudden feeling of a hand on your hip startled you so intensely you let out a yelp. 

“Hello, my little doe.” Hot breath tickled the shell of your ear, then your neck, then your collar bone… “Unfortunately your shoot will still continue today. But if you do as I say, I promise you’ll leave the studio alive.”

You felt the nightgown being tugged back down your hips, hiding your exposed sex.

“I will be taking that pompous moth’s place. I will be as gentle as I can, but he will want to see you suffer. You must still fight me, must act pained. Can you play along?”

Your eyes darted behind your eyelids. He sounded— gentle? His voice was soft against your skin. Maybe he was truly the lesser evil of the two. You nodded. You’d heard all the gory details of what the other demon had planned for you, this sounded infinitely more tolerable. You dare thought you’d suffered worse before. 

“And, one more little caveat, darling. I will bring you to orgasm, so please don’t fight so hard as to delay your release.”

You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until his words punched you in the gut. 

“I-“

“Yes?” Alastor’s mouth was nearly on your neck, his smile ghosting your skin.

“I’ve never—- I mean I can only do that by myself. No one else has managed to-“

A large hand patted your head, cutting your train of thought off. How big was he? His hands could palm a basketball. Could he really be gentle? Was he capable of it? Were those hands going to be on you soon? Your mind was running away with the thought of this strange demon fucking you on camera. 

“Oh don’t worry about that. Just focus on your performance. We have to put on a good show!”

Angel was practically chewing his fingers off as he watched the crew finish the set.

“Alastor what the fuck, I thought you were gonna help her!”

“I am, my effeminate friend. Have a little faith in me.” He adjusted his bowtie and took his place on set.

“I have none. I have negative faith, Alastor. Fuuuuck”, Angel slumped against the wall behind him and sank to the floor. 

The stage was set. A red sigil was painted on the floor of a cabin, candles lit around the room as the only source of light (except the stage lighting hanging above the scene). Of the three walls they’d made, the far left wall had an altar haphazardly filled with flowers, a golden bowl, and small plaid satchel.

Someone — something? — led you by the restraints to the stage. Blindfolded, you were pushed down to the floor, forced to sit on your still numb legs. The leather cuffs on your wrist were unbuckled, allowing you to flex your hands. When you reached for the blindfold a hand smacked at yours.

“No no, keep it. I want you to look exactly how I found you.” The familiar voice of Val instructed. 

Someone handed a script to Alastor, but he pulled his hands away from the demon as if the paper itself was an angelic weapon, “Oh, no thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

“I’ll tell you what to say” Val said, clearly to you.

“It’s—- it’s fine. I’ll just do it like before. I don’t need any help.”

You really didn’t.  There was no improv needed. You could repeat exactly what you said yesterday evening when you awoke on the floor of an unfamiliar place. You’d been visiting your aunt one moment, and alone in a weird room what felt like moments later. Groggy, but alert enough to know something bad had happened. 

You heard “action”, and then silence. You could feel eyes on you.

“Aunt Sara….” You whispered. “I don’t understand what’s happened… Are you still there?” You rubbed your wrists trying to regain some blood flow, readjusting your legs to do the same. 

You heard a strange sound, both yesterday and now. 

“Aunt Sara isn’t here. She’s made an exchange, she gets extraordinary power….and I get your soul.” The way Alastor said it, the way his breath seemed to almost hitch, surprised you. Something cold touched your ankle, causing you to flinch, “But I want more than that. I need more than that.”

You felt that something-unknown snake up your leg toward your center. Crawling backwards on your butt to create some distance you collided with the altar. The golden bowl rolled to the edge and spilled its contents across the table. You could smell the iron tang of blood before you felt the pitter patter on your shoulder. Alastor inhaled quickly before letting the air back out with as much control as he could manage.

“Who are you?!” You’d asked this already. But this time the disembodied voice of your captor replied, “Alastor, the Radio Demon! Pleasure to meet you.”

The right side of your face smacked against the floor of the makeshift cabin as you were dragged suddenly across the room and into the red sigil. The cold appendage on your leg now tightly coiled up your calf.

“No— you have to fuck her with your fucking dick! You can’t use shadow tentacles!” Val shouted, nearly falling out of his chair.

“Now now, the deal didn’t specify with what, only that penetration must occur. Plus, I won’t show up on your video recording device anyway.” Alastor took several steps back, ensuring he was not in frame, “Rest assured, your audience will know it is me.” His words cracked and stuttered like someone had changed the station midway through his sentence.

A small, “fine, whatever.” was grumbled and the scene continued, the tentacle snaking its way up your thigh as Alastor chuckled softly at how you flinched against him.

You rolled onto your stomach and tried to kick off the shadow but it held firm. Letting out a groan you used your hands to drag yourself back towards the altar. Before you could reach the table your other leg felt the pressure of a new tentacle twist around your knee as you were dragged back toward the Radio demon once again.

Your nightgown was forced up, your ass now exposed and in the air as your legs were pulled open. That was as far as you had really gone yesterday, before a flash of light delivered you into the Pentagram City studio. 

Surprisingly, you felt embarrassed, self conscious knowing there were other people in this room. But as if he could read your mind, or perhaps just noticed the tremble in your legs, Alastor softly said, “It’s only us now, darling. There’s nowhere to hide.”

Third and fourth appendages appeared around your waist and neck. Effortlessly your hips were lifted off the floor, your cunt on full display to the man who now owned you. The tentacle on your neck slipped between your shoulder blades and pressed your chest firmly to the floor. You squirmed and struggled against the restraints but only accomplished to draw another chuckle from Alastor.

“Relax. We have forever, after all. We can take our time.”

You felt pressure at your entrance, and your pleas to stop were cut short as a shadow tentacle pushed its way inside you. It was cold, but quickly began to warm as your heat enveloped it. Your body was resisting it, too tight to take it all in one thrust, but you could feel it slick against your lips easily enough to make its way inside.

“Ooh, my dear, your wet little cunt betrays you.” He cocked his head to the side, antlers doubling then tripling in size, “Have my words affected you so much?”

You could feel the tentacle’s shape shift slightly inside you as if it were adjusting to you and not the other way around. True to his word, there was no pain except from the burning stretch of your hole against the girth of his shadow self.

Hissing, you thrashed against the sigil, “get OFF OF ME!” Pushing against the floor you barely got your shoulders an inch off the ground when you felt a nth appendage graze sloppily over your clit. You stilled, suddenly remembering your end of the deal. Your promise to the demon now circling your clit with his shadow. If you couldn’t do this, then the entire filming was for nothing.

“Don’t forget to breath. I can’t have you dying on me just yet, sweetheart.” The static was slowly building in the air around you again, a silent threat.

Your hand shot to your mouth, trying to smother the depraved sounds being fucked out of you. The tentacle in your pussy was now ramming against your cervix, curving and bending as it repeatedly forced its way in and out of you. The room was quiet, except for the slick, sticky sound of the tentacle coated in your fluids pulling nearly completely out of you before smashing back in. The pace was slow and cruel, but the pressure on your clit was fast and hard. Your mind was starting come undone, your thoughts splintering. You couldn’t focus on anything anymore, all over your body was pressure, pleasure, massaging, pushing, and pulling. 

“Ah ah, that won’t do.” Alastor practically sang the words as an appendage pulled your hands from your mouth and brought them to the small of your back. 

You whimpered, trying to find a balance between the overstimulation and the need to not let them see how much you were getting off on this. You needed to hate it more. Hate him more. Your cheek stuck to the wood of the floor as drool leaked from your open mouth, unable to keep it closed any longer. 

“I’ll—” Your strength was nearly gone, but you managed to knock your upper body around the sigil, smearing the still wet blood across your chest. You only managed to whisper into the flooring a quiet, “I’ll fucking kill you for this.”

The tentacles stopped, for a second you felt tears sting your eyes at the loss of friction. A loud screech made you wince, but you had no time to question it as your body was violently flipped. Your hips were slammed down onto the ground, held tightly by a tentacle around your waist. The back of your head ached as it was jostled in the turn. The shadows on your thighs now seemed determined to bruise you as they constricted around your skin. 

“What was that, dear?” The tentacle in your pussy seemed to swell inside you, the force of the thrusts picking up in intensity. He was ramming into your body with such fervor you felt the skin of your ass chaffing on the wooden grain beneath you.  “Speak up, now”, you heard him exhale forcefully, his controlled appearance hanging on by a thread.

“I-”, your mouth opened to continue your resistance when a new sensation stopped you. A second tentacle was trying to squirm its way into your heat, just above the now uncomfortably thick one twisting around inside of you. The pressure on your stomach from the force made you feel sick, but the devoted ministrations on your clit had your legs twitching against the restraints. “Ah–! no, wai-” It managed to slip itself into you, and with no hesitation it was pressing against your g-spot in a matching rhythm to the tentacle swiping over your swollen clit.

You’d never before made a sound like the one that was pulled from your throat. It was ugly and animalistic and took you by surprise. Still struggling to catch your breath, you threw your head back. You were losing control. As your body was rocked against the ground, the blindfold got caught in the friction and slipped down your nose. 

Bringing your head back up, you finally locked eyes with your new master. 

“Alas-” Another chilly tentacle came to your neck and began to lightly squeeze. You could only breathe out the rest of his name as your eyes met with his. He stood some feet from you, just outside of the sigil, barely on the set at all. He seemed nonplussed, antlers looming over you and suit perfectly neat, except one detail. His pupils dilated when you finally set your eyes onto his. The grip on your neck only stopped tightening when you stomped your foot down in fear of passing out. You didn’t break eye contact, a fire burning in you that told him no matter what he did you wouldn’t be broken. That look in your eyes, the contempt mixed with overwhelming pleasure made Alastor shift one foot in front of the other in an effort to better conceal the erection straining against the zipper of his pants. 

