#or something needlessly pretentious

[palimpsessed]

Hello hello! Wednesday already? Hurrah! And I’ve already started a new art piece! Who would believe it? I also ofc have more SAE for you. And I wrote some incredibly silly crack the other day I may post soon. Who knows? Anyway, I’ll give you a sampling of each.

First, ol’ reliable Slings and Eros, but jumping back to chapter 20 for this snippet, from Agathe:

“You can just admit it, you know.”

“Admit what?” I ask, my voice rising in a very convincingly casual manner.

“Admit that you’re doing it for me. Because I asked you to. Because we’re friends.”

I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow. “Are we friends?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “It’s always eyebrows,” he mutters under his breath.

“What?”

“Just don’t tell any more prophecies about me.”

“Just because you’re the only god here doesn’t mean you’re the only one who gets to place conditions on this friendship.”

His eyes light up. “See? I told you we were friends!”

Next, some dirty crack. This idea has been percolating for some time as a note on my phone. Then the discord crew had a minor meltdown about what exactly was going on in Simon’s trousers. So I had to actually write this. You’re welcome.

"The Chosen One. The Greatest Mage. The Power of Powers."

I can't stop laughing. My face is buried in Baz's shoulder and I may be drooling on him because I'm laughing so hard.

"Stop!" I cry, but it comes out muffled and breathless.

"The Sword of Mages. No, no. Wait! I can do better! Excalibur," he says, and I lose myself in another fit of giggles.

It only goes downhill from there.

Anddddddd here’s something angsty for Simon’s birthday which yes I’m already working on because I want to:

Poor sad Simon. I really made him pathetic didn’t I? I sketched this out in like an hour last night which for me is breakneck speed so I guess it’s going well so far. Been wanting to draw this scene almost since I first read it. Can you guess what it is?

This is so long 😂 anyway! Tags and thanks!

Thanks to: @basiltonbutliketheherb @martsonmars @urban-sith @facewithoutheart @takitalks @artsyunderstudy @tea-brigade @confused-bi-queer for tagging me

And I’ll tag the discord peeps who had a hand in the crack: @mrskrementz @moodandmist @aristocratic-otter @bookish-bogwitch and @jbrrring who i know will appreciate the eyebrows comment 😂 @mostlymaudlin @shemakesmeforget @nightimedreamersworld @wetheformidables @frjsti @unseelieseelie @stardustasincocaine @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @bazzybelle @starwarned @stillmadaboutpetra @twinkle-twinkle-up-above @themandilorian @skeedelvee @bloodiedpixie @toonysart @cynopoe

[lesbiansanemi]

Me wanting to read the locked tomb books cuz certain things about them do seem interesting to me vs never ever EVER wanting to read them out of sheer spite because of how fucking obnoxious and pretentious literally every single post I have ever seen about them on tumblr.com is and if they are even remotely anything like the way 90% of ppl talk about them I do not think I will like them and I’ll just be pissed off

[paintedpineleaf]

okay this is so weird to me, some people are just randomly hating on taylor? like out of nowhere, no one asked or said anything to you but you felt the need to post about how you don't like her or whatever she's currently doing? why?

[riemmetric]

One frustrating thing about being a mathematician is that people who aren't into math heard that Einstein quote that's like "you haven't understood something unless you can explain it in layman's terms" and use it to mean "if it can't be explained to me in five minutes it's needlessly complicated, this person is a pretentious snob and academia is gatekeeping knowledge". And like everything in life, the matter of scientists not being able to/not caring to explain their work to people who aren't at the same level of expertise as them is a complex one that is worthy of being discussed, but here's the thing that you have to keep in mind if you haven't done math since high school:

the further you get into math, the more specialized your field becomes. You start working of puzzles that are small, but fit into a greater web of similar problems, like knitting a beautiful flower that's meant to be incorporated into a huge quilt. And all of math is build on top of each other, so you can't get to the most interesting, current math being discussed in the world without getting through the building blocks that are taught to you in elementary school, high school and the university.

You ask me to explain my thesis to you and I can tell you the title, but you won't know what the main words in it mean. And that's not because you are stupid, that's just because to learn that word you have to spend time learning a hundred others. I love math, it's my favourite thing in the universe and I always have time to talk about it, so if you want, we can sit down and I'll tell you everything you need to know to understand what I'm currently working on. You can ask me questions and I will reformulate, you can ask me to go over things again and I will oblige. With your permission, I will get a piece of paper and draw shapes and schemes to help us, but it won't take five minutes. It can't take just five minutes. That is a concession you will have to make if you truly want to learn.

(Unfortunately, I don't want to disclose the title of my thesis on tunglr dot hell, because it's super specific and I don't feel like doxxing myself. But I hope this resonates with some people. I work both in symplectic geometry and Riemannian geometry, and I have to say between the two Riemannian is a little bit easier to explain, because I can just talk about distances, but symplectic geometry or Lie groups... I'm afraid I just can't explain those in a sentence because they rely on people knowing what differentiation means, and that's not knowledge you necessarily retain if you work outside a stem field. Explaining that in a few sentences would eat up the whole five minutes).

[canisalbus]

Is Lauri, if I read that correctly, Vasco's sister? I think she's been mentioned before in the Modern AU Tag Lore (i think it was something like maybe Vasco's sister marries someone Finnish, hence Machete having cute Finnish socks), and I'm curious about her! Is she as bright and sweet as Vasco?

I love your work and characters so greatly, btw <3

Lauri is the Finnish husband actually! The twin sisters are named Benedetta and Giovanna.

