#i think that last sentence may not make sense to the general public

[angelhound]

feeling personally victimized that ptv did not play their new song when i saw them bc i have heard 30 seconds of it that were leaked and it’s literally. so good it hurts my feelings. going to kill myself later when it comes out

[genshinology]

AN INFLUENTIAL MAN’S COMPANION (OR IS IT MORE?!)

(alternatively, how they are dropping hints left and right that you are more than just a friend.)

— PAIRINGS ; alhaitham, ayato & childe x gn!reader (separate)

— CONTENT ; oblivious!reader, may contain a spoiler from sumeru's story quest on alhaitham's, mentions of childe's real name (ajax), reader is addressed as “little bug” in childe's (please, it's just a poorly written joke, i swear).

— NOTES ; don't care what everyone says but a man that has the power and money is definitely a man that i want. wrote this on a whim so 'm sorry for the horrible writing and the lack of details in this.

☆ — ALHAITHAM

"why are you so dense?" alhaitham's question caught you off guard, considering the fact that you were so immersed with yet another history book of teyvat in the akademiya's house of daena.

his sudden question made you unknowingly gazed at him with annoyance (it wasn't your fault though, not when he actually interrupted your reading of the fourth chapter), and you quickly bookmarked the page you had last read before actually paying full attention to the scribe across you.

"dense is not really a word to describe me. i think i catch on things around me quite fast," you huffed out, exaggeratedly bumping your forehead onto the desk. a silent thud was heard afterwards, not necessarily loud enough for other people to hear, but alhaitham definitely caught on the hint you mentally saying that you were bored and the fact that he took away the only form of your entertainment by taking away the thick book from you made you squinted your eyes at him.

your eyes prying at his action. he was an unpredictable man, so you couldn't question what he did. especially when the question of, "do you know what is the context of this book?" suddenly came out from his mouth.

"uhm.. yes?" you stopped thinking too deep when alhaitham's gaze zeroed straight into you, signalling that you should be answering his question more precisely. "a book about teyvat; the seven nations, the archon war, the history, the irminsul, the heavenly principles, the fatui, the abyss—

"ah yes, sounds like classified information, isn't it?" alhaitham cut you off, showing the old cover page with a knowing look that you couldn't really decipher. "you do realise that this book comes from the restricted repository room?" alhaitham was questioning you, slightly smiled when he saw how the gears in your brains were slowly turning and you finally understood what he was trying to point out.

"wait. you are right. it makes sense now, how incomplete certain details are since the book itself covers forbidden knowledge.." you put your right palm underneath your jaw, still in disbelief at the fact that the book in his hold was a restricted material for general use to the scholars and the public.

"not really the brightest mind," he paused. "that's why i said you are, indeed, a slow-witted person," he shook his head, his own work was slowly forgotten amidst the conversation he accidentally forced you into.

"that is just saying 'stupid' in a more formal manner. i am truly offended," you sighed, noting the way alhaitham seemed taken aback at the last sentence you gave to him.

alhaitham could only put down the book in front of you. "..and i am offended as well. you don't even think that i am using my authority to give you access to this one book you have been super interested in these days, haven't you?"

he turned away after seconds of eye contact, especially when your eyes widened and you felt how your cheeks were hurting due to the shock. "you.. did this for me? not exactly the first thing i would think of, especially if it's from the scribe of the akademiya."

you smiled, way too wide and alhaitham thought he was holding his breath for a moment. "thank you, you're so kind."

'kind' wasn't what he really expected you to say, specifically when he, himself, wasn't filled with kindness and tenderness alike. the you that he knew would be instantly flustered if you ever knew the true meaning of his intention when he first directed you with those questions.

he could only laughed heartlessly at your statement, thinking that you must have never received this much attention from someone, or that you really treated him as a true friend.

"i do not do this for some mere scholars, just so you know that you are exceptional."

☆ — AYATO

"my lord," you bowed down, giving ayato the respectable approach that he deserved. "is there something you would like me to help?"

ayato was a diligent and a busy man, that was the first thing you had noticed when he first took you right under his wing. his smile specifically was something you swore would be your death one day, he was too charming for your own good.

"come here," his bright face made you ten times more nervous than ever. "also, please, drop the formalities. we are hidden from the public view."

the last sentence was way too intimate, but you decided that it must have been his figure of speech.

"yes, my lord—i mean, ayato," you slightly cringed at the way his name rolled off your tongue not-so-eloquently. something about calling him by his name, even without his family name, felt super uncivil to you.

he had done so much for you, so to hear his request of doing what you had been accustomed to was hard.

so you could only stumble forward awkwardly, hands clasping together to stop yourself from shaking a little bit too much. why did he always bring out the nervousness within you in private? did he really had these effects?

"here, sit down," ayato's calligraphy pen halted its movement, and it didn't help to calm you down when he patted the sit beside his chair.

"i'm sorry, my lord," the title accidentally slipped away nonetheless, and you decided to ignore the look in his eyes—as if he was hurting by the fact that you didn't address his name, but he possibly couldn't be that childish, it was the commissioner after all—as he quickly regained his composure. "you need my help to assort these paperworks?"

"it is fine, y/n," oh, the fact that he didn't address your first name made you knew he did feel slightly dejected.

you quickly made up your action by swiftly gliding onto the chair he already pulled out underneath his study. for a moment, you were stunned at the act of a gentleman he usually did to you. he was so kind, and you knew that you were super lucky to have him as your employer.

"i don't want you to do anything today. you can rest up until tomorrow," he said, slightly rummaging some precious items he kept in the drawer. you knew those items in there were far more important to him, especially when it also had his late father's will that was neatly preserved in the sakura-scented letter he and ayaka made a long time ago. it was honestly a cute activity for them now that you reminisced the memory.

"is there any occasion? or you will be away?" you asked him, and you could see his eyes lightened up at the way his hand reached out to yours, and you were left baffled.

his hand was warm, that was the first thing you noted. besides when you felt something smooth in your palm, you questioned the foreign thing in your hand.

it was a necklace, with a lighter hue of blue as its pendant. your intrusive thought won you over as you saw how the pendant resembled ayato's hydro vision to an extent. it was ethereal, at least in your eyes.

by the feel of it, you already knew this necklace's worth had already exceeded your wage.

"ayato?"

"it is for you. i was buying one for ayaka when i was reminded of you, y/n," he warmly explained, his sincere eyes were too much for you as you avoided his eye contact.

your beating heart felt dangerous as ever. his hands were still engulfing yours, as if to keep you from shying away.

"take it. it would mean a lot to me."

"thank you, sir-ayato," you corrected yourself, and ayato thought it was adorable of you to stutter around him.

his heart was content when you thanked him over and over again.

if giving the necklace was a metaphor to his love letter, then he would be overjoyed when he saw you roaming around his estate with the necklace on you the next day.

☆ — CHILDE

"today's a really nice day," childe sighed happily, as he picked you up from the ground, and you repeatedly punched his back, flailing in his arms to put you down.

"ajax!" you gasped, who wouldn't be in shock, when you were literally caught off guard by his attack and then your feet weren't touching the snowy path anymore. "put me down."

"ehem, manners, please," he faked a cough.

you could only kick around, although none of your actions would actually affect him physically. "i am almost going to swear at you, you know?"

"put me down, please," you tried to whisper into his ear, so that he would feel ticklish by the air that escaped from you.

"gross," he commented, and before you knew it, he already let you go from his somewhat soothing hold onto your body. "need to disinfect my ear after this."

you slapped his arm after hearing his bad joke, roughly enough to get his focus onto you. "let me do it with the bug spray i have at home. i hope it'll cleanse your whole soul too."

"touché," childe cracked a smile at hearing you almost choked on your breath. "aren't you my little bug?"

"don't you have a cuter nickname for me? seriously, bug? out of all lovelier things on this world?" at this point, you had already clinging onto childe's side, hyper aware at some people who had been watching the playful fight between you two for some time now.

childe noticed the way you practically glued to him, your hand fisting the sweater he wore, and childe could only thought that your ministration would only bring a misunderstanding, especially that one which people always commented on when they saw both of you.

"look at you two."

childe could only smile at the old lady that passed by him. "couple fights are normal, until the old days. i hope you're having a great time," the old lady patted your back, and when you were about to clear the misunderstanding he had always loved, the old lady left.

"w-what?" you turned to childe whom somehow looked at you fondly, and you could only voiced out your opinion on the cold day. "that old lady is not making any sense."

"—and you, ajax," you continued when you caught childe slacking from paying his full focus attentively to you, as he only shrugged his shoulder. "...are you really going to leave again?"

"hm?" he hummed, and thought to himself that you were so adorable in his spare sweater, fighting against the chilly wind and hesitating to actually say that you would miss him if he went to liyue for his work again.

"of course. it is my duty for the tsaritsa, and no, you won't be going to join me this time. have you forgotten when you almost got hit by the fatui because they were belittling you?" childe quickly cut you off when he saw how your lips twitching at his words, knowing too well that you would suggest the idea of venturing to liyue with him. the last time he accepted your idea, he almost blamed himself fully if one of his subordinates hurt you. he could only thank the archons that nothing too severe happened on you.

"b-but—

"and, our date for today went exceptionally well, wasn't it? you won't miss me like you have always did before," he winked, and you almost threw your fist at his face if you could. "i am going there for a week. i'll be back before you know it."

"right. let's stop now before your teasing goes too far ahead of yourself," you rolled your eyes, and only did you notice that you were still holding him dearly.

you quickly pulled your hand, and childe swore he had already missed the way you stayed close by his side. he was definitely smitten, he knew it.

"thank me later for wasting my money on you," childe laughed at the way you tried to run away from his grasp.

if he could, he would voice out loud that he really didn't care about his money, as long as you were happy with him, and it frustrated him a little bit that you really thanked him for that when all he wanted to say was that he loved you too.

all rights reserved © genshinology 2023 strictly on tumblr only. any form of wrongdoings under the copyright law is strictly prohibited.

[lesbiandelgal]

Translated information regarding Flamela's squad, Part one

Decided to go through the pages on Flamela's squad from the complete adventurer's bible and translate them myself, since the ones I've seen floating around looked dubious at best. I've included transcriptions of (most of) the original text for anyone who would like to analyze it themselves. It's incredibly long, so I'm putting it under the cut.

Part two here.

Flamela

Name: Flamela of the house of Sorn Birthday/Age: September 23, 170 years old. Race/Gender: Elf, Female Family: Father, Mother, Younger brother Physique: Height approximately 140cm, BMI 22 Favorite food: Dumplings Dislikes: Roe Cause of first death: Poisoned by a basilisk

”真の王族の証”とされている、黒曜石の肌と銀髪をもつカナリアの副部長。女王の遠い血縁関係にあたるが、女王の養子となった双子の姉を亡くしていることもあり女王を一方的に嫌っている。引退したミルシルの後任としてカナリア隊の副長となるも、女王と血縁関係にある危険な現場からはそれとなく遠ざけられている。何かと沸点が低めで、とくに自分の身の回りの世話すらままならないミスルンが、カナリアの隊長に据えられていることには憤りを隠さない。

The vice-captain of the Canaries with obsidian skin and silver hair that is considered to be "proof of true royalty". While she is a distant blood relative to the queen, she has a one-sided hatred for the queen, as she lost (through death) her older twin sister, who was adopted by the queen*. She succeeded the retired Milsiril as vice-captain, but is obliquely kept away from dangerous sites due to her relation to the queen. She has a short temper**, and especially doesn't hide her resentment for the fact that Mithrun, who is unable to even take care of his daily needs, was assigned the position of Captain.

*this part was somewhat difficult to translate, just due to sentence structure being awkward for english. not entirely confident that i got the exact nuance down. feel free to send any corrections in my ask box if i got anything wrong! **this is just my best guess. let me know if it's inaccurate!

Erique and Misyl

フラメラの部隊に所属する隊員��エリケはフラメラの相棒を務める、刑期を終えた元囚人。カナリア隊が看守不足のため、スカウトされて看守になった。ミーシルはエリケが担当する囚人。たいした悪さはしていないが、隊員不足で採用される。自身も罪の意識は薄い。

Members of Flamela's squad. Erique, an ex-convict who finished* her prison term, serves as Flamela's partner. Because the canaries were short on wardens, she was scouted and made a warden. Misyl is the prisoner Erique is responsible for. She hasn't done anything particularly bad, but she was enlisted because the canaries were understaffed. Even she herself doesn't have much awareness of what she did wrong.

TL I've seen floating around says "she has no sense of guilt" in the last sentence, but there's a も in that sentence that wouldn't make much sense with a statement like that, as well as 罪 referring to "crime", rather than guilt. *The term translated as "finished" can also mean "to graduate" (in the non-academic sense), and considering Erique was pardoned, I think the intended meaning may be closer to the latter, but you also wouldn't say someone "graduated" a prison term, so I worded accordingly.

Organization structure

EDITOR'S NOTE 島の冒険者が畏怖を抱く存在、カナリア隊。その一端が垣間見える資料を公開。

EDITOR'S NOTE Feared* by the adventurers of the Island, the Canaries. This document that reveals a glimpse into its inner-workings is now revealed to the public.**

*could also be interpreted as "awe inspiring", but just based on context i'm guessing it's fear. **really an approximation of the general idea of this sentence, it doesn't translate very well.

*this originally was 草, and the only logical translation i came across was that it's an archaic term for "ninja", but In this case i feel like "spy" was a more apt translation. I could be totally off the mark though.

[iuteamstarcandy]

[TRANS] IU ‘Flower Bookmark 2’ Album Introduction and Song Introductions

ALBUM INTRODUCTION

A pristine and beautiful trail of memories that do not fade over time

IU’s second remake album [Flower Bookmark 2]

A book that I took and dusted off from an old library. As I turn the pages one by one, there are times when I find old four-leaf clovers or flower petals that are inserted like bookmarks. It’s a pristine and beautiful trace of a gift that contains someone's sincerity long ago. Along with it comes the memorable pieces of writing that are underlined on each page. This 'Flower Bookmark' may be one of the symbols of youth culture that show the romance and sentiments of the past analog generation which are slowly being forgotten these days.

IU's second remake album, [Flower Bookmark 2], is an extension of the remake album [Flower Bookmark] which was released in 2014 and received excellent reviews from the public and critics. This is a special mini album which reflects both the analog emotions contained in the original songs and the unique lyricism of ‘IU’. Like the previous [Flower Bookmark] album, IU herself selected music from previous generations which are like “flower bookmarks” that she had always cherished and collaborated with musicians of a wide range of generations and genres, including Jeong Jae-il, Ko Tae-young, Hong So-jin, Kang Yi-chae, Jukjae, Lim Hyun-je (Hyukoh), Kim Sung-mo and Jung Sung-ha, to make more detailed efforts than ever to add IU's color on top of the original songs’ unique sentiments.

[Flower Bookmark 2] uses IU’s pure tone to reinterpret songs of the past that transcend generations, in the hopes to revive pristine and beautiful moments that do not fade over time, connecting generations after generations, providing deep empathy and resonance in them and becoming a gift of memories as a ‘flower bookmark’.

SONG INTRODUCTIONS

01. 가을 아침 (Autumn morning)

Lyrics by Lee Byung-woo

Composed by Lee Byung-woo

Arranged by Jung Sung-ha

Originally sung by Yang Hee-eun

“This song is included in [Yang Hee-eun 1991], an album commemorating the 20th anniversary of ‘Morning Dew’. Yang Hee-eun sunbaenim shared with me that it was an album that she finished recording 9 songs in a day together with Director Lee Byung-woo, who was studying in Vienna at the time, while she was in New York. I listened to this album a lot because I respect them musically and could sense the refreshing vibes of the two of them when they were young, so this is my favorite song from that album. Even though the song is simple in its structure, the guitar performance, voice and lyrics are perfectly combined, making it as beautiful as the title, autumn morning.”

02. 비밀의 화원 (Secret Garden)

Lyrics by Lee Sang-eun

Composed by Lee Sang-eun

Arranged by Echae Kang

Originally sung by Lee Sang-eun

“These are my favorite lyrics from [Flower Bookmark 2]. I like Lee Sang-eun sunbaenim’s simple sentences that are filled with warmth. In particular, I think the lyrics that switch freely between the perspectives of ‘just me’, then as an ‘adult’ and as a ‘person who falls in love’ are really cool.

I could relate to the lyrics which go, ‘Forget what happened yesterday / Everyone makes slight mistakes’ and they gave me comfort.”