“Mmmhhh–” You finally broke contact as your eyes rolled back into your head, the pressure beneath your belly was building, a tightness threatening to snap. But this wasn’t like before, this wasn’t like when you were alone in your bed with your own hand. It felt like too much, your heart was pounding so hard you thought you’d really die. There was no way your body could continue this much longer, your heart would surely give out.

“Please–” You needed him to stop, the ghostly hand on your throat, the two tentacles pressing against your cervix and g-spot, the unrelenting pressure on your clit. It was too much, it was too sensitive. “I’m sorry, please. Pleeea-” you gritted your teeth, thighs twitching as the muscles in your core tightened.

“Going to cum, my little doe?” Through gritted teeth of his own Alastor asked you as if you had any choice in the matter. He forced your knees up to your shoulders, allowing the tentacles to reach new depths. 

“AaaaHH” You convulsed, “I’m yours, Alastor!” You moaned, willing to say anything to stop the overwhelming feeling as the coil snapped, you were orgasming on this demon’s shadow and for the love of all that was unholy he wouldn’t fucking let up. You did what he said, but he wasn’t stopping. His thrusts didn’t slow, your clit was throbbing and your body shaking uncontrollably. All defiance was dead, your fire snuffed out. Your eyes were glazed and unfocused. Your head hit the floor again as you struggled to keep your thoughts straight, “It’s all yours. My soul is yours! Please- sto-” Another orgasm was being fucked out of you, no recovery from the first. “I can’t, I can’t” Your jaw locked, the way your cunt was spasming and tightening around his shadow appendages nearly pushed them out of your body with the strength of your first forced orgasm. The lights in the room flickered and popped, the candles blew out with a sudden gust, static drowned out your voice from everyone but Alastor as you screamed through the second orgasm. A green light erupted from the smeared sigil beneath you, blinding the crew and onlookers. “My body is yours! My soul! It’s all yours. I give you all of me, Alastor! Alastor!!” Your vision went spotty, and your throat seemed to close around your voice. Your face was red with the strain of your orgasm. You’d never felt unrelenting pleasure like that before and in that moment you’d have given him absolutely anything he wanted from you. Everything. It was his. You were his. He owned you inside and out.

The bullying of your cunt finally calmed after your orgasm began to edge away, your breath no longer stuck in your throat. He didn’t stop, but he slowed down to a lazy pace as what few lights managed to survive flickered back to life. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you looked over your wrecked body to Alastor. His eyes were wild, his bangs damp and clinging to his forehead. His smile was manic, sinister almost. He looked truly demonic. A wave of fear carried a chill down your spine.

The tentacles withdrew, the sudden loss making you feel colder somehow now than before. They had taken on your own heat and matched your temperature so perfectly, now your body felt empty. You felt naked. Your cunt was still clenching, but around nothing at all. It felt…like something was missing now. Your body seemed to be upset at the loss of contact. It made your stomach turn.

You flinched when the radio demon approached you, but instead of tearing you to pieces like his grin had promised, he slipped his suit jacket off and laid it over your body. You hadn’t realized the dress was torn and lying beneath you in a wet pile of blood and sweat. The confusion must have been evident on your face, because Alastor’s appearance shifted. Antlers now small, if not tiny between his ears. His eyes a red and pink, lids half closed. His smile was just a line across his face, no teeth at all. He looked like a gentleman, had you not known what he had just done to your pussy you’d have thought him incapable of such impropriety. 

“Good job, my little doe.” He whispered before you were handed a glass of water by a tall stranger. 

“Wow, you’re kind of natural at this babe. I haven’t seen a performance like that in ages.  Are you okay?” You took the water from him but didn’t open your mouth to reply, instead transfixed on his appearance. You’d only seen Val and Alastor until now. “You can call me Angel. We’ll get you home soon. I swear.”

Your eyes flitted to Alastor’s, did he know? He must have, he must have felt it. Of course he knew. In those final moments, you hadn’t been acting. Not an ounce of your pleasured responses were disingenuous. Not a single word a lie.

Alastor helped you to your feet as Angel placed a robe over your shoulders. Alastor hummed as he put his jacket back on, a satisfied sound coming from his chest that almost sounded like a song. 

Val sat in his director’s chair with his legs crossed, mouth open. His cigarette was mostly ash, delicately lingering on the stub.

Alastor placed a hand on the small of your back as you were guided to the door. Looking over his shoulder he grinned to Val, “It seems our deal is done here, Valentino. She’s mine, in perpetuity.”

(Part two)

༻Masterlist༺

[luvfy0dor]

"We're gonna be timeless !!" ♡⁠˖ BSD x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Fyodor Dostoevsky, Chuuya Nakahara, Nikolai Gogol

Warning; Spoilers for mersault arc/Fyodors means of communication in his part, soft!Fyodor bc I am goin thru it, relationship intolerance, Nikolais bit isn't in exact correlation w/ the song

Description; Drabbles inspired by Timeless by Taylor Swift

A/N; Writing this while trying to figure out what to do for another fic help I'm so nervous the person isn't gonna like it but we ball 🫡 in Nikolais part I tried avoiding saying balls like it was the plague but yk

Love Letters w/ Fyodor Dostoevsky

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “I would've read your love letters every single night, and prayed to God you'd be comin' home alright”

• His love letters are romantic and very detailed, making sure he conveys exactly how much he misses you. He likes to write you short poems, understanding how much your heart swoons at the sweet and romantic words.

• Fyodor writes to you while he's in Yokohama, telling you how his plans are going and his estimated time of arrival at home. He continues this habit, even when in Mersault. He sends letters to you via the manipulated vampire guards, instructing them to take great care of the thin envelopes.

Scenario !! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Your heart beats quickly as you made your way to your mailbox to check for a letter from your lover; already prepared for the slight sadness you'd experience should the small compartment be void of a note, yet still excited for the possibility of receiving one.

You excitedly open the door to the mailbox, grabbing the numerous envelopes that filled it. Sifting through them, you start to loose hope before your eyes land on the slightly sloppy handwriting of your boyfriend. You drop the various other things on the table, including bills and junk mail in order to pry open the letter excitedly. You make sure to do it carefully though as not to rip anything.

Once you've successfully separated the paper from the envelope, you lay down on the couch on your front while giggling excitedly. You unfold the paper and start to read the comforting and familiar handwriting, feeling as though this letter was a warm and sweet hug from the Russian man.

“My dearest, Y/N,

I know I restate the same thoughts in every letter I send to you, but I truly miss you more than anything in the outside world, including my freedom. I am perfectly fine in captivity, but it truly makes my heart ache to be without my love for so long. I hope you are doing well and holding up without me, not because I doubt your individuality, but I know just how much you miss me. It is the same way for me in this prison. Even with Dazais company, my heart doesn't feel nearly as full as it does when you are around, my dear. However, when our plan succeeds, we will get the happily ever after we deserve. As for our plans, they are going as intended currently.

I cannot wait to embrace you again and to feel the reassuring sensation of your breathing against my skin and feel your arms wrapped around me so tightly and lovingly. Though I would have went about my plans regardless of your support or not, I still appreciate you staying and supporting this, although I can only imagine it has caused you much stress. No worries though, my dear, we will prevail in the end no matter the obstacles. In the meantime, here is an excerpt from a poem I memorized many years ago, I feel it may catch your interest and reassure you a bit.

Wait for me, and I’ll be back,

Disregard the fate,

In the morning with my bag,

Should you only wait.

They will hardly understand,

How I could survive.

Waiting me from foreign land,

You have saved my life.

Let them say that it’s too late.

What you feeling tells?

I’ll be back, because you wait

Like nobody else.

Again, I miss you dearly. Just in case I needed to rephrase it, my heart will not rest until you are back in my presence, for I feel our souls are intertwined. I cannot wait to reunite with with you, my love. I will see you soon.

Sincerely, Fyodor Dostoevsky”

Your heart couldn't help but flutter as you held the letter to your chest, having rolled over onto your back. Your face is warm with blush as you smile and laugh. It was beyond you how Fyodor could remember all of the information he knew, as well as numerous languages and poetry, but you certainly weren't complaining. After all, your boyfriends sweet sayings made your day every time without fail. With every letter he sent, you only became more impatient for his return.

Eloping w/ Chuuya Nakahara

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “And run away and left it all behind, you still would've been mine, we would've been timeless”

• Eloping with Chuuyas is such a fulfilling act, especially when you don't have people whispering in your ear about how dangerous it could be.

Scenario !! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Romantic relationships with port mafia executives as an outsider or regular civilian were frowned upon in the organization, meaning if you and Chuuya were going to be together, you needed to be sneaky about it. The port mafia had connections all over the city, which really limited your options for dates, but you were both content with just lounging in each other's homes.

You loved leaning against his chest on his couch, a movie playing softly in the background as you both cuddled together. You liked cooking with him in your kitchen, making a mess together while giggling and then having to clean it up together. Every time you would just sit in his arms in your back yard, watching the wind blow the flowers and leaves around, was a memory with Chuuya that you were grateful for.

So, when your lover proposed the idea of elopement to you, you were over the moon. You had always wanted to marry him, youve know that he was your soulmate from the get go. Even in a billion lifetimes, you felt as though you would find each other repeatedly. You said yes, ofcourse, and started planning immediately.

