#the book is completely annotated lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hyuckmov · 2 years

Text

haechan — just for you

boyfriend!haechan x afab reader 1.6k, smut, minors dni, some fluff warnings: light dom/sub themes (haechan as dom), slight dumbification, fingering (f recieving), some aftercare, some subspace, haechan is a terms of endearment kind of guy, overuse of the word baby a/n: idk everyone...SORRY if this is what no one was expecting i have other works otw with no smut but i was just feeling kind of ~stressed~ so i wrote this. it's basically completely smut so minors dni please! first time writing something like this i hope it's at least kind of hot LOL anyway do leave an ask or reply if you enjoyed this <3 other pg works on the way i PROMISE

“you need to relax, babe.”

haechan reaches over and plucks the keys from your fumbling hands. slotting them easily into the door, he holds it open for you as you storm in, still fuming.

“i have no idea who that guy thinks he is. how am i going to do this paper with him? who’s going to tell him that diminishing romeo and juliet to a cheap love story about two idiot kids completely undermines the point Shakespeare was trying to make to us? i mean, the characterisation, and the development…”

“you’ll tell him sweetheart, i’m sure.”

flinging your bag onto the chair, you grab your many binders and folders and lay them out on the table. fishing your well-worn copy of romeo and juliet out onto the table, you thumbed through your annotations. you couldn’t believe your classmate, who thought he was better than the whole class, had picked another fight with you just as class was about to end, with one of his horrible horrible takes.

“you know, maybe he’s a little in love with you.”

your head snaps up. “what?”

haechan lounged easily on the couch. somewhere between the front door and the living room he had taken off his large hoodie, leaving him in a thin white t-shirt and ripped jeans. his legs spread haphazardly, he propped his head up with a hand, eyes fixed on you. “i mean, it reminds me a little of how we got together. us arguing all the time…you finding reasons to talk to me in the hallway to call me out for something…”

you had tuned out what he was saying, just a little bit. you loved those ripped jeans, and the way his legs seemed to stretch on for miles…

looking at the dazed expression on your face, haechan bit back a smile. “y/n? earth to y/n?”

shaking your head to bring yourself out of it, you look back at your book. “sorry, what were you saying?”

“i was saying…”, enjoying this immensely, haechan played with the rips in his jeans, tugging at the fabric. “maybe he’s just trying to get your attention.”

“or maybe he just doesn’t understand the reading.” you scowled. “you know, he dismissed gender roles as important to the context of the play. it’s just so infuriating when he’s going at it from such a limited perspective, this lack of sensitivity to the nuances and dismissals of whatever he deems unimportant from his contemporary views…”

unbeknownst to you, haechan’s mind was beginning to wander as he continued to fix his gaze on yours. he loved it when you would talk academic, loved it when you got competitive. those passionate rants on anything from literature to bioengineering always made you look sexy to him. his eyes take in your flushed cheeks, your hair coming undone from the ponytail, the tightness of your pencil skirt and the way your chest heaved up and down.

“baby,” he called softly. turning around to face him, he opened his arms. “put down your book and come here.”

sighing, you set down your study materials and walked over to your boyfriend. as you got ready to settle down on his lap, he shook his head, and maneuvered you until you were straddling him. brushing the hair out of your eyes tenderly, he began to kiss down the side of your neck.

“haechan,” you whisper. he hums against your skin, and you feel chills running down your spine. “i really need to go finish my paper.”

“it can wait, can’t it baby?” pulling away, he looks at you, his eyes dark. “that pretty little head of yours needs a break from all that thinking.”

because haechan thought you were irresistible when you were clever, if only because he knew he was the only one who could make your brain go empty.

slipping his hands under the hem of your skirt, his fingers snake their way around the back of your thighs.

"haechan, what are you doing?"

"trying to make you feel good. is it working?" his boyish smile spreads across his face, and you practically swoon.

you’re beginning to feel hazy, whimpering slightly as he leans forward to kiss you deeply, swallowing all your sounds. you let out a moan when his fingers brush over your core, and you can feel him smile into the kiss.

“you okay, y/n?”

not knowing what to say, no longer able to find the words for it, you are completely enveloped in your boyfriends hands and his perfume. letting out a whine and hoping it would suffice, you push yourself further into his hold.

“mmm, i can’t understand that baby.” he laughs, and the sound vibrates against you.

“please.”

“please what?”

his hands make their way back down your skirt and come up to hold you at your hips. the lack of warmth makes you squirm, and you push yourself against him again. “haechan….”

“what’s wrong, baby?” he pulls your face away from his neck, and although his tone is sweet and soothing, the way he licks his puffy lips is completely sinful. “thought you wanted to talk about the…characterisation, was it?”

“the what?”

he grins at that. “your paper?” slowly, you blink up at him, lost. “babe, i’ve just kissed you a little. lost your mind already?”

his words were a nice muddle of sounds, but what you did know, and what you could feel, was his hard-on, pressing against your thigh through his jeans. “mmh,” you mumble, absentmindedly, as you begin to grind against him.

letting out a moan, he throws his head back, and you melt at the way his eyes roll into the back of his head. but soon, he refocuses, and grabs your hips. “baby, wait. i’m in charge right now.”

struck, you halt your movements. “okay” you say, in a small voice.

“good girl,” he sighs, bringing one hand to your core again while the other strokes the small of your back. he makes shushing sounds at you as your thighs quiver and your lip begins to wobble. pulling your panties to the side, he brushes his fingers against the lips of your pussy. “fuck, you’re so wet. ”

“haechan-”

“shhhh…” he slips a finger inside, continuing to shush you as you let out a moan. “how does it feel, baby?”

“it hurts.” your mind has gone completely fuzzy, except for the man in front of you, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth hanging slightly open, breaths coming quick with lust. “it hurts haechan.”

“where does it hurt, baby? be a good girl and tell me.”

“i don’t know.” you shake your head, trying to clear it, but he chooses that moment to add another finger, angling them deep inside you.

“there? does it feel better now?” you nod, but then you shake your head, because you want more. he pouts at you, sweetly, but somewhere in the haze of your mind you can see that he’s putting on an act. he knows exactly what you want, and he’s dangling it just out of your reach.

“i don’t know what you mean,” he pouts, and withdraws his fingers. you whine, as he sucks on them, not breaking eye contact the whole time. “it’s okay, let’s try that again, okay baby?” he slides them past your entrance, and curls them against your walls, “does this feel good,” he stops his movements, and spreads his fingers apart instead, scissoring motions stretching you out. “or this?”

“both,” you nod, eagerly.

he clicks his tongue at you, and shakes his head, slowly. “pick one.”

you blink at him, the movement of his fingers dominating your entire mind. you just don’t want him to stop. “the first one.”

“whatever my baby wants.” he presses his palm to your clit to rub slow, heavy circles. “are you going to cum?”

you moan. you’ve given up on verbal answers entirely, lost in the haze of pleasure. burying your face in his neck, you bite and lick at the skin, as he hums satisfactorily. “haechan, wanna, gonna…”

“go for it, baby,” he whispers, quickening the movement of his hand. you begin to rut against him, riding his fingers. “you’re just mine aren’t you? bet your classmate would kill to see you like this, all fucked out and dumb over my fingers.” you cry out, your hands grasping his shoulders desperately, your hips moving as if they had a mind of their own.

he lets out a growl, his hand on your back coming up roughly to untuck your blouse from your skirt, as he shoves a hand up to palm your chest over your bra. “come. now.” blubbering, a moan of pretty half-words and swears come tumbling out as you reach your climax, his fingers relentless against your clit and inside of you, riding out your high until you slump down against him, spent and tired.

haechan removes his fingers from you, licking them clean as he looks down at you fondly. gathering up your limbs, he strokes your hair to comfort you as you come down from your high, and the fog in your head slowly clears.

“baby? are you with me?”

“mmh,” idly, you blink up at him.

“okay, maybe not yet.” he chuckles, smiling to himself at how cute you could be. “you’ve been so good for me today. the best girl.” he presses a kiss to your forehead.

preening at the praise, you press against him. “wait, haechan-” you sit up suddenly, and his hands go to your waist to steady you.

“what is it, baby?”

