#it's the fact that i understand that (spoken english)

[f0ofishies]

first times w/ bllk men. pt.2

To think you could pull the Italian soccer player was a far fetch, but no.. you've been dating Marc Snuffy for a few weeks now. Honestly, he's been such an upgrade to the past relationships you've had, considering you were only a few years younger than him.

He's such a well-spoken man. Speaking with such intellect could make you go haywire, might even turn you on. But, you'd never admit that, no no.. you couldn't let him think how sex-craved you are about him, considering how polite he is.

You'd been invited to one of the gatherings for Ubers, a plus-one with him. He even took the time to get you a new outfit on the ordeal, "Baby, I need to measure.. could you—" You looked up at him, then quickly held your hands up. "Oh right.." He did all the measurements for your body before you could get a new outfit tailored for it.

His calloused palm held the measuring tape across your hips, shit..! He was such a respectful man. He didn't know the effect his hands all over felt so nice, biting your lip in the process as his hand on your lower back guided you over somewhere. "Amore mio, are you okay?" He whispered into your ear, his words left a trail of shiver down your back.

"Don't worry, 'm fine.. marc.." You stare at those orange colored eyes of his— he proceeded to give you a small smile. "I promise you tonight is going to be great." He held your chin up, it was almost like he was holding back to kiss you.

As you were about to tiptoe– he'd pull away. The hushed voices of him and the tailor could be heard, but all you heard was the fast-paced beating of your heart.

The event itself was boring, most conversed in Italian.. not that you can't understand at all, you weren't fluent in the language at all. Marc was there with you, sticking close by knowing full well you had not fully met the rest of the members of Ubers. More small talk and more made you even more annoyed– at the second and the way your lovely boyfriend was caressing your thigh like nothing.

You bit your lip as you tapped his shoulder. He pulled away from talking and raised an eyebrow, squeezing your thigh. "Marc, don't do that.." You whispered close, only letting him hear your voice.

"Hmm.. but cuore mio..?" He slid his hand to your upper thigh as you trembled. "Don't you get it.. you're making me.." His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then his eyes held a glint in them.

You swear you didn't mean to turn him on, you knew how much of a rational man he was. But the fact he had pulled you two back to your hotel– "Marc, love..?"

He crashed his lips onto yours, feeling his tongue slip past your mouth. "Mmph— what's gotten into you..?" The words echoed along the hotel room as he pulled away. "I can't handle it anymore, l'anima gemella.. I need you." You swear you felt yourself clenched around his words.

"Agh—!" The groan you let out as he was taking his time to prep you was making you go berserk. "Marc, baby.. I'm ready for you.. please just fuck me!" Words spewing out of you like you weren't about to climax the second time tonight. "fuck you..? don't ever call that.. we're.." You gasped once more as you felt his engorged tip pressing onto your hole.

"sshit– Marc..!" Your eyes widened as he pressed on further, fuck it was such a stretch for you. "we're.." another inch passed against your walls. "making.." another one– and when he finally bottoms out of you. "...love." Your legs on either side of your face as he thrusts slow and deep made you scream louder.

"Cazzo— mmngh.. la mia dolce metà.. you're being so sweet.. to me."

The egocentric English football man? Chris Prince, the world probably already knew him.. but you know him best. You've been by his side for as long as you know, and yet– you weren't dating at all.

The white-haired male had invited you out of nowhere for drinks, you didn't mind.. but it did pulled you out of your work even earlier than ever.

You found him at the entrance of a private bar, not even realizing how much celebrities were even counted here. You couldn't help but be amazed.

"Damn, you dragged me out here.. for drinks.." You teased the man as he chuckled. "What can I say, I like to treat the women in my life with the utmost—" "Shut your mouth, dickhead." The way his mouth dropped so fast made you giggle at him. "Gee, you know I'm treating you right now?"

You did know that, the way you held a damn martini was way more expensive than what you'd even pay for a night out. "Yes, thanks, Chris.." Your voice cooed at him— "Now tell me why'd you drag me out here.."

You burst out in more laughter by the hours gone by, Chris was just updating you about his life– from his football team, Manshine City, then his family, even going as far about the blue-lock program. "Can't believe those kids could catch up to you, huh?"

The way his face shifted into a pout, like a sad golden retriever, made your heart skip a beat. "Hey, they've gone on a hell lot of training to be good." You just hummed at his words, then placed a hand on his shoulder. "Seems like your life has been chaotic as ever."

Chris lowered his arm, grabbing onto the stool leg– then he effortlessly pulled your stool closer to his. The way you turned a bit shy at that. Honestly, you've forgotten how he has no personal boundaries with anyone. "And yours, babe?" He called you out as you huffed.

Fuck, you didn't knew how long you've been making out with Chris. You'd never done this with him, maybe because of all the drinks you've drank. "Chris—" You pulled away as a string of saliva connected you both.

Chris internally grunted at the way you've been straddling his lap. His big palm caressing your ass, grabbing the fat of it. You let out a small chuckle at his possessiveness. "Ffuck, doll.. so fucking sexy on my lap.." After that comment, a fire rose withing you as you rolled your hips down.

He was loud, groaning in your ear— "Baby, look at you.. all ready for me.." You've found yourself laying down at the backseat— the rich leather seats must've been stained from your previous climaxes. "Chris— agh..! not there..!"

You felt his pesky hands already under your underwear, touching you in all the right places. "You know.. I've been fantasizing about you for ages.." You didn't even properly listen to him, loving the pleasure you're experiencing.

"Fantasizing about this body— and nobody compares from you.." That's when your breath hitched as you gripped his neck. The feeling of your arms around him made his dick throb more than ever. "What are you saying..?" You huffed, wrapping your legs around his hips– your crotch angled with his.

"I'm saying I'm in love with you, you idiot." That's when you felt it, it led to your heart skipping another beat once more. "Really?" You heard the zipper of his pants slipped bringing, that fucking girthy of a dick he had.

"Just look at it, it's so swollen all because of you, my love.." Another clenched by you accommodating his girth– could you even fit him?

"Watch it, baby— I'm going to take what's rightfully mines from the start."

[bmpmp3]

i do think its kinda funny when i see someone in the year of our lord 2024 talk about vocal synth music like its all gone downhill since like 2010 because like dont get me wrong i love a good niconicodouga-ass 2008 ass vocaloid joint BUT also like. the past couple years have had the most fascinatingly creative and expressive uses of vocal synthesizers ive ever heard in my life DJFSKHJDFS dont write it all off just yet!!

[carnival-core]

Oh will say I've gotten through every bit of AA4 except like any of the last case (bc im watching my boyfriend stream it)

I think the fact the only thing I really dislike is entirely me being petty and not like a writing issue is pretty good on the game's part

[lilac-melody]

I need to be professionally taught spanish instead of self teaching...

[idkimnotreal]

i need to speak english in real life...

i'm brazilian, english has been part of my daily life since i was 14 (before that in school, but out of school only since i was about 14), i consider myself an advanced to fluent speaker (short vocabulary, i don't really know or forget mundane or daily things in english, my vocabulary is mostly related to book english), but i've never once spoken english with anyone in real life or even on a call. i was always afraid i'd blank out. it's a deep rooted thing for me.

so i recently moved and as it happens my neighbor one floor down whose apartment includes an outdoors patio that i can see from my kitchen window (to an inner open space in the middle of the building, i'd only need one word for this in portuguese but i have no idea how to say "light pit" in english*) has an american dad and they speak really loud (i know it's an american thing) and i felt... this sense of joy from hearing them talk english. hearing spoken english for the first time in my life that was not coming from tv speakers or headphones, but actually from real human voices near me (i was a kid at the time of the world cup so i don't really recall people speaking english, i have a vague memory of it, but not vividly). there was a child too, her half sibling, and i don't know, the whole bonding experience they were having using the english language made me happy to experience it.

i guess i need international friends that i can really talk to (not just text). not brazilian friends to talk english to, that's just boring, like i actually want people from different cultures that i can use english as a bridge to connect our life experiences. it's about that. it's what i figure is so exciting about english. it's... the world. english is everything. when i heard english, i heard everyone. for the first time in my life, near me, physically. it means i'm not necessarily tied to brazil. it reminded me of that, maybe. which is why i'm sad now that they're apparently gone. i keep expecting to hear their voices again, speaking english, and whenever i hear neighbors talking loudly in the halls i get hyped. but i think they're gone, back to the states. to the center of the world. and i'm here. too dysfunctional to leave this place.

(i'm not actually looking for language buddies on tumblr, there's a reason why i've never spoken english in real life which is like i mean uhh social anxiety/trauma)

*that's atrium thanks chatgpt

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Woven bonds

You've been sold to an orc by your father, and have now been shutting yourself in, laying in bed and hardly eating, pert'ah wants that to change. warnings/tags- bedrotting hints, arranged marrige but pertah loves you so thats nice, i love my ocs i wanna eat them, pert'ah speaks with semi-broken english

word count- 698

The wooden door of Pert'ah's hut creaked shut as he stepped inside, his heavy boots brushing against the woven rugs scattered on the floor. The interior of the hut was small but tidy, with simple furniture and shelves adorned with the intricate tapestries and sculptures he had crafted over the years. The air smelled of pine and earth, a scent that was both comforting and foreign.

You, however, lay motionless on the straw bed, back turned to him. For days, you had barely moved from that spot. You refused to eat the meals he prepared, refused to speak, refused to even acknowledge him. It was your silent protest—your way of fighting back against this life you had never asked for.