Benedetta, the older sister, is a professional orchestral musician. She plays cello, and her husband Lauri (a west siberian laika cross from eastern Finland) plays trombone, they met at a classical music festival. She's creative, sensible, rational and shy, but may seem a bit conceited and pretentious. She and Lauri live somewhere in the southern coast of Finland with their three children.

I haven't decided what Giovanna does for a living. I think she might do or used to do dressage. She's independent, highly competitive, resourceful and very reliable, but her brutal honestly can come across as hurtful and catty. She's a lone wolf compared to her siblings and has never expressed an interest for starting a family. She travels a lot.

The twins of course share a close bond with each other and as a result Vasco was often left as a third wheel or excluded completely when they were younger. They used to pick on him a bit, in a typical older sibling way. Nowadays Benedetta lives abroad and Giovanna is busy with her own pursuits, so Vasco doesn't see them very often, but they get along fine.

Lauri is calm, friendly and down to earth. He doesn't speak Italian and the rest (apart from Benedetta who is making good progress) don't speak Finnish so they mostly communicate in English. He's easy to like, Vasco in particular enjoys having a brother-in-law, after growing up with girls.

Machete is having trouble finding a common wavelength with Giovanna. He doesn't get her sense of humor and finds her needlessly rude, and she seems to enjoy pushing his buttons. But he immediately took a liking to Benedetta, their personalities and interests overlap a lot (that's how he ended up with those socks).

[aggressively-crying]

Probably bad transformers animated headcanons

Bumblebee listens to 100 gecs and uses TikTok. Both of which he does with his speakers turned up. In public.

Prowl has considered buying a fur suit but stops himself every time he's about to go through with it.

Optimus purposefully misuses slang and memes to watch the crew members that know what the terms mean die inside. Even pronounces them wrong for extra flavor.

Ratchet watches soap operas. It started out as simply being curious as to what trash the humans consider good stories but then he got legitimately invested.

Sometimes Bulkhead tries eating human food just because it looks really really good, but it always inevitably tastes kinda gross because he wasn't meant to process that kind of material. He wants to find a way to convert it to energon but until that day comes, he's forced to simply stare and long for it.

The repair crew has movie nights once a week with Sari, both to get a better understanding of human culture, and as an excuse to hang out. Every once in awhile they accidentally pick a movie that they don't realize Sari probably should not be watching until it's too late. They do not speak of the Friday the 13th incident. Or the time Sari picked Coraline and Optimus had to leave halfway through.

In that vein, after realizing how jumpy he was about spiders on Halloween, Optimus actually tried giving himself a degree of exposure therapy so no harmless tiny arachnids needlessly die by his axe. Now he at least TRIES to bring them outside with a cup and a piece of paper, but he's not above just asking Bulkhead to do it instead.

Ratchet has taken to finding old junker cars and trying to fix them up in his spare time. Their makeup is painfully simple compared to Cybertronian anatomy, and it's not like he has to worry about what happens if he can't fix one fast enough. He still thinks just selling spare parts on the open market is barbaric, but it's kind of therapeutic for him to just work on something like that without the stress of having someone's life or even just general well-being in his hands. He lets Bulkhead repaint them when he's finished.

Sari does NOT actually know how sex works. At least, like, not accurately. The version of it she told to Optimus was wildly off-base, but still juuuust close enough to freak him out.

Similarly, Prowl has observed nature long enough to get a sort of incomplete idea of how all that goes down, and has come to the conclusion that organics universally lay eggs.

Bumblebee plays horror games with the lights off just to prove hes not chicken, and then has horrible nightmares for a week straight. He also fully believes in every video game creepypasta/myth you tell him, and swears up and down he's seen Herobrine.

Bulkhead is terrified of mice because he doesn't understand how anything can be that teeny tiny and he heard they can chew through metal like some kind of freaky organic scraplet. He gets nightmares about Ratchet opening him up and finding a whole colony of them chewing on his wires.

Sometimes while Megatron was just a head in Sumdac's lab, he'd be bored enough watch whatever was on TV between schemes and naps. The only thing he would ever admit he liked was wrestling because he felt at least a little vindication watching the pathetic organic wretches beat the slag out of each other. That and it reminded him a bit of his gladiator days.

Shockwave is a pretentious energon tea drinker and has whatever the Cybertron equivalent of a loose leaf tea infuser is. He INSISTS it's objectively better and whatever the more normie type of energon is simply cannot compare.

Lugnut has date nights with Strika but they usually start off as sparring matches that get juuuust a little out of hand. He would not have it any other way and loves when his big scary wife throws him across the room and into a wall, then immediately rushes over to check if he still functions. It may be the concussions, but he swears she looks like a holy being towering above him from where he's slumped over on the floor.

Blitzwing is actually pretty functional from day to day. He's had his multiple faces for long enough that he knows how to cope with them and work with them. Sometimes he has poor impulse control, and sometimes he can't stop himself from feeding his anger, but overall he's actually pretty good about keeping himself in check. He just leans into the whole "crazy" schtick because he knows that's how others see him and no matter what he does, he's not gonna change their perception. It's sort of a spite thing when he annoys people with it, but it's also kind of a self deprecating cry for help that he's REALLY hoping someone will eventually pick up on.

Starscream is only a Decepticon because he wanted to pursue acting but nobody would hire a Warframe. He sought out fame and adoring fans in the gladiator arena, and he got what he was after until Megatron kicked his skid plate and Starscream was suddenly no longer the popular seeker heartthrob bad boy, but a laughing stock who fell when someone bigger and stronger clipped his wings. He originally joined Megatron with the intent to climb the ranks and snatch his following out from under him, but then the war broke out and his whole plan was thrown off track.