03. 잠 못 드는 밤 비는 내리고 (Sleepless rainy night)

Lyrics by Kim Chang-hwan, Park Gwang-hyun / Composed by Kim Chang-hwan, Park Gwang-hyun / Arranged by Hong So-jin, Jukjae / Originally sung by Kim Gun-mo

“This is a song that I really wanted to remake someday. I was in a hurry to do it first before anyone else did, so I even considered putting just this one song as a remake on my 4th full-length album [Palette] which was released last spring, that’s how ambitious the song made me. I heard about Kim Gun-mo sunbaenim’s vocal range and was prepared to some extent, but I was surprised several times throughout the recording, saying, ‘Oh, I can’t believe this’. I'm cautiously predicting that it will be the song that has the most fanatics (Note: people going crazy over) in [Flower Bookmark 2] ☆”

04. 어젯밤 이야기 (Last night story)

Lyrics by Park Gun-ho

Composed by Lee Ho-jun

Arranged by Im Hyun-je (Hyukoh) , Kim Sung-mo

Originally sung by Sobangcha (Fire Truck)

“This was a song that was so famous and well-loved that I felt a lot of pressure to remake, but I courageously did so because it was also such an attractive song to that extent.

From the chord progression to the story in the lyrics and to the main riff (Note: a short repeated sequence of notes or chords to make a song catchy), it is a song that I’m in awe whenever I listen to it because it is perfectly balanced and solid and this is the song I worked on the most happily in this album.”

05. 개여울 (By the stream)

Lyrics by Kim So-wol

Composed by Lee Hee-mok

Arranged by Jung Jae-il

Originally sung by Jung Mi-jo

“This is a song that so many seniors have done remakes of. Among the various versions of ‘By the Stream’, I took reference from the version of this song in Jeong Mi-jo sunbaenim's 2016 album [37 Years] the most. In no other song is there a person that is as hateful and irresponsible as the one who leaves in the lyrics. As it's a song about yearning for such a person, the ‘deep sorrow’ and ‘desperate resentment’ enter your heart as they are, without any defense or embellishments.

The ‘By the stream’ that (Kim Jeong-hee) sunbaenim first sang and the recent ‘By the stream’ sung decades later come across as distinctly different from the emotions to the stories in their voices. If given the chance, I want to sing this song again after a long time.”

06. 매일 그대와 (Everyday with you)

Lyrics by Choi Sung-won

Composed by Choi Sung-won

Arranged by Go Tae-young

Originally sung by A Wild Chamomile

“I think there’s no need for a long explanation for this song. Everyday with you is the best!”

Translated by IUteamstarcandy

Source: Melon

[evelynandcelia]

Why Not Take All Of Me?

Read on AO3 here!

CHAPTER 2

After that night, I moved through life with a new purpose: to keep me and Celia afloat. At first, it was manageable. Rex and I had already ironed out how to perform our marriage, so the insertion of Celia wasn’t difficult. Of all my husbands, Rex was perhaps the best at turning a blind eye. I even considered telling him about Celia but decided against it at the last minute. The need to protect her – to protect us – was too strong. At least, that’s what I told myself. 

Looking back, I think it may have had more to do with the fact that I could hardly talk about what Celia and I did with anyone, barring Harry. I loved her more than I thought possible but I could not make myself say the sentence “I love Celia St. James” unless I was positively sure I was alone. It was paranoia mixed with a healthy dose of denial. I didn’t want to face my sexuality if I didn’t have to. And Celia, at that time, wasn’t bothered by it. Or so she said. 

That period was a dream come true, both in terms of my relationship with Celia and my career. The movies that Rex and I were making proved to be consistently well-received by reviewers and the box office. Secrets in Sepia and Beneath the Oak Tree weren’t the kind of films that got Oscar nods, but they were the kind of films that made millions. My gamble at playing producer alongside Harry paid off big time. More than a few times, I sat with Harry and Celia poolside at Rex’s house in the Bird Hills, gloating about how good it felt to be this rich. To be so rich and famous that you were no longer just unattainable in the eyes of the general public – you were otherworldly.     

I bought a second home in Malibu, along the Pacific Coast Highway. I made it a point never to drive my dark blue 1963 Lamborghini to that house since it had become a hallmark of mine. The paparazzi followed it practically everywhere, so I regularly lent it out to friends and co-stars to throw them off the trail. I loved that car, but it was just as memorable as Celia’s pink Chevy.

Luckily, my caution paid off. The Malibu house proved to be an oasis for me and Celia. The tabloids had discovered her Palm Springs house a few months earlier. They incorrectly designated her “Love Nest” with up-and-coming TV host Preston Winslow after pictures of the two talking at a dinner party surfaced. Once the article came out, she did go on a few dates with Preston to help create some buzz. That ended quickly when he tried to slide his hand up her skirt during a dinner at Ciro's. Celia put her place on the market the next week and moved most of those belongings into my Malibu house.

We only spent the odd weekend there. Neither of our schedules allowed for much downtime, and I had to be at Rex’s house as much as possible to keep the tabloids in check. But, when we could spare a day or two, that was the only place we wanted to be.

Celia was making a cocktail at the outdoor bar, just a few feet from the pool. I was lounging on a fiberglass white chaise, wearing a wide-brim black hat, sunglasses, and nothing else. I originally chose to wear a white bikini, but after Celia brought out the sun tan oil, I decided I didn't want tan lines. The house was secluded – tucked away on a cliffside – and the pool deck was fenced in, so I wasn’t concerned. It was one of the only places I felt a true sense of privacy. 

“I think every straight man on the planet would give up their life savings just to get a glimpse of what I get to look at all day long,” Celia said matter-of-factly. 

I turned my gaze upward from the magazine I was reading and gave her a lazy smile. I knew Celia’s eyes hadn’t left my body since I’d taken my top off. I loved knowing how much I excited her. “Are you telling me all you want to do is look?”

She walked over to where I was seated, gin and tonic in hand. Instead of taking the lounger next to me, she gracefully straddled my hips, pushing our bodies together. She was in a striped swimsuit that was still a bit wet from her swim earlier, and I could feel the cool fabric against my bare skin. 

“Oh, I want to do so much more than look, Evelyn Hugo,” she replied with a smirk. Then her hands were on my breast, on my stomach. I choked back a moan. She knew how to read me like a book. Her hand crept lower, and I bit my lip. “Right after I find where I left my cigarettes…” She abruptly set down her glass and stood up. I sat there, stunned and strangely embarrassed. Was she serious? I watched her walk away and realized that, yes, she was. 

“I’m sitting here, completely naked, and you need a cigarette?” I asked incredulously. Celia was already inside the house, searching for a pack of Pall Mall’s no doubt. There was a good chance she hadn’t even heard me. Disappointed and irritated, I yanked my swimsuit back on, fumbling with the clasp in the back until it was hooked. The oil on my skin left patches of discoloration on the white lycra, but I didn’t care. I was too annoyed.

“I found them!” Celia appeared in the doorway. She put a cigarette in her mouth and lit it with a match from the bar. She took a deep drag and returned to the pool’s edge. 

“Did you get…chilly?” Celia asked when she saw me. The sun was boiling the deck, and the sea breeze had been notably absent that day. She knew what she was asking.

“Darling, you smoke too much,” I said. My tone was flat. I didn't want her to think I was joking.

“Excuse me?” Celia sat down next to me. “I don’t –”

“How many cigarettes have you smoked today?”

“Evelyn, I don’t keep up with that sort of thing.” She laughed, and it sounded stilted and forced. “Please, I don’t want to talk about this. It’s a beautiful day and –”

“Guess.”

“Eight. Or ten. Maybe a few more.”

“Or fifteen or twenty.”

“I’m not sure,” Celia admitted, and I believed her. “I just reach for them when…”

“I know, sweetheart.” I didn’t want to make this a fight. But I had observed, since our reunion, an uptick in the number of cigarette packs sitting around Celia’s apartment. Gradually, the occasional cigarette in bed had become a regular habit. Breakfast switched from bacon and eggs to a coffee and a smoke. And while I did find her signature scent of booze and nicotine quite alluring, I would have preferred to have a Celia who could still do a few rounds of tennis with me at the Beverly Hills Country Club without getting winded.

“I’m not saying you have to quit entirely,” I assured her. “I still smoke occasionally, and I think that’s quite fine. What isn’t fine is leaving me naked and alone because you need a cigarette so badly.”

Celia examined the cigarette poised between her fingers. “I took up smoking when I first got picked up by Paramount. They wanted me to lose a few pounds.”

I nodded. “Yes, I know, dear. Same story here.”

“Have you seen the way I eat? If I stopped now, I would gain twenty pounds.” There was that nervous laugh again. It sounded so different from what I was used to hearing – it lacked the lightness that I loved to see in Celia. This conversation was throwing her off balance. 

“No, you wouldn’t.”

The truth was, Celia had a point. She always had a tendency towards overindulgence when it came to food and alcohol. There wasn’t an actress in Hollywood who ate more red meat than Celia St. James, and I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen her order a salad (and those times were always right before an awards show). To a normal person, her diet would seem conventionally healthy. But we were actresses. Fitting into sample sizes was an immutable part of our careers.

“You know I would, Evelyn. I love steak and wine too much.” She put out the cigarette, releasing a sigh. “I suppose I need to cut back on everything, hm?”

“It’s not like that. I just want you to be healthy, is all. I recently read an article about quitting, and it listed all these benefits: better skin, higher stamina –”

“Are you implying my stamina is lacking, Evelyn?” A smirk played on her lips, and I sensed the tone of the conversation shift.

“Not at all, darling,” I replied with an equally knowing smirk. “But I would like my tennis partner back. Harry is terrible at doubles.”

She took a sip of her drink and nodded slowly. “I’ll consider it. For you.”

Celia did more than consider it. She seemingly took it to heart. Although we never discussed it again, I gradually noticed her habits changing as the months passed. That cigarette before bed became a glass of water and a swig of mouthwash. She took up golf as a pastime and stuck with it, becoming one of the best players in our circle. And, yes, she did gain a few pounds, much to her ire. But I didn’t mind. Quite the contrary, I rather liked the way her body bloomed. It wasn’t much, but her ass had a rounder curve to it, and her breasts were just a trace fuller. In the right dress, she had a beautiful hint of cleavage that could draw me in from across the room.

Later that night, when we were lying in bed beside each other, Celia said something unexpected. The door to the balcony was open, and the cool sea breeze kept dancing about our bare legs. It was perfectly silent, and then I heard her speak up in the dark.

“I almost got married, you know.”

I sat up on my elbow, head against my hand. “I know. I remember seeing the article about your engagement. John Braverman. It was a little after my wedding to Rex. Why are you bringing that up now?”

“He was gay, too.”

I had wondered about what their relationship was like but I had never asked Celia directly. That’s not to say I wasn’t curious because I certainly was. When it came to Celia, I could be so possessive which is a hilarious concept when you consider the fact that only Harry even knew we were together. Though, I think it was that constant separation of our relationship from society that made me even more jealous. John could be pictured with Celia on his arm. John could take Celia out to dinner at Chansen’s. John could do to Celia anything a man would do to a woman, and that left me bitter and resentful. I remember seeing that article about their engagement in PhotoMoment and tearing the damn magazine in half.

“So, you didn’t love him?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Not like that. You know I don’t like men that way. I suspect I loved him a bit like you love Harry. He took care of me when you weren’t there. When I needed someone.”

Her words stung, whether she meant for them to or not. “Why didn’t you marry him? He would have been the perfect cover-up. For your other…relationships.”

Celia laughed. “I’m not sure I would call what I had then ‘relationships.’ But, yes, I know. I wanted to, and he wanted to. We could go about our lives without feeling like we were constantly under a microscope. Then, around a month before the ceremony, I imagined myself walking down that aisle, dressed in white and wearing a veil. And it was awful. I called it all off. John, that sweet man, wasn’t even upset, even though the marriage had been his idea.”

“He stayed around still? After that?” I asked.

She nodded. “We just liked each other’s company. He’s a terrific guy, Evelyn. I'm happy with my decision, but sometimes I wish I had married him.”

I bristled ever so slightly, and Celia caught it. “You can’t seriously be jealous.”

“I’m not,” I replied quickly – a little too quickly. 

“Evelyn, he’s a gay man. I’m not jealous of Harry, am I?”

“I didn’t almost marry Harry.”

I said it without really thinking, but the longer the sentence hung in the air, the deeper an idea began to root itself in my mind.

“What if…you did marry John? And I married Harry? After Carolina Sunset comes out, I can be done with Rex. Sam offered us another contract but I’m not going to take it.”

There was a long pause before Celia finally spoke. “It is crazy. But it just might work.”

“Rex can step out with one of the women he’s been bedding, and the tabloids can catch Harry and me ‘in the act.’ All the while, you can renew your relationship with John and get hitched. We could move in next door to each other and spend every day like today.”

“I’d have to marry John,” Celia said. It was a statement, not a question. The way she said it, I felt like she was trying to convince herself that it was something she could go through with.

“You would. You just said you sort of wish you already had.”

“Yes. I know. I can do that,” she said, this time with more assurance. “I want to do that. If I can’t marry you, I’ll marry him.”

“And we can pretend you’re marrying me. I’ll be your maid of honor.”

Celia was quiet again and I started to wonder if I had upset her. I moved closer and felt something wet press against my hand when I touched her shoulder. She was crying.

“Celia? What did I say?”

“Nothing. I’m fine, I’m fine.” She wiped at the tears with her fingers.

There was no way I was going to take that as an answer. “Celia. Look at me and tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s so silly. I feel like a child the way I keep asking for more and more. Am I selfish, Evelyn?” She lifted her glassy gaze so that her eyes met mine.

“Honey, everyone in Hollywood is selfish. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have won an Oscar.” It wasn’t the answer she wanted, and I knew that, but I wasn’t going to lie to her. I didn’t lie to Celia.

“I meant with us. Never mind, it really is silly.”

“Talk to me, Cece.”

I only called her “Cece” during our most tender of moments. It was my way of telling her:  It’s just us now. You can let it all go if you need to.

She wiped at her eyes again and then closed them. “I imagined myself walking down the aisle in a wedding dress.”

“To marry John?” I guessed hesitantly. 

“No. I was walking down the aisle to marry you, Evelyn.”

Every muscle in my body tightened as a flood of emotions washed over me. 

There was anger. My first instinct was to berate her. Why did she always have to say things like that? I came up with a plan. I made it so we could be together. Yet here she was, sulking about it and being a brat.

And then there was empathy. Because I, too, could see myself at the end of that aisle. 

For once, I didn’t know what to say, so I just wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close. I breathed in, smelling her hair mixed with the scent of the ocean. We sat there on the bed for a long time and I let her weep for a future that was well beyond our reach.

[scentedchildnacho]

He told me he does feel personnally stalked.....so I confessed I found the situation with compass just pure demonism.....

If you ask me a lot of the men are serial killers and have never really had women in their life....the pastors prayer last evening was so inappropriate I find him purely hateful and just part of the people that loves colleseums and watching antiquities marched to their death

The people there are very hungry alone and terrorized and he wants to read poems about violence before dinner....usually dinner is a gratitude time Ive had many prison serial killers want to whisper at me during times of appropriate breeding necessity.....

I think Mogadishu the cgs like black hawks are always flying over head to beat the air in waves that pound down on our heads and many people recently have told me their loved ones have died.....and people stole my 🆔 and made me learn cleaning jobs more diseased then necessary....they shut hospitals down and they were alone in their houses to rot and disease....

He thought they stalked him from his high school......so I said at my high school there is no identification it's a Soviet bloc the Ukraines maybe can better tell you what type of jail or how to articulate that

I just know it's to batter especially the feminines down to smallest forms and force everything into Tokyo......

Then there are these strange males around with impossible resources and it's he is provider he has to so he may be excused from feminine discipline

Those ones those are anomies and he does have magic beliefs like Solomon so he will treat you cruelly and dictatively till you turn his body into a public execution mummy

Those anomies are parasites

You have to learn police help if you are condemned and worship and sacrifice the enemy it wanted to be like a caliph

Fair observance the Irish take over did kill some of the englishes emigrationists and languagists instead of a.i. keep stalking people....strange boob queen creations from Arizona.......

I use to take things personally and now I've learned my life is more important and revolutionary they try to coup and the modi told them to not hit his Indians so brutally

He made mention of a nude post on craigslist so I said that sounds like guns to her head he mistaked calling her a prostitute so I said that doesn't make sense prostitute or wife is categorized as a profession in the technocracy a prostitute is someone quite frankly university professors a lecturer is a more satisfying job if you can sex work instead of ask from students so I can't really progress out of poor work because quite frankly she has always been that family name and this gets royal ...

Otherwise I said we are all being oppressed by Todd Gloria.....you should notice that he wants to make statues of himself and cant accomplish anything basic.....