Pert'ah stood near the door for a moment, watching you in the dim light. His brow furrowed in concern as he set down the woven basket he had carried from the nearby river. His broad shoulders tensed as he approached the bed quietly, careful not to startle you.

"[Name]," he said softly, his voice deep and gravelly but holding an unfamiliar tenderness. "You no eat again… you need food."

You didn't respond. Your mind buzzed with anger and sorrow. This was your life now—sold to an orc by your own father to secure peace with a clan your people had always looked down upon. You had been reduced to nothing more than a bargaining chip, and it hurt. The idea of even speaking to Pert'ah felt like giving in.

Pert'ah sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed with a heaviness that made the frame creak. He didn’t touch you, knowing you wouldn’t welcome it. Instead, he glanced at the clay plate he had left beside the bed the day before—untouched, the stew inside long since cold.

"I make for you. I try make what you like," he murmured, almost to himself. "Not same as your kind, I know… but I try."

He shifted, staring down at his hands—rough, scarred, and calloused from years of weaving and shaping clay. He didn’t understand human customs, not completely. But he understood enough to know you were suffering, and that made him suffer too.

"I know you no want this. I no want hurt you," Pert'ah continued. "I not like other orcs. I make art… make beauty, no war. But I… I want you be happy, even here. I want to try… if you try too."

You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, fighting the well of emotions building inside you. His words, though broken, were sincere. He was nothing like the cruel, brutish orcs you had been raised to fear. He was gentle, soft-spoken. But it didn’t change the fact that you were trapped.

"Please, [Name]," he said after a moment, his voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper. "I know I am… orc. I know you see me and think less. But I see you, and I see… everything. You are strong, kind… beautiful. You no have to love me. I no ask that. But… please, live. I no want you suffer. I will give you what I can, always."

His words hit you harder than you expected, the vulnerability in them gnawing at your resolve. The anger in your chest burned, but so did the guilt. Pert'ah wasn’t the enemy. He had never asked for this either.

Still, you said nothing. You weren’t ready. Not yet.

Pert'ah stood after a few minutes of silence, his movements slow and deliberate. "I leave food here, if you want later," he said, placing a fresh bowl of soup on the small table beside the bed. "I go work now. But… I always here. If you need."

With that, he turned and walked out of the hut, leaving the door open just a crack to let in the cool breeze.

You lay there for what felt like hours, staring at the simple wooden ceiling, the weight of his words pressing down on you. Slowly, your gaze drifted to the bowl of soup beside the bed. It smelled of unfamiliar herbs, but something about it was comforting. Hesitantly, you sat up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders.

at least you knew you weren't alone

[wheelie-sick]

I wanted to make a very blunt post about hearing people using sign languages for speech loss episodes because I think a lot of people really need to hear this.

..... I really do not know what you guys are expecting to get out of sign language as an alternative to speech

let's start with some facts:

sign languages are their own distinct and separate languages from spoken language. ASL is not English with your hands, ISL is not Irish with your hands, and so on and so forth.

sign languages have their own unique vocabularies, grammar, and syntax

learning a sign language is exactly as hard as learning a spoken language. the idea that learning a sign language is easier is a myth. it is a second language and will be as difficult to learn as every other second language

sign languages rely on a complex system of facial expressions for grammatical reasons. facial expressions are not optional. [PT: facial expressions are not optional.] you will not be understood without facial expressions

from my understanding the majority of people who experience speech loss episodes lose their ability to speak because they are overwhelmed, overstimulated, upset, tired, or otherwise in a state that's upsetting or overwhelming. from my understanding, the majority of people who experience speech loss episodes are losing their ability to use language, they are not losing their ability to use their mouth.

if you are not losing speech in a way that exclusively affects your mouth then a sign language will not help you. full stop.

[PT: if you are not losing speech in a way that exclusively affects your mouth then a sign language will not help you. full stop.]

as I mentioned above a sign language is a second language for you* unless you have grown up signing you will be stuck translating your thoughts into a second language. if you're struggling to use language you will only struggle more to use a second language. it's like if you were monolingual English speaker and you lost speech and decided the solution would be to try speaking Spanish instead.

*okay, there are hearing people who learned sign as a first language**, but that is not the majority of you

**baby sign is not sign as a first language

I also feel like a lot of people seem to forget the experiences of Deaf autistic people when they're trying to figure out using sign language as an alternative to speech during speech loss episodes. Deaf people lose speech too. [PT: Deaf people lose speech too.] as it turns out the complexities of sign language can become too overwhelming and difficult when we are overwhelmed too, and sign language is often our native and/or primary language. if you are not someone using a sign language as your native and/or primary language then what makes you think you'll be able to communicate with it during a speech loss episode better than us?

you are going to find it very difficult to communicate in a second language when you're losing speech.

now for those of you whose speech loss episodes exclusively affect their mouth:

you are treading in dangerous waters. let's start with: sign languages are not AAC. Deaf people, who ultimately control the sign languages and were the people to create them, do not have a communication disorder. we are speakers of a non-dominant language. sign languages are more than just a communication tool for us, they are also endangered languages and cultural languages. they should be treated with respect in regards to those facts. if you treat sign languages as AAC (which therefore treats them as tools for your use as a hearing person) or outright call them AAC you are disrespecting the language and its cultural significance. if you would not call English "AAC for Americans" do not call sign languages AAC.

if you decide to use sign language to assist you during speech loss you should also be using your knowledge of sign language to protect and preserve this language. hearing people can be part of the Deaf world if they sign. you shouldn't shy away from communicating with Deaf people.

If you decide to use sign language to assist you during speech loss you have to [PT: have to] understand the culture behind the language and treat the language with respect to that culture. Deaf culture is a closed, minority culture. it is not free to take from and use as you please. us allowing you to use sign language is a gift, it is not something to take for granted. if you view sign languages as a tool for your use as a hearing person you are stealing.

but back to practicality, I'd encourage you to use AAC over a sign language. you don't tread the same dangerous waters by using AAC and it will also allow you to be understood by more people. most people do not know any sign language, and most people who do know sign language are unwilling to use it.

if you want to commit to learning a second language in its entirety and want to commit to doing so with respect I will not stop you but you should consider whether your motivations are yourself or whether your motivations align with and protect the Deaf community. your motivations should not be selfish.

[ID 1: a userbox saying "this user is deaf"

ID 2: a userbox saying "this user has autism"

ID 3: a userbox saying "this user communicates via sign language]

[writingwithcolor]

Not all Second-Language Speakers are Made Equal.

@waltzshouldbewriting asked:

Hello! I’m writing a story that features a character who’s first language is not English. He’s East African, specifically from Nairobi, Kenya, and is pretty fluent in English but it’s not his primary language, and he grew up speaking Swahili first. I’m struggling to figure out if it’s appropriate or in character to show him forgetting English words or grammar. From what I’ve researched, English is commonly spoken in Nairobi, but it wouldn’t be what was most spoken in his home. For context, this is an action/superhero type story, so he (and other characters) are often getting tired, stressed, and emotional. He also speaks more than two languages, so it makes sense to me that it would be easier to get confused, especially in a language that wasn’t his first. But I’m worried about ending up into stereotypes or tropes. For additional context: I’m monolingual, I’ve tried to learn a second language and it’s hard. A lot of how I’m approaching this comes from my own challenges correctly speaking my own, first and only language.

Diversity in Second-Language English

You seem to have an underlying assumption that second language acquisition happens the same for everyone. 

The way your character speaks English depends on so many unknown factors: 

Where does your story take place? You mention other characters; are they also Kenyan, or are they all from different countries?

Assuming the setting is not Kenya, is English the dominant language of your setting? 

How long has your character lived in Kenya vs. where he is now? 

What are his parents’ occupations? 

What level of schooling did he reach in Nairobi before emigrating? 

What type of school(s) did he go to, public or private? Private is more likely than you think. 

Did his schooling follow the national curriculum structure or a British one? Depends on school type and time period. 

Does he have familiarity with Kenyan English, or only the British English taught in school? 

Is this a contemporary setting with internet and social media?

I bring up this list not with the expectation that you should have had all of this in your ask, but to show you that second language acquisition of English, postcolonial global English acquisition in particular, is complex. 

My wording is also intentional: the way your character speaks English. To me, exploring how his background affects what his English specifically looks like is far more culturally interesting to me than deciding whether it makes him Good or Bad at the language. 

L2 Acquisition and Fluency

But let’s talk about fluency anyway: how expressive the individual is in this language, and adherence to fundamental structural rules of the language.

Fun fact: Japanese is my first language. The language I’m more fluent in today? English. Don’t assume that an ESL individual will be less fluent in English compared to their L1 counterparts on the basis that 1) it’s their second language, or 2) they don’t speak English at home. 

There’s even a word for this—circumstantial bilingualism, where a second language is acquired by necessity due to an individual’s environment. The mechanisms of learning and outcomes are completely different. 

You said you tried learning a second language and it was hard. You cannot compare circumstantial bilingualism to a monolingual speaker’s attempts to electively learn a second language. 

Motivations?

I understand that your motivation for giving this character difficulties with English is your own personal experience. However, there are completely different social factors at play.

The judgments made towards a native speaker forgetting words or using grammar differently are rooted in ableism and classism (that the speaker must be poor, uneducated, or unintelligent). That alone is a hefty subject to cover. And I trust you to be able to cover that!

But on top of that, for a second language speaker, it’s racism and xenophobia, which often lend themselves to their own ableist or classist assumptions (that those of the speaker’s race/ethnicity must be collectively unintelligent, that they are uneducated or low class due to the occupations where they could find work, or conversely that they are snobby and isolationist and can't be bothered to learn a new language). Intersections, intersections.