“you’re still hard.” you begin to fumble with his belt. “wanna make you feel good.”

swatting your hands away gently, he holds them in his and places a light kiss to your fingertips. “no, baby. you can make me feel good later. you have a paper to write.”

your face falls. “a paper?”

he smiles. “it’ll come to you soon.” he’s so proud that he’s the one that gets to make you fall apart this way, the one version of you that no one else gets to see. “come on, baby. let’s go take a bath.” carefully, he scoops you up in his arms, and heads for the bathroom.

#haechan smut #haechan fluff #nct smut #haechan scenario #haechan imagine

2K notes · View notes

pinkbubbles06 · 6 months

Text

Rosekiller Headcannons:

Pt. 2

Pt. 1

Some of these are my own and others are ones I agree with so if some seem familiar that’s why lol. Enjoy!!!!!! Gosh I love them so much. I need like a semi canonical fic of them stat.

* I like to think that Barty was the sweetest of souls when he was younger, but the constant abuse from his father and the cold world damaged him a lot. He also is bipolar so ya know…. Uhhh… yeah…😅

* Barty has long and slender fingers and it would always drive Evan nuts when Barty would wear rings on his hands and nervously play with them

* Barty also developed a tick/constant habit of darting hit tongue out of his mouth to wet his lips. Evan never learned why he did it but found it oddly endearing.

* I feel like Barty couldn't fall asleep without like a million pillows. Unless he had Evan. He would have the best sleep of his life when he slept with Evan.

* Barty will Call Evan Dimples

* The Infamous Three™ know French so they talk in it when they want to say shit about other people.

Evan knows German but rarely uses it.

Barty knows Italian and oh boy, his Italian. Evan got so hard the first time Barty started talking in Italian that he thought he was going to cream his pants. Barty talks in Italian when he drinks which is Evan's worst nightmare since Barty becomes even more flirty when drunk. Every time Barty calls him "mio amato" (my beloved), Evan MELTS (he stills swears he is straight™ and not completely in love with Barty).

When Barty wants to talk about Evan without being pried on, he talks on Italian. Reg knows Spanish and they make it work.

* Barty is Scottish and Evan is French.

* Barty picked up a bunch of languages by the age of 15 because his father decided it was mandatory for his son. (Crouch Sr. canonically knows around 200 languages)

* barty loves the snow. he could spend hours out in the cold without a warming charm if it weren't for his friends getting onto him about him possibly getting sick. he loves sledding down the hills at hogwarts, racing his friends to see who wins. he always does. he also likes snowball fights, building a snowman, and making snow angels. it was something him and his mother cherished so he likes to bask in those precious memories when he can.

* conversely, evan hates snow. his faces crinkles up at the sight of it. he makes sure he bundles himself up and uses warming charms as much as he can. most of the time he sits watching his friends enjoy the snow, throwing snowballs at each other. then barty just shows up with that damned smile of his, his eyes full of wonder at the snow falling down. barty will shoot him a grin just before he throws a snowball. sure, evan hates the snow, but he does genuinely appreciate how happy it makes his boyfriend.

* it is a matter of fact that Barty and Evan spoiled each other constantly, with materialistic things or with kisses and hugs.

* Evan’s birthday is June 20th

* Barty loved to doodle. He would sometimes just grab a marker or something and gently and carefully draw on Evan’s hands or arms. Whichever was easiest to doodle on at the time.

* Barty is secretly a book worm and could talk for days on end to Evan about what he reads.

* Evan isn't much of a reader but he will read anything if Barty suggests it to him, because he absolutely loves seeing him ramble. Barty will also annotate books for him when he borrows them. Don’t get him started on the love poems.

* Barty is so smart. But like in the doesn't need to try smart - tests come easy to him sort of smart

* Evan is completely and totally scared of all bugs ever, and he has to get reg or barty to kill them when they get into the dorm. Barty will sometimes terrorize him by bring the bug really close to him in his hand. Evan screams bloody murder every time. Barty gets such a kick out of it lol.

* When someone asks Barty if he wasn’t something to eat, he’ll say ‘you’ in a deadpan tone (mainly to Evan)

* Evan is possessive as fuck, he will actually glare anyone down that even looks in Barty's direction and will proceed to plan a murder.

* Evan was just a little bit more unhinged than Barty was at Hogwarts. But after school, and after he was a legal adult, Barty let loose and they were both unhinged together!!😁

* Barty and Evan share beds a ton, and the first time it happened was because Barty was having a hard day and Evan snuck in and held him through the night,

* Barty also has nightmares and instinctively looks for evan when he wakes up; Evan is always there

* Barty secretly proposed to Evan when they were 16. No one knew about it. Ever. And no one could ever tell because they almost always both wore rings. So they were engaged until Evan died, because they never got to get married because of all the “no gay marriage!!” In the 70s/80s

* I like to think Barty fell first but when Evan fell for him too Barry’s love grew deeper once he had him. So basically he fell first and he also fell harder.

* Barty never holds people's hands, he just wraps his fingers around their wrist. Friends or Lovers.

Evan has no idea why, maybe it's a preference or something?

Barty actually does it to check if the person he's with has a pulse and is real, a small reassurance for his anxiety

* evan has brown eyes, and barty collects rocks when they match the color perfectly. He’s kinda like a crow that way. He will find things that remind him of Evan, or that make him think of him, and he will give them to Evan. He keeps every single one.

* Barty has deep emerald green eyes.

* Evan adores it when Barty runs his fingers through his hair. He gets shivers down his spine every time.

* They both actively tried to summon ghosts

* Evan has like really bad circulation so he's like ALWAYS cold. And Barty is always a furnace

* Barty would often just bite Evan’s shoulder. Evan eventually go a tattoo of Barry’s bite marks on his left shoulder.

* Harley Quinn and Barty Crouch Jr. are interchangeable and you cannot convince me otherwise.

* Like, “what’s that I should kill everyone in escape? oh sorry, it’s the voices… I’m kidding!!! that’s not what they actually said.”

* Evan would often put his hand on Barry’s throat and Barty lived for every second of it. The Horny Bastard.

* I just know that Barty and Evan had so many dramatic break ups over the pettiest things

* They did it so they could have hate sex🤣🤣

* Barty would always tell Evan that he hopes that he would die first. He always said he never wanted to live in a world where Evan wasn’t in it….

* The skittles(Barty, Evan, Reggie, Panda, and Dorcas) all made an unbreakable vow that only death would do them part… and it did…

* Everyone thinks that they can’t stand each other when in public, but alone, or just with their friends, they are literally unbearable

* Evan wears baggy clothes and Barty wears tight clothes. Fight me on this.

* Also Evan has the sluttiest waist known to mankind.

* The fist Slytherin party that Evan actually danced at, he was so insecure. So Barty convinced him that no one was looking at Evan and that they were just looking at Barty. And after a few drinks, Barty had convinced Evan of that and he just let lose. And holy shit were they hot together. Kinda like the song by Sabrina carpenter if u know what I mean….

* Like, Barty would say “They aren’t even looking at you Ev, they’re looking at me.” Then Evan would say, “But I don’t want them to look at you Barty.”

* Evan took his shirt off a few times at a couple of party’s and literally all eyes were on him but he didn’t care cus Barty was there, Hands tightly secured to his waist and glaring at anyone who even glanced at Evan.

* Barty is a pyromaniac, and when that happens only Dorcas and Pandora can settle it. Evan can too but he usually just enables him🤣

* When Evan goes missing it doesn’t take Barty long to figure out he is dead. It totally sent him off the deep end and caused him to put all of his devotion into the only thing he had left, Voldemort.

* Also, once he found out Evan was dead he went straight to Pandora. She was the only one of their friends would would even think about talking to him. He was miserable, he wouldnt leave his room at Pandoras house for days.

* I am also completely convinced that Bartemius Crouch Sr had Evan assassinated after he found out about him and Barty.

* Like you know how canonically moody was trying to take him prisoner, but Evan was fighting so damn hard that Moody had to kill him. I think that was his order along. You can’t convince me otherwise. that is what happened.

* When he is posing as Moody, Barty finds out about this and kills his dad because of it. And also because of the god awful abuse. Duh.🙄

* Also, a little before torturing Alice and Frank Longbottom, Barty tried to obliviate himself so he would just forget Evan and Regulus because the pain of losing them was too much. In his attempt, because his emotions were so high, he messed it up and he went insane. This also caused him to halusenate Evan and Regulus. The halusenations of them were the ones who convinced him that Alice and Frank killed Evan. (Barty already knew how Regulus died.)