No Cybertronian is 100% okay with Earth vehicles looking the way they do and not being alive. It's pretty creepy seeing what they think is just some guy carrying an organic around only to remember right, yeah, the organic's controlling him like cordyceps in an ant and he was never alive to begin with.

Blurr has to intentionally talk much slower than he would at his natural speaking pace just because nobody can understand what in Primus's name he's saying.

Between him, Jazz and the Jet Twins, it's actually kind of a meme on Cybertron that the elite guard badge messes with your speech synthesizer because Sentinel is the only member that speaks even slightly normally.

Jazz once attempted to show Sentinel a nature documentary that Prowl recommended. Sentinel proceeded to purge his fuel tank about five minutes in and forbid jazz from watching that filth outside his own quarters.

Both of the jet twins play fortnite whenever they're on earth and come up with the nastiest incomprehensible insults they can to spam into the microphone because they think that's just part of the game that nobody is taking seriously rather than unbelievably toxic people having mental breakdowns at losing.

And finally,

Cybertron has its own cryptids and urban legends: a long, serpentine beast, as long as 60 Warframes that slinks through the oil of Iacon's aqueducts. A jet black cybercat with three tails that will take your spark if you look it in the optics for too long. A shuttle painted in neons, appearing at the station on its own when there is only one transformer at the station, speaking honeyed words in a voice that sounds too familiar, and promising to bring you home safe, but keeps driving and never stops until you're in stasis or offline. A spectral figure that haunts the underground tunnels that few dare traverse, keeping to the shadows and darting out of sight, but you can always hear their engine revving, and always hear their anguished wails. A frame-bare mechanical avian, practically skeletal, that circles over the sea of rust, massive in size and always waiting to swoop down on unsuspecting mechs. They are spoken of in hushed whispers, none know for certain whether they are real or simply fiction. Most think it's silly to believe in such things, but the superstitions around them persist.

[ddarker-dreams]

Spider Spectacles.

Chrollo x F Reader.

Various snippets that take place in the Hell Within Reach universe.

Warnings: Some mild not SFW implications, mentions of blood/violence (not towards Reader). Word count: 3.1k.

i.

Phinks can’t believe these same hands that are capable of breaking necks with ease can’t tie a fucking tie. 

If that isn’t bad enough, he’s stuck in this ridiculously restrictive suit, the fabric scratchy against his skin. Why anyone would actively choose to wear something like this is beyond him. From his perspective, it wreaks of being pretentious. To make matters worse, he’s fighting against the clock here. You’re to be his “date” for infiltrating tonight’s job. He’s holding things up with how long this is taking. 

Just when he’s fantasizing over how he’ll choke some socialite goon with this stupid piece of fabric, you enter his line of sight. Though you’re wearing high heels, your footsteps made no sound, and he’d been too preoccupied with this torture device to sense your presence properly. 

You stand before him, dressed elegantly, adorned in jewelry and more prominent makeup. Unlike himself, blending in with those plutocrats won’t pose an issue for you. He wonders if somewhere past your perfectly poised countenance, behind the drawn curtains that obscure your eyes’ true feelings, is there any prejudice toward him? Or the rest of the Troupe as a whole? Shal said you come from a family of bigwigs; why exactly you joined the Spider is beyond him. 

He supposes he should trust in Chrollo’s judgment. That’s easier said than done, though. 

Tonight would serve as an imperative litmus test. Both you and Phinks were to be the vanguard. Only Paku had seen you in action before, he can’t help but be curious about how it’ll go. Will you squirm at the sight of limbs being torn off? Swoon over disembowelment? Complain should any blood and gore splatter across your pretty dress? 

He’ll know soon enough. For now, he assumes it’s only a matter of time before you turn on your heel, uninterested in a commoner’s woes. 

Hah. There it is. You’re parting your painted lips, he can’t wait to stamp out whatever propriety-filled nonsense you spew— 

“Could I be of any assistance?” 

He sets his mouth in a thin, firm line. As much as he’d love to make a point by telling you no, he is technically the reason why you’re tight on time. Had there been the slightest hint of arrogance in your demeanor, he would’ve told you to fuck off, but as things currently stand, that’d be uncalled for. 

“... Knock yourself out.” 

With this, you set out to work, your hands finding the loose fabric hanging around his neck. It occurs to him then that he’s never seen you without gloves on. You’re always wearing that black leather pair, or in this case, opera gloves. He makes a mental note to talk to Shal for his theories later. 

Phinks is treated to a whiff of your perfume when you get closer to him. It’s subtle yet pleasant, though he can’t quite put his finger on what specifically makes it up. Vanilla for sure. He’s smelled worse. Those harpies love to soak themselves in the most egregious scents in existence. He finds himself favoring Meteor City’s stench over the aroma found in high society functions. 

Your ensemble isn’t needlessly flashy. Diamond stud earrings with a matching necklace and an off-the-shoulder navy blue evening dress. You must’ve used that woman paint or whatever it’s called to cover up your Spider tattoo. You haven’t plastered makeup on thick enough to make it seem like you moonlight as a clown either. 

Before he knows it, you’re done. You straight then tie, then his lapels, smoothing over the many creases born from his frustration. Phinks feels his face heat up, despite the cold surroundings from the poorly insulated abandoned building. He coughs into his hands to cover up this damning evidence. 

“Thank you for your patience,” the way you speak is so calm, so assured without spilling into arrogance. He thinks he’s catching a hint of an accent too. “I’ll be waiting outside. I look forward to working with you, Phinks.” 