If you want to explore your experiences in your writing, give a monolingual English speaker in your cast a learning disability or some other difficulty learning language, whatever you most relate with. And sure, multilingual folks can occasionally forget words like anyone else does, or think of a word in one language and take a second to come up with it in the other language. But do not assume that multilinguals, immigrants, or multiethnic individuals inherently struggle with English or with multiple languages just because you do.

~ Rina

[bomberqueen17]

tone indicators

I reblogged this post without adding any commentary bc queue and not a lot of computer time lately but like okay here's the thing about tone indicators:

they're yet another in-group set of coded speech. like an inside joke, or a meme, or a conlang. if you are in a group that uses them, they're great and perfectly comprehensible.

but if you don't happen to have come from inside a group that uses them, they are exactly as exclusionary as any other heavy jargon or inside joke or acronym. I mean have you ever listened to soldiers talk? The US Army communicates in heavily jargon-ified speech, liberally laden with acronyms, so much so that it's a self-referential joke to make up obscene or deliberately-obfuscated ones to slip into official reports since the sorts of people who'd kick up a fuss about obscene language won't understand them.

It is exactly the same thing. Except that's exclusionary on purpose, and tone indicators are exclusionary in effect but tout themselves as inclusionary.

So if I, an outsider to this, am reading along, and after a sentence, there's a / and then between one and three letters, that is not enough information for me to use to look it up.

This is absolutely inaccessible if you are not alreadhy in the group that uses it.

I wouldn't mind if the people who used them were just like 'oh ha sorry jargon, i'll try to explain if it's not clear, sorry i forget you guys don't know them' just like any other inside joke or meme or whatever.

But I was in a discussion with someone on a Discord and when I was puzzled about them including these weird slash-acronyms after their statements they were like oh how nice for you that you're not neurodivergent and don't need to use these.

Uh no. The opposite actually. I'm the kind of neurodivergent that needs context. I handle being excluded from conversations very poorly. And that's where I get pissed off, that people seem to be holding these up as the new be-all end-all of Finally Solving The Problem Of Ambiguous Tones In Social Interaction. The hell you are, kids. They're just another layer, and I'd say the worst one yet, out of many many many attempts to solve this exact problem. They are fundamentally inaccessible. Don't mistake the fact that you learned them (somewhere, in some context inaccessible to me) for them actually being universal.

Considered against the many different solutions that have been offered since text-only speech was invented, tone indicators stack up as among the very least-accessible of the lot, since they contain so little context in and of themselves-- if a key is not provided then they're totally inaccessible, and are exceptionally difficult for non-native English speakers, and in general require so much memorization or cross-referencing as to be prohibitively hostile to outsiders.

And that's fine, if what your'e doing is just meant for talking to your friends. But don't come into my conversations and berate me for not having memorized whatever incomprehensible set of acronyms you've newly-decided are the new universal truth. And what drives me the most insane is how many of these acronyms someone has now decided to assign a whole new meaning to are acronyms that are well-known and already existed and are in heavy use. So if you try to look them up guess what you get! is it gonna be the newly-created version or the one that's been in use for fifty to seventy-five years??

For one, P.O.S. has had a specific meaning in written and spoken English for a really damn long time and if you call me a piece of shit in the actual language I speak I am absolutely not going to interpret your conlang as having intended something nice. (YES REALLY THEY'RE USING THAT ONE TRY TO GUESS WHAT IT MEANS. NO. NO! I know. Fuck! That's wild. Absolutely the fuck not.)

[thesilmarillionblog]

IN BAD DREAMS

Summary: After having a bad dream, Soldier Boy finds peace in your arms.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: fluff, comfort, soft Soldier Boy, established relationship, sweetness

Word Count: 1260

A/N: English is not my first language.

This one-shot story is inspired by the song 'In Bad Dreams' by Crippled Black Phoenix

⪩ Thank you for 300 followers! This one is for you. I hope you like it. 𓆩♡𓆪

Lost in thought, you sipped the water from your glass, got up from the chair, and headed to Ben's room. Everyone had gone to sleep by midnight, with the exception of you.

Ben and you had not spoken much since this morning, after he found out he had a son who was Homelander. Ben warned you about it and didn't want to discuss it with the rest of the crew. He had been acting more aggressively than usual, so you didn't want to press him to speak. You also didn't want to do anything that might damage your recently formed friendship because you were aware of how fragile his trust issues were.

Cautiously, you sneaked into his room, trying not to make any sort of noise. Although he was sleeping noisily, he didn't appear peaceful at all; instead, he appeared uneasy, as if he were having a nightmare. 

You just mumbled, “Ben?” because he had told you not to touch him while he was sleeping so that he wouldn't grab your arm violently and accidentally hurt you. 

He opened his eyes instantly and looked around, confused. Then your eyes met his emerald ones. He breathed deeply, as though he were relieved, and then extended his wide arms and rubbed his face. 

“What time is it?” he said in a hoarse voice, trying to figure out if it was morning or evening by peering out the window. 

“It's almost morning,” you remarked as you sat on the bed and ran your fingertips over his rough hands. 

His eyebrows furrowed as he inquired, “Why aren't you asleep yet?” 

You held his hand firmly and muttered, “I don't know; I just couldn't sleep. You looked quite uneasy when you were asleep. I’m worried about you, Ben.”

At least try to get him to talk about his dreams because you didn't bring up the Homelander issue and get him to push you away. It was incredibly difficult for him to open up to you. Being a man with PTSD, you knew you had to be patient with him, but you also wanted him to trust you as much as you trusted him. 

He hesitated and said, “Yeah,” as if speaking was difficult. “Just a bad dream.”

With a sympathetic tone, you said, “Again?” and cautiously settled upon the bed. He swiftly proceeded to around you with his powerful arms and planted

solid kiss on your lips before kissing you firmly on your forehead. “What was it about?”

“You.”

“Why do you always see me in bad dreams?” You whispered to him, running your hand over his full beard, and leaned in to feel the warmth of his chest.

With a smile, he said, “I'm not sure. It has become somewhat of a habit these days.”

Assuming he would talk about it this time, you inquired, “What are they about, though?”

His hands came down to rest on your stomach, and his fingers lightly caressed your skin. You also felt he wouldn't want to talk about it, so you kept silent as you measured his expression.

Finally, he stated, “I would never let anything happen to you,” as though he didn't know how to fully open up to you and you understood.

You told him, “I know you won't,” hoping he would realize how much you trusted him and that you also wanted him to have faith in you. “No matter what, nothing that happens will ever be your fault, and I will never hold you responsible for anything. Ben, I need you to fully understand this.”

“Nothing will happen,” Ben said with a rough voice, ignoring what you've just

You nodded to him and sighed. Not sure how to start the conversation, you asked him politely, “How are you feeling about today? About him?” 

You weren't sure if Ben's emotions or ideas about Homelander had changed in light of today's news, even if he was a horrible person—the worst person alive; in fact, he was still Ben's son. In the end, Homelander turned out to be Ben's son. There was no need to be in denial. 

He cut it short, obviously not interested in talking. “I don't know,” he said. “But that changes nothing. That's just not how I pictured myself several decades ago. There were a ton of various possibilities.”

With a heavy heart, you asked, “With Countess?” Even though he killed her, you knew he loved her. Back then, he must have envisioned a life with her and a family. You hated her since she was the cause of his current trust issues.

“You know I don't like talking about such stuff, especially her, right?” He was dissatisfied with your question. Even though he didn't mean to, it still made you upset. 

You said, “Fine,” losing interest and wanting to stop asking questions. 

You made an attempt to break free and gain some distance, but he simply stopped you with an irritated sigh, trapping your body between his strong arms. "Stop moving," he said playfully. “Why did you get sensitive now?” he inquired. 

“I didn't.”

“You sure didn't,” he said, teasing you more and making you laugh with quick tickles to the stomach.

Upon witnessing your afterwards silence, he took a deep breath, uncertain about where to begin. He never felt completely at ease opening up to you, even though you were the easiest person with whom to have a real, sincere talk.

“It's true that decades ago, I had dreams of starting a family with her, but as you have seen, I ended up killing her because she was a cunning, dishonest bitch. I'm not even sure if I really liked her.” At last, he said, “Maybe I just wanted to do what was required of me. Now that it's all over, you can stop feeling jealous.” 

With a clearly deceptive smile, you said, “I'm not jealous.” Your pulse was racing, so you knew he could understand. But his words brought you relief. That was the first time he had told you honestly about how he felt about her. 

You wanted him to want for the same visions with you and to trust you with his life because you knew you would never betray him, but you were unsure of how to show him how much you loved him. If you told him, you were worried he would push you away. That's the reason you haven't brought up the Countess issue until now. It would be best if he just moved on from the past and forgot about it. Whatever had broken inside of him—Countess, his father, Vought, and Payback—you wanted to fix.

You proceeded to brush his bare chest with your hands, whispering, “I just need you to know you can trust me just like I trust you with my life. You are very dear to me. You also need to quit seeing me only in your bad dreams. I have no doubt that a mighty supe like you could even control his dreams.”

Although you are unable to express your affection for him, you can reassure him of your trustworthiness.

He nodded and gave you a small chuckle before playfully remarking, “You talk too much tonight, sweetheart,” without adding anything. “I’m sure that cute mouth of yours can do other things to that mighty supe.”

“Like what?” you said in amusement.

“Like kissing me.”

⋆⋅☆⋆☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────⋆⋅☆⋆☆⋅⋆

A/N: I hope you liked this one. You can check my MASTERLIST for more. ♡˚.