It had gone exactly according to plan, too. The both of you wore rather nice clothing for the actual ceremony, exchanging pretty rings and slipping them on to one anothers fingers. The kiss you shared, the first one of your elopement, was like no other. It felt sweeter with emotion and certainly tasted that way, too, because of Chuuyas cherry chapstick. You held each other's hands tightly as you quickly walked out of the courthouse, getting into the car that had been packed with as many necessary belongings as possible, including but not limited to clothing, legal documents, and money.

Sure, the luxury of a port mafia salary was one that would probably be missed by the both of you, allowing a nicer place to stay and finer wines to drink, but you could live with Chuuya in a rundown shack for all he cared. As long as he was with you, he would be perfectly happy. Chuuya is a romantic at heart under his tougher exterior, only letting bits and pieces of that romanticism slip through the cracks.

Chuuya drove with you down long and winding roads, the both of you deciding to end the day by stargazing while sitting on the trunk of the car. You sat on Chuuyas lap, his face pressed against your back. He drew soft shapes on any part of skin within his reach, even tracing out letters and words, spelling terms of endearment such as "my love".

"You know, I don't doubt one bit that mafia affiliates could be lurkin' around here, but it's much less likely. Something like this would be frowned upon real hard back home, which is why I feel I will never regret this decision." He says, speaking straight from his heart, not caring about vulnerability anymore. He had you, and you would be the very last person to take advantage of such a delicate thing.

A grin tugs at the corner of your lips with enough force to change your facial expression immediately. You leaned back into his touch, your hand caressing his that sat against your abdomen, hugging you closer to him. "I won't ever regret it either. I'll never regret any decision I make for you, my love." You softly murmur, looking up at the stars in the beautiful, blue night sky. The blue night sky filled with glamorous and shiny stars, yet they could never compare to the shimmery glint in Chuuyas eyes every time he came around you. The blue night sky that provided a calming darkness in the world, allowing you to further relax against your, now husband's, body.

"I'll always love you, darlin', I'm so happy I can openly have you now." He speaks quietly against your shoulder, almost whispering. You reach your hand back to gently touch his hair a bit. "Me too, my love. Me too."

Crowded Streets w/ Nikolai Gogol

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ “In another life, you still would've turned my head, even if we met on a crowded street in 1944”

• Should you meet Nikolai during one of his street performances and accidentally fall victim to his juggling skills (or lack there of) , he would look forward to seeing you around the town and in the streets again to make up for his fumble with an entertaining mini-show.

Scenario !! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Walking through the busy streets, your eyes fell upon a tall man, dressed as a jester while standing on the sidewalk. "A street performer." You simply thought, trying to discreetly glance at him without making eye contact and avoid the make believe obligation to give him money. You noticed that he was juggling, tossing three red balls in the rotational pattern while blabbering on about random things to passersby.

You lowered your head as to not look at him or make eye contact as you started to pass him, before you're head jerks right back up at the loud man's voice saying "watch out!". Right in front of your face was one of the red, foam spheres, kept motionless between two bony, lanky fingers covered in the cloth of the mans red gloves.

"Aw, I'm real sorry, darlin'! That sure was close, wasn't it?" He says, his bright, toothy grin glimmering in the sunlight. You nod, inhaling and steadying your heart rate.

"Yeah, no worries though, it didn't actually hit me." You say, a bit embarrassed by the situation for seemingly no reason. He slinks backwards into a completely upright position. "I wouldn't have let it hit you regardless, sweet cheeks." He says as he creates a portal and tosses his props into the yellow opening. He rests his fingers on his chin while examining you. "You've got quite a lovely complexion! You must be quite popular when it comes to romantic affairs, I'm sure of it." He compliments. The other people bustling by make you topple a bit as their shoulders bump into yours. Nikolai gently grabs your hand and leads you away from the crowd into a more spacious area.

"You're quite handsome if I do say so myself. Especially that scar." You say, pointing at the healed wound. He smiles. "Well thank you, how sweet is that." He excitedly beams. He removes his hat from his head and slightly bows towards you. "I have yet to formally introduce myself, I am Nikolai Gogol." He says, adjusting his posture yet again to be standing straight up. You smile. "Hello, Nikolai. My name is Y/n." You smile with your arms crossed in front of your chest.

"Well then, Y/n, can I ask you if you enjoy quizzes?" He asks, his head tilted, gravity dragging the long braid along with his movements. You furrow your eyebrows a little. "I'm not too fond of the academic ones, if I'm being honest. Silly ones I don't mind." You say with a small shrug of your shoulders. He laughs.

"Perfect! Let me quiz you then, Y/n." He takes your hands in his excitedly. "Are you aware of the difference between a jester and a clown?" He says, his face about the length of a outstretched palms thumb to pinky tip away from yours. You think for a moment before speaking. "Clowns follow a routine, whereas jesters are more spontaneous and satirical, no?" You say, gazing into his eyes, surprising yourself with your eagerness to hear words of confirmation or denial slip from between his crimson painted lips. He pulls back and claps a bit.

"That's right! Marvelous! How smart you are." He says, removing his hat and placing it on top of your head. "Not many people get that right, you know? Many peoples first answer revolves around a jester being a part of a royal court, but that is simply not their differentiating characteristic." He says, patting your shoulder with a grin. You keep eye contact for a couple of seconds before he erupts into a fit of snickers.

"I'm around this area often during the week. You should come see me, I can promise to give you the very best show I can muster." He grins and with that, he is gone through a portal. He has left you there, a bit flustered as you held onto the hat tightly. You suppressed the excitement in your heart before sneaking out into the crowded pathways once again. Maybe you would take him up on that.

[stargloom]

hey. i dont like doing this. and i dont want to be a tumblr bitch who's wrote a callout before. but i cannot in good faith continue posting in the same community as this guy and allow him to pretend to not be genuinely a sicko. but @/bloomingduskk (who im sure will change urls after i post this is. a prosh.ipper radq.eer trans.d alongside a plethora of unfavorable unethical things. most of which being too personal to share, but enough left for me to be uncomfortable with my own silence. tw for like fucking everything lol

I never wanted to be in this position, or ever have to be the author of something like this. I am not a confrontational person or someone who enjoys drama, i’m entirely someone who goes out of his way not to get involved in such things, but due to my past public friendships with this person, and his tendencies of covering his tracks and lying about me and my friends, i feel as if it would be cowardly of me not to at least issue a warning about this user, and hope my message is conveyed well. If this was solely a personal gripe, I would not come out with a doc publically, I have no intentions of being petty, and am purposely leaving out a lot of petty issues and things that have been done to harm me personally. I only intend to talk about the actual dangers he promotes, and provide counterclaims to the narratives he tends to enjoy putting out. 

Before going further, i will be addressing him by his url, or nothing at all, as i will not be calling him by the japanese name he chooses to go by as a white person. It is against my morals. I hope that my decision doesn’t make this document more confusing than it needs to be. 

--- bloomingduskk uses Japanese names as a white person, and has done so for a while. He currently uses the name “maki” , and for the last half of 2023, went by Kaede, despite the fact that i firmly told him not to due to it being cultural appropriation multiple times, and each time he gave me an excuse, before continuing to do it. This is not a targeted attack against him, as he has said before in regard to being told not to use a japanese name, but something that i would condemn no matter who the person was. He identify(s)d as transracial. No matter the mental health issues you may have, the entire concept of “transitioning” into an ethnic minority is racist and entirely unacceptable. Here was his response to that.

And here is him self describing as transracial, and his pinned post on his old radqueer blog

^^ his discord at the time, which i and many others have personal dms with, matched exactly with his radq.ueer blogs. he cannot fucking say this isnt him i will go insane if he tries to deny this shit. He has spoken about me under the guise that I am stalking him, despite never having me blocked on anything but an old art account, and also the fact that I have gone out of my way, due to having severe morality ocd, not to scroll through or look at his content. All screenshots were provided to me secondhand, and not from my own devices, due to how severe this situation was for me, a person with ocd who he knew has ocd. At the time of these screenshots, i specifically requested my friends to block out his usernames so i didn't obsessively compulsively make myself feel sick scrolling through his blogs. (the screenshots in question here are not mine, i own a samsung galaxy, this ui does not match. I added my own annotations to the second image though.) VV his self identification as a proshipper + some stuff he had on his propara blogs (heavy tw)

^^ the first image here is in repsonse to an extremely long and thought out message my friend sent him during this period to this specific blog of his when it still existed.

his response to this was full of lies and empty promises and excuses, and plenty of vapid words he has taken back. i dont see a point in including what he had to say about this purely because he was lying through his teeth.

his twt account was probably the worst thing of his that was shown to me. i do not want to include screenshots of the things he would retweet as they were all sexually explicit imagery and posting of pedophilia, rape, beastiality, severe abuse, loli/shota content, and general dangerous and exploitative philias. i do not want to make that content more reachable to anyone than it already is . this account has been deleted. but i have been given screenshots of him posting his art there. along with the most tame thing i think he posted there. yeah

a lot of the harm he has done to my friends and i is extremely personal, far more personal than i feel comfortable airing out on a public blog that i've worked hard to distance a public personality from. so, i am not willing to spend time slowly outlining every single lie and harmful action he has done. that would make this post impossibly long, and i dont have the stomach to retrigger myself in this way. this has taken me two months to write, as i am deeply bothered by it and this entire event with him made me the sickest i'd been in a long while. do not fucking harass him. block him. im certain he's going to send himself anon asks pretending to be stargloom rabid fans or pretend to be my friends or whatever but all i want is for him to stay the fuck away from me and my friends and spaces where he pretends he isn't into vile shit. block him. dont interact. dont send him anything. just be careful of this cunt . i refuse to let him walk around as if he hasn't happily and enthusiastically promoted the most vile content one can enjoy.

im sure he's gonna scramble after this and probably start spewing revolting shit abt me which hes done at every single turn after me being upset. but he cannot pretend like nothing happened forever. thanks.