“Uh… yeah, same here.” 

You pause, having apparently not expected him to return the sentiment verbally. After a moment’s deliberation, you nod, your face betraying nothing. He finds himself staring at the back of your figure until you’re out of sight. Huffing, he shoves his hands into his pockets, cursing himself for his momentary enchantment. He wasn’t able to be as passive-aggressive as he had hoped to better gauge your character. 

This proves nothing, he thinks. I still can’t consider her one of us. 

After a few unnecessarily long seconds, he manages to get back into his usual rhythm. He walks down the same path you did, kicking a rock while he does so, the sound echoing throughout the vast empty space. Phinks thinks back to the utmost care you displayed in helping him with such a menial task. It’s such a small, silly thing, but he can’t get the sight out of his head. What a pain this is turning out to be. 

Well, Paku did ask him to get along with you… maybe it won’t be as egregious a notion as he originally thought. Maybe. He’ll have to give it some serious thought. So if he’s caught up in how pretty you smell, it’s for a very good reason, he tells himself. 

ii.

“You have a very steady heartbeat.” 

You’re tracing abstract art into his skin. Shapes, letters, the most memorable sentences from the book you just read; anything your satisfied yet weary mind could concoct.

Following the end of your passionate rendezvous, you’ve found yourself resting your head against Chrollo’s chest. In doing so, you’ve become intimately aware of several elements of his anatomy. His heartbeat is the most prominent addition. 

His coarse fingers glide over the flesh of your forearm in an absentminded fashion. “Do you find it off-putting?”

The genuine candor backing his inquiry makes you scrunch your eyebrows together. “I can’t imagine why I would.” 

You are both anomalies. Beings that exist in their own sphere, separate from the rest. If not for his conviction to seek you out, you would’ve remained a specter, intangible to all but a few. The peculiar life you have lived up until this point gives you little leverage to judge from. 

“… It’s just a thought,” you hear the low rumble in his chest when he speaks. He takes your wrist into his hands, his thumb pressing against your pulse. Your breath catches in your throat. “I’ve come to realize that you’re better at being human than I am.”

“Better at being human?” You repeat the words back slowly, as if learning a new language. It’s foreign enough to essentially count. You might think it a joke if it had been coming from anyone else. 

His free hand nestles itself in between your thighs. Despite yourself, the many years of training to have total control over your every bodily function — voluntarily and involuntary — your heart skips a beat. With enough focus, you rein the traitorous back under control, feeling defeated somehow. 

“Come now, don’t pout.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” is your petulant response. You then take a deep breath to steady your voice. “This is a physiological response I haven’t adequately prepared myself for. With enough intentionality, I’ll get better at it.”

Silence ensues. You shift in your spot, discontentment suddenly flooding you. It’s a rare dilemma indeed for Chrollo to go quiet for so long. While the air itself isn’t thick or dripping with tension, an unknown energy buzzes throughout. 

“I hadn’t intended to critique your abilities, dear.”

There’s something different about his voice — almost an underlying unsteadiness to it. You part your lips, a question blooming then wilting on your tongue at the small chuckle that slips from him. He tries to school himself, and while he achieves mild success, he ultimately succumbs to whatever has amused him. 

His heartbeat quickens ever so slightly. 

Anyone else may have missed it, but not you. Not when your senses are so attuned to your surroundings as they are. 

“You might be getting better at ‘being human’, boss,” your lips curve upward. “Either that, or we’re both losing our touch.” 

He hums and gives your thigh a squeeze. “Does the idea bother you?” 

“No,” you respond in truth. Far faster than you thought you would too. “And what about you?”

“I believe it should, but…” 

He trails off to navigate the tangled web that is his thoughts. Eventually, he arrives at a conclusion, one that transforms the buzz in the atmosphere to a soothing thrum. 

“If you’re the cause, I can’t say I mind.” 

iii.

“It’s delusion… pure delusion.”

This guy has spirit; Chrollo will give him that.

He sits hunched over in a chair, matted hair obscuring his bloodshot eyes. He sputters out a cough, blood coming up with it, and the abrupt pressure on his chest causes his swollen face to contort in pain. His spit is red when it hits the floor, a few loose hanging teeth clattering alongside it. 

Still, the night is young. Chrollo would be sure to keep a close enough eye on his vitals so as to prevent a premature death. That just wouldn’t do. Not when there’s plenty more in store. 

“It’s always the same… with lowborn scum like you,” the man rasps out. “Chasing after… what you can’t have. What’ll never belong to you.” 

The man rolls his head back, chuckling despite the ache that accompanies doing so. “Lady [First] is in a league above your own. Whatever you think you have working out well for you now… it’s not meant to last.” 

Chrollo dislikes hearing your name come from this man’s lips. He’s in a chatty mood now, likely wanting to hurt Chrollo in any way he possibly can. Given the insurmountable gap in physical strength, this must be what he’s left with, bitter words and desperate insults. It’s amusing in its own way. That this completely inconsequential individual thinks himself capable of driving a wedge between you and Chrollo. 

Amusing, but mildly grating all the same. 

“You know it’s true,” he tries again at the silence on Chrollo’s part. “That’s why you aren’t saying anything.” 

More like I don’t consider you worth the effort, Chrollo muses. Or the air.

Another cough — followed up by more blood. The internal bleeding must be getting worse. Did Chrollo misjudge the strength behind his blows? No, that isn’t possible. He flexes his fingers, blankly staring down at his fists. It’s been a long time since he’s tortured someone in a way that got his hands dirty. This was a unique case, however, he wanted to feel the snap of bones and rip of cartilage. 