[dannyphannypack]

Writing ASL: Techniques to Write Signed Dialogue

Hey, guys! I've been reading a lot of DC Batfamily fanfiction lately, and in doing so I realized how little I see of ASL being represented in written text (love you, Cass!). I wanted to briefly talk about tactics to writing American Sign Language (ASL), and ways that these techniques can help improve your writing in more general contexts!

SOME THINGS BEFORE WE GET STARTED

I will be discussing everything in terms of ASL! If you have a character who uses Chinese Sign Language or even British Sign Language, the same rules will not necessarily apply! Don't be afraid to do some extra research on them.

Do not let this dissuade you from writing a character who signs ASL! This is by no means the end-all be-all to writing ASL dialogue, and I do not intend this post to insinuate that by writing ASL the same way you write English you are deeply offending the Deaf community. If this is something you're interested in though, I highly recommend experimenting with the way you write it! Above all, have fun with your writing.

Related to 2nd rule, but still very important: not everyone will agree that sign language should be treated/written any differently than English. This is a totally valid and understandable stance to take! I do not hope to invalidate this stance by making this post, but rather to introduce an interested audience to how ASL operates in the modern world, and how that can be translated into text.

ADDRESSING SOME MISCONCEPTIONS

ASL is the same as English, just with gestures instead of words.

Actually, no! There is a language that exists that is like that: it's called Signing Exact English, and it's an artificial language; i.e., it did not come about naturally. All languages came from a need to communicate with others, and ASL is no different! It is a language all on it's own, and there is no perfect 1:1 way to translate it to English, just as any spoken language.

2. But everyone who signs ASL knows how to read English, don't they?

No, actually! Because it's a completely different language, people who sign ASL and read English can be considered bilingual: they now know two languages. In fact, fingerspelling a word to a Deaf person in search for the correct sign does not usually work, and is far from the preferred method of conversing with Deaf people.

3. Because ASL does not use as many signs as we do words to articulate a point, it must be an inferior language.

Nope! ASL utilizes 5 complex parameters in order to conversate with others: hand shape, palm orientation, movement, location, and expression. English relies on words to get these points across: while we may say "He's very cute," ASL will sign, "He cute!" with repeated hand movement and an exaggerated facial expression to do what the "very" accomplishes in the English version: add emphasis. Using only ASL gloss can seem infantilizing because words are unable to portray what the other four parameters are doing in a signed sentence.

4. Being deaf is just a medical disability. There's nothing more to it.

Fun fact: there is a difference between being deaf and being Deaf. You just said the same thing twice? But I didn't! To be deaf with a lowercase 'd' is to be unable to hear, while being Deaf with an uppercase is to be heavily involved in the Deaf community and culture. Deaf people are often born deaf, or they become deaf at a young age. Because of this, they attend schools for the Deaf, where they are immersed in an entirely different culture from our own. While your family may mourn the loss of your grandfather's hearing, Deaf parents often celebrate discovering that their newborn is also deaf; they get to share and enjoy their unique culture with their loved one, which is a wonderful thing!

YOU MENTIONED ASL GLOSS. WHAT IS THAT?

ASL gloss is the written approximation of ASL, using English words as "labels" for each sign. ASL IS NOT A WRITTEN LANGUAGE, so this is not the correct way to write it (there is no correct way!): rather, it is a tool used most commonly in classrooms to help students remember signs, and to help with sentence structure.

IF THERE'S NO CORRECT WAY TO WRITE IN ASL, THEN HOW DO I DO IT?

A most astute observation! The short answer: it's up to you. There is no right or wrong way to do it. The longer answer? Researching the culture and history, understanding sign structure, and experimenting with description of the 5 parameters are all fun ways you can take your ASL dialogue to the next level. Here are 3 easy ways you can utilize immediately to make dialogue more similar to the way your character is signing:

Sign languages are never as wordy as spoken ones. Here's an example: "Sign languages are never wordy. Spoken? Wordy." Experiment with how much you can get rid of without the meaning of the sentence being lost (and without making ASL sound goo-goo-ga-ga-y; that is to say, infantilizing).

Emotion is your friend. ASL is a very emotive language! If we were to take that sentence and get rid of the unnecessary, we could get something like "ASL emotive!" The way we add emphasis is by increasing the hand motion, opening the mouth, and maybe even moving the eyebrows. It can be rather intuitive: if you mean to say very easy, you would sign EASY in a flippant manner; if you mean to say so handsome, you would sign handsome and open your mouth or fan your face as if you were hot. Think about a game of Charades: how do you move your mouth and eyebrows to "act out" the word? How are you moving your body as your teammates get closer? There are grammar rules you can certainly look up if you would like to be more technical, too, but this is a good place to start!

Practice describing gestures and action. ASL utilizes three dimensional space in a lot of fun and interesting ways. Even without knowing what a specific sign is, describing body language can be a big help in deciphering the "mood" of a sentence. Are they signing fluidly (calm) or sharply (angry)? Are their signs big (excited) or small (timid)? Are they signing rushedly (impatient) or slowly? Messily (sad) or pointedly (annoyed)? Consider what you can make come across without directly addressing it in dialogue! Something ese about ASL is that English speakers who are learning it tend to think the speakers a little nosy: they are more than able to pick up on the unsaid, and they aren't afraid to ask about it.

Above all, don't be afraid to ask questions, do research or accept advice! New languages can be big and scary things, but don't let that make you shy away. Again, there is nothing wrong with deciding to write ASL the same as you write your English. I've personally found that experimenting with ASL dialogue in stories has aided me in becoming more aware of how to describe everything, from sappy emotional moments to action-packed fighting scenes. Writing ASL has helped me think about new ways to improve my description in more everyday contexts, and I hope it can be a big help to you as well, both in learning about Deaf culture and in pursuing your future writing endeavors. :)

P.S: I am quite literally only dipping my toes into the language and culture. I cannot emphasize how important it is to do your own research if it's someting you're interested in!

P.P.S: I want to apologize for my earlier P.S! What I meant by “I am … dipping my toes into the language and culture” was in direct regards to the post; what I should have said is “this post is only dipping its toes into the language and culture.” While I am not Deaf myself, I am a sophomore in college minoring in ASL and Deaf Culture, and I am steadily losing my hearing. Of course, that does not make me an authority figure on the topic, which is why I strongly encourage you to do your own research, ask your own questions, and consult any Deaf friends, family, or online peers you may have.

[corvidcall]

None Of You Know What Haiku Are

I'm going to preface this by saying that i am not an expert in ANY form of poetry, just an enthusiast. Also, this post is... really long. Too long? Definitely too long. Whoops! I love poetry.

If you ask most English-speaking people (or haiku-bot) what a haiku is, they would probably say that it's a form of poetry that has 3 lines, with 5, and then 7, and then 5 syllables in them. That's certainly what I was taught in school when we did our scant poetry unit, but since... idk elementary school when I learned that, I've learned that that's actually a pretty inaccurate definition of haiku. And I think that inaccurate definition is a big part of why most people (myself included until relatively recently!) think that haiku are kind of... dumb? unimpressive? simple and boring? I mean, if you can just put any words with the right number of syllables into 3 lines, what makes it special?

Well, let me get into why the 5-7-5 understanding of haiku is wrong, and also what makes haiku so special (with examples)!

First of all, Japanese doesn't have syllables! There's a few different names for what phonetic units actually make up the language- In Japanese, they're called "On" (音), which translates to "sound", although English-language linguists often call it a "mora" (μ), which (quoting from Wikipedia here) "is a basic timing unit in the phonology of some spoken languages, equal to or shorter than a syllable." (x) "Oh" is one syllable, and also one mora, whereas "Oi" has one syllable, but two moras. "Ba" has one mora, "Baa" has two moras, etc. In English, we would say that a haiku is made up of three lines, with 5-7-5 syllables in them, 17 syllables total. In Japanese, that would be 17 sounds.

For an example of the difference, the word "haiku", in English, has 2 syllables (hai-ku), but in Japanese, はいく has 3 sounds (ha-i-ku). "Christmas" has 2 syllables, but in Japanese, "クリスマス" (ku-ri-su-ma-su) is 5 sounds! that's a while line on its own! Sometimes the syllables are the same as the sounds ("sushi" is two syllables, and すし is two sounds), but sometimes they're very different.

In addition, words in Japanese are frequently longer than their English equivalents. For example, the word "cuckoo" in Japanese is "ほととぎす" (hototogisu).

Now, I'm sure you're all very impressed at how I can use an English to Japanese dictionary (thank you, my mother is proud), but what does any of this matter? So two languages are different. How does that impact our understanding of haiku?

Well, if you think about the fact that Japanese words are frequently longer than English words, AND that Japanese counts sounds and not syllables, you can see how, "based purely on a 17-syllable counting method, a poet writing in English could easily slip in enough words for two haiku in Japanese” (quote from Grit, Grace, and Gold: Haiku Celebrating the Sports of Summer by Kit Pancoast Nagamura). If you're writing a poem using 17 English syllables, you are writing significantly more content than is in an authentic Japanese haiku.

(Also not all Japanese haiku are 17 sounds at all. It's really more of a guideline.)

Focusing on the 5-7-5 form leads to ignoring other strategies/common conventions of haiku, which personally, I think are more interesting! Two of the big ones are kigo, a season word, and kireji, a cutting word.