* Regulus told Kreature to tell Evan and Barty how he died, knowing they would keep his secret. And they did until they died.

82 notes · View notes

nakoayas · 26 days

Text

Yumeshiro Aya | Profusion of 110 Flowers (from GRAPH 2024 July)

Learning about the beauty of musumeyaku in various perspectives.

PLAY

— Recently, I've been paying more attention on how to rest fully on my rest days. I can play on my "play days", but I realized that's not the main way I spend those days now. I'm spending more energy on stage and in rehearsals in a day than I did in the past, so I won't be working too much on my rest days. During the break after the Tokyo performances are finished, I'd go to Disneyland or go on vacation in Paris, or sometimes go back to my family home. Since I don't have much time in rehearsals to take care of my dogs Hana-chan and Yuki-chan, I'd take them out on a walk on my days off.

RELAX

— I like to take my dogs out and go for a drive, and realized once again how much I like seeing nature. I like seeing architecture too, but when I see places with greenery and the sunset, I'd feel especially moved by the scenery. And it's been my daily routine for 5 years that I write in my diary every morning. When I wake up, (writing my diary) prepares myself, and it gives me a refreshed feeling (to start the day.)

KNOWLEDGE

— As I was learning about The Rose of Versailles, I went to France for vacation. I didn't have much opportunity to play aristocratic roles in the past so I didn't have much knowledge (on this status of class), but as I delved into learning Marie Antoinette, I found it very interesting. I've researched all that I can, and realized that perhaps the intrinsic human sides of her remain unchanged, and there are many things I can relate to her. Now I'm rehearsing for the performance Romanesque Mask, a story of aristocrats after the French Revolution, and there've been many stories of the socialites of the time and it's fascinating to see various portrayals (of such lifestyle) in movies. I jot down notes for what I've researched, and it was fun to learn about this history.

BEAUTY

— I have a skincare routine. Every morning and every night, it's an indispensable step to use the steamer and facial beauty devices. I don't take supplements every day, but it depends on each day. I'll use facial wash, softening beauty, anti-dullness, facial scrub… and 5 other of those products and use them distinctively. And also before I sleep, I'll definitely use the hair straightening iron. By straightening the hair, it curls naturally when I wake up in the morning.

HEALTH

— I catch colds easily, so health is really an important task for me… I really want to enhance my sleeping quality and have been searching desperately, so if there are recommendations, please tell me about it (LOL). This year, I want to change to a new set of silk sheets for my bed! Besides, I don't watch television a lot at night, and I keep my lights dim in my room. I also tend not to look at my smartphone (at night). I only watch Youtube to receive information on beauty care, but I think the algorithm is too much for me. It's difficult to just receive the necessary information I need, and to learn what I really need to face for myself, I'm starting to do more digital detox.

FASHION

— It's not just particularly for offstage times, but I want to be comfortable in what I wear. When I'm working, I'd wear mostly items of my troupe color (green) and fashion styles that suit my role. I'll go shopping, and sometimes buy exactly how the coordinated styles are shown on display (LOL). When I see some flower-patterned or checkered fashion that definitely do not go together, I'd think "I'll buy both!". For portrait photos in the future, I'd like to challenge things I haven't used in the past for photoshoots, or taking photos with things I'm unfamiliar with.

MEMORY

— Even for the books I read to create my role, I'll be writing it down to remember it, and I'm the type to annotate my script. But before I begin performing, I want to read the script once more and treat it as completely new. It's a definite step that I use a dryer and erase my notes I've written with my Frixon pen, and restart (studying the script) from the beginning. Also, even though I understand the role I'm playing, to embody the role, I want to always know how my mentality is doing, so I'd also note down what I'm thinking or what I'm worried about. Also in my 5-year diary, I'd be able to look back on the past 1 year whether I've improved or performed worse, so I recommend this method to underclassmen who are also concerned with their troubles. Because writing down (all of these) helps you to take care of yourself internally.

BONUS!!

First picture bubble:

"with (Aisora) Minami who came to visit the photoshoot"

Second picture bubble:

"a challenge to wear the bustier that brings an impact"

Scanned from my personal collection and graciously translated by @yuzukahibiscus ♥️

#takarazuka #takarazuka revue #yumeshiro aya #snow troupe #yukigumi #takarazuka translation #tag: graph translation #tag: graph scans #the nakoaya fan posting

33 notes · View notes

toomuchracket · 10 days

Note

pre-dating idea, the bday party friendship group all doing a "blind date with a book" night and everyone gets assigned another person to choose a book for that they think they'll enjoy. obviously, matty and girlie get each other, and they have to explain why they chose that book, and it just proves how much they really notice and care about each other

i love this i'm obsessed with it and actually it got me thinking... what if you got each other the same book by complete coincidence? also like as THE literary girly of all time and the friend group, i reckon you'd be the one planning the whole shindig - your flat isn't huge, but it's alright, because that means the book presentation evening will be cosy lol, and a month before the actual get-together you "pulled names from a hat" to allocate who was choosing for who, which is code for You chose strategically partially because you wanted to see what would happen when you paired frankie and enya, because they're so different, and partially because you'd be damned if anyone else got to buy matty a book lmao. anyway! once the teams are picked and shared, he messages the gc like "excited but also lowk scared. i've got to pick WELL lol" and texts you privately like "fr i can't wait to pick you something, darling. thank you for planning this, it'll be really fun!", and it makes you GIDDY. the whole thing does, actually, buying him a book and wrapping it and leaving your reasoning on the cover and then having a drink with him in your kitchen before the gifting part of the hangout. it's so fun to see what your friends all chose for each other - some choices are funny, some serious, but all are thoughtful - and have a laugh, and the excitement fizzing in your stomach when it reaches your and matty's turn is just as good; it briefly fizzles into panic when you open the package to see the exact same copy of crying in h mart that you bought him, but as soon as you look into those pretty eyes of his you can't stop giggling at the coincidence. neither can matty - he just leans over to hug you like "i can't believe that. maybe we know each other TOO well, darling, christ", and you return it like "we're mental. s'amazing". and while the book choice is the same, the reasoning is slightly different; yours was because you thought he would enjoy reading about a musician using another form/skill to process their emotion (in the book's case, cooking), and his was because he thought you would enjoy reading about how identity is shaped through the gaps in language and culture as much as those things themselves AND the hard things we experience in life (idk i am spitballing here), and you were both right about the other being interested in that. bless him, he's genuinely apologetic when you find each other in the kitchen again later, offering to replace the book with another, but you just put a finger on his lips (he goes internally insane at this) and shake your head like "nah, this one's perfect. and i was thinking - we could do a buddy read of it sometime, if you'd like, discuss it together as we go, maybe annotate each other's copies", and matty actually swears he's never been more up for anything ever in his life. a private book club, just the two of you? your handwriting on his books forever? he's lovesick i fear. yeah, i love this whole idea <3

#mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks #into the birthday partyverse

33 notes · View notes

spiteless-xo · 1 year

Note

hi tiff!! do you have any hcs for eren and jean as a dad/husband? 🙊

🥺 what a cute, sweet question -- of course i do!

this is mostly about them being dads and less about being husbands lol sorry

╰┈➤ as a dad - aot.

ft. eren, jean. cw. explicit language, reference to sex, fem!reader.