Todd claimed he is everything and basically he can't deductively explain his sentence....Is philosophy of being.....is....native.....is Puerto Rican.....native and a national doesn't make any sense....the idea of recognizing indigenous peoples more generally becomes a corporate entity of networks that looks into a strategy of defining governing......and acts out its annals often but that is not a nation....nation doesn't appear to exist anymore

These people are so disgusting I have been so traumatized people didn't think I could live do you see me break down and bring a dog to shit and piss at people I'm sorry but the royalty doesn't direct that ..Todd Glorias amazing shi ite intelligence and everyones a shit and piss viral moron....

[duckprintspress]

Giving Quality, Motivating Feedback

A guest post by @shealynn88!

The new writer in your writing group just sent out their latest story and it’s...not exciting. You know it needs work, but you’re not sure why, or where they should focus.

This is the blog post for you!

Before we get started, it’s important to note that this post isn’t aimed at people doing paid editing work. In the professional world, there are developmental editors, line editors, and copy editors, who all have a different focus. That is not what we’re covering here. Today, we want to help you informally give quality, detailed, encouraging feedback to your fellow writers.

The Unwritten Rules

Everyone seems to have a different understanding of what it means to beta, edit, or give feedback on a piece, so it’s best to be on the same page with your writer before you get started.

Think about what type of work you’re willing and able to do, how much time you have, and how much emotional labor you’re willing to take on. Then talk to your writer about their expectations.

Responsibilities as an editor/beta may include:

Know what the author’s expectation is and don’t overstep. Different people in different stages of writing are looking for, and will need, different types of support. It’s important to know what pieces of the story they want feedback on. If they tell you they don’t want feedback on dialogue, don’t give them feedback on dialogue. Since many terms are ambiguous or misunderstood, it may help you to use the list of story components in the next section to come to an agreement with your writer on what you’ll review.

Don’t offer expertise you don’t have. If your friend needs advice on their horse book and you know nothing about horses, be clear that your read through will not include any horse fact checking. Don’t offer grammar advice if you’re not good at grammar. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t give feedback on things you do notice, but don’t misrepresent yourself, and understand your own limits.

Give positive and constructive feedback. It is important for a writer to know when something is working well. Don’t skimp on specific positive feedback — this is how you keep writers motivated. On the other hand, giving constructive feedback indicates where there are issues. Be specific on what you’re seeing and why it’s an issue. It can be hard for someone to improve if they don’t understand what’s wrong.

Be clear about your timing and availability, and provide updates if either changes. Typically, you’ll be doing this for free, as you’re able to fit it in your schedule. But it can be nerve wracking to hand your writing over for feedback and then hear nothing. For everyone’s sanity, keep the writer up to date on your expected timeline and let them know if you’re delayed for some reason. If you cannot complete the project for them, let them know. This could be for any reason — needing to withdraw, whatever the cause, is valid! It could be because working with the writer is tough, you don’t enjoy the story, life got tough, you got tired, etc. All of that is fine; just let them know that you won’t be able to continue working on the project.

Be honest if there are story aspects you can’t be objective about. Nearly all of your feedback is going to be personal opinion. There are some story elements that will evoke strong personal feelings. They can be tropes, styles, specific characterizations, or squicks. In these cases, ask the writer to get another opinion on that particular aspect, or, if you really want to continue, find similar published content to review and see if you can get a better sense of how other writers have handled it.

Don’t get personal. Your feedback should talk about the characters, the narrator, the plotline, the sentence structure, or other aspects of the story. Avoid making ‘you’ statements or judgements, suggested or explicit, in your feedback. Unless you’re looking at grammar or spelling, most of the feedback you’ll have will be your opinion. Don’t present it as fact.

Your expectations of the writer/friend/group member you are working with may include:

Being gracious in accepting feedback. A writer may provide explanations for an issue you noticed or seek to discuss your suggestions. However, if they constantly argue with you, that may be an indicator to step back.

Being responsible for emotional reactions to getting feedback. While getting feedback can be hard on the ego and self esteem, that is something the writer needs to work on themselves. While you can provide reassurance and do emotional labor if you’re comfortable, it is also very reasonable to step back if the writer isn’t ready to do that work.

Making the final choice regarding changes to the work. The writer should have a degree of confidence in accepting or rejecting your feedback based on their own sense of the story. While they may consult you on this, the onus is on them to make changes that preserve the core of the story they want to tell.

Some people aren’t ready for feedback, even though they’re seeking it. You’re not signing up to be a psychologist, a best friend, or an emotional support editor. You can let people know in advance that these are your expectations, or you can just keep them in mind for your own mental health. As stated above, you can always step back from a project, and if writers aren’t able to follow these few guidelines, it might be a good time to do that. (It’s also worth making sure that, as a writer, you’re able to give these things to your beta/editor.)

Specificity is Key

One of the hardest things in editing is pinning down the ‘whys’ of unexciting work, so let’s split the writing into several components and talk about evaluations you can make for each one.

You can also give this list to your writer ahead of time as a checklist, to see which things they want your feedback on.

Generally, your goal is going to be to help people improve incrementally. Each story they write should be better than the previous one, so you don’t need to go through every component for every story you edit. Generally, I wouldn’t suggest more than 3 editing rounds on any single story that isn’t intended for publication. Think of the ‘many pots’ theory — people who are honing their craft will improve more quickly by writing a lot of stories instead of incessantly polishing one.

With this in mind, try addressing issues in the order below, from general to precise. It doesn’t make sense to critique grammar and sentence structure if the plot isn’t solid, and it can be very hard on a writer to get feedback on all these components at once. If a piece is an early or rough draft, try evaluating no more than four components at a time, and give specific feedback on what does and doesn’t work, and why.

High Level Components

Character arc/motivation:

Does each character have a unique voice, or do they all sound the same?

In dialogue, are character voices preserved? Do they make vocabulary and sentence-structure choices that fit with how they’re being portrayed?

Does each character have specific motivations and focuses that are theirs alone?

Does each character move through the plot naturally, or do they seem to be shoehorned/railroaded into situations or decisions for the sake of the plot? Be specific about which character actions work and which don’t. Tell the writer what you see as their motivation/arc and why—and point out specific lines that indicate that motivation to you.

Does each character's motivation seem to come naturally from your knowledge of them?

Are you invested (either positively or negatively) in the characters? If not, why not? Is it that they have nothing in common with you? Do you not understand where they’re coming from? Are they too perfect or too unsympathetic?

Theme:

It’s a good idea to summarize the story and its moral from your point of view and provide that insight to the writer. This can help them understand if the points they were trying to make come through. The theme should tie in closely with the character arcs. If not, provide detailed feedback on where it does and doesn’t tie in.

Plot Structure:

For most issues with plot structure, you can narrow them down to pacing, characterization, logical progression, or unsatisfying resolution. Be specific about the issues you see and, when things are working well, point that out, too.

Is there conflict that interests you? Does it feel real?

Is there a climax? Do you feel drawn into it?

Do the plot points feel like logical steps within the story?

Is the resolution tied to the characters and their growth? Typically this will feel more real and relevant and satisfying than something you could never have seen coming.

Is the end satisfying? If not, is it because you felt the end sooner and the story kept going? Is it because too many threads were left unresolved? Is it just a matter of that last sentence or two being lackluster?

Point Of View:

Is the point of view clear and consistent?

Is the writing style and structure consistent with that point of view? For example, if a writer is working in first person or close third person, the style of the writing should reflect the way the character thinks. This extends to grammar, sentence structure, general vocabulary and profanity outside of the dialogue.

If there is head hopping (where the point of view changes from chapter to chapter or section to section), is it clear in the first few sentences whose point of view you’re now in? Chapter headers can be helpful, but it should be clear using structural, emotional, and stylistic changes that you’re with a new character now.

Are all five senses engaged? Does the character in question interact with their environment in realistic, consistent ways that reflect how people actually interact with the world?

Sometimes the point of view can feel odd if it’s too consistent. Humans don’t typically think logically and linearly all the time, so being in someone’s head may sometimes be contradictory or illogical. If it’s too straightforward, it might not ‘feel’ real.

Be specific about the areas that don’t work and break them down based on the questions above.

Pacing:

Does the story jump around, leaving you confused about what took place when?

Do some scenes move quickly where others drag, and does that make sense within the story?

If pacing isn’t working, often it’s about the level of detail or the sentence structure. Provide detailed feedback about what you care about in a given scene to help a writer focus in.

Setting:

Is the setting clear and specific? Writing with specific place details is typically more rooted, interesting, and unique. If you find the setting vague and/or uninteresting and/or irrelevant, you might suggest replacing vague references — ‘favorite band’, ‘coffee shop on the corner’, ‘the office building’ — with specific names to ground the setting and make it feel more real.

It might also be a lack of specific detail in a scene that provides context beyond the characters themselves. Provide specific suggestions of what you feel like you’re missing. Is it in a specific scene, or throughout the story? Are there scenes that work well within the story, where others feel less grounded? Why?

Low Level Components

Flow/Sentence Structure:

Sentence length and paragraph length should vary. The flow should feel natural.

When finding yourself ‘sticking’ on certain sentences, provide specific feedback on why they aren’t working. Examples are rhythm, vocabulary, subject matter (maybe something is off topic), ‘action’ vs ‘explanation’, passive vs. active voice.

Style/Vocabulary:

Writing style should be consistent with the story — flowery prose works well for mythic or historical pieces and stories that use that type of language are typically slower moving. Quick action and short sentences are a better fit for murder mysteries, suspense, or modern, lighter fiction.

Style should be consistent within the story — it may vary slightly to show how quickly action is happening, but you shouldn’t feel like you’re reading two different stories.

SPAG (Spelling and Grammar):

Consider spelling and grammar in the context of the point of view, style and location of the story (eg, England vs. America vs. Australia).

If a point of view typically uses incorrect grammar, a SPAG check will include making sure that it doesn’t suddenly fall into perfect grammar for a while. In this case, consistency is going to be important to the story feeling authentic.

Word Count Requirements:

If the story has been written for a project, bang, anthology, zine, or other format that involves a required word count minimum or maximum, and the story is significantly over or under the aimed-for word count (30% or more/less), it may not make sense to go through larger edits until the sizing is closer to requirements. But, as a general rule, I’d say word count is one of the last things to worry about.

*

The best thing we can do for another writer is to keep them writing. Every single person will improve if they keep going. Encouragement is the most important feedback of all.

I hope this has helped you think about how you provide feedback. Let us know if you have other tips or tricks! This works best as a collaborative process where we all can support one another!

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: hey shoutout to @ugherik for suggesting a spin on the “A PLATYPUS!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “PERRY THE PLATYPUS!???” thing. i used it in here, it’s a really small part and probably missable but i tried!! also i like the next chapter better than this one, i just wanted to put this here so it doesn’t seem abrupt <3333

here’s

my ko-fi

if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Bucky can’t stop staring at the mirror.

He wishes it was for narcissistic purposes. He had enough reason for it to be. His age may be a hundred but he had the youthful exuberance of a very drained sixty year old.

But no, it wasn’t because of the steel cut jawline or thousand gigawatt smile.

After last week’s mini-spiral, he does what almost half the videos on TikTok warn him not to do.  

He got a haircut.

Everyone’s reaction stopped him from following it up with an ear piercing, but he can’t confidently say he didn’t at least consider it once. Maybe a neck tattoo. 

He pulls at a lock of hair. It’s not even longer than his finger.

What did he do-

“It’s just a haircut, man,” he says to no one in particular, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself.

He runs his hands through his hair. It takes lesser time than he was used to.

Steve had told him he looked good. But then again, Steve wore a fugly costume 90% of the time, what did he know?

Clint acknowledged it and didn’t outright call him ugly, which he supposed was a compliment. Wanda simply smiled at him.

“FRIDAY?” he reaches out.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” comes the automated reply.

“How are you?” It took him some getting used to her, given that she was constantly listening to everything, and in general seemed to go against the universal idea of privacy. 

But his therapist told him he needed to form friendships. 

She didn’t mention it had to be human ones.

“As good as ever. Is there anything I can help you with?”

He wants to ask her what she thinks of his hair until he realises fashion advice from a faceless AI is a new low for him. Maybe ‘Do you think I should crawl into a pit and die?’ would be more appropriate. 

“Never mind,” he dismisses instead. “Any messages for today?”

“A reminder to buy a harder bed because you can’t keep sleeping on the floor.” Ah, that was on Sam’s recommendation three months ago, but he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “And a text from a contact named Nuisance saying to meet them at the attached location in thirty minutes.”

“Where is the location?”

“The local sports centre.”

“Isn’t that closed today?” 

If he had to go out in public looking like this, maybe he could wear a cap and sunglasses and no one would recognise him. Unfortunately, as he was reminded several times before by anyone with an iota of common sense, it was a stupid disguise. 

Beanie it was, then. Bare minimum. 

“It is, yes.” Fewer citizens to worry about.

“Okay.” He hesitates in front of the mirror again, adjusting the hat on his head. “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

He stares at the little tuft of hair at the front that refused to stay down no matter how much he shoved it back.

“Come on, man,” he exhales in slight despair. “Whatever.”

____

The lock of the door leading to the pool is easy enough to pick. He can see how you got in without a hitch even though it was closed. 

The deck around the pool was absolutely drenched in water. No one was using it, there was no reason for water to splash out unless it was deliberately kept like this.

He catches sight of you easily, being that you’re the only two people there. You were standing at the end of the hall, head ducked as you scrolled through your phone.

The door closes behind him with a soft thud.

You don’t look up from your mobile when you start talking, “What do you think 6 year olds like?”

Because James Barnes, carbon dated to 1917 and therefore certified young person, would definitely know the answer to this question.

“I don’t know. Lego?”

“Just how much money do you think a teacher makes-”

You stopped mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to catch his eye. He stares back at you, steps faltering when you don’t move.

"Who are you?" you squinted.

What

"It's me," Bucky says, tugging off the dumb beanie and using it to gesture vaguely towards himself. Fuck, he shouldn’t have worn it, it was ridiculous anyway-

"You sound like him..." You narrow your eyes. “You don't look like him.”

Great

He rolls his eyes before putting on a mock scowl. Can't have Bucky Barnes without a sense of eternal disgruntlement.

"Oh hey, that is you." You grin. "You got a haircut."

“I did.” He suddenly feels the awkwardness increase. His fingers fidget with the beanie.

“Nice.” You nod in acknowledgement.

He wants to hit himself at the words that just spill out before he could think about it. “You hate it.”

“I never said that,” you snort. “And since when does my opinion matter?”

“It doesn’t.” But now he wants to know what you think since he didn’t trust anyone else to tell him honestly.

“Must cut down on time in the shower, huh?”

It did.

He shrugs. He shoves the beanie into his back pocket.

“Was it a crisis haircut?” How did you kno- “Are you going to get bangs next time?”

“Shut up,” he says lamely, a dull burn in his cheeks. 

“I know a place where you can get hair dye for cheap. Not technically FDA approved, but I think purple streaks are a good place to start-”

“What are we doing here?” he interrupts, sighing.

“Skinny dipping. Take off your shirt, Barnes.” 

“Funny,” he says dryly, eyeing your shoes when you straighten up.

Ice skates.

“Fine, pants then.” You don’t make any effort to move from your end so he does, walking closer to you. 

“What are those for?” He doesn’t hide the annoyance from his voice when he points at your feet.

“Oh, these?” You look down at them. “Yeah, I’m going to freeze the pool.”

That seems... mild compared to the shit show you wanted to do last time.

“For?” He halts where he is. 

“’M gonna take my friends ice skating.”

“Is that all?” He wants to make a comment about the fact that you have friends but bites it back.

“Today is just a trial run. Tomorrow I’m gonna go freeze the East River.” There it is.

“The East River is not your personal ice skating rink.”

“Not yet it isn’t.” You lift up a middle finger.

It was too early for you to flip him off, even by your standards.

He raises an eyebrow.

Your face scrunches in confusion. You follow his gaze to your finger. “Oh yeah, no, that’s a freeze ring.”

Only then he notices a ring around the finger. From where he was standing he could make out the blue stone that adorned it.

“Joy.” He rolls up the sleeves of his black bomber jacket. “Let’s get this done with, then.”

“No no, wait.” You hold up your hand and he complies, having nothing to lose anyway. You pull out your phone and press a few buttons before shoving it back into your bag and tossing it aside.

The soft sounds of a piano start playing from a boombox near the corner of the room. A child starts singing following a series of knocks.

His eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck is this?”

“The Frozen soundtrack.” You beam at him. “I thought it was fitting.”

He doesn’t know what that is and at this point, he’s too afraid to ask. He can vaguely make out the lyrics being about a snowman but he isn’t too concerned.

He takes one step forward. You immediately point your fist at the ground in front of him, forcing him to jump back when a blast hits right in front of his shoes. Suddenly he gets why the floor is covered in water.

It sounds like a series of cracks as the water starts freezing over, a layer of ice now separating him and you.  

"You ready?” The mischief was woven in your voice as the blasts continued throughout the deck, effectively turning the entire floor into ice.