Kigo are words/phrases/images associated with a particular season, like snow for winter, or cherry blossoms for spring. In Japan, they actually publish reference books of kigo called saijiki, which is basically like a dictionary or almanac of kigo, describing the meaning, providing a list of related words, and some haiku that use that kigo. Using a a particular kigo both grounds the haiku in a particular time, but also alludes to other haiku that have used the same one.

Kireji is a thing that doesn't easily translate to English, but it's almost like a spoken piece of punctuation, separating the haiku into two parts/images that resonate with and add depth to each other. Some examples of kireji would be "ya", "keri", and "kana." Here's kireji in action in one of the most famous haiku:

古池や　蛙飛び込む　水の音 (Furu ike ya　kawazu tobikomu　mizu no oto) (The old pond — A frog jumps in The sound of the water.)

You can see the kireji at the end of the first line- 古池や literally translates to "old pond ya". The "ya" doesn't have linguistic meaning, but it denotes the separation between the two focuses of the haiku. First, we are picturing a pond. It's old, mature. The water is still. And then there's a frog! It's spring and he's fresh and new to the world! He jumps into the pond and goes "splash"! Wowie! When I say "cutting word", instead of say, a knife cutting, I like to imagine a film cut. The camera shows the pond, and then it cuts to the frog who jumps in.

English doesn't really have a version of this, at least not one that's spoken, but in English language haiku, people will frequently use a dash or an ellipses to fill the same role.

Format aside, there are also some conventions of the actual content, too. They frequently focus on nature, and are generally use direct language without metaphor. They use concrete images without judgement or analysis, inviting the reader to step into their shoes and imagine how they'd feel in the situation. It's not about describing how you feel, so much as it's about describing what made you feel.

Now, let's put it all together, looking at a haiku written Yosa Buson around 1760 (translated by Harold G. Henderson)

The piercing chill I feel: my dead wife's comb, in our bedroom, under my heel

We've got our kigo with "the piercing chill." We read that, and we imagine it's probably winter. It's cold, and the kind of cold wind that cuts through you. There's our kireji- this translation uses a colon to differentiate our two images: the piercing chill, and the poet stepping on his dead wife's comb. There's no descriptions of what the poet is feeling, but you can imagine stepping into his shoes. You can imagine the pain he's experiencing in that moment on your own.

"But tumblr user corvidcall!" I hear you say, "All the examples you've used so far are Japanese haiku that have been translated! Are you implying that it's impossible for a good haiku to be written in English?" NO!!!!! I love English haiku! Here's a good example, which won first place in the 2000 Henderson haiku contest, sponsored by the Haiku Society of America:

meteor shower . . . a gentle wave wets our sandals

When you read this one, can you imagine being in the poet's place? Do you feel the surprise as the tide comes in? Do you feel the summer-ness of the moment? Haiku are about describing things with the senses, and how you take in the world around you. In a way, it's like the poet is only setting a scene, which you inhabit and fill with meaning based on your own experiences. You and I are imagining different beaches, different waves, different people that make up the "our" it mentioned.

"Do I HAVE to include all these things when I write haiku? If I include all these things, does that mean my haiku will be good?" I mean, I don't know. What colors make up a good painting? What scenes make up a good play? It's a creative medium, and nobody can really tell you you can't experiment with form. Certainly not me! But I think it's important to know what the conventions of the form are, so you can appreciate good examples of it, and so you can know what you're actually experimenting with. And I mean... I'm not the poetry cops. But if you're not interested in engaging with the actual conventions and limitations of the form, then why are you even using that form?

I'll leave you with one more English language haiku, which is probably my favorite haiku ever. It was written by Tom Bierovic, and won first place at the 2021 Haiku Society of America Haiku Awards

a year at most . . . we pretend to watch the hummingbirds

Sources: (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

Further reading:

Forms in English Haiku by Keiko Imaoka Haiku: A Whole Lot More Than 5-7-5 by Jack How to Write a Bad Haiku by KrisL Haiku Are Not a Joke: A Plea from a Poet Who Has Had It Up to Here by Sandra Simpson Haiku Checklist by Katherine Raine

[jupitermelichios]

Hey, we need to talk about the way Batfamily fans write Cass using ASL, because a lot of it is really fucking ableist

But Cass can't speak, of course she needs to sign!

Not true! There is nothing physically wrong with Cass's vocal chords or mouth, there's nothing in her brain stopping her from making sounds, and she is not an elective mute. She actually learns to speak individual words really quickly after she puts herself into an environment where that's a useful skill. Basil teaches her to quote huge chunks of Shakespeare in Nu52, and that's easier for her than forming simple sentences. That would definitely not be the case if she had any physical limitations on her speech.

Cass's disability is that she was not taught any language, and so she is having to grok the entire concept of language from the ground up. Grammar and syntax; tonality; how to combine words to convey more complex ideas; how putting two words next to one another can change their meaning; how to break down a whole idea into the individual parts needed to turn it into words; the fact that people's words might not line up with their tone and body language so you have to pay attention to both; how to tell if someone wants a response or is stating a fact; how to work out meaning from context if a word is new or someone has an unfamiliar accent; how to know if someone is using a new word or if they actually just have an unfamilar accent and all the ways words can be bent and changed before they become something new; the fact that two words can use the same sounds but have the same meaning; the fact that there can be two different words that mean the same thing. This is all stuff she didn't learn as a baby, and not knowing it would be just as much an impediment to learning ASL as learning English (for accent, swap out things like having limited movement in their hands, or having learned slightly different forms of the same sign, using a lot of home-signs etc, it's the same concept in a different medium).

There is no language on earth Cass wouldn't have these problems with. ASL is not any kind of shortcut.

But she reads body language, and ASL is kind of like body language right?

Not true, also pretty abelist! Just as the sounds which make up spoken language are essentially arbitrary (there's no objective reason why the sound "gud" should mean good, English speakers just all agree it does) so most of the signs in ASL are arbitrary! There's no reason for

to mean good. ASL users just all agree that it does. Cass knowing body language would not help her any more with ASL than it would with English, and if anything, it might make it harder, because sign uses the whole body and therefore changes the way people use body language so unless she saw a lot of ASL users as a child (and there's no particular reason to think she did), she would have to adjust what she knows about body language to account for those differences!

But she signs in the comics!

Nope! She uses hand gestures to communicate sometimes, but that's not signing. Pointing at food and miming eating to convey hunger is not sign. Pretending to punch someone and pulling it at the last second to convey you could hurt them but won't (Cass's actual first communication with Bruce in the comics) isn't signing. I've done the point and mime thing in countries where I didn't speak the language, that does not mean I knew that country's native sign language!

But she learns ballet, that's like a physical language, so sign is the same thing!

Nope! Also low key kinda abelist. Dance is a method of communication, but it isn't a full language. There's almost no grammar or sentence structure, the vocabulary is extremely limited, and also you can just make up new dance moves or use moves from different styles of dance together and still convey your meaning (you cannot just make random gestures or use BSL and expect ASL users to understand you, because they're full complex languages). Cass vibes with dance pretty hard, but that's precisely because it isn't a language, it doesn't require any of the skills she struggles with in order to communicate emotion.

But ASL isn't like a real language, it's not as complex or nuanced as spoken English so it would be easier for her to learn

That is so fucking gross I don't even want to have this conversation with you. Go and sit in the timeout box and think about what you've just said, and then commit to doing better.

But I just think that once she learned it, she'd like using ASL because [it's very expressive/she's used to her world being very quiet/she can use it on stealth missions more easily/etc]

Valid, understandable, have a lovely day

But I'm writing an AU were she uses ASL because her backstory is too comic-book-y to fit in no-capes AUs but I didn't want to erase her communication difficulties so I've written her as having a different disability

Cool. Send me a link when you're done.

But what if I write her using makatong?

(For context, makatong is a form of sign developed for people who have intellectual or phsyical disabilities that affect language use, which uses more descriptive signs which require less precise hand possitioning than other sign languages, and which has very simple grammar, making it easier to learn than ASL). Yes this would be easier for her, because it's intended for people with similar difficulties to hers, but since her difficulties stem purely from a lack of experience which can be (and are, in canon) overcome with practise, it would be kind of needlessly limiting compared to her just starting out with very simple spoken language, and wouldn't give her as many chances to develop those language learning skills. Makatong is also not mutually intelligable with any other sign language, so she couldn't easily transition from that to ASL once she got used to signing, she'd have to start learning it from scratch.

But I HC her as deaf

There is 0 comics evidence to support that, but it's a headcanon, so who cares. You do you. Have fun.

But learning sign language would be better than learning to speak anyway because it's a universal language!

That is not even slightly how it work. Go read the wikipedia article on sign languages around the world or something. Do some research.

TL:DR; Cass does not use ASL in the comics, and nothing about her disability or sign languages in general would make learning ASL easier or more convinent for her than spoken English. That does't mean writing her signing is inherently bad, but you should examine your reasons for doing it to ensure you're not just perpetuating ableist stereotypes about the language.

[honeygrahambitch]

"No witnesses then?" Will asked as he entered Jack's office with Hannibal closely behind him.

Jack looked defeated. The whiskey bottle on his desk was the proof. He was probably waiting to call it a day and drown his frustration into a glass of whiskey.

"There is a witness. We brought him in but by the time we will interrogate him, our serial killer will have committed three other crimes."

"May I ask why we are not interrogating him now?" Hannibal asked.

"We need a translator. He doesn't speak English. Took the Bureau a few hours only to find one and he can make it here in a few days."

"What does he speak then? There's a high chance Hannibal speaks it." Will commented.

"I don't speak every language on earth, darling."

"I don't speak Lithuanian."

"Lithuanian?" Jack inquired.