⋙ eren jaeger.

eren fully believes that you're going to have a boy, like to the point that he fights you over painting the baby's room blue, but the second he sees your little girl he completely melts.

he's read every book about "how to raise a child" and has them highlighted and annotated next to his bed. goes to them immediately for guidance whenever your daughter hits any sort of milestone.

he plays with her all day, every day. literally, he jumps out of bed to go bug her because he's so excited to spend time with his little girl 🥺 he'll let her do his hair, paint his nails, and even have little tea parties together.

he's literally putty in her hands. whatever she wants, he gives her. the two of them have to hide away from you when you say no, because the second she pouts up at him, he's crumbling and buying her that candy bar.

makes you be the bad guy because he can't bare the thought of making her upset. literally has to go into another room when she starts crying after being punished because he'll just cave and give her whatever she wants.

your daughter grows up spoiled as fuck but also has impossible dating standards thanks to the expectations eren's set for her.

ever since the beginning, eren's always done the most to help you out around the house. he's not the stereotypical "come home from work and sit on the couch"-dad, he's the "comes home and makes dinner, helps his daughter with her homework, spends the evening watching movies with the family and kissing you and squeezing you on the couch until your kid yells at you to stop"-dad

even after all this time he's still so crazy in love with you and shows you every time the two of you are together. he's always playfully grabbing your ass and making out with you in the kitchen or whistling at you when you come downstairs after getting dressed up. your daughter claims that she hates it -- says that it's gross -- but she still smiles and gushes about how in love her parents are to her friends.

even when she gets older, she's still a daddy's girl and will call him for help or send him memes or teach him about tiktok 💀

⋙ jean kirstein.

jean wants a literal litter of kids, like three minimum. and no gender preference. like you guys just have a designated baby room in the house on the off-chance that he convinces you to let him knock you up again (and he's very persuasive).

he's very nervous with your firstborn but after that he throws all caution to the wind. he figures the first kid turned out alright, so the others should be fine too.

very rough with them!! even the girls!!! he'll throw them up in the air, swing them around by the arms, or tuck them under his arms and run around like he's carrying a football. you're constantly screaming at him to be careful and slow down but he rarely listens.

loves doing big excursions with the family. whether that's a big trip to Disneyland or a day at the waterpark or whatever, he's always got something planned for the weekend that involves strapping all the squirming, upset kidlets into the car and driving for a few hours.

he's always the bad guy. like to the point where if someone does something wrong, all you have to do is say "what dad going to say when he finds out about this?" and they're crying and begging for forgiveness. he's mastered the stern, "i'm not mad, just disappointed in you"-stare that really tears at all of the kids heartstrings.

i feel like he's really into gentle parenting but there was maybe an incident when one of the kids was a toddler that was potentially very dangerous that had him yelling at a child for the first time in his life (immediately burst into tears once he realized everything was ok and was shaking so bad that you had to hold him 🥺)

jean is also insufferably in love with you but he's really weird about having sex when the kids are around. so the two of you end up going on a lot of late-night drives or date nights at hotel rooms so he can fuck another baby into you show you how much he loves you

he wants your house to be the house that all the kids go to hang out and is always so excited to meet their friends and be involved in their lives as much as possible. he knows all of your kids' friends by name, knows who they're dating, who they hate, etc., etc. i feel like jean is someone that is so easy to be around that some of your kids' friends will go to him for advice

when the kids get older, he loves it. loves being able to talk to them like adults, helping them navigate adulthood, and see them grow up and succeed. definitely cries during each and every child's graduation and whispers in your ear as he's clapping, "we raised a good one." (and yes, he says that every time)

#jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger #aot headcanons #snk headcanons #aot x reader #snk x reader #tiff.ask #jean #eren #tiff.fic #eren.hc #jean.hc

327 notes · View notes

uncouth-the-fifth · 4 months

Text

pythia, a supernatural rewrite. bloody mary, rough draft.

read it on ao3.

words: 6k notes: hi y'all! yes, you read that chapter title right - this is a little unconventional, but since I've unfortunately shifted hyperfixations and have drifted away from SPN, I thought I would post what I have for the next part of pythia. since I'm moving into resident evil land, I'm not sure if I'm going to come back to this fic—but I absolutely didn't want to leave you guys empty-handed!! I'm so so sorry that this fic will go unfinished (for now), and I'm so grateful to those who were along for the ride with me. I have so much love for all the people who motivated me through writing this fic. all of you are beyond kind!! and I hope you enjoy this dose of pythia content, featuring some of my notes and process-work, lol. I only had a few heavy chunks of the beginning written, but the prose for this chap (ironically) started to get into the meat of what I really wrote this fic for—psychic bullshit between reader and Sam. It was just too plain juicy to not share!! All of my spn fics will remain up, but if you keep up with me, expect lots of Leon Kennedy bullshit and tomfoolery. Again - thank you so much for your endless love and support, I had so much fun writing what I could of season one!! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this unfinished chunk of silly/ansty Christmas drama :)

EAU CLAIRE, WISCONSIN - Dec 21st, evening.

Sam drops the stack of glossy, brand-new legal pads into his lap, and flashes his brother a plain smile. “Thanks, Dean. I needed more of these.” From your spot seated on the living room rug, you twist your rings and wait for Dean’s witty reply. With all those notes you’re always makin', Sammy, I’ll hafta buy you some for New Years, too. You wait for him to make a crack about the gift he got Sam, something about diaries or his brother’s girly handwriting.

Instead, Dean shrugs, “Well, then there ya go.”

Voila. And with that, the feeble threads you’d tried to braid into a proper Christmas are cut. Without a word, your Mom picks up the little wooden jewelry case the three of you had thrifted her and recedes into the dark hallways of the house. Dean peels himself out of his seat to clean up. Sam sighs, picking at the plastic seal around his legal pads. Hilariously, this all plays out while Paul McCartney chimes about what wonderful Christmastime he’s been having from the radio in your kitchen.

Technically, you hadn’t just been celebrating Christmas. No, you managed to completely bomb both Christmas and the sacred Winter Solstice sabbat that the Proctors had been celebrating for a bajillion fucking years. The special sabbat that would have a real spiritual effect on you for the next couple months.

You’d given it a good ol’ college try. First, you’d painstakingly picked out gifts for the boys and your Mom. Good ass gifts, too, that you’d been hiding in your duffle since summertime. Hell, you’d been looking for the Eagles album you bought for Dean in tape form for at least two years. (Cool, Dean had said, half alive in his armchair after your chupacabra hunt in Illinois. He was at the ugly front end of a cold. He’d sniffled, Don’t have this one.) And knowing that this would be Sam’s first Christmas without Jess—the one person who had given him any kind of good holiday when he was away from home—you’d poured extra love into his gift, too.

He’d been begging you to read Frankenstein since high school, and you’d dodged it because sometimes books that pushed too far into the “classics” category could lose you. Mary Shelley got a little wordy at times. But you were a big girl with a big brain, so you’d read the whole thing for Sam… and annotated the whole thing for Sam…

He’d taken one look at your labor of love and murmured, “Good. Glad you read it.”

…Yeah. You had half a mind to check if he’d been replaced by a clone, hearing that. Fifteen-year-old Sam would have melted into a babbling, ecstatic mess if someone had carefully combed through one of his favorite books and shared their thoughts on it with him. Bare minimum, you figured he’d at least enjoy having his own copy of Shelley’s work. All his other books had been lost in the fire.

But you’d given the book to a Sam who was twenty-two, not fifteen. Fine. People changed.

The boys being a collective bummer was something you could deal with. Sam was always sullen around the holidays, and you couldn’t exactly be mad at Dean for being exhausted after a stressful hunt. But your Mom…

Beth used to make Yule her bitch. When you were a kid, come December 1st, the Proctor House could easily have been the center of all Wicca celebrations in the world. If working retail during the holidays tested one’s love for festive music, then the non-stop winter songs bouncing off Beth’s vinyl player would’ve made Santa beg to hear something else. Every room would gush with the smell of evergreen branches and holly. Your family’s altar, the home of all the love and joy for the season, would be lush with offerings and presents. The candles you lit as a family to welcome the light of the new year would glow in a neat row—your little silver candle, your mother’s tall red one… and the biggest. Your Dad’s.

Now, your Dad’s candle was tucked away with the rest of the unused decorations in the attic. From your spot on the floor, you couldn’t help but stare at your piss-poor excuse for a family altar. Beth hadn’t “had the time” to find the table runner your great-grandmother had embroidered just for that space. The small bouquet of mistletoe you’d brought sat pathetically on the wide, barren surface, framed by your family’s dollar-store candles: silver for you, red for Mom, and twin green candles for the boys.

It was stupid. Really, you shouldn’t have cared so much. You were almost twenty-five, and the older you got the less people cared about silly, trivial things like a single holiday out of the year. That was just a fact of life.

Still, an ugly ball of bitterness sat in your gut. She couldn’t have tried to decorate? Even out on the road, you’d still found ways to make today a little special for the people you loved. Did she really have such little strength left in her? You’d dragged the boys up to Wisconsin with you so your Mom didn’t have to be alone. Was it really that impossible, after eleven whole years without your Dad, to try and be happy?