[transtalesofdoom]

The Label Thing - personal experience

I've talked previously about labels I've considered, used, or decided not to use in passing. Let's talk about it in a bit more detail!

I like labels. It's a personal preference, and I understand why someone wouldn't, but I like having words to describe myself with. I like having a handful of terms to explain my experiences quickly. I also like knowing that there's more people with these experiences, grouped under my label. Makes it feel a little less lonely.

Before the whole gender thing, I had already picked out the labels of biromantic asexual. Gender never really meant anything to me, and why would I care about stuff like genitals if I didn't intend to interact with them. Opted for bi over pan because it sounded nicer and the flag was prettier.

And then the gender thing happened and I suddenly had an entirely new experience to describe. One that was still developing.

The first day after I had come out to myself, I neither liked the term "man" nor "trans" for myself. Both seemed too solid for what I was. I was a dude or a guy, but a man? There's the whole societal aspect to it, how trans men can get treated poorly for "becoming the enemy", that I won't get into here, but it definitely was at play. And "trans" had an oddly definitive feeling to it. Like I had a gender and goal in mind, when I very much didn't. This was weird to me, because I knew that's not how the label is used. Anything that isn't cis can be labeled as trans. But at first it felt like I was appropriating it.

Nonbinary was a pretty safe catch-all. I was, by the very definition, not binary. Nor did I think anyone else was, but that was beside the point. Genderqueer was another option worth considering, since my gender was most definitely queer, but something about it didn't really click with me. Maybe it was the flag and the fact that certain trans-exclusionists used the same colors because they fancied themselves suffragettes.

I became a little more comfortable with it as the compound of transmasc. That was me. I was transing into the masculine. Not very committal, but a descriptor of what I was up to with the gender.

I still liked the term "woman", weirdly enough. Having watched so many Woman-Power movies (shoutout to Oceans 8 and Birds of Prey specifically), it had taken a while for me to fully embrace that label to begin with, and once I had managed to find it empowering, I didn't want to let go of it again. Even if I was transmasc, "Woman" by Kesha was too good of a song to leave behind. I was a motherfucking woman!

I did a bit more snooping around into other labels to see if anything would stick. I found and read the comics by ND Stevenson, and came across the ones where he describes being bigender. And I liked that description. It resonated with me. Especially because he references the Kesha song, I guess. 'Vibrating between genders too fast to see' felt relatable. So maybe I was bigender?

But I wasn't vibrating between male and female. Those were a part of it, sure, but there was more. And also less. I was every gender and no gender simultaneously. And while that is a possible subgroup of bigender, it once again felt like using the term, although I liked it, wouldn't properly convey my experience.

That night I decided to coin "fuckgender", only to discover that not only did this label already exist, but it also described exactly what I was feeling. (Not to be confused with genderfuck.) And yet, while that was a fun little anecdote, it wasn't what I wanted from a label. And the fact that other people were using it, thereby turning it into a functioning microlabel, made it less appealing to me, somehow.

Instead, I decided to embrace "trans" as an umbrella term for the time being. I didn't really need to define it any further. "transmasculine nonbinary" worked well enough to convey my identity to others. I could elaborate for those who wanted to know more. For myself, the label was the same as my gender. It was kinda there and kinda not, both everything and nothing all at once. More of a general vibe than an actual word.

And that works for now. Maybe that will change. Probably, even. I might embrace bigender, or multigender, I might find my trans experience to be binary enough to go by trans man. Maybe I'll do a U-turn and become a nonbinary woman.

There's only one way to find out and personally, I'm excited for it.

[nerdygaymormon]

Lunch with the Renlunds

I had the opportunity to meet Elder & Sister Renlund. We gathered in his office at the Church Administration building and they presented me a gift, a book written by both of them titled The Melchizedek Priesthood: Understanding the Doctrine, Living the Principles.

They were cute. Elder Renlund said something, then his wife didn’t exactly correct him, but pointed out his words could mean this or that. I commented it’s obvious she’s a talented lawyer. She looked amused and he said it’s true.

Sister Renlund apologized and said we were going to eat in a little cafeteria, and the food is fine but nothing to write home about. It’s a place we can go without being constantly interrupted. I’m thinking, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! Are we about to eat in the Church Administration cafeteria? The most exclusive spot in town?!!” What I said was, “It doesn’t matter so much where we eat as much as the company we’re with.”

As we walked into the cafeteria, Elder Gong was walking out. During the course of the meal, several other people sat down at other tables and ate, including Elder Ballard, I think Elder Rasband (I was seeing the back of him, so can’t be sure), and Elder Oaks.

When we sat down, I reminded them that when we met several years ago in Brandon, Florida, we took a picture together and the stake president called out, “Every General Authority who takes a picture with David offers to take him to lunch when he goes to Utah.” And here we are, having lunch! We laughed at that.

I noted that when I first met Elder Renlund and disclosed that I’m gay, his immediate response was “Same-sex attraction isn’t a sin, but bullying people over it is.” This reply was unexpected but meaningful to me because it indicated you understand that is part of the experience. People make comments and do things that convey very rejecting messages. They may or may not intend it that way, but it’s this one, and that one, and another one. It may seem like no big deal to them, but I’m the one receiving such messages over and over and over.

He responded that we are to love everyone. It’s not our place to judge.

Sister Renlund said it’s true for many people, including those who are single and those who are disabled, they deal with many judgmental comments. We need to love and not judge.

I brought up the panel I’m going to be on at the Affirmation conference. Parents of LGBTQ children can ask questions to those of us on the panel. I’m thinking that what I’d like to convey is these are your children, love them. The children are the ones who have to make difficult choices and to live with the consequences. Parents shouldn’t make their relationship & love another tough choice. The Renlunds agreed. 

Elder Renlund commented that too often parents think they have to choose between their LGBT child or their church. So often they think of their choices as a binary, either choice A or choice B. He added that limiting our vision to A or B presents a false dichotomy, we can do both. Sister Renlund stated there’s usually a choice C if they will look for it, and choice C is always the right choice.

Then Elder Renlund added, “If a parent has a gay child who is getting married, some church members think they can’t go to that wedding. No, that’s wrong. You go and support your children, be there for the important milestones in their life.”

I replied, “To me, it would be like if a friend invited me to the christening of their child. Even though Moroni teaches strongly against this, that’s my belief, not theirs. I can be there to show I love and support them in this important moment for this family. They are making the best choices for themselves, and I make different choices for my life, but that doesn’t mean we can’t love and support each other.”

Elder Renlund concurred. “That’s exactly right. We have many non-member friends and when they come to Salt Lake City, we take them to a little restaurant that serves wine so that our friends can choose to have some with dinner. Our choice is not to have wine. I don’t lecture them about their choice to drink wine. I accept it is their choice and I get to make my choice.

I can go to a gay marriage to show I love and support them. I’m not there to participate in that choice, I’m not marrying a man, he is. I am going to show up as my authentic self and I expect them to be their authentic self. I prefer to meet with people who are being authentic and not pretending to be someone they aren’t.”

Lunch went on and I asked Sister Renlund if she usually travels with her husband when he goes on an assignment. Indeed she does. Elder Renlund stated that he likes having her speak. If it’s a priesthood leadership meeting of only men, then she probably won’t, but otherwise he wants her to speak. They are aware of how it looks for it to be mostly men speaking at a meeting and they try to counter that. If the meeting is to mostly or only women, then he may choose not to speak and let’s her do the talking for both of them. On a more practical matter, a husband & wife traveling together helps custom officials believe he isn’t there for business activities, which they will likely suspect if he were showing up alone dressed in a suit despite what his visa indicates.

I honestly don’t remember what caused Elder Renlund to say this, we probably were talking about queer youth who reach out to me, but I will always remember him pausing, looking right at me, and proclaiming, “You’re a hero.” I’m sure I blushed at that comment, it feels over the top, I was surprised he would say that. I’m just an ordinary gay guy trying his best to make things work in this space.

As lunch was winding down, I asked if I could share about our meeting and discussion on my blog, it’s a place where I write & share about my feelings, experiences, thoughts, and frustrations as a gay member of this church. They said to please do. 

Sister Renlund suggested we should take a picture to put with the blog post.

They expressed that they really enjoyed their time with me and invited me to get together again when I come to Utah. 

I sent a thank you note to the secretary who set this up and she responded, “Elder and Sister Renlund each gave glowing positive reports of your lunch together. I think it is safe they are in your fan club.” 😊

I’ve been in their fan club since the first time I met them in 2018.

[codenamesazanka]

There's not as much level of hate in JP spaces because they read the original dialogues in the way as intended by the author and not the shitty localised version by a biased translator. Idk if you are on twitter but the translator has ruined the last 2-3 chapter translations. And also when Tomura escaped AFO's control and when Hawks lost the quirk. And that's why JP fans understand the themes better than the English fans.

Not gonna say Caleb Cook has never gotten anything wrong, but I generally think he gets it right more often than not. I've seen when fans try to correct the translations, and sometimes the nuance is captured, sometimes not at all. And as if fans can't be biased as well.