It brought him satisfaction that he didn’t know he needed. 

“When she learns the truth about who you are, it’ll all be over. Just you wait. Meteor City trash.”

This conclusion must’ve seemed definitive enough to the man, for he cuts his monologue short and gives the slightest crooked smile. As if he said anything worthwhile. As if he won whatever one-sided battle he thinks he’s fighting. 

Chrollo wonders if he should take out his tongue so the man might witness how worthless the muscle is.

Maybe the man’s right that you’re in a league above his own. You were born into a world that he painstakingly crawled his way into, over mountains upon mountains of decaying corpses. Pure nobility, a hallowed ancestral line that can be found in historic textbooks. There are paintings of your ancestors in the most esteemed locations whereas Chrollo knows nothing of his heritage. 

At first, he had set out to make you his greatest conquest, a thief’s magnum opus. 

And now he would gladly lay down his life for you, or take as many lives as you wanted, should that be your desire. 

He far prefers how fate discouraged his original designs. 

Chrollo looks down on this poor, misguided man, who thought himself the vanguard of your honor without knowing the slightest thing about you. Your brilliant mind, latent depravity, and vicious loyalty, hidden behind a prim veneer. He can’t blame the man for falling for it. He almost did himself. 

Finally, Chrollo gives him a single verbal response. He sees no reason to offer more than that. Not when everything he wants to say can be encapsulated so easily. Short and sweet, the way it should be. 

“And if I told you she’s already aware?” 

The man’s ragged breath gets caught in his throat. “That isn’t… surely that isn’t possible.” 

Chrollo will let him ruminate on it. 

After all, despair is best brewed within, as no one can find a worse enemy than their own thoughts. 

iv.

Pakunoda has a tall glass of white wine, the glass’ rim stained with her burgundy lipstick. 

Machi is sipping on a beer the restaurant had on tap. 

Then there’s you, holding your water with lemon, occasionally stirring it with your straw. 

In the background, a pianist tickles the ivories, adding to the general pleasant ambiance. There’s chatter from patrons, the clinking of silverware, and the waitstaff coming to and fro. Your soul feels at ease. Good company and good food are a balm for all woes. 

“Your turn,” Pakunoda inclines her head toward you. Her diamond earrings catch the light and twinkle. “What’s the strangest Nen ability you’ve encountered?” 

You’ve never considered yourself the best storyteller, but your audience of two is familiar, lessening the burdens of social pressure. Pakunoda regaled you both with a witty anecdote of her experience, whereas Machi’s dry and succinct account had its own charm. You comb your memory for a standout encounter to capture their interest with. 

After a moment’s consideration, you land on just the thing. 

“It was a couple of years ago,” you begin. “I was assigned a job to look into cargo that was stolen in transit, due to it posing a biohazard risk. When I finally narrowed down the search, it was in this tepid marshland. I sensed multiple lifeforms keeping an eye on me, but the aura didn’t belong to anything human.” 

Pakunoda raises an eyebrow and Machi hums. 

You take a sip of refreshing water before continuing, “Eventually, I found the hazardous material. There were no signs of the perpetrator, however. But when I got within ten feet of the barrels, it triggered some sort of automatic response. The lifeforms that were observing me finally came out and attacked.” 

You exhale softly through your nose when you recall what happens next. 

“The lifeforms were frogs.” 

“Frogs?” Pakunoda questions, her lips morphing into a smile. “Actual frogs, or frogs made from Nen?” 

“They were actual frogs, under a Manipulator’s control,” you reveal. Machi snorts. “As for the Nen user… I never found them. I did find human remains inside the frogs, though. My personal theory is that the prolonged exposure killed the user, activating post-mortem Nen. The bodies of the guards and the truck driver weren’t at the initial scene of the attack. I assume the frogs served a similar cleanup utility to Shizuku’s ability, but with a condition to consume deceased organisms.” 

“So they ate their dead user?” Machi asks. You nod. “That’s fucked up.” 

“... It did change my perception of frogs.” 

When they both laugh, you can’t help but join them.

The remainder of the night is spent in high spirits, swapping stories and deepening your bonds. 

v. 

“See anything interesting?” Chrollo queries. 

“Hm?” 

“It’s the third time you’ve looked over my shoulder in the past minute,” he explains. He chuckles softly at your nonplussed expression. “I hope it isn’t the male attendant who has caught your eye. I might get jealous.” 

“Of course not,” you huff. He can be so troublesome at times, poking and prodding with that handsome smile of his. Your irritation never lasts long — he knows how to rile you up and pacify you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the banter, though. 

“Is it the dress, then?” he asks. You give yourself away by fidgeting slightly. “Ah. So it is.” 

Chrollo’s otherworldly perception shouldn’t surprise you by now, yet in moments like this, you wonder how he has such insight into the human mind. He hadn’t looked behind himself once to identify what was in your line of sight. Did he catch how your gaze lingered on the boutique earlier and memorize its position? What lengths he goes to. 

When you purse your lips, he presses on. “I can get it for you if you want.” 

“It isn’t…” you trail off, finding it difficult to form the proper words, “It isn’t a style that would suit me.” 

It's a light pink a-line dress at teacup length with floral lace trimmings. Very soft, very feminine. 

Very not you. 

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve worn dresses before.” 

“Well, yes. I have to for certain functions. Besides, none of them are like… like that.” 

You stare down at your gloved hands, which are folded on your lap. It’s silly, ridiculous, even, this hollowness in your chest cavity you feel when you see certain things. There’s this yearning that leads you astray like the Pied Piper’s song. Your teacher advised you against indulging in needless excess. Everything from the food you eat to your clothes; it should be practical and purposeful. These are the tenets you were instilled with from as early on as you can remember. 