Fuck this. Yule isn’t over yet. There’s still time for you to squeeze some life out of today, and you’re going to start straight at the source. You find your Mom in the kitchen, mindlessly swiping invisible crumbs off pristine counters. When she senses you paused behind her in the kitchen doorway, clutching in both hands the gift she got you this year, the radio suddenly needs to be toyed with. Then cleaned. There are gray strands in her hair that shine like tinsel in the low kitchen light.

“Hey,” you say, your voice bright and christmas-card perfect. “I don’t think I got to say thank you for the gift.” (You did. More than once already.) “It’s been a bit since I read this one.” The gift in question is your Dad’s second edition print of The Shining. It’s even older than you are, with soft, petal-thin pages that reek of that wonderful old book musk. Rolling the flexed and cracked paperback between your hands, your Gift automatically picks up the distant echo of the hands that had touched these pages when they were new.

When you were little, you’d always found it kind of strange that your Dad considered this book his favorite. He was a sweet, soft-spoken person, and the mental image of him indulging in uncensored horror novels didn’t mesh with the Ray preserved in your head. Having since grown up and read it for yourself, you understood that it was less about the gore of the Overlook and more about “the shine;” the array of psychic abilities that kept five-year-old Danny Torrance alive through the book.

Years of having book-club with Sam had trained you to form cultivated opinions about the stuff you read, but The Shining existed in a realm that made it hard for you to describe how you felt about it. See, you had Danny Torrance’s shine—on the same level, too, enough shine to power the decades of ghostly ballroom parties and mob conspiracies inside the Overlook for a century. Seeing your Gift put onto a page so nakedly and cinematically made you uncomfortable. Yet, feeling the weight of your father’s book in your hands, standing in the kitchen he hasn’t touched in a decade, you know that it must’ve comforted him. Back then, surrounded by a psychic mother-in-law, girlfriend, and daughter, it would've been impossible to survive without a little shine of his own. You’re sure that your Dad's Gift was faint and unimpressive next to the psychic blackholes of your Mom and Grandma. Just enough to know if you’d skinned your elbow or had a nightmare. On the days that you came home from school tear-streaked and ruddy-faced, Dad would be waiting on the porch with soup.

You can still feel the faint psychic imprint of one of his whiskery kisses on your face. You don’t have many vivid impressions of him left to feel; none that haven’t been rubbed again and again, like the hollow of a fingerprint smoothed into the face of a rock over time.

Your Mom gives a non-committal hum at your attempt at conversation. Not because she doesn’t care—you can feel how much she cares from across the room—but because she’s tired. Adult Tired, like when she’d turn down your pleas to play together as a kid. Not tonight, baby. Momma’s exhausted.

“Mom,” you say, sounding as glossy and clean as a brand-new cookie tin. You open your mouth to say more, maybe to start in on one of your long-winded book-rants that had everyone wondering where Sam had suddenly appeared from. You know the answer, but you ask anyway, “This was one of Dad’s favorite books, right? I vaguely remember him talking about the hedge animals.” Beth accidentally hits a button as she’s dragging a rag over the shiny front of the radio, forcing Paul McCartney to have yet another wonderful Christmastime. She doesn’t look at you.

“Yup. But you knew that already, honey.”

C’mon. Nothing? She won’t even throw you the smallest, most pathetic olive branch? A psychic battle occurs. You get so frustrated all at once that your throat closes up, and that frustration balloons out into your family kitchen like the expansion of a bomb. You push. There is no give. The bubbling stormcloud of grief and loss hanging around Mom is there, then it’s not. The side of the kitchen your mother stands on is suddenly a void of absolute nothingness, empty of any feeling whatsoever, good or bad. She’s cutting you off from reading her—and protecting herself from your explosive emotions, as per usual.

Beth keeps cleaning the radio, her back to you.

Your rage bubbles out of you all at once. One day! One day out of the entire fucking year, the day your Dad always made special, and she can’t even pull herself together for that. You know you should be a good daughter and empathize with the woman who made you, but you’ve been a good daughter about this since you were twelve years old. Eleven Yules have gone by since your Dad passed. Just for one measly moment, you want to talk about him like he’s not a corpse rotting in the living room.

And the worst part is that Mom knows that. She’s known you’ve felt that way all day, a slow-bubbling pot building to a boil across the room. The two of you can always feel each other. You’re the only two who can; she’s the only other radio tower that can receive your station in its purest quality, and yet she has the gall to shut all her signals down.

“Fine!” You burst out, making the conversation physical.

It should feel good to yell, really. After the slow, ungratifying day you’ve had, you’ve been a shaken soda bottle waiting to implode. Instead, since you’re the crazy person yelling at nothing for no reason in the kitchen, your anger booms out of you and fizzes out in the same breath like a faulty firework. Fine. Fuck all of this. If you can’t beat em’, join em’. If everyone’s determined to rot the day away, then you’ll go wallow in self-pity the Proctor-Winchester way, too. Merry fucking Christmas, and a happy fucking Yule.

There is no satisfying door to slam on your way out of the kitchen. You take a sharp right down the front hall, hoping to veer up the stairs and slam your feet down on every single step up to your room. If your Mom wants to live forever in the year your Dad died, by all means—you’ll even bring home your thirteen-year-old self and her childish tantrums, just for time-accurate ambiance. Sam’s standing frozen just outside the kitchen archway, and you catch his deer-in-headlights look as you go peeling around the corner. You’re still keyed up with enough lashing rage to spare, so seeing him, just as hollowed-out and not there as your Mom, only feeds your pyre.

As you get to work thoroughly stomping the staircase to death, you hear him go into the kitchen and ask Beth about soup for Dean’s sore throat.

Upstairs is even more painfully quiet. Through the floor, Paul McCartney muffles down to a cheery mumble. All old houses shift around a little, but yours settles like it's alive, clicking, creaking, swaying. You don’t look at the portraits of Proctor women up the stairwell. The dusty grandfather clock in the hall watches you with its stained glass face, and you’re so lost in your own head—

—and Dad’d be so pissed we didn’t decorate the altar or listen to the Tull Christmas album, he’d riot, he’d talk some sense into her—wouldn’t think any of this is stupid— —that you don’t hear it when it chimes. Muscle memory plants you right in front of your bedroom door. Having a good cry under the covers sounds like a perfect end to the night, right? And yet you stop. Your hand drops on the knob and stays there, unmoving. Maybe it’s your Gift, or good old-fashioned human instinct knowing when something in the home has been nudged two inches to the left, but the air in the hall tastes staler than usual. A draft? Your gaze is pulled all the way down to the opposite end of the hall, where the untouched, stately storage room door is ajar.

Your Mom probably left it open. Maybe she’d gone in there to hunt around for all the heirloom Yule decorations, only to rediscover Dad’s football memorabilia or Dad’s engraved cigarette case and go bolting out of the room. —everything’s different without him, Sam and Mom and Dean too. So am I. Everything’s twisted—without him— Still riding the whirlwind, you stomp from one end of the yellowing, starry zodiac carpet (Aries) to the other (Pisces), the floorboards squeaking under your weight. You push the door and it goes shuddering into the darkness. This was one of many rooms in the house that Mom had banished you from as a kid, mostly as a way to shoo you away from the hunting world. It’d given you this insatiable fascination with it as a result, but when you tug the chain to turn on the closest lamp, what it illuminates doesn’t come close to the spectacular stories you’d made up in your head.

It’s just a room. It has windows and shelves and old things, some from your childhood, some from your Mom’s. Some from even further back than that. The closest fascinating thing is a shiny gold blob poking out of your baby things, which turns out to be Sam’s eighth-grade mathlete trophy. You had no idea what possessed Mom to come up here so often. There was no way she wasn’t in here at least a couple times a week; the tall metal storage shelf where she immortalized your Dad’s things was never dusty, and yet the whole room reeked of rotting books and insulation. You shove the box with Sam’s trophy aside with your foot until it skids out of your way, and then send the heavy door shut behind you with a wall-shaking bang.

A flurry of dust hails down from the ceiling. You cough through the cloud, wandering in your blindness towards the neat row of plastic storage tubs labeled with your Dad’s name. Clothes. Misc. Books. Maybe that’s where Mom had gotten your new copy of The Shining from, halfway through one of her sacred meditations over Dad’s things. You drop a hand onto the cold lid of the tub. Nothing, not even the slightest psychic imprint, reaches back.