I distinctly remember when English-speaking fans tried to claim that Dabi in chapter 306 was saying something along the lines of 'the exposure of Endeavor's abuse was not enough for people to care'. That was completely wrong. Caleb's translation of Dabi saying 'he didn't go far enough/Endeavor needs more bullying' was the correct one. I know this because I took a look at it myself. However, my translation could be flawed too. So I look to the Japanese tweets that quoted that sentence saying things like “Dabi-kun, are you taking lessons from demons (in sadism)?" or "You've tortured your family enough... stop it," or cheered him on, wanting to know what horrible moves Dabi will think of next. What the author intended here was to show Dabi wants to completely break Endeavor's spirit and soul, but English-speaking fans point blank said 'no, that's not how I want it'.

Meanwhile, English-speaking fans are very eager about Caleb's translation of Yoichi saying Shigaraki was groomed to be full of hatred, or Shigaraki telling AFO that he knows AFO groomed him. The original japanese is actually "that was how he was raised/brought up," and "that was how you raised me/brought me up". With context, yeah, Yoichi and Shigaraki is saying that AFO raised him up in a negative way, he was raised in malicious conditions - 'groomed' is indeed one possible translation, but I personally think that word is loaded with connotations that makes it more charged than the original japanese. I would've gone with 'brought up', maybe 'trained'.

I'm not defending Caleb here, exactly. I think he did a disservice when he translated Toga's line about Saito thinking she's not human as 'Saito will think I'm a freak'. The gist is the same - Saito will be repulsed by her - but for me, 'not human' better fits the context of Toga's life's journey to be seen as normal, as a regular human being. I have no idea what he was thinking when he translated Spinner's 'Shigaraki-tachi' (Shigaraki and the others/Shigaraki's group) as only 'Shigaraki' when Spinner woke up Kurogiri.

For the most part, Caleb's just trying to capture the feel of things, then make sure it's convey in a natural sounding manner. Lots of potential for disagreement in the process. As someone once puts it, you are guarantee to fail when translating, so what you're doing is deciding how to fail. And failure also means different things to different people.

Caleb gets things right, and gets things wrong. From my observations, English-speaking fans think Caleb gets things right when the translations fits into their pre-existing conceptualizations and never question it; and English-speaking fans think Caleb is so terrible he should be fired when translations don't fit their pre-existing conceptualizations. Where does the bias come from? Trick question, it's in everyone.

So is the hate because Caleb's translation isn't accurate and people misunderstood bnha's themes? I gotta say, not really. Is the hate because people have a vision of what bnha should be like in their head, and get angry when canon goes a different path? I think this is more likely. I don't think it's the whole reason. But its contribution is there.

Whether or not this is the reason why Japanese fandom spaces seems - to me - to have less hate than English speaking fandom spaces, I don't know. Like I said, maybe the hate levels are the same because I'm just looking at the nice things that floats at the top as I wade through Japanese fandom, but haven't dive down into the deep sea hate, while I enter a submersible to be crushed by the high pressure hate every time I return to the English speaking fandom.

Thanks for the ask!

[pegasister60]

Not entirely sure how the omnilingualism works because despite my efforts I haven’t consumed a lot of Captain Marvel source material.

The rule I’m gonna be running with until I eat a canon source that tells me otherwise or I find a better piece of fanon is that big form completely understands any language at all in any format.

Dead languages, alien languages, not-from-this-dimension languages? Doesn’t matter. Cap can speak them if they have a spoken form, write them if they have a written form, and sign in a way that will be understood even if the original language uses four hands. Cap is a perfect translator if no mechanical ones are available.

Small form is where it gets interesting. Because the whole point of having the big form is that it’s better able to hold the blessings physically. But this isn’t necessarily a physical power or one that would be overwhelming like the full brunt of the Wisdom of Solomon.

When Billy is in small form, he can understand anything he hears or reads regardless of the language it’s in.

Where the catch comes is that he’s not necessarily the best at translating.

Because he understands exactly what’s been said and its intended meaning, but that doesn’t mean he has the words to convey what the fuck the alien whale just conveyed to him.

He understands what was signed at him but his own small hands aren’t sure what to do to respond in kind. He knows the shapes and gestures he has to do but when it comes time to actually do them there’s this disconnect.

He can only speak the languages he’s actually learned how to speak because even if he knows the right pronunciation his mouth has literally never attempted to make that sound. His vocal chords may not even be capable, Solomon says.

Billy has mad respect for interpreters because holy shit this gets so frustrating for him.

There are times when some more of the power leaks through and he can actually respond, usually when he’s not thinking about it. Like, he’ll overhear someone asking someone else on the street for directions in Spanish and he’ll get all the way through giving directions before he realizes he doesn’t actually know Spanish.

The ability to conjugate Spanish verbs melts on his tongue like candy and it’s gone. Damn it.

[jesse-cosay]

because they’re running out of time

Mikaylake

I am kissing you so, so gently on the nose. Also sorry it's kind of different from the prompt but this is what came to mind and I won't have internet for long!

It hadn't been their intent.

Lake had come to Minnesota with the plan to meet Tulip again. To reintroduce theirself with their name and their best friend. By all means it should have been straightforward- easy.

Except, of course, nothing was ever easy. Or smooth. Not when it came to Lake.

So when Mikayla opened the door instead of Tulip- well. It was safe to say they panicked.

They'd always had a crush on Mikayla. She was- cool was the only word that came to mind as they looked at her. Wide-eyed and dead silent.

She had piercings, the type that Tulip's parents had always cringed at. Mikayla was kind, too. Not afraid to approach the weird kid with her nose pressed to the computer glass. Often she would look at Tulip through her reflection on the screen.

Lake liked to pretend that Mikayla was looking at them. Telling them to hurry up and finish because she had a funny story about her older sister again or- or whatever Tulip and Mikayla talked about. Lake was finding it hard to remember what exactly they used to say, now that Mikayla was before them.

In her defense, she was handling the whole metal thing well. Better than anyone else had as far as Lake was concerned.

It was sweet. Cute. The way her eyebrows furrowed as if she was trying to make sure she wasn't the one miss-seeing things. How her lips pursed in thought before she spoke. "You're the one that Tulip-"

Lake's stomach did summersaults. Mikayla knew them. She knew them!

"Lake. I'm Lake." They blurted, knowing their face had to be some disgustingly splotchy gray color with how it burned. Mikayla knew their name. They'd said it to her. She was looking at them. Really looking at them.

There was a voice-

Tulip's voice. Calling for Mikayla from upstairs.

Lake had knocked on the door willingly. Ready to face her. But seeing Mikayla- Mikayla recognizing them- it was already so much to take in.

They reached toward Mikayla as she turned to reply to Tulip. Grasping the collar of her shirt and yanking her forward jerkily.

Lake couldn't have Tulip coming down. Not while they were such a mess, trying to compose theirself. They'd only meant to stop Mikayla.

In her surprise she turned back to them, and they crashed into each other. Lake vaguely registered that their faces were touching, beneath all the embarrassment and horror.

They pushed her away, nearly falling over in the process. Mikayla caught herself on the door, looking just as shocked as Lake was sure they did.

"You-"

"Lake!"

They turned, running towards Jesse's voice. He'd been hiding nearby for moral support, but now he was Lake's saving grace as they tripped over their own feet.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" They called back, waving at Mikayla as if to convey how much they had not intended to kiss her and knock her over. "Oh my god-"

Jesse pulled them into the bush with him, clearly biting down his laughter. "And you thought me kissing a mirror was bad!"

"I thought you said that was someone else."

He did not take Lake's bait. All too pleased with this shiny, new thing to hold over their head. "Seriously, that was sad."

Lake sighed, listening to the distant mumbles of Mikayla and Tulip at the door. Screwed. They were so screwed. "... Do you think they'll believe me if I say it's some sort of reflection-defensive reflex?"

"Not a fucking chance."

Maybe meeting Tulip could wait for another year.

[filesbeorganized]

Hyacinthus

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Author’s Note - Start: This fic falls under the series My Garden of Love, which is part of the submission for Celebrrration in Tumblr. The accompanying song for this fic collection is “Flowers” by Hadestown.

Celebrrration Day 1 Prompt: Angst

Warnings/Tags: Celebrrration submission, developing relationship, flower language, canon typical violence, songfic

Relationships: Alluri Sitarama Raju/Komuram Bheem

___

What I wanted was to fall asleep.

Close my eyes, and disappear.

Like a petal on a stream, a feather on the air.

___

They walked in silence afterwards.

The smell of smoke and blood still hung in the air. As if it’s sticking into their pores. The elated, ecstatic adrenaline high they rode during the battle had died down. All that’s left now is the tense silence and unsaid regrets. Particularly, Ram’s regrets.

Ram’s gaze veered to the side, where Bheem is leading the way. After about the tenth time this happens, Bheem finally turns to Ram at the same time, catching his gaze.

“Are you alright?” Bheem asked.

Ram nods, not sure exactly what to say, how to explain all these things.

“Want to sit down?” Bheem leads them to the nearest clearing. He sat Ram down and started fussing over him.

“Just tell me if you get tired,” Bheem said as he checked on Ram’s bandage. He opened the clothing covering the wound and poured fresh water down, cleaning the angry gash that ran down Ram’s hand. He had mistaken Ram’s frequent looks as Ram’s signalling that he’s tired. Well, Ram is tired, but those gazes mean something else.

“These wounds are quite bad, you know. It makes sense if you feel tired. We should get into where your Babai can pick us up soon. Then you can properly rest. At the camp, we can get Seetha to care for you. You’ll be good in no time-” Bheem continues.

At the word ‘Seetha’, Ram unconsciously flinched.