Bucky takes a step tentatively forward. Not bad. He takes another. Okay.

The third one is when shit starts to hit the fan. His hands shoot out to hold onto his balance when his footing slips from beneath him.

His Nike sneakers aren’t used to snow. They’re used to well manicured lawns and pavement trips to Starbucks and marble floors of the compound. Not swimming pool decks covered in ice.

He can hear you singing in the distance and every time he looks up you’re a little further away, making sure every inch of space is frozen.

It takes him a while to get over the initial fear of breaking his skull and just move forward swiftly with short steps. A goddamn penguin is what he looked like.

“There you go, you’re getting it,” you chirp as you whiz past him. He reaches out to grab at you, only to miss by an inch. He staggers, arms flapping wildly to regain his stability.

He hears crackling beside him. He gets a second or two to watch ice crystals spread through the water before turning it completely solid. You step onto the now frozen pool, testing your weight with one leg before cautiously getting on.

A triumphant smile emerges on your face. “Awesome.”

He manages to press himself against the wall as a form of support. 

There is no point to this whole thing. He knows this. It’s been well over 6 weeks and there is genuinely no point to this.

He realises it again when he moves from side to side, body erupting into a waddle. 

Why is he doing this. He doesn’t get paid extra. He doesn’t get any kind of compensation. All he gets is more wisecracking geniuses, embarrassment and the mortifying ordeal of getting caught imitating a penguin.

The song changes to a woman singing about doing something for the first time, forcing him to pay attention to it. He hears something about ball room and balls and tunes right back out.

Bucky manages to find his way to the actual pool since that’s where you’re twirling around, opting to land on his mental arm in case things go wrong. He takes a sliding step forward, followed by another. Maybe he can do this. 

“If a 200 pound super soldier can stand on this, I suppose it’s strong enough,” you muse, watching him slip and slide as he tries to invent makeshift ice skating.

Unfortunately, his method doesn’t have any brakes, so while he’s too busy trying to move forward, there’s no way to actually stop. He finds this out very soon when he almost launches himself off the edge of the pool.

Something yanks him backwards and back onto the ice.  

“Honestly, this is utterly useless since you can’t really do anything but it’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” you admit when he goes sliding towards the middle, arms flailing.

“You had to pick fuckin’ ice of all things.” He thinks that maybe he’s getting a hang of this. He can definitely move faster than what he was doing like, 10 minutes ago. It’s not like you were going anywhere, anyway. 

“I like to keep things spicy.”

He stays where he is to glare at you. You mouth the words to the song, watching his every move whenever it interested you. 

Okay, change of plan; a temporary distraction till he figures out how to actually get the ring from you. He settles on skating towards the edge of the rink slowly, taking a step off, slipping almost immediately when his foot comes in contact with the deck. 

“Where are you going?” you yell over the music initially but immediately break into song when it ends in a crescendo.

He takes a knee, lifting his metal arm up before driving it into the ground. It shatters magnificently, leaving small shards of ice at his disposal. 

He picks up one of them, waiting for you to complete your dumb twirl. He takes aim, and-

“Ouch, what the fuck?” You stop your off key singing to rub your shoulder where the ice hit you.

He wordlessly picks up another piece to throw at you, hitting you squarely in the leg.

“Stop that!”

He may not be able to move as fast but he can definitely throw. 

“Give me the ring,” he commands, stretching his arm behind his back before releasing another piece to hit your forearm. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s nowhere you can skate to avoid his stupidly good marksmanship. 

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He shrugs, breaking another patch of ice to replenish his ammo. “Hand over the ring.”

“Over my dead body,” you shriek when a particularly big piece lands next to your feet. You knew he missed that shot on purpose.

“I feel like I’m finally acting my age,” he says casually, finding your darting about in order to avoid him more fun than he initially thought. “Can’t throw pebbles at meddling kids so this is the next best option. Thanks.” 

“If you acted your age you’d be in a casket, Barnes,” you hissed, finding that skating in zig zags helped your cause, but not by much. “I’d be- you bitch- I’d be more than happy to help you get there.”

You raise your arm, ready to send another blast to freeze the water that was starting to melt around him, hopefully, keep him where he was if it froze around him. 

He flinches. You notice immediately, hand dropping slightly when you realise what it looked like.

“I’m not gonna freeze you,” you say, softer than you intended. From what you knew, he had enough and more experience with that and you weren’t going to contribute to it. 

He swallows thickly, giving himself a little shake of his head as if to jolt him out of his train of thought. 

Another piece of ice hits you in the leg. You let out a string of curses at him.

“The more ice you make, the more I have to throw at you, Y/N.” He waits for you to regain your balance when you nearly take a stumble. 

“Shut up, you’re so immature.”

“Remind me whose plan this was again?” No point waiting for you to regain your balance when you fall over only a few seconds later. 

He gathers a few shards in his beanie, tucking it into his belt like a little makeshift rucksack just in case before venturing out on the main rink again. 

It’s more difficult for you to stand without railings to guide you, giving him enough and more time to make his way towards you, staggering and skidding. 

Both of you looked ridiculous. 

“Stay away, fiend.” 

“Ring first.” He holds his hand out in front of you. He even considered pulling you up if you just made things easier.

Next thing he knows he’s on his ass on the ice beside you. 

“I hate you,” he groans, watching as you inch away from him on your knees.

He doesn’t really have any other options so he shoves aside the humiliation and gets on his knees, using his arms to drag him along the ice.

“For the love of Christ, none of us are winning here. Just give me the ring.”

The bitch from the soundtrack sings about letting it go but he won’t. 

“Never,” you shout, sliding away from him as fast as possible. 

You make use of the fact that the top layer of ice is starting to melt, using the ring to freeze it again. His knees and fingers get stuck as the water freezes over but he has super strength. It barely takes him a second to free himself. 

“Great,” he huffs, just settling down on the ice, ignoring the sting of cold that was spreading through his limbs. Running after you wasn’t going to work; he needed a way to get the ring. 

“You won last time, I’m not letting you win again.”

“Are we seriously keeping score?” He watches as you scramble towards the edge.

“No one likes a loser, Bucky.” You use the pool stair railings to pull yourself up.

“Explain why you have friends then.” He can’t help himself this time. 

“Hardy har har.” You roll your eyes. 

He doesn’t make an effort to move. Instead, when you take a step back into the rink, he raises his arm and pummels it into the ice, just to annoy you. 

The ground damn near shakes, pushing you dangerously towards losing your balance again. 

“Are you crazy?” Your arm shoots out in front of you to keep you from falling headfirst. 

“No.” He does it again. This time there’s a crack in the ice. “I’m just very tired.”

“If the ice breaks we’re both gonna be underwater, you moron!”

“Fine by me.” He shrugs. “Freeze it again. I’ll just find different ways to ruin it for you.”

You glare at him. He raises his arm above his head again.

“Fine! Fine, stop.” You eye him as he lowers his arm. 

He reaches for his stash of ice pieces from earlier, throwing one at your shoulder again.

“Boy, I swear if you don’t stop doing that-” you duck when another one comes at you. You had no idea he could be this annoying. 

It suddenly hits him, like a lightbulb going off in his brain. He wipes his hands off on his jacket, getting on all fours before slowly managing to pick himself up again. 

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly like he was studying you.

“What?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing as he starts inching closer towards you. “What are you thinking?”

It’s like watching a newborn deer stumble its way through the world, albeit more gracefully, until he starts picking up speed. The motherfucker was going to mow you down.

The skates are useful but not so much when an extremely determined bumbling oaf is barrelling towards you, his speed beginning to match yours even without equipment. 

You don’t know why you’re running, you don’t know why he’s chasing after you but when you see the end of the pool you take a sharp left only to have him knock right into you, sending you both sprawling.

You land half on top of him, breaking your fall but it doesn’t stop the very loud groan that escapes your mouth. He’s already in the process of sitting up straight, giving you less time to analyse what just happened.

“What the fuck was that for?” you speak through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ acting like the both of us have free healthcare.”

“You refused to give up.”

“So your plan was to tackle me like a quarterback?” You threw your hands up.  

“One part of it.” He drags himself to the edge, away from you. 

“There's more to your monkey brained plan?” He doesn’t look at you. The ice around the pool has more or less melted, letting him gain proper footing on the floor before he stands up. 

“Oh, yeah.” He turns to you. “The other’s a trick I stole from Stark.”

Bucky holds up the ring. Your jaw slightly drops, eyes searching your finger for the now missing piece of tech. 

“Suppose that’s two points for me?” 

You’re impressed. You also want to stab him. So you do the next best thing.

“When I imagined you holding a ring in front of me, the circumstances were very different,” you comment.

“Bye, Y/N.” He spins on his heel, not even giving you a second’s worth of reaction. You found it amusing.

He heads towards the door, clothes all wet. He empties out melted ice water from his beanie before stuffing it into his pocket. Just when he’s about to leave, you remember something. 

Do you mean it genuinely or just because it has an effect on him? 

“Just for the record, Barnes, about your hair-” you call out, earning his attention from over his shoulder. “I think you look really good either way.”

The world may never know. 

You swear you can see the corners of his lips quirk upwards before he turns around again. 

He slips on a block of ice, cursing and clenching on to the door to keep him upright, quickly yanking it open and leaving before he has a chance to embarrass himself further.

Smooth.

Next part

[goodnightmemes]

DEXTER SEASON TWO SENTENCE STARTERS (PART TWO)

Lines taken from 2x07-2x12 of the show Dexter. Feel free to change pronouns or edit in any way to better fit your needs. Here is part one.

❛ I thrive on chaos. But this is good, too. ❜

❛ I had to do a little creative problem-solving at someone else's expense. ❜

❛ Pardon my tits. ❜

❛ Are you trying to fuck her or set her on fire? ❜

❛ Sometimes the truth speaks from a peaceful place. It's taken me a long time to find that place, but I think I have, and it's telling me you're not the right one for me. I'm so sorry. ❜

❛ Is that what I am? Clean? 'cause I don't feel that way at all. ❜

❛ No, I won't do that. I won't let you turn me into you. ❜

❛ Hope you don't expect me to comment on that so you can record it on your hidden tape recorder. I wasn't born yesterday. ❜

❛ Your past is a bigger mystery than fucking Jimmy Hoffa. ❜

❛ No matter what you try, no matter when, no matter how hard you work, I'll always be a step ahead of you for one simple reason. I own you. ❜

❛ When I'm alone and it's quiet, I get scared shitless, like I start hearing what's really going on inside. ❜

❛ 'Cause when you're around, I kind of feel like I can deal with anything, you know? ❜

❛ I've always worked best in the shadows, and that's where I have to stay. ❜

❛ You can't go back. You know that. ❜

❛ You are not allowed to talk about anyone I date as long as you're seeing little Miss "pardon my tits." ❜

❛ She is obviously a vampire. A gross english-titty vampire. ❜

❛ Can't change who I am. I'm crass and dirty, and...I have a very filthy mind. ❜

❛ Jesus Christ. They sell anyone a gun in Florida, won't they? ❜

❛ That man. He wasn't trying to rob you. He was trying to kill you. ❜

❛ Nothing you could do,___, would scare me. ❜

❛ Whatever comes, we'll get through this together. I'm not leaving your side. ❜

❛ I need to embrace who I am, who I've always been. ❜

❛ It's like I've been living underwater, holding my breath, and now I can finally breathe. ❜

❛ ___ almost had me believing it was possible to change, to become something else, as if that ever really happens. I've always known what I am. ❜

❛ I'm finding it's best to accept things you can't change, you know? ❜

❛ Is this the monster that you keep telling me about? ❜

❛ Trust me, when you meet the monster, you'll know. ❜

❛ Nice. My subconscious isn't even bothering with symbolism. ❜

❛ I feel...such regret, which is rare for me. But not that I don't mess up. I do...just never so stupendously. ❜

❛ If they're looking for proof, they won't find it. Not here at least. ❜

❛ Then maybe you should come with us, because who knows what secrets will come ❜ pouring out of me once the drinks start flowing. ❜

❛ I'm done with it and you. Did I not make that clear last night? ❜

❛ Those friends of yours, they didn't even know you. They just see the mask, but I see it all. ❜

❛ Can't live with her. Can't kill her. ❜

❛ Fuck! I'm talking about my feelings. What the fuck is your problem? ❜

❛ I've always sensed there was something... off about him. Like he's hiding in plain sight. ❜

❛ If you got in the middle of this and you got hurt… ❜

❛ The only way I can help you is if you turn yourself in. ❜

❛ Don't you disappear on me. ❜

❛ I want you to know that you meant a lot to me, more than you know, and... I just want to thank you for that. ❜

❛ If I never see her again, it'll be too soon. ❜

❛ Sleep would be nice, but there's too much to do. ❜

❛ Okay, I may be sleeping with him, but it doesn't mean he tells me shit or listens to me about anything, so stop asking! ❜

❛ That's right, motherfucker! It's over. ❜

❛ I knew there was something with you. But this shit? ❜

❛ What can I say? You were right about me. I never held it against you. I don't now. ❜

❛ It's a graze wound. Minor tissue abrasion. No hemorrhage along the bullet track. Sorry. I think I'm gonna live. ❜

❛ If you're not gonna let me go, then kill me now. Just get it over with. ❜

❛ You're a killer. I catch killers. ❜

❛ So it's okay to take a life as long as you get a paycheck for it? ❜

❛ Either kill me or set me free. ❜

❛ Taking a life is one thing, but the care and feeding of it is another. ❜

❛ I'm generally confused most of the time. ❜

❛ You ever care about anyone? Then you shouldn't have to ask. 'Cause when you care about someone, you do what you have to do. ❜

❛ I remember when life was easy, when the only question I worried about was "who's next?" Now it's: "How can I dodge my protective detail? "What should I do with my hostage?" These are not easy questions. ❜

❛ It's not about what I think. It's all about the evidence. ❜

❛ Hair-pulling may not be manly, but it's very effective. ❜

❛ If he wanted me dead, I'd be dead by now. ❜

❛ You are the only one I can count on, jackass. ❜

❛ It puts a pit in my stomach that I can only interpret as... sadness. ❜

❛ You working on an exit strategy? I'm afraid that's not gonna happen. ❜

❛ How come there's never a circus when you need one? ❜

❛ What was that shit last night? Some kind of fucking scare tactic? ❜

❛ Don't test me. I could have killed you. I didn't. ❜

❛ You're actually angry. I've never seen you angry. This is good. ❜

❛ I should warn you. You can't play on my feelings. I don't have any. ❜

❛ It's a tough job. It can wear on even the best of us. ❜

❛ I yell a lot...and bitch and complain, and I keep expecting people to guess what I want, but I never really say it. ❜

❛ And that was exciting, you know? The not knowing. What might happen, what could be. It was all possibility. ❜

❛ Your life is going to rest in the hands of the criminal justice system you put all your faith in. I wish you the best of luck. ❜

❛ You need help. Let me help you. ❜

❛ You don't have to do this! You don't have to kill this man! ❜

❛ Sorry it had to go down like this. But there really was no other way. ❜

❛ Stay away. Just stay away from me. ❜

❛ Did you happen to be stuffing a human leg into a garbage bag at that point? ❜

❛ There's that anger again. You got to let that out. ❜

❛ You're spinning. Let me help you. It's only a matter of time before you'll hurt someone else. ❜

❛ Take responsibility for who you are. ❜

❛ Why can't you just let me go? ❜

❛ If I got to choose a person... A real person... to be like, out of anyone, it'd be you. ❜

❛ Who joined who in the shower this morning? ❜

❛ For such a neat monster, I'm making an awfully big mess. ❜

❛ Maybe this is how evil works. Destroying everything it touches. ❜

❛ I've been held prisoner in a cabin for two fucking days. Fucking hellhole. ❜

❛ After everything we've been through lately, I just want... to be together with you guys. ❜

❛ You told me to take responsibility for what I am. You were right. ❜

❛ I can't live in this house of cards anymore, waiting for it all to fall down. I need to do something, you know? ❜

❛ If I do this, I need a day to get my affairs in order. ❜

❛ Mention that when they interview you for the story of my life. ❜

❛ Don't leave me in this cage, anything could happen. ❜

❛ I lie to everyone I know... except my victims right before I kill them. It's hard to establish much of a rapport there. ❜

❛ Sorry about the cage. ❜

❛ I've always been curious to try. Do you have any weed? ❜

❛ Love's a battlefield. Or in your case, a restraining order. ❜

❛ When a pretty girl smiles and bats her eyelashes, we're powerless to resist. ❜

❛ I met with a lawyer yesterday. He helped me prepare a living trust that gives you control of all my assets in the event of my death or... certain other situations. ❜

❛ God. Go away. This is creepy. ❜

❛ I'm free tonight, you wanna stop by? We'll have beer, a couple of steaks? I wanna talk to you about something. ❜

❛ I just need you to know that... you and the kids are very important to me. No matter what happens, I want you to always know that. ❜

❛ I know I've been taking things slow with us, but it's not because I don't have feelings for you. It's more like I have too many feelings, and I just wanna make sure to get it right. ❜

❛ I want you gone. Tonight. ❜

❛ I've spent a lifetime keeping up my guard, watching my back, wearing my mask. Relief was never in sight until now. ❜

❛ Lately, I was starting to feel like I had my head pretty far up my ass. ❜

❛ You decide who you are, who you want to be...and you hold onto that and ride it out. ❜

❛ I need some help! Just open the door! I'm being held captive. ❜

❛ Damn, it's good to see another face. I never thought I would. ❜

❛ When something beyond reason happens, it turns skeptics into believers. ❜

❛ If you believe that God makes miracles, you have to wonder if Satan has a few up his sleeve. ❜

❛ I can't exactly feel their pain, but I can appreciate it. ❜

❛ I kinda forgot who I was. I got it straight now. ❜

❛ The term is homicidal maniac. Not that I'm judging. ❜

❛ A public place. You thought I was gonna...That I would slip my needle into your neck? ❜

❛ You're afraid of me now, aren't you? ❜

❛ You're emotionally color-blind. You use the right words, you pantomime the right behavior, but feelings never come to pass. ❜

❛ You know the dictionary definition of emotions: longing, joy, sorrow...You have no idea of what any of those things actually feel like. ❜

❛ I created a monster of my own. ❜

❛ What did you do to make her so pathetically crazy for you? Does your dick dance? ❜

❛ What're we doing home in the middle of the day? She asked, hoping for sex. ❜

❛ Why? Why do I have to make up my mind? ❜

❛ I've never put much weight onto the idea of a higher power. But if I didn't know better, I'd have to believe that some force out there wants me to keep doing what I'm doing. ❜

❛ As it turns out, nobody mourns the wicked. ❜

❛ Am I evil? Am I good? I'm done asking those questions. I don't have the answers. ❜

[spanishskulduggery]

Hi can you help me figure out the different between present perfect subjunctive (e.g. haya reconocido) and imperfect subjunctive (e.g. reconociera)? Not those verbs exactly but when to use them? Thank you!