What is she even holding onto anymore? You try the clothes next. The rounded corners of this bin have been scuffed gray from how many times it’s been pulled off and then pushed back on its shelf, again and again. The case feels as lifeless to you as it would for anyone else, but you try your luck and slide it out onto the floor. It comes loose with a solid thud.

When you were old enough, Beth would sometimes send you up into this room to grab things (spell ingredients, books you didn’t keep downstairs). You would run full-tilt right up until you hit the storage room door, then pass inside like a stranger in a dangerous realm, watching where you stepped and always, always keeping your Dad’s shelf in the corner of your eye. On brave days you would pick up his silvery cigarette case and roll it between your palms. It grew harder and harder to feel him each time, the ghost of him whittled down like a rock made round by the current of a river.

When you crack off the lid, you expect some kind of smell. You don’t remember what he smelled like, but you have a few guesses—cheap, vanilla-sweet aftershave, or maybe the woody stale smell of cigarette smoke you know you shouldn’t love. Maybe both. It doesn’t really matter. The neatly folded stacks of your Dad’s old shirts and jackets don’t smell like a damn thing. You dip your face into a holey band-shirt with the sleeves scissored off, but all that comes back to you is the rotten smell of dusty insulation. He’s here—he’s right here in front of you, right in your fucking hands, and yet the whole world is dead of him. You can’t sense even a sliver of him left.

The same old reservoir of despair pushes and pushes at your composure, wiggling through your cracks, widening them with a hundred thousand tons of pressure bearing down on you a minute. It is a day by day task to handle the reservoir. You like to think you’re good at handling it, at patching the cracks as they come and letting them breathe when the moment calls for it. But when you lift your face from the bin, the leak springs—really, genuinely springs, like it hasn’t in years.

You fall back onto your haunches, swallowing back sudden stinging tears. The bin and its askew lid go shrieking back onto the shelf with a lash of your foot.

The music downstairs stops. You can’t tell how long it’s been.

When his death was fresh, and you were stuck deep, deep within the reservoir, you’d wondered if it would always feel this way. It got easier, right? And in many ways it had—on most days you could talk about your Dad without it hurting, letting the dam’s water run. The battle was still there, but it was a burden you were proud to carry if it meant his memory lived on in you. He would want you to be happy, your Mom used to urge. So you gave being happy your best shot, loving and giving as much as you could.

That’s what frustrated you so endlessly about your Mom. She’d been right; your Dad would’ve wanted the two of you to move on, and yet she still entombed herself in the bottom of her reservoir far too often. There was no release, no acceptance with her. The dark part of you that wanted to pass blame wondered if this was all because of John, and how well Winchester grief happened to mingle with a Proctor’s. How would your mother’s life be different, if the evil that’d taken Dad hadn’t been put down a week later? Would she be just as hellbent? With your knees sore from pressing into the floor, you knew the answer. You knew if the thing that’d taken Sam or Dean from you was right in front of you, you’d chase it until you were in your own grave. You knew that even after it was dead, you would be digging your nails into the backseat of the Impala and clawing for every psychic molecule of them left in the leather.

And that’s what scared you—was she just going to be chasing Dad forever, til’ there wasn’t a wisp of him left in the world to feel?

Something dawns on you, thudding through your mind like a rock dropped down a chute. With limp hands, you slide The Shining towards you on the worn wood floor, part the pages with your thumbs, and press your nose into the binding. There’s the smoky, earthy scent of old paper first… then something just underneath the surface that no one but you and your Mom can pick up.

Old books. Yes. Yes, that’s what Dad had smelled like.

You’re seated on the floor of the storage room, back pressed to one of the ancient metal shelves holding up your gramma’s VCR collection, when a blot of the future is tossed at you. Cheap deodorant and lemon cough drops.

Around a minute later, the stairs beyond the door squeak under someone’s weight. Even without the roulette glimpse of the future, you can tell by the footfalls who it is. Heavy knuckles rap the door and come straight in without waiting for an answer. Behind him, the silence of the rest of the house is even heavier.

You try to sound like a reasonable adult, but the mopey teenager slips out anyway. “Thought you were sick, Dean.”

He artfully dodges your point. (Dean is, after all, a master of the craft.) You don’t look back at him, but the lemon cough-drops glimpse you got of him creates a clear picture: Dean’s whole body listing into the door frame, one hand on the knob, his face lacking its usual color. His cheeks have graduated from stubbly to scruffy, neglected. “Hey,” he says. It’s the, okay, you’re done cooling down, let’s have a grown-up conversation kind of hello.

You don’t know what to say back. You’re not sure if you can have any kind of conversation right now.

Dean rolls with it, trying to decide if this silence is begging for a subject change or a heart-to-heart. You’re not sure what he goes for when he says, “I had an idea.” “Did it hurt?” You joke. Jokes you can do.

There’s his opening. After a beat, you’re—

—fucking lobbed with a foam football. Like you’re fucking twelve. Dean’s throw arcs straight towards your head and bounces clean off the top, a perfect spiral. You yelp in outrage, and before you can think you’re following where the stupid ball went so you can clock him right in the face with it. Asshole. It loop-de-loops on the floor around an old dining chair, and you clamber on your knees to fish for it.

Just when you get the toy in your hands and you’re about to demolish him with it, Dean ducks behind the doorway, chuckling, “Woah! No face shots! You wouldn’t bash a poor, sick guy’s face in, would’ja?”

God. You can’t fucking believe him. If anyone else did that…

You lower your hackles and drop the foam toy into a basket, far out of reach of congested troublemakers. When his shining eyes appear in the slit of the doorway again, your cheeks are aching with an impossible smile. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas, loser. What is it?”

Dean hesitates a moment more, just in case you’ve got something else to throw at him, then joins you in the storage room with the evil little oily smile you love. The same dust cloud that got you earlier descends on him in a rough coughing fit, but this lets him get a good look at the little mess you’ve made: the book on the floor, your Dad’s things open and askew. When he clears his throat for the last time, he looks pained.

For your sake, you pretend it’s an empathetic kind of pained. And you know that’s a part of it—Dean doesn’t enjoy seeing you and your Mom like this. But it’s an unfortunate fact of your life that you will have four times as much context for him than he will ever have for you. Just breathing the same dusty air as him, you know he’s been nursing a sinus headache since Monday, one that’s made his head feel like it’s chock-full of stuffing, and that Sam made him canned chicken noodle soup—and at first he felt a little smug making Sam play nurse, until he stewed on it more and—

—hate it when he gives me that dead-eyed look, like he can’t even pretend to care anymore. Like he’s just dragging himself through this for our sake. Poor kid scares the shit outta me. Is this how it’s always gonna be? Sammy aching over her, night after night after night—

You know just touching the bins holding your Dad’s things that on a icy February afternoon in 1994, fifteen-year-old Dean had picked up the plastic tubs for your Mom from the store.

So when he gives you that pained look, you know it’s part-concern, part-fear. If this is what you look like eleven years after your Dad’s passing… if John never comes home from his hunting trip, is this what Dean will become? The loyal son, waiting and waiting on that porch for a man who would never come home?

Your whole life, you’ve felt like you were becoming more and more like Dean; lately, it feels like he’s becoming so much like you. Your last four years on the road together had slowly but surely melded you together.

“Okay, so, Yule’s a fire festival, right?” Dean grasps around in his memory for the yearly history lesson your Mom gives about the Wicca calendar. “Uh, we lit candles… I thought about burning Beth’s Muppet Christmas CD with my lighter a couple times. That’s about all the fiery, burny-stuff we did today.”

“I love the Muppets Christmas album,” you pout.

“After the millionth partridge in John Denver’s goddamn pear tree, you’d change your mind,” Dean swears. “But I was thinkin’—we got the firepit in the backyard, marshmallows, and I think I could put together some vodka shots. Then we can blow em' out and eat em' with the s'mores.” Your eyebrows raise. Only he, of all people, could take your sacred family traditions and twist them into such a wonderful, stupid-ass thing. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but… there is chocolate and graham crackers downstairs… and with how cold it is outside, a fire would be perfect… It’s the best blend of weird Proctor-Winchester traditions you need to save Christmas and Yule. Dean takes your silence as glowing awe. “Exactly. I told you, I'm a fuckin' genius. Helluva way to start the wiccan year, right? You in?”

You’re well aware that this is an elaborate plan to coax you away from your moping. Still, it’s just too Dean to turn down. “...Hell yeah.”