"Aren't you Lithuanian, doctor?" Will asked.

"I am but I haven't spoken it in years. I doubt I can be of any help."

"So be it, then."

"Doctor." Jack started. Will and Hannibal recognized Jack's persuasive voice and Will immediately regretted opening his mouth. There was no way out now. "It would be of great help if we got the physical features of our killer. I am only asking you to try. It's the only way I will be able to sleep at night."

Hannibal looked at Will, then at Jack.

-

Jack and Will watched Hannibal from behind the glass of the interrogation room.

Hannibal spoke fluently with only few hesitations. There was something else that Will couldn't point towards. He felt bad about making Hannibal help with the case. When he had said he couldn't speak Lithuanian, Will knew he wasn't being modest about his skills. He had said that just because he hadn't wanted to speak Lithuanian.

Will detected some sort of awkwardness from Hannibal in the first few minutes but he masked it well. The discussion went smoothly.

Jack was nodding pleased.

"And he was saying he can't do it." Jack commented, paying so much attention to what was happening in front of them that one could think he was understanding every word. "We might catch this one by tonight, Will."

"Hopefully."

And they did. A bit later than what Jack had expected but Hannibal's report had been of great use.

-

"You caught him." Will said as the doctor was pouring him a glass of wine.

"You and Jack did."

"We wouldn't have without your help. It made a difference."

Hannibal said nothing, which was unusual and which reminded Will of his earlier eerie feeling.

"I'm sorry about making you do it. I figured you weren't comfortable."

"You didn't make me do anything. You know how persuasive Jack can get."

"How was it?" He wasn't sure wether Hannibal would want to talk about it.

"Quite an experience, I'd say. Words I have not pronounced in years. I might have made a lot of mistakes. Good thing you and Jack couldn't tell."

"It was more than a skill issue. Words have their way of taking you to certain places. And his accent was extremely authentic."

Will smiled softly. "I am sure your Lithuanian skills are better than mine."

Hannibal brought his glass of wine to his lips and smelled it thoughtfully.

"It took you down the halls of your memory palace."

"And it opened some locked doors."

"Did you manage to close them back already?"

"Not yet. I might linger in there for a while."

Will grabbed his fork and played with the sushi roll that was resting on his plate.

"It's something he said before leaving the interrogation room. He asked me why I can speak Lithuanian. I told him that I am, in fact, Lithuanian. He was very surprised by that. He said I didn't sound Lithuanian at all." Hannibal explained and took a sip from his glass.

"You don't have to keep to yourself." He said, sensing the amount of thoughts running through Hannibal's mind. "What else bothers you?"

"How did that make you feel?" Will asked genuinely curious and was relieved to see Hannibal cracking a smile. He knew Will hated that question.

"For a second it made me question what I am. The place you are born in doesn't define that. Nor does your family, be it dead or alive."

"Then nature and nurture have no power on the individual?"

"I wouldn't choose either. I would have said that they both have a role in defining who we are."

"Implying that you no longer believe that?"

"I kept reflecting on this subject while I was cooking. I didn't come to a satisfying answer. Then you knocked."

"And?"

"And here I was going to say something inappropriate. I can't now that you made this confession."

"And I found all the answers I needed. I see myself in you. And that is more than what Lithuania will ever mean to me. And more than what nature and nurture can explain."

"What was it?"

"Today I learnt that listening to you speaking Lithuanian does certain things to me."

Hannibal put down his fork and knife, his lips slightly parted. He didn't try to hide his surprise.

"Well." He said thoughtfully. "I had made up my mind I would never use it again after today. But this changes everything."

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (21)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, sexual tension, smut, angst, dirty talk ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

When she woke up in her chamber the sun was already slowly setting behind the walls of the Red Keep. She muttered under her breath in displeasure, twisting in her place, feeling discomfort in her lower abdomen and looked down, feeling a wave of disappointment and pain once again.

She sighed heavily, putting aside the already cold purse of water that had brought her great relief and allowed her to sleep for a few hours. Although she was distraught and terrified, the thought of her uncle's reaction and behaviour towards her made a warm, pleasant feeling spill over her heart.

She smiled involuntarily at the thought, wondering if he had just been at the Small Council meeting and would be back soon.

It wasn't long when the door to her chamber opened, and a moment later her husband walked in, pale, staring at her with wide-open eye.

Her heart pounded harder in horror at that look.

"We have received your mother's demands."

The word that she wanted to see her, to speak to her, and the fact that Aegon had agreed to it at the same time filled her with joy and horror.

She missed her and longed to hear her voice again, but she did not know what her mother was planning, what she hoped to hear from her lips.

What if she believed that her daughter had married her uncle just to survive?

That her affection for him was a lie and she would stab him in the back when she got the chance?

Her husband didn't seem pleased either as the affair became more and more complicated and there seemed to be no end to it all, no solution they could reach together.

On the second morning after King sent his response, a raven arrived in the Red Keep with word that her mother had agreed to the arrangements and would indeed be waiting with her husband in the Eyrie on the appointed day to speak to her daughter and her half-brother.

Her husband had no intention of spending a single night in the Eyrie, so he just acceded to his brother's suggestion and decided that the day before the agreed date they would travel to Harrenhal. She was not delighted with this idea, having heard many unflattering opinions about her father's brother.

Word had also reached her that a witch lived behind the walls of this grim fortress.

Still, she understood her husband's caution and anxiety, so she did not defy him, demanding something else in return.

"I will fly with you on Larax."

"No."

"If my mother sees that you did not allow me to fly on my own dragon she will not believe that anything that leaves my mouth was spoken of my own free will. She will see it as an excuse to believe that I still remain to you only a prisoner." She said impatiently; her husband turned his face towards the fire, sitting on one of the chairs at the table, licking his lower lip with his tongue in a nervous gesture, frustrated.

He did not reply.

She approached him slowly and knelt beside him on the cold stone floor, taking his hand in hers, placing a warm, tender kiss on it. She saw out of the corner of her eye that he had closed his eyelids, that he was losing the battle with himself.

"Please, husband. Give me this joy."

Though reluctant, her uncle finally gave her his wordless consent, but he remained silent throughout the evening and locked himself in his mind, tense.

It didn't help that she was still bleeding.

Not wishing to cause him any discomfort with an intimacy full of these disgusting fluids, she did not attempt to touch him, and he, apparently fearing that he might cause her pain in this state, also refrained from doing so.

The carriages filled with their belongings had long since left King's Landing when she and her uncle left the walls of the Red Keep.

She could see that he was pale, looking at her with his lips pressed together, unhappy and unsure whether he was making the right decision. He sighed heavily as she touched his cheek with her soft palm.

"I will join you in the sky soon, husband. I promise." She whispered and rose on her tiptoes, placing a moist, warm kiss on his cheek exactly as she had done that day, when he ran after her. Her husband hummed under his breath at her words and moved ahead, while she turned the other way, heading for the Dragon's Pit.

At the behest of her uncle, the servants who had been taking care of their dragons since their childhood led Larax into the main cave – her dragoness squealed loudly in despair at the sight of her, her sounds reminding her of the crying of a child.

She ran to her with tears in her eyes, feeling that the sight was breaking her heart.

She had been locked away for so long, terrified and imprisoned just as she was.

"Shijetra nyke, Larax. Shijetra nyke. Lykiri (Forgive me, Larax. Forgive me. Easy)." She mumbled, reaching out to her – her dragoness tilted her head and let her touch her, pushing against her chest, showing her how much she longed for her closeness.

As she climbed into her saddle again, as she again commanded her to move ahead, to take to the skies, and as the wind and speed blew her hair away, she felt a wonderful surge of adrenaline, freedom and happiness. She soared high into the sky, commanding her to fly in the right direction.

Larax let out a loud cry, terrified, wanting to escape, when suddenly Vhagar flew over her, her mighty wings causing a wave of air to hit them.

"Lykiri, Larax! Gaomagon sagon zūgagon daor! Sōvēs! (Calm down, Larax! Do not be afraid! Fly!)" She commanded, and after a moment she managed to regain control of her, heading after the great beast towards the fortress where her father had died.

Although she knew her husband was terrified at the prospect of letting her ride her own dragon, she noticed out of the corner of her eye his silhouette and his face staring back at her, from a distance she had the impression he was smiling.

She thought with a squeeze in her heart that he must have been dreaming of this moment since they were children.

Him and her, flying side by side on their dragons.

Exactly as it should be.

Thanks to the good weather, their several-hour journey turned out to be less tiresome than she thought it would be; she felt an immense ache in her muscles after a long break from flying as soon as they landed and she dismounted from her saddle anyway.

She had to wait for her husband, who had to land on Vhagar much further away so that no houses were destroyed, therefore she allowed herself to look around, feeling that her heart was pounding like mad.

"Your Grace. What a joy." She heard the voice of Larys Strong as he strode towards her through the gates of his fortress, leaning on his staff, followed by several guards and a woman who immediately caught her attention.

Her long, straight black hair, her bare shoulders, her full breasts, her slender figure and her eyes surrounded by her dark lashes, her irises having the colour of fresh, juicy grass.

She lowered her gaze, never having seen such a beautiful and mysterious woman before in her life, finally glancing at Lord Strong, realising she should say something in reply.

She had never trusted him or had a good opinion of him.

She believed he was responsible for her father's death and she didn't want to speak to him.

"My Lord Strong. Thank you for being willing to host us." She mumbled finally, forcing a warm smile, Larys Strong nodded. They all bowed as they spotted her husband approaching from the distance, his black leather coat and hair blown by the wind.

"My Prince."