They're very similar, depending on how you use them.

Note: I promise this will come into play later but I just want to make something very clear. In Spanish, there are tenses and there are moods. It may be easier to understand them in Spanish - a tense is tiempo [meaning "time"] while a mood is modo [meaning "mode"]

There are 3 moods, indicative, subjunctive, and imperative [imperative are commands; not useful for this particular discussion]

The moods encompass the different tenses... so think of it like columns; indicative includes present tense, preterite, imperfect, future, conditional etc. And subjunctive includes present subjunctive and imperfect subjunctive.

The layman's explanation is that the mood says how the language works according to the "conditions" of the sentence/thought, and the tense says at what time it happens.

A very simple layman's explanation: the mood is the "conditions" of language. The tenses say whether it was past, present, or future in some capacity.

And there's usually a version of the indicative that corresponds to the subjunctive... present tense indicative happens at the same "time" as present tense subjunctive, for example

And perfect tenses [the ones that use haber] are a bit of a rogue time traveler; they can exist in any tense and can be either indicative or subjunctive, thus he reconocido happens at the same "time" as haya reconocido... just the conditions are different

No hemos reconocido... = We haven't recognized...

Es increídible que no hayamos reconocido... = It's unbelieveable that we haven't recognized...

So while they seem to express the same thought or idea, and though they happen at the same time [tense] the conditions of the second sentence necessitate subjunctive mood.

Keep that in mind going forward and it will make a lot more sense.

-

Present perfect just in general is used for placing something a little bit in the past, but since it's present it's still affecting the present:

Escribí. = I wrote. He escrito. = I have written.

Comí. = I ate. He comido. = I have eaten.

Pagué. = I paid. He pagado. = I have paid.

In the contexts of grammar, the simple past [preterite] in the first examples is just the actions "I wrote" or "I ate" etc. The action is done and completed and over.

Note: There are many people who will use the present perfect in place of the preterite tense because they do equate to largely the same thing in function. Though technically different, it's a colloquial thing.

But in a more grammatical roundabout way, present perfect brings that past action into the present, meaning it still has some bearing on the present in some way. Saying "I have written" is a way of just talking about past actions, but possibly bringing them into the present still.

I realize that doesn't make much sense but consider something like: "I've written a lot of essays, but I don't know how to write a poem"; or "I've read a lot of books but I've never read that author".

In those contexts, your past actions now have some bearing on the present situation. That's the basis of the perfect tenses.

With the haya here, that's the subjunctive form of haber.

In grammatical terms, it's the same idea as the present perfect... just with subjunctive phrasing:

No te has roto el brazo. = You didn't break your arm. Dudo que te hayas roto el brazo. = I doubt you broke your arm.

Lo has terminado. = You finished it. / You've finished it. Dime en cuanto lo hayas terminado. = Tell me as soon as you're done. / Tell me once you've finished it.

No se han equivocado. = They weren't wrong. No creo que se hayan equivocado. = I don't believe/think they were wrong.

Me han llamado idiota. = They've called me an idiot. Aunque me llamen idiota... = Even if they call me an idiot... [present subjunctive] Aunque me hayan llamado... = Even though they have called me an idiot...

In Spanish there are certain subjunctive phrases that activate, and they exist across multiple tenses.

Certain phrases necessitate subjunctive, so it can be the same information sort of, but they'll determine whether it's indicative or subjunctive.

-

Imperfect subjunctive is the equivalent of past tense subjunctive.

So just as an example real quick:

1. Quiero que pongas la mesa. = I want you to set the table.

2. Quería que pusieras la mesa. = I wanted you to set the table.

1. Sugieren que lo hagamos. = They suggest that we do it.

2. Sugieron que lo hiciéramos. = They suggested that we do it.

1. Es importante que tenga tiempo libre. = It's important that I have free time.

2. Era importante que tuviera tiempo libre. = It was important that I had free time.

1. Aunque me hayan llamado cobarde... = Even though they have called a coward...

2. Aunque me hubieran llamado cobarde... = Even though they had called me a coward...

Still subjunctive mood, just 1 is present, 2 is "past" so it's imperfect.

Imperfect subjunctive today also encompasses future subjunctive which can be confusing. This is normally done with contrary to fact states, hypothetical situations, and your basic if/then constructions with the conditional tense.

Si tuviera el dinero... = If I had the money... Si tuviera el dinero, estudiaría en el extranjero. = If I had the money, I would study abroad.

Si pudiera... = If I could... Lo haría si pudiera. = I would do it if I could.

Si me permitiera, señor... = If you allow me, sir... Si me permitiera, señor, podría ayudar. = If you allow me, sir, I can/could help.

Si hubiera otra opción... = If there was/were another option... Si hubiera otra opción, lo elegiríamos. = If there was/were another option, we would choose it.

Como si fuera la última vez... = As if it were the last time...

Me habló como si fuera idiota. = He talked to me like I was an idiot.

No puedo creer que nuestro jefe nos regañe como si fuéramos niños traviesos. = I can't believe our boss would scold us as if we were naughty children. [technically could be niñas traviesas if it the nosotros here were nosotras referring to all women]

You will occasionally see the future subjunctive forms, but really only in literature and contracts. It's not used commonly today; it'll look like imperfect subjunctive just with -e endings; tuviere, hubiere, hablare, llamare, quisiere etc.

For example: si fuere menester is a common thing in contracts and means "in the event of". Literally it's "if it were to be needed"

-

Important historical / regional note!

Once upon a time, the -iera/-ara forms were used as pluperfect, "had done", "had seen" etc.

You see it mostly in literature, particularly literature before a certain time period or things set in the middle ages or that have an old-timey feel (like Lord of the Rings has this)

So if you had come across llamara you might assume it's imperfect subjunctive, but it may read as "had called" which is pluperfect.

In other words for some historical contexts (and only for historical contexts, not for modern day Spanish):

me hablaran = me habían hablado = they had talked to me

les escribieran = les habían escrito = they had written to them

nos dijeras = nos habías dicho = you had told us

viera = había visto = he/she/You had seen

-

I'm not a historical linguist but I believe this is because haber in older contexts was not an auxiliary verb like this. In its original form, haber worked the way Italian did as "to have". You would see el hombre ha dos hijos "the man has two children".

haber didn't get used as an auxiliary verb until later on, and tener which now means "to have", was often used in the context of "to obtain" or "to grasp"

So in these older contexts, pluperfect [now done with haber in imperfect + past participle] was done with one verb.

Imperfect subjunctive would have been done with the -iese/-ase forms. So llamase read as "would call"; si me llamasen "if they should call me" for example

Just be careful when you're reading things like that! It's usually not too bad if you can recognize the verb because at least you get the overall meaning, but if it's not quite translating how you think it might be one of those more "antiquated" usages of a tense

...

Spain still keeps this distinction more so than Latin America. You will see -ara/-iera forms used for imperfect subjunctive [past subjunctive].

But in Spain you're more likely to see those contrary to fact statements or hypotheticals with the -ase/-iese forms:

Si lo hubiese sabido... = If I had known...

Si tuviésemos más tiempo... = If we had more time...

Como si fuésemos niños... = As if we were children...

My own Spanish leans towards Latin American usages, so I tend to use -ara/-iera forms for everything.

Spain makes more of a distinction between them, and that's why in most dictionaries or conjugation charts you'll see two different forms... like "fuera O fuese" for example

-

Importante Note: You will see the -ara/-iera forms used as pluperfect in some contexts, even in Latin America - above all in journalism, biographies, and publications

This is why you may see nació "was born" written as naciera "was born"...

But you will NEVER see it as naciese for "was born"

[k0kichiimagines]

hhshhckd saeran brain rot time

you can request other characters for this, including other versions of Saeran!

- mod kokichi

[GE] Saeran Choi N$FW alphabet

CWs: N$FW

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Very soft, he usually gets a cloth to clean up and then holds you for a bit, fingers tracing your skin and whispering soft words to you. Sometimes falling asleep.

He'll run a bath afterwards, pretty bath bombs included.

At some point he may question what you enjoyed, mostly if you tried something new.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

At first he doesnt like anything about himself. He starts to love himself through how you love him, starting with his hands.. or more how his hands look on you.

On you ? Everything, but he loves your neck // collarbone when hes more in his Unknown persona, hips and thighs generally. He loves kissing or holding your hands during your moments as well.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He likes cumming inside or on the sheets, you'd have to ask him if you wanted it anywhere else tbh.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Probably when you first entered his life, and for the first time he started getting thoughts about someone. Not just feeling aroused, but feeling it towards someone in particular. Both Ray and Saeran felt nervous you would hate him if you found out.

Also unknown has an exhibition kink, i know this is GE saeran but i have to get it out there.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

No experience, I doubt he watches porn tbh but he did *some* research. He's not innocent on his kink knowledge.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Missionary! He loves having you close to him and having your front view exposed to him, seeing your face and etc. Any position he can see your face he likes.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He might make some light jokes here and there, very soft ones and not common. He might even softly tickle you in a teasing way once or twice. For him, sex is very intimate and loving and he wants to make it feel relaxed and stuff.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Okay i feel like this depends on what you hc happened to his hair. If you take the dye route, then no it's still red. I personally see it as being from the elixir, so i think it'd be white with some red here and there.

Yes i think he shaves every now and then, just trims when he's feeling lazy.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He's so intimate and loving in everything you do together, especially so during sex. Even kinker stuff holds intimacy and love for him.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Not really. I feel like he's able to keep himself usually in check, and now he has you he doesn't feel the urge as much. He does a few times though, if you ever caught him he'd freeze for a second, debating how to respond.

He used to, during the Mint Eye and stuff, but even then only very rarely. Perhaps more often once he saw you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise kink!! Orgasm denial.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Honestly anywhere. He prefers private areas, such as your house (again, anywhere. but the bed is comfortable so usually there). He dreams of having wide open fields and gardens, so in a closed off area there is good.

In public? Yeah he's down, not often but the excitement of hiding and keeping both of you silent gets to him at times.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You. Just whisper at him, or subtlety imply something, maybe trace your fingers close to his crotch. He'll get the idea pretty quick.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He would never degraded you or want to be degraded. Teasing? He's okay with it, but both from his childhood and the Mint Eye degradation would make him uncomfortable. Same with inflicting pain or choking.

I think tying him up would only be a sometimes thing, he wouldn't suggest it unless you wanted to and he'd only want it a few times.

Otherwise probably just stuff like vomit, piss, y'know.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Ohhhh he likes spoiling you, he's a giver.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Yes. (Depends on the mood, and what you want. He's a big romantic so he likes the slow mood, but equally having you beg for him to move is... hot)

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He likes them! Just not too often, he prefers sex-sex.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

YEP, depends on what of course but he's down! Just maybe don't expect non-stop kinky stuff with him.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

When he first gets out the mint eye, not more then one. As he heals and recovers he can go for longer and go for more rounds, just give him time.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Owns none, i dont think i need to explain why.

He's not too fussed on toys, if you have handcuffs or whatever you want to try he'll use them, and may even find one he likes, but he doesnt have a big preference for them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's always a tease, even in his after ending he teases you softly. Anything from words, to moving his fingers painfully slow, this man is a tease.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He definitely makes noises, soft whimpers and gasps mixed in with sentences that sometimes trail off (but you know what he means). He'll get a bit loud at times, he might kiss (or bite) you to silent himself.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Your first time having sex together is going to be very slow paced and gentle. In his own words, your his first love, but that also makes you his first everything. Sex including. He has a few nerves of his own, and he would prefer if you two spend time exploring each other the first time.

If you're not a virgin you can give him guidance, but even then you'll be learning together, even more so if you are a virgin.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

I've read that circumcision is pretty popular in South Korea, however due to his childhood i honestly don't know if he would have gotten it done. His mother might have, equally she may not have,, i looked it up and apparently its done very young a lot of the time so probably yeah??? man i dunno i dont have a dick okay im out of my depth here 😭

ANYWAYS i think hes 5 to 6 inches or so, not woah really big but equally not small.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Hmm, I feel like he's not always horny but equally he's quick to get in the mood - if that makes sense? He has a good control over his emotions (sometimes), but equally if you push a button he's gone.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Pretty quick, he prefers if you fall asleep together though so he usually waits until you're sleeping.

[thebiscuiteternal]

“Paper Scraps”

Post-Canon, Angst, Hurt/Comfort...ish?, Reconciliation, Discussion of Suicidal Ideation, Ghosts, Implied Sangyu, Mo Xuanyu Gets To Be Mourned, Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang Are Going Through It

Series Link on Ao3

__________

"To what do I owe the surprise visit?'' Nie Huaisang asks, and his voice is so devoid of emotion that Wei Wuxian has to bite back a shudder, suddenly very much aware that he is treading in completely new and potentially dangerous territory.

Nie-xiong is as dead as his beloved elder brother, and the Headshaker was nothing more than a mask. All that's left now is Nie-zongzhu, whom he knows nothing about and threatened the last time they actually spoke to each other in person.

Still, he sucks up his nerve and plasters on one of his usual careless smiles. "We need to talk, you and I. Just you and I."

"Wei Ying-"

He holds up a hand to cut off Lan Zhan's protest. "How about it?"

"And what, exactly, do you think there is for us to discuss, Wei-xiansheng? Have I not been behaving well enough for your liking?"

Ouch.

"Okay, I deserved that," Wei Wuxian says as he waves off his defensive husband and friend a second time, suddenly wishing he'd just snuck out and come alone.

Then again, that probably wouldn't have gone well either, judging by the wary looks he keeps getting from the handful of Nie disciples who linger defensively near their sect leader.

Okay... okay. No more trying to joke around. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, then straightens his back. "I'm here about Mo Xuanyu."

Nie Huaisang’s face betrays nothing, but the fan in his hand snaps shut with enough force that it's audible throughout the room. “Everyone, please escort our other two guests to the main gardens so that we may speak privately.”

“Zongzhu-” one massive bear of a man starts to protest.

At the same time Lan Zhan moves in front of Wei Wuxian to growl “We are not going anywhere,” and the tension in the room ratchets sharply to hair-on-end levels as the situation threatens to turn into a standoff.

Wei Wuxian pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off a building headache, then reaches out in an attempt to tug his husband back. “Lan Zhan. I’m the one who requested a one-on-one meeting, remember? Literally just now?”

“He cannot be truste-”

“Wei-gongzi, he might-”

“Enough,” Nie Huaisang snaps, the unexpected whip-crack of his voice making them all, a few disciples included, jump. “Let me remind all three of you that you came here and none of you are required to stay. In fact, today would be much improved if you didn’t.”

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian hisses.