“Ah, sorry,” Bheem’s hand retreated from his skin, “It must have hurt. I should have been more careful”.

There it is again. Apologies. Ram stares at Bheem, trying to convey whatever his heart wants to say without words. As per usual, it fails miserably.

“You must have been excited to see Seetha again,” Bheem raves without any awareness that Ram is inching closer to breaking down completely.

Ram steels himself and says, “No.”

It came louder and harsher than what he intended. Bheem’s expression looked slightly hurt and Ram rushed to correct himself.

“I am excited to meet Seetha,” Ram assured him, “but it’s not you who should keep apologising, Bheem.”

Bheem throws him a confused look.

“I didn’t share any information with you, so how could you know what cause I’m working on?” Ram steadied his breath, “If I did not trust you then how can you trust me?”.

Ram can see the gears running in Bheem’s head.

“But still Ram,” Bheem said slowly, “I should read between the lines or something. I should have known you’re not the type of person to…to-”.

“To what? Stole a child? Kill a fellow countryman?”  Ram’s breath got ragged, “But I am that type of person, Bheem.”

Memories flooded Ram’s mind. The people he had brought into the unforgiving jaws of Imperial British. The families he separated and destroyed in the name of greater cause. It should have meant something. Those sacrifices, it should not bury his morals six feet underground. Because he’s working towards something good, right? So why does it feel so wrong, each time he makes those sacrifices?

Every night he went to bed haunted by the vision of sacrifices. And in the end waited his mother’s eyes, its gaze filled with accusation and blame. As if saying: All this blood. It should have stopped with our family, Ram.

No matter how many times he countered its implicating scrutiny, repeating that he’s just trying to do his best, to fulfil his father’s wish, there is not a day where Ram can go to sleep peacefully.

But Bheem’s eyes harden, “I just…I have never been this close to anyone. This friendship is the most important thing I have in years. I just felt like if our relationship meant anything, I should be able to feel that you did not want to harm me. I should have helped. I could have helped.”

Oh, but he did want to harm Bheem. He was so over his head, years of Babai reminding him that their existence was solely tied to his father’s mission, that in that moment. On that balcony. All he wanted to do was to capture Bheem. Because he was so close to completing that mission. He was so close to ending the nightmares and guilt he had to endure.

“Why can’t you just accept that I’m a sinner?” Ram was fully conscious that his voice had become relentless. He was spitting word after word like it left a bitter taste in his mouth. And truth be told? It is bitter. “Why can’t you just accept that I am a traitor, a- a scum! A self pitying monster that believed he was deserving of your friendship! The friendship that I threw away so quickly for my goal? For my benefit?!”

Ram chokes on a sob, “Why can’t you accept that from this entire world, you are the last person that owes me an apology? Because I’m rotten through and through, Bheem. I’m unworthy of your friendship. I’m unworthy of your company. But I’m so selfish, so greedy that all I want to do is to hoard your affection. To receive and receive your kindness, no matter how I know that once you understand who I am, you’d be so disgusted that you ever was associated with this, this-” Ram’s trembling hands gesture wildly over his whole person.

He misses Bheem’s worried eyes because right then Ram doubles over the earth. Somewhere between collapsing and prostrating he clench his left chest, where the gripping pain comes and goes. His tears soiled the earth as he vomited out his words, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Bheem, I’m-”.

For a moment, nobody makes a noise. The rustling of the wind meeting the leaves died down, it was almost eerie. The only voice echoing over and over the forest path was Ram’s weeping sound.

Ram heard a faint rustle and then it was Bheem looming over him. He brought Ram up so they were both sitting on their knees. Then he pressed their forehead together and let out a small sigh. Bheem’s arms came up to Ram’s sides and he held him tight until the pain in Ram’s chest subsided.

It was this again. It was Bheem again that collected him up, and became strong for him. It was Bheem again that soothe his pain and silence the resentful noise in his head. It was Bheem again that gives him undeserving kindness that makes Ram want to curl up into the earth and cry until the world vanishes.

“I won’t apologise again if that makes you this miserable, Ram,” Bheem offered, his voice soft and calming, “But know this. I did not resent you. I was confused beyond words when I thought that you were betraying me. But even as I thought that you were just doing those horrible things for your own benefit, not for a greater cause, even then I did not resent you. Because I cannot resent you. Never. If I forgot how to love you, then I must’ve also forgotten how to breathe.”

Ram drew an unsteady breath, “But why? I’m not deserving of any of that.”

“There’s no rational reason for this. It’s just because,” Bheem’s lips quirks in a smile, “It’s just because you’re my friend. It’s just because I love you. It can’t get simpler or more intricate than that. It’s simply just because.”

Ram felt the last of his tears roll down his cheeks and drip into the soil. He was unsure of what to do with this information, but he nodded and opened his eyes.

There’s no lies or deception in Bheem’s eyes. Every word has been true.

Truly, truly he is not deserving of Bheem’s presence in his life.

Bheem rose and smiled brightly, “Right, then. Shall we continue our journey?”.

Ram nodded again. Then Bheem is helping him get up as well. His feet slips on something and he almost falls backward had Bheem not caught him. They locked their eyes, and Ram felt his breath get shallower, his heart beating a little faster.

The moment passed. They both steady themself and Ram reluctantly lets go of Bheem’s hand.

Bheem coughs, “What did you step on anyway? It’s quite dangerous out here, huh?”.

Ram stares down at his feet and finds smushed flowers under them.

Because of course he just has to destroy everything that is beautiful, flowers included.

Bheem just kneels down and inspect the cluster of flowers grown on the forest path.

“It’s a hyacinth,” he murmurs, glee in his eyes. Ram’s not sure how fond Bheem is of flowers, but he will pay good money to see Bheem looking happy like this for the rest of their lives.

He knows he’s staring at Bheem as his friend digs up several of the flower’s roots, ripped some of his clothing, and wrapped a bunch of the plant and some of the soil inside the cloth. Bheem waves his little package at Ram and grins.

“Souvenir!” he said.

Ram can’t help but to return the smile.

Then they resume their walk home, Bheem still leading the way. He chatters about Seetha waiting for Ram, and how Ram must be missing his village a lot. Ram just hummed an agreement here and there. His mind is still replaying the moment as Bheem catches him.

Perhaps one day he’ll have enough courage to return all the love he has been given by Bheem. Perhaps.

___

Author’s Note - End: Purple Hyacinth symbolises sorrow caused by a mistake, also means asking for forgiveness. The word is derived from "jacinth" meaning blue gemstone. In the myth, Hyacinthus is the object of affection of both Apollo and Zephyrus. Apollo then insulted Zephyrus after Hyacinthus ultimately chooses Apollo over Zephyrus. In rage Zephyrus kills Hyacinthus. After his death, Apollo turns Hyacinthus into the flower Hyacinth.

Tagging the mods @stanleykubricks and @fangirlshrewt97 and the blog @celebrrration in case my Tumblr went nuts again.

Credit to @dumdaradumdaradum for giving me lots of fun facts throughout the making of this series.

[shezasag]

my natural inclination has and always will be towards being verbose & utilizing more complicated words with more specific meanings than their more generalized counterparts but like. that's not conducive to actual communication outside of an academic setting....which is the purpose of language. like that isn't to say that you have to always simplify your language, or that the general population is too stupid to develop the ability to understand it.

but like simplicity helps you get your general points across a lot easier which can then expand the dialogue to introducing more complex words and concepts naturally instead of just....hitting people with complicated language in contexts where they don't typically fit and completely turning them away from engaging with you.

and even still, no matter how much i make it a point to be very specific in my language (whether more simple or complex) to make sure i am conveying exactly what i intend, people have always misunderstood or manipulated what i've said into something else. that's just....the nature of communication tbh. it doesn't matter what you do it's gonna happen. i've just overall found it easier to mitigate it by simplifying my communication style, even if it seems counterintuitive

[katalinachalamet]

THOUGHTS ON 27TH APRIL, 2023

Format : stream of consciousness good luck!!

Fashion choices not exactly important - gothic fashion is a countercultural statement against popular notions of ‘good femininity’ - it is more important for people who have had faced trouble with the philosophy/psychology of popular conformity (aka me) - you’ve never been faced with shunning for being an ‘imperfect female’ so of course you don’t care about gothic fashion - it’s all about a subversion of popular culture - to paraphrase, goth clothes say ‘I do not care to be your good christian woman’ - also serves to signal to people with similar ideologies it’s not so complicated love <3

You can’t help but make a fashion statement - your clothes probably signal ‘I am autistic and I don’t care about fashion’ which is perfectly okay - I prefer to be in control of what I signal sometimes ofc it doesn’t serve to be anal about it

Also body image - basically you want to like what you see in the mirror - it’s like how you prefer to see yourself shaved than not (maybe lol) - it goes like you relate better to what you see in the mirror/photos - even if it’s just a visual illusion - that’s why it’s self indulgence - with survivors of early trauma, you often feel disconnected from your body - with a numbing of your senses - ‘my body is not my own I have no agency’ - with makeup/decoration you feel like you reclaim your body step by step - since it doesn’t look so much like the person you loathe/was so helpless/whatever - you are almost someone else and your life is your own once more

‘Pretty’ is a fallacy of ambiguous language don’t even worry about it - I don’t find rocks pretty either it’s an extremely personal concept - sure it’s a visual version of cute - something you find calming/comforting - visually indulgent - like the #oddlyrelaxing videos you like - or perhaps an affirmation of your experiences since no one likes to be alone - there is no consensus