"Lord Strong. Take us to our quarters." Her uncle commanded him, his voice as hoarse and shaky as hers from the emotion they had both apparently experienced while flying.

Her uncle and Larys Strong walked through the gate first and she moved to follow them, the woman who stood beside him, whoever she was, strolled a few paces behind her, her pleasant scent reaching her nostrils.

Lavender and cloves.

"We have prepared for you, my Prince, the most magnificent quarters in the entire fortress. I have no use for it anyway; I would get tired climbing all those steps every day. Nearby we have prepared rooms for your wife, I assure you −"

"No need. My wife will spend the night in my chamber." Her husband interrupted him, pulling his leather gloves from his hands, stepping inside the room, looking around with frustration and impatience.

Having been with him on a daily routine, accustomed to him conversing with her of his own accord, she had already forgotten how much he resented speaking to strangers for longer than necessary.

"As you wish, my Prince. However, I will leave the rooms I spoke of at your wife's disposal for her own convenience. I have also assigned her a servant to ensure that while we men are conversing, she will have company. There are several matters I would like to discuss with you."

She and her uncle cast quick, concerned glances at each other; her husband hit the side of his cheek with the tip of his tongue, furious.

She knew the expression on his face, knew he was only dreaming of rest, but they were his guests and he was not in a position to simply refuse him.

Lord Strong looked at her expectantly and her uncle nodded at her, albeit reluctantly, to leave them alone. The woman standing beside her raised her hand and indicated with a gesture where they were to go, so she set off in that direction.

The chamber her father's brother had assigned her was smaller and more modest than that of her husband's, but it had a more pleasant view from the window, straight over the forest and the clearing where her dragoness slept.

She involuntarily smiled under her breath as she pressed her palm against the glass, seeing Larax, forgetting for a moment that she was not alone.

"Do you desire to change into something…more comfortable, Your Grace?" She heard a low, melodious, pleasant female voice behind her. She looked up at her and nodded.

"Yes. What do they call you?" She asked uncertainly. The woman smiled, looking at her calmly.

"Alys, Your Grace."

An awkward silence fell between them for a moment.

"I would not wish to… misunderstand who you are and what you have in common with Lord Strong, Alys." She said after a moment; the woman burst into a hearty, light laugh and shook her head.

"I am not his mistress. I am his relative, though I do not bear his name, as any bastard would." She replied softly, her voice gentle and full of understanding, as if she were speaking to a small child. She blinked, shocked by her words, her question leaving her lips before she had time to think what she was saying.

"Did you know my father?"

The woman looked at her for a moment before she nodded.

"Yes, Your Grace."

She felt her hand clench into a fist, her heart starting to beat like mad.

"His death wasn't an unfortunate ordeal, was it?" She asked in a trembling voice, the corner of the woman's mouth lifting in a grin.

"There are no such thing as unfortunate ordeals, Princess."

She left her enigmatic response unanswered, both intrigued and terrified of her at the same time; it seemed to her that the gaze of her luscious green eyes pierced her to the core.

"After the word has reached us here all the way from King's Landing, I have been looking forward to our meeting with impatience, and while I will admit that it is not what I expected, I am beginning to understand your husband's desperation." She spoke again with a hint of amusement from which she felt uncomfortable, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at her words.

"What do you mean?" She muttered uneasily; the woman's gaze swept over her figure, as if assessing what she saw before her and combining it with her own conclusions in her head.

"Men are easily driven to desperation, though it usually takes time. They like to gain and take pride in what they have conquered; the greater, in their mind, the value of what they enclose in their embrace, the less they are willing to let it go." She said in a light, low, slightly dreamy voice, looking somewhere to the side, intertwining her hands in front of her.

"Your husband follows you with his thoughts even when he is not looking at you. His head, even when he is not speaking to you, is directed towards you so that he can see you out of the corner of his eye. When he feels discomfort, he involuntarily seeks your face to experience understanding and comfort."

She stared at her in disbelief, wondering if she had been able to see such a thing being in their company for just a moment, unable to hide how pleased her words made her.

She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, her heart pounding like mad.

Alys helped her change into one of the gowns that had arrived in Harrenhal in the chests before them, her long, graceful fingers entwining her dark, long hair into an intricate bun of many braids surrounding her head.

She had never had a similar hairstyle before and she liked it very much.

Alys escorted her to the chamber where her husband and Lord Strong had just eaten supper, then bowed and left, leaving them alone. Her husband looked at her intently as she sat beside him at the table with a smile, Larys Strong cast her a look full of curiosity.

"Beautiful hairstyle, Your Grace." He said softly, but she felt a sense of discomfort instead of gratitude, which, however, she did not give vent to in any way. She looked at her uncle, for some reason emboldened by the woman's words.

"And you, my husband? What do you think?" She asked softly, her uncle throwing her a calm, impassive look.

"I prefer it when your hair is loose." He merely replied, reaching for his goblet full of wine, taking a loud sip from it, setting it down on the table with a loud clinking of steel.

She felt like a silly little girl and lowered her gaze, feeling a squeeze in her throat as an awkward silence fell around them.

What had crossed her mind to ask such foolishness?

Did he think she asked it out of vanity?

It seemed to her that her uncle regretted the coldness in which he had expressed his opinion, for before she left to prepare for sleep he reminded her that immediately when she had finished she was to appear in his chamber.

She nodded her head at his words and pressed her lips together, only in the corridor letting a few regretful, embarrassed tears run down her face.

How could she take it so personally, expect empty compliments from him when she knew perfectly well that he loathed it?

As she stepped into her chamber she asked one of the servants to summon Alys, wanting her to help her take off her gown and to prepare her hot bath.

She had no intention of going to her husband after hours of travelling on a dragon all sticky from sweat and exertion.

Alys walked into her room with a smile and bowed, approaching her, seeing that she herself had already begun to untie her bodice.

"Was the Prince pleased with his wife's appearance, Your Grace?" She asked softly, and she swallowed quietly and sighed, lowering her gaze.

"Yes. Though he expressed his opinion that he prefers it when my hair is loose." She said resignedly, as if she had failed in some way by not meeting his expectations.

"Oh, that's understandable. He surely associates it with your intimacy and closeness, as any man would. The entwined curls and braids are for those around you, meanwhile the softness of your hair, the smell of them, the sight of them spread on the bed is something meant only for him." She replied lightly, as if she were speaking of something completely obvious and natural. She blinked, feeling that somehow her words comforted her.

"You know a lot about men…don't you?" She mumbled uncertainly, meeting her gaze in her reflection in the mirror, from which a shiver ran along her spine.

"Yes, Princess."

She swallowed hard, feeling her heart pounding hard at the thought.

"Have you seduced many yet?" She asked at last; the woman involuntarily giggled under her breath, finally releasing her from her gown, which fell lightly to the stone floor, leaving her in her white night gown.

Thankfully, her bleeding had almost stopped.

"Yes." She said with amusement, taking her garment in her hands and placing it gently back in one of the chests, being careful not to crumple it as she meanwhile stepped into the bath and sat in it with a sigh of relief, sinking into the hot water.

"I would like to … make my husband happy tonight. I know he needs relief from what's about to happen tomorrow. However, I can't do it, at least for now, in the way I usually do." She mumbled embarrassedly, trailing her fingers along the edge of the tub, not daring to look at her in fear that the woman would mock her.

"The easiest thing to do in that case would be for you to use your mouth." She replied with amusement, and she raised her eyes at her, shocked.

Although her husband had sunk his face between her thighs on several occasions just as he had the first night after her return to King's Landing, he had never expected her to reciprocate.

Before she could suggest anything he thrusted his manhood deep between her moist folds anyway.

The truth, however, was that even if she wanted to do it, she didn't know how.

"I'm…inexperienced in these matters." She confessed with shame, looking at her uncertainly, a smile on her face that she might have considered warm.

"I see." She murmured, approaching her slowly, startling her completely as she knelt beside her tub, gently grasping her wrist in her hand. "I can show you how you should do it, if that's what you wish, Your Grace."

She swallowed hard, feeling butterflies in her stomach and excitement, she licked her lower lip feeling it dry up with emotion.

"…How?"

Alys smiled, leaning towards her hand – she shuddered when her lips gently touched her finger, wondering with a fast beating heart what she was doing.

"Imagine that this is his manhood. Men don't say it out loud because pride won't let them, but they adore it when a woman showers them with gentle, tender caresses." She cooed as she closed her eyelids, running her full, moist lips up and down her pointing finger, leaving a wet trail of her saliva on it.

She looked at this sight as if enchanted, feeling an involuntary throbbing inside her imagining that she had knelt before her uncle and touched him like this.

She drew in air loudly, feeling a pleasant shiver run down her spine as the woman slipped the tip of her finger gently into her mouth, teasing it with her wet, fleshy tongue; she sighed helplessly feeling her nipples become hard, her walls clenching around nothing.

"− and then − when he begins breathing faster − when you feel he's completely ready −" She gasped softly between the brushes of her lips and suddenly slipped her whole finger into her mouth, starting to suck it unhurriedly with a quiet click of her saliva.

She didn't even notice when she began to breathe through her mouth, when her thighs clenched involuntarily under the water, seeking any kind of release of the tension that was building up inside her.

There was something so lewd and inappropriate about what she was seeing and feeling that she felt like a moan was about to come out of her throat.

She shuddered as Alys suddenly opened her eyes − a misty darkness in the green of her irises that she had often seen in her husband's gaze, her lips released her finger with a quiet click.