Lan Zhan doesn’t budge, hand still tight on the hilt of Bichen. “If you harm Wei Ying-”

“Yes, yes, you and the Ghost General will cut me open and hang me with my own entrails just to start with,” Nie Huaisang replies irritably, giving a dismissive wave of the closed fan. “I’m well aware.”

Judging by the startled and utterly appalled looks that cross Lan Zhan and Wen Ning’s faces, that had decidedly not been on the list of options of what they might potentially do. But the descriptive suggestion does work to knock them off guard, and Wei Wuxian bites his tongue hard to keep his expression neutral as the two of them are herded out without any more fuss after Nie Huaisang makes a short gesture to his disciples. “You did that on purpose.”

Nie Huaisang turns without responding to the jibe at all and walks off towards another door.

Ouch again.

He trots after the other man and falls into step beside him as they enter a hallway that’s clearly not for public use. Part of him wants to ask where they’re going, if just to break the uncomfortable silence, but he keeps his mouth shut.

They finally stop at a door that, when Nie Huaisang slides it open, leads to a tiny garden so deep in the sect's keep that the back wall of it is cut into the mountain itself.

And in that little carved out cave, shielded from wind and rain and snow, sits a funeral tablet on a table shrine.

Wei Wuxian involuntarily sucks a sharp breath through his teeth at the sight of it, his hand coming up to clutch at his chest. Guilt wells up hot and stinging and bitter in his stomach, then higher into his throat. Dizzy, he sways on his feet and is only vaguely aware of the hands that catch him.

Once his resurrection had been revealed, everyone simply accepted him as “Wei Wuxian”, not “Wei-Wuxian-In-Mo-Xuanyu’s-Body”, seemingly having just... forgotten that the face he has now once belonged to someone else. He had grown so settled into this body that until the dreams had begun, he had barely given Mo Xuanyu a second thought.

But right at this moment, staring at the name carved into that tablet, held up by the one person left who had remembered- had loved the original owner of this body enough to memorialize him, he has never felt more like an invader in it.

His vision, gone fuzzy from the sickening torrent of emotion, slowly begins to come back into focus and, for just a moment, he is staring through Mo Xuanyu’s eyes into the worried expression of Nie-xiong before the lingering memory clears to the more neutral face of Nie-zongzhu.

He is on the ground, his head in the man’s lap, and the sudden urge to cry hits him hard. “Do you hate me?” he asks without meaning to, voice coming out plaintive and half-strangled by his effort to hold back the tears.

“You were the one who decided there was nothing left between us worth salvaging.”

“I did. And it was stupid. But that’s not what I mean, and you know it. Do you hate me for having this face?”

There is a pause, then a quiet sigh. “No, I don’t.”

“Why?”

“If it wasn’t you, it would be someone else. Or something else. Yu-er was…”

Nie Huaisang turns his head away, expression softening into a complicated mix sadness and pain, and Wei Wuxian finds himself thinking that while ‘his’ Nie-xiong might be dead, Mo Xuanyu’s Nie-xiong might still exist somewhere deep under the protective layers of Nie-zongzhu.

He swallows hard, then makes himself sit up and looks again at the tablet and its small offerings.

“Determined,” he says quietly, finishing the sentence. A tiny wet laugh bubbles out of his throat. “I thought… I really did believe that you had forced him into it,” he continues, and in the edge of his vision, he sees Nie Huaisang flinch at the accusation. “But no. No. He... really was determined to see it out to the end.”

“How do you-”

“Ah.” He scratches his cheek, then scoots to face the other man. “That’s actually the reason I needed to talk to you. I’ve been seeing- fuck, dreaming his memories, I guess… though they were more like nightmares, considering what was in them-”

“Wait,” Nie Huaisang says, holding up a hand. “When did this start?”

“Mmh. Just a little over ten months ago, I think? Or maybe closer to eleven. The first one was of your visit right after his mother died.”

Nie Huaisang goes slightly pale at that, though whether it’s from the admission of the length of time or the contents of the memory, Wei Wuxian can’t tell.

He gets an answer when Nie Huaisang gets up and rushes to the table, returning with something carefully cradled in his hands.

It’s a spirit pouch.

His hands are shaking as he holds them out to accept the tiny burden, and he’s vaguely aware that he’s gaping like a fish. “Huaisang…” he chokes out when he finally manages to find his voice again, but that’s as far as he gets.

“I… have studied a lot of ways of finding and contacting the dead,” Nie Huaisang says, and Wei Wuxian nods along numbly because that makes a ridiculous amount of sense, given the circumstances. “I know what the ritual notes said, but seeing that there was still something left of Da-ge after everything that had been done to him…”

He reaches out and touches the pouch and Wei Wuxian finds himself thinking of a gentle hand ruffling his (but not his) hair.

“I’m just sorry it took me two years to get up the nerve to go looking.”

But you went, Wei Wuxian thinks. You went.

He’d never even considered it. It had never crossed his mind at all.

“Eleven months ago, right?” he asks, voice still a little squeaky.

“Mm-hmm. I should have written to you about this long before now, but it seemed like every time I’d prepared myself to send the letter, something would happen that would remind me that… well.”

That we’re not friends anymore.

That you want nothing to do with me.

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and rests his hands in his lap, still holding the pouch as if it’s made of porcelain instead of cloth. “I probably wouldn’t have read it,” he confesses quietly. “Or I would have, but I wouldn’t have believed you. I would have thought it was a ruse, a setup-” A tiny, wounded laugh escapes his mouth and he tilts his head back to stare up at the sky. “Maybe that’s why I started having the dreams. His way of telling me I’m an idiot.”

“A little drastic on his part if it was.”

“Can’t say it wasn’t necessary.” The pouch gives a jangling, discordant little hum when he pets it, the fracturing of the soul within vastly different from what he’d felt from Xiao Xingchen. The pieces feel smaller and fewer, yet heavier. “Oh,” he murmurs when he realizes why.

“Oh?”

“The array was designed to consume the resentment of the caster based on negative memories of the person or persons they wanted to curse. That’s why the memories of you and the flashes of his mother were so vivid when the rest of them weren’t. That’s why you were able to find these pieces. He really did see you two as the only bright spots in his life, so those memories were spared.”

Nie Huaisang makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, and when Wei Wuxian turns his head, the other man is looking away in a clear attempt to hide his expression. “He was wrong.”

“A year ago, I would have agreed,” Wei Wuxian mumbles. “After everything he showed me, though… I don’t think he was. I get it.”

He takes a deep breath. He has never talked about this, not with Lan Zhan, not with Wen Ning, and certainly not with Jiang Cheng, even if they are taking tentative baby steps towards being less awkward around each other. He’s not sure he should be talking about it with Nie Huaisang either, but-

“I know what it’s like, just wanting everything to end. Deciding the whole world can go to hell. Maybe I didn’t intend for the backlash from breaking the seal to kill me, but I sure didn’t fucking care what it would do to me one way or another. Nothing and nobody could have saved me by that point. You couldn’t have saved him even if you’d dragged him home with you like Lan Zhan wanted to do to me.”

“Wei Wuxian-”

He ignores the little flutter in his chest that they’ve at least moved back to an address that feels less precarious than the icy ‘Wei-xiansheng’. “Let me finish, okay?”

“Okay.”

“So... So... Ah, fuck,” he mutters, gently shifting the pouch so he can scratch the back of his neck, trying to catch the lost trail of thought. “You know… I never questioned the clothing I woke up in when I was resurrected. As brutal and nasty as the Mo family were and as disgusting as that little shack was, it should have come off as weird that I was wearing such nice robes.”

There is a quiet sniffle, and Wei Wuxian pretends not to see Nie Huaisang wipe wet eyes with the edge of a sleeve as he continues talking. “He appreciated those. Appreciated that you tried to take care of him.”

He raises the pouch to eye level, and it gives another little crackly hum. “And clearly he still appreciates your efforts, considering his method of dragging me here to make me apologize for thinking the worst of your relationship. So, I’m sorry for that.”

Nie Huaisang gives a watery little chuckle and swipes at his eyes again. “Accepted. Is he… Is he alright? I only know how to contact souls, I don’t know anything about tending to them.”

“Honestly… I’m not sure what can be done,” Wei Wuxian admits as he begins another examination. “There’s really so little of him left, I don’t know what will happen if a purification ritual is attempted. He seems to be more stable as he is than Xiao Xingchen was, but there’s no guarantee he’ll stay like that. Still, I owe it to him to find some way to help him out, so I’ll do what I can.”

“If it would be easier for you to take him back to the Cloud Recesses for study, then… then you should,” Nie Huaisang says, and Wei Wuxian is a little bit impressed that he was able to make the offer despite how much it must have hurt.

“I think he’d be much happier staying here,” he says, then tentatively adds, “But that would mean visits, plural, and while I’m definitely going to have a very long talk with them about all this, I doubt I’ll be able to come without either Lan Zhan or Wen Ning… probably both at first.”

Nie Huaisang rubs his temples with his fingertips, his expression cycling through a complicated series of emotions too quickly for Wei Wuxian to follow, then he sighs. “We’ll figure something out,” he says as he reaches out and takes back the pouch.

Wei Wuxian can’t help smiling at the tender way he cradles it against his chest as he gets up to approach the funeral tablet and put it back in place. “Yeah. We’ll figure something out.”

[redandyellowziam]

First to clarify, the NDAs remain enforceable beyond the expiration date of the contract. Unless 1D sues to be released for the agreement and a court finds the NDAs unenforceable. The NDAs prevent the signatories of the contract from speaking directly and specifically about certain things, but not everything in the contract. This is where industry insiders who are aware of what 1D was confronted with will be able to fill in any gaps

It's not about logic it's about revenge, vindictiveness and the loss of money. The bridge to reconciliation was burned a long time ago. As I understand it, when 1D collectively decided not to renew their contract attempts were made by label/mgmt. to have them reconsider. However, things had already gone too far. They refused. At this point 1D was at the height of their popularity. Five albums in five years. Which, coincidently was one of the many reasons they decided not to renew their contract. What label/mgmt. were facing was that their "golden ticket" which up to that point had generated 100s of millions of dollars in profit for them. Doing the same thing, if not more, for another label/mgmt. I have no doubt that the industry was salivating at that prospect. Quite frankly, I think they still are. This prospect could not and still cannot be tolerated. Hence you have all these narratives in part, meant to decimate a fanbase, present 1D to the public as people with tarnished reputations, all of which is meant to show to the industry that 1D as a group and individually is unmarketable. Thus unprofitable. Thus, less likely to be signed by another label/mgmt. This is why they will need an aggressive PR campaign to correct the record.

As to the timetable for the expiration of the contract. there is a small section of the contract that has appeared on some 1D blogs that seems to suggest that their management contract could last up to 14 years. The up to part of the sentence is the key here. That would mean that their contact would end in 2024 at the latest. From what I read it is pretty solid sourcing rather than wishful thing. In my crystal ball however, I think that it is more likely that the contract will end by the end of 2023. I base this on the trajectory of these narratives and where the lads seem to be and how long it may take to bring this nightmare to an end. What I do honestly believe is that if they last few weeks are any indication things are heating up and they are still fighting back. They can see the finish line. One way or another, I think their nightmare will end relatively soon.

I'm a person who tries to find logic in everything, that's exactly why this whole contract stuff is making me feel itchy because it makes zero sense to me. I know that most powerful people only care about money and well... power. But there must be people in the industry, who are powerful, who have humanity left in them, right? They're probably not powerful enough to say anything..

And what about all the babygate stuff? It has to end, because none of them are father's yet. I highly doubt that any of the women who are using the lads will take responsibility for it. And bringing the first beard back? What for? How realistic would it be if all the babygates will end all together? Not really realistic, right? They can't be father's forever, it's just not possible. Not for a child which isn't one of theirs.

And tbh.. I don't think we should trust anything which comes from random people. All these talks about contracts and having 'proof' of it is probably bullshit. Look at Rebecca Ferguson who's signed for 30 years, which means that 1D may only be fully free in 2040. It's still so long. We've been here before, thinking that it's finally ending but it never did. And I'm not sure if we can afford to hope again. Over and over again.

[aiweirdness]

How to begin a novel

Last year for National Novel Writing Month I trained a neural net called torch-rnn on 10,096 unique ways to begin a novel. It came up with some intriguing possibilities, my personal favorite being “I am forced to write to my neighbors about the beast.” But many of its sentences used made-up words, or had such weird grammar that they were difficult to read, or meandered too erratically. (“The first day of the world was born in the year 1985, in an old side of the world, and the air of the old sky of lemon and waves and berries.”) The neural net was struggling to write more than a few words at a time.

This year, I decided to revisit this dataset with a larger, more-powerful neural net called GPT-2. Unlike most of the neural nets that came earlier, GPT-2 can write entire essays with readable sentences that stay mostly on topic (even if it has a tendency to lose its train of thought or get very weird). I trained the largest size that was easily fine-tunable via GPT-2-simple, the 355M size of GPT-2. Would a more-powerful neural net produce better first lines?

One of the parameters I can tweak when I’m getting a trained neural net to generate text is temperature - this controls whether the neural net chooses the most likely next bit of text as it writes, or whether it’s permitted to use its less-likely predictions. At a default of 0.7, a relatively conservative temperature, the neural net’s first lines not only make grammatical sense, but they even have the rhythm of a novel’s first line. This is DRAMATICALLY better than torch-rnn did.

I am, or was.

At the mid-day meal the sun began to set and the quiet dragged on.

There was once a man who lived for a very long time; perhaps three thousand years, or perhaps a thousand million years, maybe a trillion or so, depending on how the scientists look at it.

He had the heart of a lion, and the fangs of a man-eater.

"I am Eilie, and I am here to kill the world."

The old woman was sitting on a rock near the sea, smoking a pipe.

I have just been informed, that the debate over the question 'is it right or wrong to have immortal souls' has been finally brought to a conclusion.

When I was a boy, I was fond of the story of the pirate god.

He had a strange name, and he was a very big boy indeed.

The purple-haired woman came to the clearing in the plain, and without looking up from her book, said, "It's too late to be thinking about baby names."

The village of Pembrokeshire, in the county of Mersey, lies on a wide, happy plain, which, in a few years, was to become known as the "Land of the Endless Mountains."

I don’t think the neural net plagiarized any of these? They are so good that I’m suspicious. But others of the neural net’s lines are even weirder, yet in an effective way that opens with an intriguing premise.

The moon had gone out.

I was playing with my dog, Mark the brown Labrador, and I had forgotten that I was also playing with a dead man.

The black stone was aching from the rain.

The short, dirty, and dirty-looking ship that weighed three tons and was three feet in diameter landed on a desolate and green plain.

How many times have I had the misfortune to die?

The first black dog in the park had been captured alive.

Behold the Sky Rabbits!

In the belly of the great beast that was the bovine Aurore there lived, upon the right hand of the throne, the Empress Penelope; and she had, as it were, a heart of gold.

The moon stood on its own two feet.

The reeking maw of the blood-drunk ship, the enemy's flagship, was silent and empty.

The first day I met my future self, I was aboard the old dirigible that lay in wait for me on the far side of the moon.

The child of two cats, and a tiger, a clown, a horse, a bird, a ship, and a dragon, stood on either side of the threshold of the Gatehouse, watching the throng of travelers who came in from all around the world, before he had any idea what was going on.

I think it’s probably doing this accidentally, stringing likely words and phrases together without understanding what any of them really mean. It’s not that it’s good at science fiction or magical realism; it’s that it’s trying and failing to predict what would have fit in with the usual human-written stuff. Some of the neural net’s first lines really betray its lack of the understanding of the laws of physics. It really likes to describe the weather, but it doesn’t really understand how weather works. Or other things, really.

The moon was low in the sky, as though it had been shipped in from the farthest reaches of the solar system.

The first star I saw was a blue one, which became a scarlet one, and then a gold one, and green, and finally a yellow one, which for some years afterwards seemed to be an ebony one, or even a bubbling mass.

The sun rose slowly, like a mighty black cat, and then sank into a state of deep sleep.

The sea of stars was filled with the serenity of a million little birds.

The great blue field was all white, swept away by the blue-gold breeze that blew from the south.

The sky was cold and dark, and the cold wind, if it had not been for the clouds, would have lashed the children to the roof of the house.

The morning sun was shining brightly, but the sky was grey and the clouds aching.

The night that he finally made up his mind to kill the dog, the man was walking home from the store with his wife and child in the back seat.

Arthur the lion had been pretty much extinct for some time, until the time when he was petted by Abernathy the old woman, and her son, Mr. Popp.

One of the disadvantages of having a neural net that can string together a grammatical sentence is that its sentences now can begin to be terrible in a more-human sense, rather than merely incomprehensible. It ventures into the realm of the awful simile, or the mindnumbingly repetitive, and it makes a decent stab at the 19th century style of bombastic wordiness. I selected the examples above for uncomprehending brilliance but the utter tediousness below is more the norm.