“Like what?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You know very well what I mean.” 

Chrollo rests his cheek on his fist. “Perhaps. I know what covetous eyes look like even better.”

“It isn’t worth dwelling on,” you straighten out a wrinkle in your clothes. “It’s pretty, that’s all there is to it.” 

“It’d look far prettier on you.” 

Heat floods your cheeks and your lips part. You go to say something, but find yourself unable, settling for clearing your throat instead. The smile on his face is different from those he uses with the intent to charm. It’s gentle, almost tender. There’s an underpinning of fondness that he reveals to no one aside from you. 

You allow yourself one last glance at the dress before returning to your prior conversation, discussing the last book you’d both read. 

The following morning, you open your closet door while wiping the sleep from your eyes. You assess the display of garments in familiar shades of black, gray, and occasionally navy blue. At the end of the hanging rack, however, you spot something that sticks out like a sore thumb. Something that was most definitely not there when you went to bed last night. 

You run your fingers over the light pink fabric, biting back a giddy smile while you do so. 

Chrollo is given a kiss on the cheek when handed his morning coffee. 

[suratan-zir]

This is a post of gratitude. Maybe tumblr isn't the most appropriate place for this, maybe it sounds silly and needlessly pretentious coming from a little nobody that I am. Regardless, I have long felt the need to write about it. News about the Leopard tanks from Poland might be a good enough occasion to finally say it.

Dzięki, ačiū, thank you, people of Poland, Lithuania, UK, US and every country that has consistently supported Ukraine since the beginning of the invasion.

Maybe we, Ukrainians, don't say it enough, but we know that we owe our lives not only to our defenders, but to all of you, citizens of countries that didn't abandoned us in these dark times.

Every day on the battlefield my country loses its best men. People who were teachers, doctors, architects and actors, parents, sons and daughters are sacrificing their lives in the name of our survival, our future. Hopefully, with the support of your countries, their sacrifices won't be in vain. Thank you for giving us a chance for the future. Thank you for not leaving us alone in this.

War puts everything into perspective like probably nothing else and it teaches you how to be truly grateful. Only earlier today I wanted to complain that due to the destruction of our infrastructure and emergency power outages, in my apartment it is so cold that I can't even hold the phone in my hands for long - my fingers are freezing. But then I quickly remembered that our fighters in Bakhmut and Soledar are losing their fingers due to the frostbite. I am alive and have a roof over my head thanks to these heroes.

What does this have to do with the topic of this post? Well, the same way I often want to complain about the injustice in this world, I want to write something angry about how russia is not punished enough for the crimes it commits. But then I stop myself, because had the world did not help us throughout these 10 months, had the world just let it slide like it did in 2014, I would likely be homeless, imprisoned or dead, along with millions other Ukrainians. Ukraine could no longer exist by now. Because this is a war of extinction, cultural as much as physical.

Which is why I want to say thank you. Not only for the weapons provided by your countries, but for giving us hope, especially in hard times like these, when the enemy on the eastern front is literally bombarding our troops with cannon fodder in unlimited quantities, turning cities into ruins and meat grinders.

Thank you for helping us to overcome this senseless evil. This post may be cringy and poorly written, but my gratitude is sincere.

[elumish]

Hi, asking because I recently got some feedback on my writing that I'm not sure how to process:

So I read a group a snippet from my manuscript in beta, and one person gave me some light criticism about the narrator. The book is close first person from the POV of a college-aged bookworm, though that scene doesn't really focus on her book reading or education. This person told me that my use of words like "verdant" or "penultimate" didn't fit with her dialogue in the moment. I got a bit defensive and clarified that she is established as well-read, so he let it go. (He also questioned why characters in 1945 were drinking Champagne out of coupes and not flutes, granted.) But that did send me on a bit of an anxiety spiral, so I have to ask... When is fancy language too much?

I genuinely don't know. I use words like "perchance" and "superfluous" and "ergo" in my daily conversations; I'm just naturally wordy. And people have told me as a kid to tone with the language because it makes me sound pretentious. It might just be me being autistic and not understanding conversational mores, but it does make one worry.

How do you tone down fancy language when it comes naturally to you? Or am I just needlessly worrying?

I know that this isn't exactly the question that you're asking, but it seems to me that there are two issues here: is using "fancy" language something that must be toned down in writing and if so how, and did the language the character was using match the context in which they were speaking?

To answer the first one, which seems to be your question, language like that isn't inherently bad if it's the language that the character would use. You are allowed to make specific linguistic choices for your character, and it seems like you're doing that here. But if you feel like you want/need to, I would look at other dialogue and listen to poeple speak. What words are they using in place of words like perchance or ergo? How are they phrasing things instead?

You probably need to do this anyway--unless all of your characters have the same background/education/etc (and honestly even then), they won't all be speaking the same way, so you should be varying your dialogue.

But now for the other part: from your description (and obviously you know better than I do), it seems like the comment isn't necessarily "I don't know if this character would ever use these words" as "there feels like a mismatch between this specific word choice and the broader dialogue in this scene."

And that is absolutely an idea worth looking into. You may ultimately decide that you disagree, but I wouldn't dismiss off-hand the idea that the reader is feeling cognitive dissonance when reading dialogue. That's the sort of thing that will jar a reader out of your story, which you generally want to avoid.

What is it that makes the reader feel like there's a mismatch? Is the dialogue otherwise crude or rough? Is everyone else using very different linguistic patterns? Is the character having an emotional outpouring that may feel academic to the reader because of the longer/more "well-educated" word choice?