You can’t help want self expression - your brain’s whole resting function is to make sense of your relationship with the world i can cite research - oh, I get it, maybe it’s because you almost never relax…. - anyway it’s not something you can escape

Pretty/aesthetics : It is upsetting to communicate because I am still hurt you found M- pretty/cute and I am somehow in the same category of objects for you - also because your word for ‘pretty’ is often ‘hot’ - which while often overlapping aren’t exactly the same - and is so reductive it makes me uncomfortable - at least past you conveyed this to me - it would also have been kinda okay if past you didn’t make me feel completely objectified - my pretty/art is a remnant of my innocence and something i’ve had forever and I don’t want you/past you to destroy it - it’s the fight/flight/freeze response to trauma

I don’t doubt that you are capable of appreciating art - that was just mean I am very sorry

You aren’t that bad at communicating at least with me - we are both autistic - you just hurt me an insane amount and while I am aware no one - not you or my parents or anyone, even society - intended to make me a casualty - it still hurts so much I can’t really think and my reptilian brain takes over

How I feel about you - I loved you before I knew you and I love you even having known you - the first time I felt ANYTHiNG since forever ago (7th grade?) - I want to love you innocently like a child once again - in fact I do most of the time - except when some inadvertent signal sends me into a state of #brainfreeze because I am just very, very hurt and my body won’t forget my past - I’m sorry - I will get better

Also if all 20 y/o’s are like what your mom describes there’s something radically wrong with society eh? It doesn’t make the young adults so vile - we are kinda systematically set up for torment

Footnotes :

Please just keep me forever, I don’t even want to live without you

All of this is backed by scientific research

You are my favorite creature, I appreciate the fuck out of your existence and love you a million suns

[muutos]

@dilffactory / / from here

breaching subjects that plague his mind as of late, was a rather... laborious task. mentally, it is taking as much of a toll to keep things inside, as it is to deal with the actual issue. branches sprouting from a root of which nobody chose to see form. & now, it is likely too late for any of them. her tyranny will see that he is erased, degraded and disposed. he does not know to what end. he does not know for what purpose. though the way the cardinal makes his skin crawl when he draws nearer, gives secundo more pause than it ever had. he doesn't trust his own father, nor his advisors. paranoia hardening its foundation as the premonitions begin to get stronger. terzo will see his time as papa, yet. none might have thought... yet, it will be so if he cannot put a stop to it.

yet he's never taken for granted the faith she's placed in him, thus far. her visage nor expression may be flowery, though her spirit is strong. he feels a kinship with the sister he cannot place, & to swear her into their clergy's service was an honor he will recall until his dying day. yet, so soon it will fall. sooner than he ever could anticipate. perhaps if he had indulged her sooner, in his woes. yet the attempt is clunky, at best. & she clearly recognizes this.

yet it's paused, for a moment. robes on, his painted face fresh & wet along the angles of his curved features. angled, with his nose in particular ending in a point. the greasepaint not yet having settled into the deep lines, & cracks of his mature visage. he lumbers forth, as he watches her work. eyes lidded, lowered upon the laceration she makes into her flesh. the ritualistic act still makes his heart beat just a fraction harder, even after all of these years. settling with a sway of emerald below, as gently parted lips rest in their frown. expression calmer than one might ever have seen it. the gentlest of furrows in his brows, & the faintest of frowns. that is it. for, yes dear sister. he can feel it too. most certainly, in fact. the spiritual man within entranced by repeated behavior. the way the energy shifts within the space. magic -- not of this world. bestowed, & never taken for granted. his brother had taught him such values, & never have they left him. sound rushing past his ears like white noise, & dampening the beginnings of her voice. he looks up at her. scowl deepening, slowly but surely. his mitre is off, as to not stain it with the glinting paint at the back of his head. she is in positions to see him in states others do not get the chance. his vulnerability reserved for few, & he despises even that they are privy. he had never intended for the reputation in which he has. but now that he does, he intends to keep it. playing into it, to create a makeshift shield.

her words only work to exacerbate his own sense of foreboding, though he appreciates it all the same. if he had wanted to hear exactly what he had wanted to hear, he'd be speaking to someone else. anyone else. primo is too close to it. too much a traditionalist, & rabbit is the only one he trusts (almost without question), to give him the honesty of it. so he raises his chin, where he takes her words. similarly, their feelings of softness are not so easily conveyed. part of why he's drawn to her. he does understand, & he certainly cares. more than you might think. yet there's a shift of something amused upon his face, at that. coachella. yes, a good day. brows easing just so, & eyes remaining lidded as his lined mouth quirks into the faintest of smirks. this meeting rabbit, as she turns around. though instinctively, he tightens his brows when eyes fall upon him. & expression doesn't have a chance to return to baseline. her wit extending it. why bother with the work if you won’t reap the rewards yourself? "that is an excellent question, my dear. however, i find myself struggling to answer it."finally his scowl returns as distraction fades, & the weight settles back onto his shoulders. if one paid enough attention, they'd notice his penchant for calling the girls by their proper titles, is not present with rabbit. he uses this, much more often. "at first, i was doing it for mio famiglia." he gesticulates with a curt hand. primo, mostly. he wanted to show him that his trust was not taken for granted... "and as you well know, i am a man of immense faith. it is a great honor, to sit as papa now.." he even gives a soft bow. immeasurable by words, so past his sermons he has not tried. he stops. his voice becoming more gravelly. highest voice of all three of the emeritus brothers. yet, mostly when singing is it noticeable. his scowl deepens. eyes flaring up with the nervousness, that flares like unbridled anger. frozen, almost -- leather fluttering along satin, as his hand finds its home at his side. chest rising, falling. he stares at her with dramatically narrowed brows and parted lips. nodding, before looking away from her. first a flicker of his eyes, & then his chin. vergognoso. pitiful. are you not able to face a woman, while taking to her? he flares his lip, in a small & subtle wince. "please. forgive your papa, sorella. i find it hard to share things. with anyone." he speaks. "however... there are matters of which i believe i can trust you with, where i am unable to trust others..." [...] "would you be willing to help me, with that?" head tilts, as he looks back up at her with narrowed eyes in anticipation. almost laced with suspicion.

[sonneillonv]

They left Zaelin's companions in the capable hands of Tyr's colleagues, to be shown to guest quarters. It didn't escape Zaelin that they were headed in an entirely different direction, but he didn’t protest. 

I need to have a few words with Dibella’s Chosen.

“I don’t suppose you could have a word with your goddess,” he said dryly. “Seeing as I never agreed to be ‘chosen’.” Tyr chuckled and slid his hand into Z’s, swerving to bump hips with him. “Yeah, well,” he demurred. “That might be my fault.”

“Oh?” Knowing Tyr couldn’t see his arched eyebrow, he made sure the acid in his tone conveyed it.

“I’m not a total dick,” Tyr confessed, pausing, pulling Zaelin in to face him. “It’s not like I didn’t know I was sending you into danger in my place. I asked Her to keep you safe. It’s what you do when you can’t be there to take care of someone - you pray.”

Z sighed heavily and draped his free arm around Tyr’s shoulders. “You and I both know the gods do as they will,” he said dryly. “They don’t concern themselves with the preferences of… smaller creatures. I understand there are larger problems in play, but one would think the goddess of love would care a little more about consent. If she doesn’t, I don’t see a practical difference between her and Sanguine.”

Tyr leaned in, expression gentle, one vulpine ear twitching. “You’re angry,” he said. Then his forehead touched Z’s, a ghost of the traditional tiefling head-bump, and he amended himself. “You’re scared.”

“Normally I would have said ‘no offense’ right about now,” Zaelin agreed. “Since she’s your goddess. But we’re getting past that and into, ‘I will chew my own leg off if I have to, to get her fucking hands off me’.”

To his credit, Tyr didn’t try to justify it. He let go of Z’s hand and slid his arm around his waist. “You sound like Hell,” he said. “And you smell worse. I think you need a good meal, a long soak, a massage, and a full night’s sleep, in that order.”

“Is that all?” Z asked, amused.

“Was there something else you wanted?” Tyr gave him a beat to look sour about the riposte, then leaned in and murmured against his ear, “I mean, I could guarantee a good night’s sleep by wringing orgasms out of you until your eyes cross, but I know how you feel about being presumed-upon. So I figured I’d leave that up to you.”

He chuffed a soft laugh. “... We’ll see.”

“Exactly,” Tyr agreed readily. “We’ll see. But the rest is a prescription, and I intend to make sure you follow it. C’mon,” he coaxed, tugging Zaelin into motion again. “I told them to set up dinner in my rooms.”

“Hosting me personally? Smacks of favoritism,” Z commented.

“It is.” 

[thatonespriteobsessedbitch]

Leaving The Loop (Chap 11)

(Freya POV, 1024 words)

chapter 1 chapter 10

While Olive ran to tell Miss P about Miss Avocet, I followed Claire into the sunroom, slipping in to stand beside Enoch as Miss Avocet told us what happened in her loop.

I felt more than saw Noch stiffen up beside me as Miss A spoke about the hollows raiding her loop and I knew why. His first loop had been raided and he was the only one to make it out alive. I slipped my hand into his and squeezed lightly to convey my message.

I’m here, you’re safe, we’re safe, I’ve got you.

I heard Miss P’s heels click against the floor as she rushed into the sunroom, Liv, Em and Jacob behind her.

“Oh, Miss Peregrine, they found my new loop! The children!” Miss P sat down on the settee beside her. “I tried to save them but,” Miss A gasped softly, “there were so many hollows. I don’t know how I escaped!”

Miss P pulled her mentor into a tight hug. “You’re safe now,” she promised.