The whites of my eyes shimmered, as if my mind were dancing.

I once went to a party where the dress code was as strict as a chicken coop with no leggings and no boots.

A black cloud drifted by, a mottled mass of hydrogen, a black cloud of hydrogen, with the definite characteristic of being black.

I say I am at sea, because I am standing upon the ocean, and look out across the barren, vast throng of the sea.

It is, of course, a trifling matter in the ordinary course of things, if a certain writer were to write a novel, which is a book of stories, which is a book of characters, wherein every detail of the story is stated, together with a brief description of the theme which it concerns.

There was a boy with blue eyes, with sandy hair and blue eyes that looked at all times like he had been pushed through a million compartments.

The Sun, with its rolling shaft of bright light, the brilliant blue of the distant golden sun, and the red glow of its waning corona, was shining.

The man who was not Jack the Ripper had been promoted four times in the last two years.

Felix the Paw was sitting at the table of his favorite restaurant, the "Bordeaux" in the town of Bordeaux, when his father, Cincinnata, came in to say good-by to the restaurant.

It, sir, gives me the greatest pleasure to hear that the Court be not too long in passing away: but that I may have leisure to prepare a new work for the publication of my friend and colleague, the renowned Epistemology, which is now finished; and in which I shall endeavour to show, that this very point is of the highest importance in the subject of the philosophy which I am about to treat of.

It was a rainy, drizzling day in the summer of 1869 and the people of New York, who had become accustomed to the warm, kissable air of the city, were having another bad one.

Repetitiveness is also common, especially at this conservative temperature setting. Once the neural net gets itself into a repetitive state, it doesn’t seem to rescue itself - it’s a problem that people have noticed in several versions of this algorithm. (It doesn’t help that I forgot to scrub the “title” that someone submitted to the dataset that consists of the word “sand” repeated 2,000 times)

The sky was blue and the stars were blue and the sun was blue and the water was blue and the clouds were blue and the blue sky was like a piece of glass.

At the end of the world, where the tides burst upon the drowned, there exists a land of dragons, of dragons, which is the land of the dragons.

It's the end of the world, it's the end of the world, it's the end of the world, it's the end of the world, it's the end of the world, you're dead.

There was once a land of sand, and sand, sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand sand

Increasing the temperature of the sampling would help the repetitiveness problem, in theory, letting the neural net venture into more interesting territory. But at a temperature of 1.0 the text tends to venture out of everyday surrealism and into wordy yet distractible incomprehensibility.

The praying mules on the top of the hills sounded the final klaxon, lifting their spiked front hoofs as they crept the last few feet of desert landscape past the crest of the enormous swathe of prehistoric sand.

In the glen of the Loch is a ladder that winds way up through a passage to a ledge with soft, moss-laden environmental standards.

Someone whipped a dead squash gibbet across the room, like some formidable war lord unleashing a heavy hunk of silver at home.

One blue eyed child stood up and cried out: "Douay, saurines, my Uncle – Fanny Pemble the loader!"

Jud - an elderly despot, or queen in emopheles, was sitting across the table from the king, looking very thoughtfully into the perplexions of the proceedings.

Oh, you're a coward little fool, as if you couldn't bear to leer at a Prunker or white-clad bodyguard quickly emerging from a shady, storm-damaged area of the city.

Hanging presently in his little bell-bottomed chamber on the landing-house, early in the morning, the iron traveler sat on a broad-blonde sandbricksannel blanket outside the gate of a vast and ancient island.

Long, glowing tongues trailed from your mouth as you listened to what was being said across this kingdom of ours, but growing a little more somber since the week that caused us to proclaim general war.

The night I first met Winnie the Pooh, I had sat in the Tasting-House and heard the Chef unpack the last of the poison upon his quiet dinnertable.

There is, of course, no perfect setting at which the neural net churns out sensible yet non-repetitive first lines. There are just varying shades of general awfulness, interspersed with accidental brilliance.

No matter how much you’re struggling with your novel, at least you can take comfort in the fact that AI is struggling even more.

I generated all the neural net sentences above using a generic “It” as the prompt that the neural net had to build on (it would usually go on to generate another 20-30 sentences at a time). But although the sentences are independent in my training data, GPT-2 is used to large blocks of text that go together. The result is if I prompt it instead with, say, a line from Harry Potter fanfic, the neural net will tend to stick with that vein for a while. I've included a few examples as bonus content for subscribers.

Update: I now have a few thousand unfiltered examples of neural net-generated first lines at the GitHub repository where I have the original crowdsourced dataset. Themes include: Harry Potter, Victorian, My Little Pony, and Ancient Gods.

My book on AI is out, and, you can now get it any of these several ways! Amazon - Barnes & Noble - Indiebound - Tattered Cover - Powell’s

[cheri-translates]

[CN] S2 Gavin - The Broadcast Countdown Project

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a company project which has not been released in EN!🍒

This post features S2 Gavin, but contains no spoilers regarding S2!

[ This was released on 13 May 2021 ]

[ Chapter One ]

Things happened so suddenly. Even till now, I’m in a confused trance.

The ratings of “Inquiries”, a news documentary program I produced in collaboration with Loveland TV, has been rising continuously. Whenever an episode is broadcasted, I’d make a trip to the TV station.

Just like always, I head out of the company and take a taxi, telling the driver the address of the TV station.

But now, I’m sitting in the meeting room of the TV station, and can only remember that I had stepped out of the door. Whatever happened after I boarded the car is a total blank.

The surveillance footage at the entrance of the TV station clearly records how I got off the taxi, how I had taken an envelope from a stranger, and how I walked into the building.

Security Guard: But you don’t remember this happening?

MC: ...I have no impression of this at all. When I came to my senses, I was at the 18th floor. It’s strange because I didn’t know why I went to the 18th floor in the first place.

The broadcasting studio is on the second floor, and I’d normally take the stairs.

Security Guard: That’s so strange. You lost your memory for five minutes for no apparent reason?

I think to myself: It isn’t that strange. I might have bumped into an Evolver who can alter someone’s consciousness or memories.

MC: What’s in the envelope?

Program Director: Yes yes, let’s open the envelope and take a look first!

There’s a USB flash drive and a slip of paper inside the envelope.

Out of curiosity, I stick the USB flash drive into my laptop. There’s a video clip in it.

Clicking the video clip, both the the security guard and program director exclaim loudly in shock - 

Two people are tied to chairs, and their eyes have been pixelated. There’s a banner strung on the wall behind them: A debt of blood must be paid in blood.

The slip of paper states that Loveland TV has to broadcast this video clip during “Inquiries” this evening. Otherwise, it will face the consequences.

Program Director: What in the world is this - a kidnapping?

MC: ...yes, and the suspect is very likely an Evolver.

At this moment, I feel incredibly tense - I actually received something from a kidnapper but didn’t notice any details.

How frustrating - I lost the lead of a crucial moment!

MC: This isn’t something we can handle. We need to get the STF involved.

The program director looks at me, makes a prompt decision, and nods.

Less than half an hour later, Gavin brings his men over. After understanding the situation, he first gives me a sweeping glance, then suggests that he takes the video clip.

Gavin: Please give me the video clip. We’ll compare it against the database.

I quickly hand the USB flash drive to him, along with the envelope and slip of paper.

While the STF members are gathering evidence, I walk up to Gavin.

MC: Gavin... does the STF have any special methods of enabling someone to recall erased memories? Any method is fine.

Faced with my sudden determination, Gavin expresses an unexpected calmness and composure.

Gavin: No.

MC: But I’m the only person who saw the suspect... As long as I can recall some details, even a little, it’d be a huge breakthrough for the case.

Based on my understanding of such Evol, the probability of recollection isn’t high. But if it’s the STF...

Gavin pats the shoulder of his teammate, indicating that he should continue. Then, he turns around and walks towards the corridor. 

Gavin: Come with me.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

Gavin brings me to an empty meeting room.

My mind is muddled, and I stare at him for a long time without saying anything. He isn’t anxious, and simply waits for me.

Getting impatient from the wait, I pace around the meeting room.

MC: But my memories are really important.

All that flashes across my mind are the two people whose hands and feet were bound in the video clip.

MC: If...

Gavin raises his volume, interrupting me.

Gavin: You don’t have to shoulder any burdens.

After a short silence, his expression turns slightly warmer.

Gavin: You're just an ordinary citizen who was roped into the case by force. You’ve already provided all the information related to the case. Leave the rest of the work to us. Your memories are very important, but STF has its own way of handling things.

He pauses, softening his tone, as though wanting to comfort me.

Gavin: Cases involving Evolvers are always more problematic than ordinary crimes. I run into such situations often, so you don’t need to worry...

He seems to deliberate considerably before continuing.

Gavin: At the very least, I’m confident in this case.

Seeing that I’ve lifted my head to look at him, he walks over to me.

Gavin: I’ve watched two episodes of your program. The subject is very new and original.

Gavin: The online reviews said that this world doesn’t always exist in black-or-white. There’s also a middle ground worth reflecting on.

Gavin: Generally speaking, this program is about making progress, which is why I’ve been thinking since earlier that the suspect specially chose to send you the letter. 

Gavin: If it were me, I’d definitely ensure that such an important letter was handed to someone in the program team. That way, it’d be played easily. 

Gavin: You came to the TV station at 4pm, long after usual reporting hours. You weren’t wearing a name tag, so it’d have been difficult to tell if you were a staff member from the TV station.

Gavin: ...so how would he have known that he found the right person?

Gavin: Also, he mentioned in the note that it was to be played during your show. This wouldn’t have been a coincidence.

Gavin: He was probably here for quite some time, waiting for you to appear.

MC: Waiting for me to appear?

Gavin nods, speaking softly.

Gavin: He might be a viewer of your program.

Startled, I give this some thought. It’s indeed a possibility.

“Inquiries” is a very complex documentary.

What it depicts are stories of “criminals” who “had no choice” but to commit crimes.

The so-called “inquiries” are questions targeted to the law, morality, and the public, on whether they are guilty.

If the suspect was deliberately waiting for me, he might have had something to say.

While I’m pondering over this, Gavin’s communication device sounds.

Gavin: They’re done with the investigation. There’s a discovery.

After saying this, he pushes the door open and steps out. I follow after him immediately, returning to the middle of the STF members.

Lu Yi: Captain Gavin, the pixelations can’t be reverted to their original state. We’ve done a comparison against the database, and have located 3287 people. This number is too large.

Gavin: Under immense psychological stress, these two people remained tightly pressed together... they could be husband and wife.

Lu Yi: In the category of married people, there are... 289 people.

Gavin stares at the video clip for a few seconds, enlarging one of their hands. Frowning, he turns to ask me a question.

Gavin: What kind of a ring is this?

MC: It isn’t a ring. it’s a thimble. People in the needlework business wear this.

Lu Yi: Okay, I’ll narrow the search to those in the needlework or clothing business.

I recall what Gavin said to me in the meeting room, and have an inexplicable gut feeling.

MC: You could also search for individuals who are either directly or indirectly related to someone who committed a crime, or involved in a criminal suit.

Gavin nods at the STF member.

Names continuously roll on the monitor, finally pausing at two names.

Gavin: Found them.

-

[ Chapter Three ]

The investigation continues. After identifying the two people, Lu Yi finds substantial information related to this husband and wife duo through their network.

Lu Yi: Their neighbours mentioned that they haven’t seen the husband and wife for several days, and thought they had gone on a vacation.

Gavin: When was the last time they were seen?

Lu Yi: Saturday, five days ago. The boss of the neighbourhood supermarket said that on Saturday evening, the husband and wife visited his shop and bought quite a number of items.

Gavin ponders on this, then continues to probe in a methodical manner.

Gavin: What case was their relative involved in?

Another team member who has been searching for information in front of the laptop walks over, handing the tablet laptop to Gavin.

Team member: Captain Gavin, here’s information on the case. It’s just an ordinary traffic incident, not an Evolver crime.

Slightly curious, I can’t help but lean over a little. Gavin doesn’t have any intention of concealing anything, and he leaves me an opening.

MC: A traffic light accident... I know this case. It caused a huge uproar back then, and news related to this kept appearing on TV.

Gavin: I have an impression of it too.

This was a case which faced endless controversy. A traffic light at an intersection had a malfunction. The yellow light didn’t flash, and turned red immediately.

A car which wanted to speed past the yellow light crashed into a pedestrian who had just stepped onto the road, resulting in the victim’s death.

Gavin: The person who caused this traffic incident was the son of this couple.

Team member: The controversy on how the sentence should be determined for this case dragged on for a very long time.

MC: I remember how the driver’s lawyer asked quite a number of journalists to report on this matter. They asserted that the main responsibility lay with the malfunctioning traffic light. They said that if the traffic light had turned yellow, the additional three seconds would have prevented the incident from occurring.

Gavin continues to browse through the case. 

Gavin: The case concluded with the driver’s sentence reduced to one year, and the transport department was responsible for half of the monetary compensation.

MC: One year?

Even though I know that the judgement of every case is underpinned firmly by law, based on my subjective point of view...

When measuring a sentence of one year against a human life, it does seem pretty light.

MC: The person who kidnapped the husband and wife should be someone who bears grudges because of this incident. Back then, it’s precisely because of the media’s involvement that the sentence became lighter... Aside from taking revenge on the driver, he wants to use the broadcast to take revenge on the government of Loveland City.

With a slight lift of Gavin’s head, the STF member catches his drift, walking up to the tablet laptop and tapping it a few times.

Lu Yi: This is information pertaining to the victim from the traffic incident.

Gavin: Xu Wen. Female, 26 years old, unmarried, and a nurse. Her parents are retired teachers. After the incident, they moved to the countryside to live out their life in retirement.

Team mate: I just spoke to the countryside committee of the elderly couple. They rarely host relatives and friends. They haven’t met anyone recently, nor did they leave their house.

Gavin: Did the victim have a boyfriend? 

Gavin’s inquiry tugs at my memories. I vaguely recall that when I read the reports from back then, one of the featured articles was about a ring which rolled onto the zebra crossing...

Afterwards, the news headlines showcased the image from this featured article, which drew more grief from people.

MC: She seemed to be wearing a ring when the incident happened. She might have been engaged or had a fiancé, just that it wasn’t registered?

Gavin returns the tablet laptop to his team member.

Gavin: Investigate her fiancé. 

-

[ Chapter Four ]

Although the seconds and minute trickle past, there isn’t a shred of anxiety on Gavin’s face.

The director pulls me to a corner subtly, showing me a message that the higher ups from the TV station just sent him. On it, there’s a phone record approximating half an hour.

Program Director: The STF definitely can’t save them before the broadcast. We have to play the video clip... When lives are involved, we definitely can’t infuriate the kidnapper!

Seeing that he’s stammering from worry, I hurriedly pat him on the shoulder, comforting him with a softened voice.

MC: No matter how frantic we are, we can’t be of help. Leave it to the STF.

The director hastily stretches out his arm, showing me his watch.

Program Director: There’s only an hour left! The host is already in the make-up room, and I have to tell her about this later.

While speaking, he grabs at his hair, sighing as he glances at the STF members.

Program Director: I never faced such an incident when I was a reporter. Those people have to be rescued...

He mumbles, then continues to harp on the matter.

Program Director: I wonder what exactly the kidnapper wants.

The entire broadcasting studio is extremely quiet, a change from the typical lively atmosphere. 

Thinking about how the broadcast is approaching soon, I start to get a little impatient.

I glance at Gavin from my peripheral vision a few times, wanting to read something from his calm expression...

Gavin clearly notices my overly frequent line of sight. He straightens up, then gives me a wave. I hurriedly walk over.

Gavin: There’s only an hour left to the broadcast. I’ll leave you with a professional negotiator. Get ready.

MC: What? 

Gavin: My goal is to resolve this matter before the broadcast. But I still need a Plan B. The kidnapper will definitely watch the program. Also, he knows that you’re the producer of this program, which is why he handed the envelope to you. Your presence will make it easier to persuade him.

Gavin calls out to one of his team members, and the latter comes over.

Gavin: Xiao He, draft a script meant for communicating with the kidnapper, then give it to this producer.

The professional negotiator responds immediately, returning to his position and throwing himself into the work.

MC: ...but I might not be able to do it.

Gavin: You can definitely do it.

While speaking, his eyes remain fixed on the laptop which is currently searching for data. Not long after, he suddenly lifts his head and gives me a slight smile.

Gavin: Don’t underestimate yourself. Also, this is just my Plan B. There’s still an hour, and there’s sufficient time.

This is the first time I’m seeing him smile since he walked through the door. My instincts tell me that he doesn’t need a Plan B.

Gavin: We’ve found the fiancé of the victim from the traffic accident.