These are all points that are valid and worth looking into.

I also just want to say--I wouldn't extrapolate a beta reader getting a historical fact about champagne consumption wrong out to them not having any worthy comments. I totally understand getting defensive about your work (I think ever writer does) but dismissing them out of hand because of a random factual error does you no favors.

[gendertrickster]

what is "hairclips june"? i never read godfeels and dont plan on it. is it just something the author calls how fandom usually draws june? i dont really get it

pretty much, yeah. it is a term coined by godfeels author sarah zedig to mean broader depictions of june across the fandom, particularly ones where her trans experience is generally "uncomplicated", which, is really not a bad way to depict her? like if you're just a regular transfeminine homestuck fan, what is wrong with the idea of relating to june as a trans woman but not wanting to go through the effort of depicting all the hardships of being a trans woman?

the way people relate to june is analogous to something like the bechdel test to me, which is like, trying to experience queerness vicariously through media and being like "i can pretend these two characters are lesbians so i can feel something equating to fulfillment as a yearning lesbian myself". depicting june being happy and femme and such to get some fulfillment as a trans woman is not a faulty way to depict june — granted, it doesn't exactly do egbert much justice as a character most of the time, and that i can understand having issue with, but i don't think there's any inherent harm in depicting june this way, other than wearing down people's reads on egbert in the actual text of homestuck in some cases, but that's not a universal fault in depicting june as happy, it's a common issue that affects every character in homestuck, because nobody reads the text.

and i guess from that angle i can understand having a disdain for/being "tired of" these sorts of june depictions but godfeels june just feels so. needlessly spiteful in response? it borders on pretentious if i'm being honest

[ljterariness]

just a silly ramble about amber in comparison to dear reader by taylor swift

first of all to address whatever's being said insinuates an audience on the other end : that this has been practiced and written , perhaps like a book .

" dear reader if it feels like a trap you're already in one " - we begin in amber's year post college , trapped at home . she knows she is stuck , unsure how to get past that . her only solace is literature - and an endless monologue in her head to go with , reminders that she's missing out on life , that her piers are aging without her .

" desert all your past lives , and if you don't recognise yourself that means you did it right " upon moving to hampden she does her best to reinvent herself in a way , become more social , change her appearance . anything to appear versed in society, not to appear unsure . she didn't always quite fit in but it was enough for her to try , to act like she understood what she was doing .

" dear reader , you don't have to answer just cause they asked you " when applying to hampden she attempted to gain a place in the greek class , was rejected . amber , who'd dedicated time to spanish and latin was rejected . she needlessly took this personally , kept her language learning close to herself after that - her own needless secret . like she had something to be ashamed of .

" so i wander through these nights , i prefer hiding in plain sight " amber was a wallflower at many a college party , spent plenty of time in the library . other than lessons that would be the only time she left her dorm ; regardless of how she tried she was still a recluse. she noticed various people and couldn't help but be somewhat envious of strangers , would be glad to be anyone else .

"where i pace in my pen cause my friends found friends who care" even though amber can now go outside , is free to leave whenever she wants , she finds herself so often laid in bed with a book - reminiscent of old habits . she knew people , but she still didn't find herself with close friends . she couldn't help but want for more , anyone to feel close to or just a friend .

okay this got too long and i started sounding pretentious and shes my least favourite minor character ever

[flowerpotmage]

Hello flowerpot! I'm glad that your ask box is open.

What sort of close friend do you think Aemond, Aegon and/or would Daemon be?

Hiii!! This is very interesting to think about tbh! I was thinking about it, and obviously we aren't reeeally shown any of them having non-familial based friendships.

This got long because I'm sooooooo normal, so headcanons below the cut

Daemon is particularly interesting in my mind, because I don't think he's ever had a real friendship of any sort. The closest I think he's gotten to having a friend is probably when he was in charge of the gold cloaks and when he was off at the stepstones. But even then I think it only went as far as camaraderie: these were men he was in charge of, working with, fighting alongside. There might be a bond there for sure, but I don't think it was ever something I'd call friendship. I see Daemon as exceptionally hierarchical, he sees everyone inseparably from their place on the hierarchy, and I think that would carry into any start of true friendship he might encounter. I think the start of any friendship worth its salt with Daemon might have a perplexing start.

He definitely wouldn't be the sort of friend that would pull figurative punches, he's definitely the sort to be brutally honest - but in a close friendship he wouldn't be needlessly cruel. He might say shit that'd hurt your feelings, and he might apologize for the delivery (rarely, more likely if called out on saying something shitty), but never for the content of what he's said. I do think he'd be pretty loyal to anyone he deemed worthy of being a close friend - until he had something major, and i mean major to gain. That aside, I think he'd be decently trustworthy and do his very best to keep his word to a close friend. There'd always be a little bit of a power imbalance in the friendship, what with him being a Targ prince and all, but I think there'd be respect regardless. Show him loyalty in the friendship and he'll do the same.

Now, have you ever had that friend that texts you 30 minutes to 9pm and tells you they're gonna be there at 9 to pick you up and go to bars with three other people until 2am? That's Aegon. Any close friend of his is probably constantly being dragged into his party boy antics (Aemond voice: depravity), or he's at least attempting to drag them into it. You have to be down to drink with him, or else there's no way he's spending enough time around you for any real friendship to start. Honestly I see a close friendship with him starting because he got a little too sad!drunk and whoever was around that was nice ended up taking care of his messy weepy pathetic little meow meow ass (affectionate)(derogatory) and they had some sort of heart to heart bonding moment.