"− you pretty little thing − it's usually him taking care of you, isn't it? − he can't deny himself − I can't blame him −" She whispered, and she felt heat in her lower abdomen, her walls clenching greedily around nothing.

They both flinched as the door to her chamber suddenly opened, Alys stood up quickly and bowed, closing her eyes.

"My Prince."

"− get out −" She heard her husband's warning growl; she turned over her shoulder, looking at him with wide eyes, all red, breathing loudly through her mouth, looking shocked as the woman immediately left her quarters.

"− what is the meaning of this? − hm? −" He asked furiously standing over the tub as soon as the door closed behind her, fury in his eyes.

She couldn't find any meaningful answer in her head, her mind was completely blank.

Her uncle pressed his lips together in impatience, apparently trying not to explode.

"− can't I leave you alone even for a fucking moment? −" He hissed, and she shook her head, looking at him pleadingly.

"− I − I asked her for help −"

"− help with what, that she had to kneel beside you and hold your hand? − you are fucking bare −"

"− I − I can't tell you, it's embarrassing −"

"− gods, I swear I'm about to rip you to shreds −"

"− we were discussing embarrassing feminine matters − she showed me something…important − for you too −" She muttered, his jaw clenched in displeasure.

He didn't believe her.

"− I want to know what this brazen whore was doing to my wife −" He growled with an impatience so strong that she knew that if she didn't give him the answer he expected, her uncle was really about to explode and would surely knock her out along with her tub on the floor.

"− very well − I − I will try to show it to you − just − just don't get upset and sit on the bed −" She mumbled pleadingly, looking at him with her big eyes.

She saw that at her words his anger began to slowly fade, giving place to a slight intrigue in his gaze.

He hummed low and took a few steps back, as she requested, sitting down on her bed, looking at her watchfully.

She swallowed hard, rising from the tub with a loud splash of water, walking slowly out of the bath. He blinked, surprised when she sat on the floor in front of him, but with her back to him, reaching for the pins woven into her hair.

"− you have to help me, because I won't be able to do it myself until morning −" She muttered in displeasure, all heated up from the hot water her body had just been submerged in, her nightgown all soaked, clinging to her naked skin.

She heard her husband sigh heavily, leaning over her with a loud creak of the bed, sliding the pins out of her hairstyle, making the curls of her hair start to fall over her shoulders.

"− it was her idea too, wasn't it? −" He sneered disapprovingly and she let the air out of her lungs, tired.

"− I really liked the way I looked −" She burbled resentfully; she heard his heavy sigh again, however this time he answered nothing more.

When her hair was finally completely loose she turned to face him, already visibly calmer, his hand involuntarily went to her cheek, his thumb running over her soft skin.

His pupil narrowed as her fingers unfastened the buckles of his tunic and reached into the ties of his breeches, she felt his bulge beneath her palms throbbing hard.

"− what are you doing? −" He muttered uncertainly, coolly, as if terrified of what he had just imagined.

"− I want to kiss you there with my lips − are you repelled by the thought? −" She asked softly, releasing his swollen, half-hard erection, feeling him shudder as she grasped it gently in her hand, guiding it to her face.

"− what? – no − b-but − I − oh −" He gasped as she ran her lips over the pink head of his cock with a rapidly pounding heart; she felt satisfaction when his length twitched aggressively in her embrace.

She knew he wanted to say more as his mouth remained open, but he simply stared at her, breathing loudly, his thumb gently stroking her cheek as she mimicked Alys's cues by running her lips from the root of his manhood to the very tip of it.

She heard him sigh in pleasure, closing his eyes for a moment, his hips involuntarily began to buck, pressing his already fully hard erection closer to her face, searching for any source of friction.

"− this − this is what she showed you? − hm? −" He gasped, as if he was simultaneously thrilled and enraged by this vision.

Not wanting him to think about it too much she used her tongue, running it up to the very top of the head of his cock, feeling the veins under his skin clearly, a low, hoarse groan stuck in his throat, his hand tightening in her hair.

"− fuck − g-gods −" He muttered in a trembling voice, his breathing increasingly shaky and accelerated – she knew he was aroused, and his sounds made her feel that unbearable, intense tickling and pulsing between her thighs again.

She was wet.

In some subconscious instinct, his hand tentatively guided the pink, swollen head of his cock against her lips, and she parted them, letting him slide between them with a loud sigh of pleasure.

"− squeeze − squeeze with your hand what doesn't fit inside − and suck − oh, yes, little one, just like that −" He exhaled delighted tilting his head back as she let him deep into her palate, his tip bumping again and again with the sure thrusts of his hips against the back wall of her throat causing her to gag, tears of exertion pooling in her eyes.

"− if this is too much − hit me twice on the thigh −" He gasped, looking down at her, and she merely nodded, clamping her hand over the base of his hard length, sucking it slowly with a loud click of her saliva.

She reminded herself about her tongue and what Alys was doing with it, so she made use of it, and every time her husband thrust his erection into her its tip teased and licked him; his two hands tightened in her hair with his low groan, quickening his pace.

"− oh − oh, fuck, little one − mghm − gods −" He panted, invading her throat with deep, fast pushes, making use of her mouth as he saw fit, a high-pitched moan erupted from her lungs as she felt him aggressively pulsing between her lips, breathing hard through her nose, trying not to suffocate.

"− I know − please, please, let me − oh, fuck, yes, swallow it, swallow, swallow, swallow −" He commanded in a shuddering gasp full of pleasure and relief. She squirmed as his hot, sticky seed spilled down her palate straight into her throat; she swallowed some of it with difficulty and coughed, trying not to choke, a pearly trickle of his spend ran off the corner of her mouth down her chin.

Good gods.

They were both panting loudly and quivering, his face pressed against her hair, on which he still clamped his fingers, not letting her escape.

"− just a moment more − please, just a moment more − so warm −" He mumbled, and she swallowed hard, breathing loudly through her nose with his half soft length deep in her throat. It seemed to her for a moment that he might have fallen asleep in that position, but eventually he took pity on her and slid out of her mouth, allowing her to take a deep breath.

She involuntarily put her arms around his knee, exhausted, hugging her face to his thigh, breathing hard, not believing she had really done it.

Her womanhood pulsed all over, her thighs were all sticky from her moisture.

She sighed in relief when she felt his large hand begin to stroke her hair with a tender, calm gesture, his breathing still erratic and accelerated.

"− come − come here − your husband need to take care of you −"

[writteninlunarlight-years]

(Hazbin Hotel request) I would like to request headcannons for how Charlie, Alastor, Angel Dust, and Lucifer would be around a friend/partner who is bilingual and likes to sing songs in their native language to themselves/when they are alone (I hope this made sense my English isnt the best)

Charlie (Platonic/German)

You didn't necessarily hide the fact that you spoke a different language; you just didn't flaunt it.

When you were alive, you grew up in a bilingual household, your mother speaking German and your father English.

It was natural that you picked up a few words or two, mainly because your mother only spoke German to you.

The hotel was used to regularly hearing you cuss in German, so it was typical for everyone.

The day Charlie walked by your room and heard you singing in German was a spectacle.

She was so excited to hear the dialect and the articulations you used.

When you finished, she busted into your room and asked you to sing again, rightfully scaring you.

You inevitably agree because she is so adorable when she asks and sing for her once again.

From there, Charlie sits in your room nightly to learn new words and hear you sing.

Alastor (Romantic/French)

You were really reserved about your secondary language. Especially when you met Alastor.

Your parents talked to you in the language plenty, but you were afraid that you would sound robotic and he would judge you.

As time progressed and French accidentally slipped out, Alastor found you attractive; no one else in the hotel knew what he said.

One night at the bar, Alastor slid in next to you while talking to Husk and began speaking to you in perfect French. You did a spit-take and laughed.

When you two started dating, Alastor took it upon himself to teach you how to converse better with a Creole person.

After a long session with him, you returned to your room, singing softly under your breath a song your papa had sung.

Alastor shadows heard your perfect articulations and immediately got Alastor.

He was astonished to hear you singing so fluently as he phased through the shadows in your room behind you.

Once you finished, he immediately asked you for another song scaring you. One kiss and a song later, though, and you were content to share this part of your life with him.

Angel Dust (Platonic/Italian)

You grew up in Italy with your family for a portion of your life, which gave you an understanding of the language.

When you came to the hotel and met Angel Dust, you two became fast friends. He wanted to know what mob bosses from Italy were like.

You would teach him words that he didn't quite know and he would teach you about mob culture in America.

Angels porn star life would strian your friendship just do to his long grueling hours and your desire to help him out of his deal.

After a particularly heated fight between you two due to his boss, you stormed off and went to the bar.

Drinking your glass Husk gave you and thinking about the argument left you blue.

You began to hum a soft tune, eventually ending up entirely singing it.

When Angel calmed down, he felt bad for treating his friend poorly and went to find you.

That was till he heard your song and was immediately enamored.

He wanted you to sing to him every night after work instead of fighting from then on.

Lucifer (Romantic/Spanish)

Spanish was spoken around you from the day you were born. From your family to neighbors, even friends at school. It was natural you learned some of it.

You were always told it was the language of romance, and though you could see why, you also never thought too much about it.

When you met Lucifer and heard your accent, he was immediately curious about you.

He would talk to you for hours to hear your voice and even dream of it later.

When Lucifer finally confessed his feelings for you, the cherry on top was you confessing in Spanish.

Lucifer never asked how much you knew; he took what he could when you spoke.

However, the night he walked into your shared room and heard you singing a song in Spanish, he was whipped.

He begged for hours for you to just sing the same song repeatedly, a big cheesy smile on his face.