I stand in front of the laptop, staring at the photograph on the monitor.

It’s an ID photo. He has a crew cut and is wearing a white shirt along with a black suit. It seems to be a job ID photo for a bank.

I’m suddenly in a monetary trance, and hazy images flash across my mind. But that’s it, and there’s no concrete information.

Gavin: What’s wrong?

When Gavin sees my tightly knit brows, he places a hand on my back.

MC: ...it might be him. Even though I can’t recall anything, my memory remembers him.

[Note] CRYING BECAUSE THE ONLY TIME HE LOSES HIS COMPOSURE IS WHEN HE’S WORRIED ABOUT MC

-

[ Chapter Five ]

Simply locating the suspect isn't enough. We need to find where he’s keeping the husband and wife.

But Gavin remains confident. He pulls a chair over for me sit, indicating that there’s nothing I should be worried about.

Gavin: Check if there’s property under his name.

Team member: Two residences. One is used as a shop for commercial purposes.

Gavin: Take another look at the video clip.

The STF member does as instructed, and two monitors display the suspect’s information and the video clip in the USB flash drive respectively.

Gavin: Floor plans.

Without the need for further elaboration, three floor plans are displayed on the laptop, corresponding with the three properties belonging to the suspect.

Team member: Captain Gavin, the attributes of the video clip show that it was taken at 4pm on the 23rd.

Gavin: How was the weather on the 23rd?

Team member: A clear day. You even told me to run 3000 metres as punishment. I ran while braving the sun.

After saying this, the surrounding STF members can’t help but laugh. The atmosphere suddenly relaxes - they’re very close to reaching the breakthrough.

Gavin: A clear day, 4pm...

The STF team member adjusts the brightness level of the video clip, locating the direction of the light source.

Gavin stares at the floor plans and light source in the video clip, then points at the first floor plan.

Gavin: Where’s this house?

Team member: Pavilion Village on Ancient Street in the old city district. Captain Gavin, if we look at this video clip, the shop happens to have a partitioned-off area, and the window matches this...

He gestures on the floor plan with a pen. Based on Gavin’s expression, what he’s saying is correct.

I ponder on this seriously, tapping open the map in my phone.

MC: Gavin, this Pavilion Village...

Gavin: I remember. We were there once when we sent a lost elderly man home.

The STF team members, who were searching for maps, glance up at each other in tacit understanding, remaining silent.

MC: This neighbourhood is very close to Line 2.

[Note] “Line 2″ is an east-west line of the Shanghai Metro network

Gavin taps on the desk with the knuckle of his index finger.

Gavin: Extract the audio.

The STF member amplifies the audio in the video clip, and everyone listens patiently for a few seconds.

“Whoosh” - the anticipated sound appears.

Gavin: Eight seconds.

Team member: Each carriage of Line 2 spans 20 metres. There are a total of 6 carriages, so it measures 120 metres in total. The train travels at an approximate speed of 54km/h in this area.

No longer hesitant, Gavin pushes the keyboard away.

Gavin: Let’s go.

As they prepare the equipment, I quickly run over to Gavin. Without saying anything, he has already refused.

Gavin: You have to stay here. I can’t guarantee if the suspect moved the hostages to a different location after filming the clip. You’re Plan B, and have to be prepared at any moment.

His simple words persuade me completely. Time is tight and I have no time to hesitate. I instantly pull on him again.

MC: Could you bring a cameraman along?

MC: You know him - he’s the one who came along during past missions. He’s really experienced and won’t disturb you guys.

MC: ...what you said is correct, but this person sent the video clip to me, so there must be something he wanted to express.

MC: No matter what it is, it’d be good to have it recorded on camera.

Gavin is silent for a moment, then nods.

-

[ Chapter Six ]

The cameraman has followed the STF during past projects. When he arrives at the TV station, he already has a camera on his shoulder.

Not wanting the others in the broadcasting studio to feel anxious, I put on my earpieces in an isolated corner, listening to the live feed.

Gavin: Everyone, take note. The suspect this time might have an Evol related to hallucinations or memory distortion. At this point, we can’t verify if he can manipulate a person’s mind. Under the effects of such Evol, there’s a high possibility that you might point the weapons in your hands to your own team mates. So right now, remove your guns and ammunition. Don’t carry any equipment which may be dangerous in a situation where you lose your senses.

Hearing Gavin’s calm and resolute voice drifting through the earpieces, I stare at the script in my hands, no longer letting my imagination run wild. I focus on memorising it quietly.

Soon, it’s almost time for the broadcast to begin.

I glance at my phone - it’s 6.34pm. Through the earpieces, I can tell that Gavin has brought his team to Block 7 of the Pavilion Village.

With a clack, the gate is pushed open, and the sound is so jarring that one can almost see the red rust on the iron gate.

I hear the sound of incredibly soft footsteps heading up step after step. They pause at every six steps before ascending to the next floor.

I count in my heart: two, three, four... five. They’ve arrived.

Not long after, the sound of a door being forced open suddenly drifts into the earpieces. The clamour of footsteps and the wooden door being pushed open overlap.

I can’t help but unlock my phone, watching the images being recorded by the camera at this moment.

Gavin is taking the lead, stepping into a bedroom. Just as the camera is about to follow, he suddenly turns around, reaching out to cover the lens.

MC: ?

At the same time, Gavin gives me a call.

Gavin: The hostages have been rescued. The show can be broadcasted normally.

Overjoyed at this unexpected good news, I hurriedly wave at the director, conveying this news to them loudly.

Cheers erupt in the broadcasting studio. The host hurriedly walks to her position, taking the script with a smile, facing the camera and tidying her appearance.

Soon after, I hear Gavin’s voice through the phone again.

Gavin: The suspect is already dead - it’s fundamentally concluded that it was a suicide.

-

[ Chapter Seven ]

An Evolver in Gavin’s team can sense the number of life forms across a wall. Before entering the room, his Evol had detected two people. 

This differed from the display on the thermal image.

That’s why Gavin called - to verify the suspect’s condition when he met me.

As the witness of this case, I received a notification from Gavin to make a statement in STF once the operation was over.

After going through the entire process, it’s already 10pm. I’m sitting on a bench the STF’s hall, waiting for Gavin.

Not long after, a tall figure blocks the incandescent light in front of me.

MC: Sorry.

Gavin: Who are you apologising to?

MC: I don’t know. I just feel that... I couldn’t even do anything.

He kneels down, his right knee on the ground. He looks directly at me.

Gavin: Don’t have such thoughts. His death is unrelated to anyone. 

He reaches out, brushing aside my sweat-drenched fringe. He speaks softly.

Gavin: It will take some time to digest this conclusion. There’s a professional psychologist responsible for such matters in the STF. I’ll bring you over tomorrow. As for now -

Gavin doesn’t give me more time to feel remorseful. He grabs my hand, pulling me towards the entrance. 

Gavin: Let’s go. They’re waiting for you.

MC: Waiting for me?

Gavin: To eat.

With a confused expression, I’m pulled to a restaurant near the entrance of STF. The door opens - everyone’s there. I’ve never seen everyone gathered together like this.

Eli: Finally here? I already said the Administration Department’s always dallying. Even signing documents takes so long. The dishes are getting cold.

Tang Chao: Sister MC has worked hard today. I heard about everything. Well... don’t take it to heart. We actually run into such matters on missions often...

I pause, turning to one of the team members I saw at the TV station today.

MC: I still want to know... what happened at the scene today? 

The team member glances at Gavin. When he sees Gavin’s nod, he speaks hesitantly.

Team member: He left a note. It stated that he knew that it was just an accident, but it was a pit he couldn’t cross. It’s Wen Wen’s birthday today, and he wanted to accompany her. The character “喜” was pasted in the bedroom.

[Trivia] The word 喜 (“xI”) means “happy event”, and it’s often found on decor for traditional Chinese weddings

I recall what the cameraman said to me after he returned today -

The reason why Captain Gavin covered the camera lens was because he knew you were watching. But afterwards, he continued to let the camera roll, because you definitely wouldn’t be wiling to give up on this material.

While I’m spacing out, Gavin presses me down onto a chair.

Gavin: Don’t think about anything else. Eat first. I once had the same feelings as you do right now. But when a case is over, it’s over.

Sensing that Gavin is worried about me, I nod subconsciously.

MC: I know. But I’ll still include this case into the show... I’ll try presenting the truth in a more objective manner. From an outsider’s perspective, I’ll see what kind of story I can convey. 

But all of this will be left for later. I hold up a cup, pouring myself a drink.

MC: Time to eat, time to eat. Let’s toast-

Gavin chuckles. He holds up his cup, bumping it against the rim of mine.

Gavin: Everyone, help yourselves to the food. It's my treat tonight.

- End -

“Inquries” continues to be broadcasted. The workload and resistance to producing this program are both substantial. However, the production team believes that when faced with interrogations from the audience and speculations from society, it is only when such things continue that the media can carry out justice.

More from Season 2: here

[bluestarscribbler]

Writing Characters With Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD)

Hi everyone! :) How are you doing? 🥰💕 Today I'll be outlining the main do's and don't's of writing characters with SAD, as well the definition and the main symptoms of SAD.

DISCLAIMER: I am not diagnosed with SAD myself; however, all of the following information had been obtained from different posts and sites of people that have first-hand experience with SAD. I will be linking those at the end of today's post, please feel free to check them out.

What I learned from the intense research I did is that nobody has social anxiety the same. Some people feel like they can't breath. Others tend to laugh in awkward moments. Nobody is the same. No character is exactly alike. You can't get it "right," because it's not an exact science. So don't feel too pressured while writing a character with SAD, there's no "one" way to write them. A helpful approach is to think what about how the SAD fits into the story you want to tell because the topic is really as complicated as any other and you can view it from many different angles and go as deep as you want - depending on what this story you're trying to tell calls for. So rather than trying to get an objective view of this complicated topic, focus on the aspects that are relevant to the story.

What is Social Anxiety Disorder?

AKA Social Phobia, SAD describes an intense fear and avoidance of negative public scrutiny, public embarrassment, humiliation or social interaction. This fear can be specified to particular social situations; such as public speaking, or more typically, is experienced in most/all social interactions. Those suffering from SAD will often attempt to avoid the source of their anxiety; this is particularly problematic and in severe cases can lead to complete social isolation.

Symptoms of SAD:

person paces a lot

very fidgety

stops talking mid sentence...a lot

wrings hands

angered by slightest infractions of others

finds fault in others a lot

hard to breathe when focus/attention is shifted to them

sweating profusely

mumbling

shrinking to hide

lack of eye contact/wandering eyes

painfully shy and withdrawn

picking the nails, picking the skin

always the person in the back of the room or in a corner

gravitating toward the first person they recognise and following them everywhere

headaches

finding ways to avoid certain situations

crying before or after social events

feel dizzy and the entire world becomes very far away

feeling like chest was caving in

assuming that everyone is focusing on them

assuming that people are laughing about them

grind their teeth a lot

bite their knuckles

tap out drum patterns with their feet or fingers

nausea and vomiting

muscle weakness

migraines

heart arrhythmia

increasing nervous tics

Keep in mind that social anxiety exists on a spectrum. Not everyone is paralysed at the smallest conversation, but some are. Others feel mild discomfort at certain types of socialising. It’s all relative.

DO'S:

DO write in a lot of internal dialogue. People with SAD say that most of their anxiety is created by their own internal rumination. So, add a lot of overly self-critical internal dialogue and have them think about trivial things that they may or may not have gotten wrong for hours after the fact. People with SAD also tend to avoid initiating with anyone, instead preferring for them (the other person) to initiate — because then they know they're not inconveniencing them (the other person). If a person with SAD does have to interact with people then they tend to plan and rehearse what they're going to say to them. However, once the social interaction has begun, there will be very little internal monologue. In those situations, the character is very much relying on instinct. After the interaction, if the character feels that they messed up (which is likely; be sure to pick up on even the slightest fumbles or awkward pauses), they should keep thinking about how they're an idiot and they want to never have to talk to another person again, because they know it'll end the same way. If they feel like they did a good job, they should express surprise at how well it went, congratulate themselves, and say that they should maybe do this more often — although they probably won't.

DO let them have observational skills. Part of the anxiety stems from not always knowing how to/being good at socialising. Thus an anxious person will watch others closely for clues to their performance and acceptance. While it doesn’t always tell the person how they are doing, it does teach them a lot about the people around them and how they feel about each other. The person in a group with SAD may actually have a better idea of who in the group are friends, enemies, annoyed with the others, think they are better, have crushes, and so on. Having SAD doesn’t mean that a person doesn’t know social cues, it means that they underestimate their ability to use them. Don’t confuse SAD with autism.

DO make it influence all decisions. This is one you can do as the writer and not include every bit of internal dialogue. Just keep in mind that Every decision an anxious person makes is put through the anxiety filter first. Even if they are doing things by themselves, they have to evaluate the chances of meeting people, meeting people they know, having to talk to people when they are done. Keep that in mind when writing these characters in order to keep their personality consistent. That said, in general you can think of someone with SAD feeling physically, mentally and emotionally uncomfortable and "out of place" in ordinary social situations - they want out of it, looking for the door, excuse to leave, cut the interaction short. There could be a sense of shame, guilt and self-loathing about not being "good enough", or that there is something broken and wrong with them (or society).

DO give them other traits. Make sure you give them other traits that influence their decisions and drive their motivations. Someone can have anxiety and also love adventure, want to save all the stray dogs, want to help orphans, want to be a basketball hero, etc. One of the big problems with SAD is that it interferes with a person’s desires to do and be other things. It doesn’t always win though. And sometimes a person may decide that an awkward encounter or two is worth taking part in some other activity they love. Just remember to keep your characters balanced.

DO let them find each other. SAD is probably more common than you’d think. Not everyone has a crippling case. You can have characters share their anxiety with each other and comfort each other and help each other through tough times. SAD can make a person feel isolated but they don’t have to be, and often aren’t as isolated as they think. That observational skill can also help them find the right people to share their feelings with. Not all socialising is terrifying, it can often be cathartic.

DON'T'S:

DON'T make them hate people. Social anxiety does not mean that the person afflicted doesn’t like people or always craves solitude. One of the harshest aspects of SAD is that a person may want companionship and friends but still have uncontrollable discomfort when faced with making friends or spending time with the friends they already have. This constant tug-of-war between wanting friends and feeling the anxiety around people can cause a lot of internal pain and lead to other emotions and conditions such as depression. Someone with SAD can have friends. Even a lot of friends. But certain factors may influence how a person with SAD chooses friends more than they influence others. The level of contact is different for everyone and there will be some friends who can take up more time while not taking up more energy on the part of the anxious person. However, SAD can get so bad that the person with it is unable to leave the house for days at a time, ghosting on all social engagements, not answering their phone and ignoring all texts; but that still doesn't mean they hate people.

DON'T always make them succeed. If you are writing about a person with SAD and they are forced again and again to go outside their comfort zone, make them fail. Have them go to a meeting and then duck down a side corridor at the last minute and disappear. Have them talk to a person and then freeze up in the middle of a conversation, at a loss for words. The longer they go without knowing what to say the stronger the anxiety gets and the harder it is to think. Or have them execute the socialising brilliantly but then go into the bathroom and cry from the overwhelming sense of effort it took to look normal. And just because they have had a few successes doesn’t mean that they will start succeeding every time. Sometimes, the energy it takes, even when the interaction was a success, means that next time they are reluctant or too exhausted to do it again.

DON'T always give them "tells". Anxious people can be very good at hiding it. In the example above of the person who socialises brilliantly and then cries in the bathroom, no one knows how hard it was. They only saw the brilliant “performance.” Keep that in mind. Not all people uncomfortable with socialising are bumbling awkward goofballs. Sometimes they actually appear very cool and collected.

DON'T suddenly make their anxiety disappear when they're at the end of their character arc. This pisses me off, anxiety is a life-long condition. It cannot be "overcome" easily. However, the person with it can learn to live with it. They can visit a psychiatrist, get pills prescribed or change their lifestyle completely to fit around their SAD. A person with anxiety always thinks about their anxiety. Even when they are happily at home reading a book, sometimes they will think about an upcoming engagement, or wish they made friends like the characters in their book. Every time a person with SAD makes plans they have to run through a list of criteria before nailing anything down. Will they have time before and after to prep for and cool down from the experience? Is it something they have done before and feel comfortable doing? Can they back out at the last minute if they feel too overwhelmed that day? These are just a fraction of the things that go through an anxious person’s mind before committing to plans. Again, this isn’t an absolute, but for many people with SAD it is a defining characteristic of who they are. They don’t talk to a single person, even a spouse sometimes, or make a doctor’s appointment without the anxiety affecting how they feel, think, and behave. It is always there. Always.

That's it for today folks! I hope everyone has an absolutely fantastic day! 😊❤