At first R hopes that it’s just her and Dean, and that Sam and Beth keep their grief to themselves. But then she realizes how cruel and selfish she’s been—everyone grieves in their own way, and just because she works through it by talking about it doesn’t mean it will work for everyone. It’s not good that Beth is holding on so tightly to her loss, but that doesn’t mean R wants to leave them out.

Lead this into a touch of psychic!Dean and how he has a teeny tiny second sense for what she needs, just like her Dad did. Just enough shine to get by.

R and Dean come downstairs and invite Sam and Beth to their campfire 😀

Or, at the very least, all the psychic happenings in the house echoing between them; if Dean's sharper instincts were as psychically heavy as a shadow falling on grass, then Sam's Static was six feet of snow in an arctic blizzard.

It tingles all the way up to your shoulder when Sam touches you. And that, oh, that was a whole new can of worms. As they get dressed for the snow outside and assemble the s'mores and flaming shots, you try not to head down that train of thought again.

Every time you’ve glanced at Sam these past few weeks, you’d been unable to hide from what you’d sensed there—from what you’d seen in the demon, and what you now knew to be completely and utterly true after reading its mind.

Sam had It. The Gift, the Shining, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. Not the vague imprint of psychic-ness from loving one or sharing the Impala with one for four years; full-on, unlatched, REDRUM, I-saw-it-before-it-happened psychic abilities. In the weeks you'd had to sit with that revelation, you'd poked carefully at Sam from afar. Obviously, you knew what a fucking psychic felt like. The five-year-old Sam who'd cut Dean's gum out of your hair had not been psychic. Yet this Sam, twenty-two with three-fourths of an ivy league law degree under his belt, was as psychic as a fucking—well. You. He was just as psychic as you.

Without even a sliver of the same control or even understanding of—of what he had, yes, but you were confident that if Sam was pushed, he could reach into your mind just as easily as you could reach into his. There had been a shift, then. At six, having gum cut out of your hair, you had been decidedly less psychic than you were at twenty-four. So Sam had gone through the Proctor Rite Of Passage; some terrible moment had cut him deep, deep enough to pull a new kind of blood to the surface. After Jessica, he had been... yeah.

It was fucking crazy. And yet it also slotted perfectly into some of the weirder things you understood about Sam; about who he was now and the vague, strobing flashes you got of his future. It freaked you the fuck out. Did Sam know? Did anyone know, besides you? Had your Mom recognized that spark in Sam, the same way she'd seen it in you? Had John?

And the plain existence of the Gift in Sam begged the question—why? Had he just happened to drop from the tree as a different kind of apple? Or was this something you could trace back to his mother, the same way it traced back to yours? Had Mary…?

The implications of that took pretty much everything you understood about Sam and Dean’s life, lined it up on the chopping block, and cleaved it in two. Needless to say, thinking about it made you sick. How could you even begin to bring this up to them?

You cursed your abilities with all you had. There were nights when you sat on the bathroom floor, wishing you could dig in with your nails and rip out whatever had put It in your head. Never in a billion fucking years would you have wished It upon anyone else; especially not Sam, good, selfless, wonderful Sam, who already ached so deeply for other people. Seeing their future, too? And even more often, seeing it and being helpless to change it?

He used to cry over squashed spiders as a kid. You'd felt a whole lot more than just spiders die.

…Beside that shuddering horror was another, far more selfish feeling. As scary as the implications could be, when you thought less about the Winchester family and more about your relationship with Sam, you were… excited. Relieved, even.

There were only four people in the entire world that you could share your Gift with. One of them has been six feet under for over a decade. Your Gift was a clingy, possessive creature, too. It was maybe two steps shy of being an eldritch horror. It poked through Dean’s dreams when you slept beside him, sucking them up like cigarette smoke. It breathed down Sam’s neck wherever he went. If you wanted, no one could lie to you—all punchlines and stories were spoiled for you, you knew when people found you annoying or pretty or stupid. If that particular Proctor gene had skipped you, then maybe you’d be able to form relationships with people where you didn’t immediately, intrinsically understand who they were and why. Dean would say, You need a drink. You would know without asking that he meant, You scare the ever-living hell out of me n’ I know I can’t hide it from you. Fucking hell, kid, I wish I could.

You knew you were a freak. The tiny human vessel for the lashing, bubbling, soul-melting, cosmic weight of a star about to bloom into a black hole. Only your mom would ever understand what it felt like to exist on the fringe of time, between the exhaustive influence of the past and the vast, spotty expanse of the future. You were a tool to men like John; an anomaly for men like Bobby; and a responsibility to men like Dean.

But Sam… Your best friend Sam, he’d always tried to understand. Maybe he’d never fully get it, but the point was that he tried to. You remembered sitting with him on the curb outside your old high school, the concrete thrumming with music from the junior prom you’d both left behind inside.

How either of you had gotten dates was a miracle. You, the class weird-freak-emo punchline, and Sam, on his fourth round being the new kid that year, were two peas in a pod. Your date had never picked you up; Sam’s had escaped with her friends long before their first dance. Neither of you were very broken up about it.

The future had sprawled in front of you that night as clear as could be. You must've sat and talked on the curb for three straight hours, pressed together at the hip with Sam’s blazer around your shivering arms.

He was always beautiful in the boy-next-door kind of way, dimples popping with every good smile and freckles rising out of the too-short sleeves of his button-up. But that night he’d been fucking Helen of Troy, and the roar of the past and future slowed to a halt around him.

Do you really see the future all the time? Every second? Sam had curiously tilted his head, sending a gleaming swish of chocolatey hair out of his eyes.

Swallowing hard, you’d hesitated, Not every second. But a lot, yes.

Again, the head tilt, then the swish. His gaze was innocent and intrigued. No existential dread, no sweeping sense of fear. Just plain curiosity. Not even morbid curiosity. Sam had asked, What about right now?

Sam’s cologne—oh god, his cologne—was steaming off his borrowed jacket and floating around your head in a wonderful rosy fog. You’d poked at the future. Sometimes things came back, sometimes they didn’t. That night, the future had come back tasting like Sam’s vanilla chapstick and junior prom punch, and your face had gone up in flames just sensing it. He’d waited for an answer. You’d blurted out the plain truth: In a minute or two, you’re gonna kiss me.

This kind of absolute, unshakable certainty about the future had made other hunters’ blood run cold. You’d braced yourself for Sam’s displeasure or worse, his fear. But instead, there were those dimples again, and Sam had the gall to bat his lashes at you and delightedly ask, Really? That’s what the magic eight ball has to say?

His big hand had dropped onto your knee and you’d squeaked out a shrill, Signs point to yes!

Sam loved the stupid magic eight-ball joke. You could feel him smiling about it as he kissed you, kissed you, hand-on-knee, his face tipping down to yours, the shitty school punch staining his lips as the two of you connected. At fifteen and sixteen respectively, this was the first kissing that either of you had ever done. It’d been wetter and warmer than you’d expected, and Sam’s vanilla chapstick had left the slightest print on your mouth, one that your tongue swiped over obsessively for the next month. Your Gift had chased him for weeks after that, silently and invisibly swarming him every time he entered a room.

Back then, your mind had been on the Curse. But now, you thought about what had led to the kiss in the first place. Sam hadn’t kissed you on a night when your Gift had been crammed down deep where it could bother nobody but you. He’d instead chosen the precise moment where your Gift was most raw, one of Its fingers coming down from the sky to press against the pulse of the future. It was small, but at a time in your life when you’d wanted to claw your Gift out with your bare hands, Sam had gotten the smallest glimpse of It and had fallen in love.

You couldn’t help but see this thing inside him, his Static, and feel the exact same way. His powers were twisted and unavoidably demonic, and yet you kind of loved them. It made perfect sense to you. No one really understood you like Sam did. Now, it's clear why.

tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1 @pplanetcaravan @notanotherthembo

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester x reader

49 notes · View notes

klainelynch · 3 months

Note

Hey friend! So I’ve been listening to a bunch of your Royai podfics lately and I just love them. Its the best way to get my fic fix while also being a productive adult lol. I’m blown away with how professional and polished your stuff is! You definitely could be recording full blown audiobooks, if you aren’t already! (And if you are, I’d love to know where to find those!)