I see Aegon doing silly things to express his platonic affection: kind gestures or gifts wrapped in the shape of a joke or a prank to cover up the sincerity ("hashtag no homo" vibes). He'd help you cover up any fuck ups you get anxious about with a casual wave of his hand, a pouch of coin, and pushing you to sit and join him for a drink in his solar type vibes.

Aemond, shockingly, I think would be the healthiest close friend. Loyal, serious af, wants to just talk about princely Targaryen nonsense like his studies, his training, he'd vent about Aegon, and he'd be interested in his friend's life in return. He'd be a more tactful about his opinions than Daemon, but he wouldn't coddle your feelings either and he'd be honest about pretty much everything. This is the friend you play board games with and talk about like, your feelings about god with and how you feel about how your life is going. A little pretentious, but takes you seriously too. I do think there would be like... Similar to Daemon, even with a close friend the power imbalance is always under the surface but he's chill about it 99% of the time

[shcherbatskya]

i openly met opera hate at times, and i do think it is deserved because of how needlessly uppity and pretentious of an institution the met is, but they do radio broadcasts every saturday which is something i love and respect, so i am giving them credit where that is due…

[flowerprose]

oh my god, okay

another anti-greek mythology retelling post is making the rounds on my dash and i just need to get this off my chest:

if the only greek myth retelling you have ever consumed and enjoyed is the video game hades or the middle-grade children's series percy jackson and the olympians, you are not qualified or well-read enough to convince me you have any authority to dictate how a myth retelling should be. i don't care what your degree is in, i don't care if you hate lore olympus and katee roberts, you still don't have the right to say its off the table because it's "too precious" to be reinterpreted.

greek mythology has been reinterpreted for THOUSANDS of years, through orature and poetry and plays and novels and scholars and artists. it is so naive to tell a contemporary writer or artist that they have no business to reconsider a mythology that we have no definitive, touchstone text to even look back on. the surviving records of greek myths are widely inconsistent between ancient scribes.

i don't like to throw the word pretentious around needlessly, but yeah: people who do this are fucking pretentious and don't have any passion for something they seem so determined to protect and gatekeep.

[kinuskikakku]

Fun with Finnish!

Noun

“Kermaperse” - (colloquial, derogatory) Something or someone seen as fancy, high class, of higher socioeconomic status, often also something that is also seen as pretentious and needlessly fancied up

Etymology “Kerma” (crean) + “perse” (ass)

[soul-dwelling]

I think ironically by trying to make the story "deep and mature" when killing of Mifune in the manga Ohkubo showed himself as very juvenile by not knowing how to deal with the whole Anglea situation and basically kicking the can till the finall chapter, having blackstar say some pretentious line of "You can have my life/heart" or something

This could be another case where the anime was more engaging. 

Mifune’s role in the manga seems to be to get Black Star to stick to the “Path of the Warrior” and defy the Star Clan. After all, it’s Mifune who leaves that scar across Black Star’s Star Clan tattoo. But despite reading the manga, despite reading the Soul Eater Wiki, I still don’t quite get it. Maybe I’m failing to read this within the context of Japan. 

The manga sets all of this up in terms of Black Star needing to learn from Masamune’s failure, and to see that he better feel regret for each other warrior he kills in battle. Is this to show how he is no longer as bloodthirsty as mere assassins like White Star and the rest of the Star Clan? But then Black Star works for Lord Death, who has his students assassinate on his behalf, and--...I’m lost. 

To make the story more meaningful and seemingly a more mature form of storytelling, I think the story wants to show Black Star is taking the work seriously. But as I tried to allude to above, he is still working for Lord Death to assassinate people, so is he really taking that work more seriously? 

Soul Eater treated the idea of death as largely a joke: Lord Death tells people to assassinate his enemies; we get people like Jack the Ripper just slaughtered; we present Al Capone in such a pathetic state when he is left for dead. That’s not to ignore how shocked Liz looks when the Ghost Girl is taken by Ragnarok, but up to then, the Ghost Girl was treating death as a joke, Liz’s fear of her as a joke, even her own outrage that she didn’t get to live long enough to be an attractive woman. 

Then Mifune dies in the manga. And we get his death treated with such solmenity, and the immediate aftermath with Soul and Tsubaki and Kim and others worried what is going to happen to Angela without Mifune…only to drop this until the conclusion of the manga. 

Again, maybe I’m missing something, reading through translation, with what Black Star promises to Angela in the manga’s finale. It would mean something more if we had Angela around longer. It’s why fan creators tend to do better with the unanswered questions of this series, as they explore character relationships that were not given more attention in canon. If you tied this together in a more engaging way, perhaps related to how you need a witch’s soul to make a Demon Weapon, you would have Black Star’s offer of his own soul as an ironic trade, that instead of a meister taking a witch’s soul, it’s a witch taking a meister’s soul. But that’s not what we get: Black Star saying he promised Mifune he would let Angela kill him if he leaves the Path of the Warrior…when, again, I don’t notice that significant change in Black Star’s philosophy, so much as his demeanor changes a bit, maybe just that he now doesn’t have to brag because he already shown how powerful he is. 

Meanwhile, the anime has Black Star reject this binary thinking, that he has to follow the Path of the Warrior or the Path of the Kishin--and, like his anime theme song says, he doesn’t lose himself, he finds his own path. This is not very satisfying either, as it seems too simple and direct. But at least it’s a happy ending: Mifune doesn’t die needlessly, we give payoff to Tsubaki’s earlier statement that obviously just teaching at the DWMA would be safer for both him and Angela.