“None of us are safe. They set up the machine in my loop.”

“They put it in the cellars of Blackpool Tower,” Olive chimed in. “They’re still there!”

“Their machine?” Miss P questioned.

“The experiment. They intend to do it again.”

“This time he’s using more Ymbrynes,” Noch added.

“He still wants to be immortal,” I said.

Miss P stood up and started pacing by the doors to the dining room, worrying her hands as she did.

“Do hollows only attack peculiars?”

I scoffed at Jacob’s question. “Of course not, they’re monsters , Jacob. They don’t care as long as they get fed. They’ll slaughter anything in their path.”

“Well, some sheep on the island were killed.” 

My heart stopped at his words and I squeezed Noch’s hand again to make sure he was there still. He squeezed back and rubbed gentle circles into my hand.

“You don’t think they’re here already, do you?”

“Have you seen anyone with white eyes?” Miss A’s eyes were hopeful that he hadn’t.

He hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.

“I’m sorry children, we can’t remain here.”

What?!

“What?!” Enoch dropped my hand in surprise.

“We leave on the first ferry off the island tomorrow. Pack anything of importance.” She leaned down and grabbed the twins' hands. “Then it’s sandwiches and early to bed.”

“Are we leaving for good?” Hugh demanded,

“When are we coming back?” Fiona asked.

“Never. If Miss P’s not here to rest the loop tomorrow night, the house gets bombed.”

“But, our house!”

“It’ll be alright, Claire-Bear. I’m sure Miss P will find us a lovely house somewhere else.” I scooped Claire up and walked up the stairs. “Now, why don’t you go grab your favourite dolls and your favourite dresses and we’ll make sure they come with us, hmm?”

I opened her and Bron’s door and knelt down on the floor beside her bed, reaching under her bed to grab her suitcase. “Put everything that you want to bring in a pile, okay? And then come get me and I’ll help you put everything into your suitcase.”

She nodded demurely and I ran my hand over the top of her hair before rushing to my room.

I grabbed my own suitcase and made quick work of going through everything in my dresser and only grabbing the things I needed. My two favourite dresses, both sets of my modern clothes in case I needed to blend in, my thicker jacket, sleepwear, two books and my first aid kit from the bathroom.

I poked my head into Noch’s room.

“Are you grabbing any hearts and the like or should I? Or are we not bringing any?”

“If you put some of my stuff in your bag then I can bring them, we don’t know if we might need them.” “Exactly what I was thinking, better to be safe rather than sorry. Do you have anything you can give me now to toss in my bag?”

“Yeah, here.” He passed me a small pile of clothes that I took before stepping out of the room.

I had just put down the clothes when I remembered that I forgot to tell him something.

“Oh wait, I grabbed the first aid kit so we have that in case we need them.”

“Perfect, Frey.”

I finished packing everything I would need when Claire grabbed me to help her with her things.

Liv was already there helping Bron with her suitcase, I gave her a strained smile as Claire led me to her bed where her bag was open and her stuff in piles.

“Alright, lovey, let’s do this.” Within a few minutes, Bron’s, Claire’s, Liv’s and my bags were all packed and poor Liv and I were struggling down the stairs with two large suitcases each.

We had just put them down in the pile with the other ones that were done when Jacob came storming down the stairs and out the door.

“Freya, where is Jake going?”

“I don’t know, Claire, but why don’t we go make dinner for the four of us, yeah?”

“I’m starving!”

I laughed at Bronwyn’s enthusiasm, “I know, Wyn.”

Liv and I quickly made them some sandwiches and once they had finished eating we sent them off to clean up their room before we were off helping the others pack and make dinner.

We grabbed onesies for the twins, seeds for Fiona, the net for Hugh, the Map of Days for Millard and Horace’s top hat.

I was in the middle of grabbing a book for Miss P when I caught sight of Victor’s door.

I stopped for a second in front of it before turning the knob and sitting down in the chair beside his bed.

“We’re leaving, Vic. The island isn’t safe enough anymore. We can’t take you with us, tomorrow night when the house is bombed, you’ll be gone for good. I’ll never see you again and I think it’ll be good for me, not living with your and Millie’s shadows over me.” I squeezed his cold hand once before standing up and walking back towards the hallway. 

I paused right before closing the door, “Goodbye, Vic.”

I shut the door behind me and didn’t look back.

chapter 12

[whereonceiwasfire]

Alright, I've been musing on The Writing Thing™ and at the request of literally nobody, I'm going to just ramble something I've been thinking about here. Disclaimer: I have one brain cell (and he's a-tired), and I'm pretty much of the mind that like, do what you want. If words are on the page, congrats, you've succeed at writing. That said, here goes, welcome to The Innerworkings of My Brain, and proceed at your own risk.

So, I kind of just think a lot of writing advice ends up boiling down to the fact that writers can get in our own way by trying too hard to convey something very specific to readers. While, of course, part of the point of writing is to paint a specific word picture, I also think there's something to be said for letting that go a little bit. Making your peace with the fact that, most of the time, readers probably aren't going to imagine/picture/experience exactly what you want them to when they're reading. I am 95% sure that every setting, character, or description I have ever read was not intended to look the way they do in my head. Part of that is because I have the attention span of an overcaffeinated hamster and will just picture something immeadiately upon its introduction in the text (and continue to picture that throughout, actual desciptions be damned). But part of that is also because there's ambuiguity in language. And that's okay. Freeing even. Dare I say, kind of magic? The idea that we could all enjoy the same story, go on the same journey, love the same characters, but that, for each person who reads, a new, subtle variation of this experience now exists? It's little universes. And why would you want to stifle that?

How does this apply to writing advice, you ask? So glad you brought that up, since I was getting distacted.

Basically, I feel like so many of those pedantic things that get critqued with writing "shoulds" are naturally addressed when we get more comfortable with ambiguity. For example, take clunky, awkward, or over description. These things tend to be a result of just trying too hard to create a very specific picture in readers' heads. You want them to know exactly what the layout of this room is, precisely what the character looks like, specifically what this random gesture they're making is, definitively what move/attack they just used on their enemy, etc. More often than not (though, again, it's not a one-size-fits-all thing, do what you do, and if it works, it works), I think these awkward/over descriptions tend to be hard to follow and slow the pacing down because we're taking such time to focus on something that probably isn't that necessary to make the story go. And isn't it kind of awesome actually that we can be satisfied with giving vague structure to some of these things, and letting readers fill in the blanks, instead of feeling like the fabric of this reality we're creating will break down if we don't describe things 100% perfectly? If we can't convery exactly what this random, shadowy, wirthing portal into the nether dimension looks like? I don't know, maybe I just think so because I'm lazy.

But truly, I think some of the most powerful descriptions are ones that don't even tell you what exactly you're looking at, it tells you what that Thing makes character Feel. "Her lips were red as cheap merlot and I ached to drink to the dregs", "He looked like too many late nights and a hundred bad decisions", blah blah blah, *insert less tropey and cliche example here.* Regardless, what I'm getting at is that a dozen different readers will probably picture a dozen different shades of red lipstick in that first example, no matter how many sentences you devote to describing it, but that's not really the point, is it? The point is that Character wants to kiss the crap out of them.

Likewise, I think this is part of the reason fight scenes can be such a struggle. You want to show exactly what's going on, how Character A is dodging Character B's attacks, each parry and thrust of the sword, etc., etc. However, a real fight is fast, and adrenaline-fuelled, and disorienting, and ask anyone involved to recount what happened afterward, and they probably won't do a great job of it. You lose so much of that urgency, that confusion, that chaos, when you focus on trying to get readers to imagine exactly the perfectly choreographed fight scene you have plotted out, beat for beat, step for step. Which, like, fair. You put a lot of effort into making that scene exciting and dynamic. But I think a lot of the time that's not the pont of the scene, the point is "omg, they're in a fight!" Giving up some of that control and being free to make a fight scene a bit choatic and overwhelming, focuing on the sensations and the ways this fight impacts Character and Story, is often going to make the read so much stronger. Leave some of those fussy details to the individual readers to interpretat since chances are good they were going to do that anyway.

Also, as another example, the whole, oft repeated "show don't tell" advice relies hugely on being okay with readers perceiving subtle things differently. Sure, maybe you want readers to get that your character is sad, and while you can come out and tell them Character A is sad, showing Character A being subdued and quiet instead, forcing a tight smile when addressed, swallowing hard, dismissing themselves from others as quickly as possible, etc., gives you so much more to work with and brings the reader in on the experience. But that means being okay with the fact that maybe some people aren't going to track this as "sad." Maybe they're going to think Character A is upset with the characters they're not talking to, maybe they're going to think Character A is angry instead, maybe they're going to read grief where you meant remorse. And maybe that's okay, because maybe there's a little bit of all of that going on underneath the surface, or maybe it'll become clear later as more of the story happens, or maybe it's just really not that important that the reader gets that the character is "sad" maybe they just need to know that the character is feeling something.

And, in the end, no matter how hard you try to make something you've written exact and specific and yours (the themes, the story, the characters, the setting, the world, the magic, whatever), the second you put that into someone else's hands, it's theirs now too. It comes alive, it changes, it grows, it breathes, and I think, just, let it. Working within that ambiguity, letting the story be something that can exist outside the confines of the words you've written it with, that's powerful, and when we use that to inform our writing, I think it's just naturally stronger.

So...yeah! I guess we're here now, the end of the ramble. Not really sure what to do with that, so, I'll just like, see you all next time?

Signed, Your Friendly Neighbourhood Fanfic Writer