I’m intrigued by your whole process: how you pick stories, record, edit, etc. Choosing when and where to use tone inflection, pacing, all that. You can fully nerd out if you feel like it! I’m so curious. ☺️❤️

Ahhhh what a wonderful message to find in my inbox!! 🥰🥰🥰 I'm so happy that my podfics have become something that you listen to in your daily routine! I don't record audiobooks or do this in any kind of a professional sense, but I do try to emulate what I love of different audiobooks/professional productions and other peoples' podfics, so your compliment means the world to me!

I started with a very stream-of-consciousness response and have tried to cohere it into something readable. You said I could fully nerd out, so here's over 2k of me taking you up on that xD

Choosing a fic:

I tend to gravitate towards fics that have more narration as opposed to dialogue. I love being in a character's head and fully living in their world and the way they experience it. When I am reading dialogue, I don't try to sound exactly like the voice actor (if it's from a tv show or movie) or adopt their accent, but I do try to embody the character in my voice, if that makes sense. If there are too many characters with dialogue, this gets difficult for me, which is why many of my solo podfics have two or fewer characters who speak, or why I create multivoice podfics with fellow podficcers.

In my podfic spreadsheet, there are several pages dedicated to fics that I'd like to record someday. Most of them are under 1k, though I do have a few that are around 3k (which would be on the longer side for me). I jot notes to remember what each fic is/what I would like to do with it—some examples of what those sound like with fics I haven't recorded yet: Zuko asks how Iroh survived when Lu Ten died because of Izumi feels; Al reflecting on Royai rebuilding Isvhal, no dialogue; Roy takes Riza out on a date (cover art would be a theatre program); good angsty Edwin moment after the boys come home (could have thunder in background); Ghost!Roy as Riza carried on, will need to build to this level of angst; Abbott Elementary book fair *chef's kiss*; Roy announces he’s engaged to some mystery woman but PSYCHE HE’S ALREADY MARRIED TO RIZA.

I used to have a pretty even split of recording fics with blanket permission versus asking authors for permission, but these days, I tend to be too lazy to ask lol. Not saying that I won't do it, but when the mood strikes me to record, I need to know pretty quickly if I can complete the project, and a bp statement really helps with that!

Prep work:

When I first began podficcing, I would put the entire fic into a google doc. This let me annotate the script for every little thing (highlighting dialogue, typing out phonetic pronunciations of difficult names/words, and putting spaces in between sections of text to help with breath control being the most common). The more I podficced, the less I had to annotate, until all I would do with my scripts was put in the spaces. I want my breath to be consistent/unnoticeable, so I read with that in mind. Often you can use the punctuation as your guide, but sometimes there are long stretches with no punctuation, and I have to figure out how a sentence should be cut up to make its meaning clear.

I didn't make these scripts for any of my solo podfics during Voiceteam this past May, and I still felt comfortable recording, so I think I may be past needing this tool for the most part. I just need to read through the fic a few times and look up any potential pronunciation issues right before I record.

Recording the podfic:

My early podfics were recorded with the microphone attached to my earbuds, and you can definitely hear it in the quality 🙈🙉 I did at least use a makeshift pop filter, so that helped with my plosives from the beginning.

After a few months, I got a blue snowball mic, which makes the quality so much clearer, and even more so once I got a computer that can run Audacity (more on why I love this program later).

I currently record in my closet, which is a long wide shape, so the doors don't close all the way when I'm inside of it. I shut them as best as I can to prevent outside noises, and I stand as I record. I used to sit at my desk with a soundproofing box around my mic, but I found it hard to get good breaths for long periods of time, so now I stand. The tradeoff is that I have to be wearing good shoes if I'm recording more than thirty-ish minutes (which could happen if the podfic is ultimately longer than twelve or so minutes because…)

My raw audio is usually at least twice as long as the final product. I often record several takes for lines, sometimes if I mess up, but usually if I don't think I captured the emotional quality that I can hear in my head when I read the line with my eyes. Sometimes it takes up to ten times for a line to feel right; other times, an early take ends up being the best one.

The previous point touches on how I handle putting inflection into my voice. The other part of it is thinking through how the speaker would say a particular word/phrase. If it's narration, I've emotionally been with that speaker for the entire fic, so I lean into that; if it's dialogue, it might be someone new, so I have to switch my brain. Either way, I have to (consciously or unconsciously) think through: 1. how would I personally say this? 2. how would the character say this? 3. how would the audience want to hear this? 4. how would the meaning be most effectively heard? Often there is overlap in these questions, but not always. If there's a conflict between these, I try to remember that my audience is probably just listening with their ears, not simultaneously reading with their eyes, so I need to prioritize their being able to understand what is happening and why. That's why I try to affect my voice in different ways and not literally mumble or shout, even if the fic has the character doing that.

Since you mentioned my Royai podfics, I will mention one way I distinguish their voices depending on who the narrator is. When Roy is the narrator, any of his dialogue is in my normal voice, and Riza's dialogue becomes slightly higher and slower; when Riza is the narrator, her dialogue is in my normal voice, and Roy's dialogue becomes slightly lower and faster.

I put a lot of pressure on myself to nail the first and especially the last line of a fic, so I will record a good number of takes for those. It's only happened once that I loved the first take I did of a final line. Sometimes I annoy myself at how many takes I record, but I'm thankful for the choices when I'm editing, so this is simply how I do things!

The hardest part of recording for me is keeping my voice quality consistent. I drink a lot of water throughout the day, but even so, I get dry mouth as I record, and once you're at that point, drinking more water doesn't really help. Tricks like chewing gum or brushing my teeth right before recording help me out.

Editing the podfic:

This has actually become my favorite part of the process! It feels like a puzzle and a treasure hunt, trying to find the best ways to pick out the best parts of my performance and turn it into a final product.

When I started podficcing, I had a chromebook, so the only audio editing software available was free online websites. I don't even remember the ones I used, but they did most of the things I wanted, and they let me get my foot in the door. The problem was that they were limited in tools, such as…

Noise reduction is my favorite feature of Audacity, which is the software I currently use. If you go back and listen to my podfics chronologically, you can clearly tell when I started using it because the general crackle in the background disappears. I have no plans to delete old pods, but it is as painful for me to listen to them for this reason as it is to reread fics I wrote in high school lol

The first round of edits is picking out the best takes for each line. Sometimes that means listening to several takes over and over before I choose my favorite; occasionally, I splice together the first half of one take and the second half of another. I'm very proud when I can do this with a single word and you can't tell the difference at all. I laugh when it sounds like I've done this with a word, but actually I just read it weird and I have no other take to substitute it with xD

Something else I do in the first edits is take out excessive space between sentences and paragraphs. I basically reset my breath/voice after every segment (could be a sentence or part of a sentence) so there's always extra space. I tend to edit down to one to two seconds between sentences, two to three seconds between paragraphs, and four to five seconds between entire sections of a fic. Of course, there are always exceptions (a character feeling very emotional, especially angry or excited, will have faster sentences; dialogue is formatted in paragraphs but it is inflection rather than time that indicates to the audience that a new paragraph/speaker has begun; an emotional line might require more space to let the audience process it).

Once I have all of the words edited together, I will do a second round of edits for tightening up the pacing. I listen to the edit without looking at the text, keeping my hands busy with a video game or coloring. As I'm listening, if something feels too fast or too slow, I'll make edits in real time, back it up, and listen again. The reason I can't read and listen during this pass is because my eyes are expecting too much and I can't properly hear what the audience will hear. When I began podficcing, I thought I had enough space in between words and sentences, but when I would listen back, I realized that I had cut too much out and the podfic's speed was faster than I liked. Now I leave more space in during the first edit and do this pacing pass.

Once I'm happy with the narration, I save it as a narration only file. I love adding in music and effects when I can, but I'm sure there are some who would rather only listen to the narration, so I make this available for accessibility and preference reasons.

I will usually make a final version with music and/or sound effects. This is one area where I'm specifically trying to emulate professional audiobooks and how they use music under the opening credits before fading out as the story begins.

Finding music is its own kind of scavenger hunt. I prefer to use public domain or creative commons music because it feels more true to the collaborative/transformative spirit that podfics have for me, and the idea of a podfic being taken down for copyright reasons does make me nervous. ccmixter and Purple Planet have a lot of songs that I've used in the past. The former has literally thousands of songs, which can overwhelm me if I'm working on a deadline, so I will sometimes just listen to random tracks and download anything that might be helpful in the future. That being said, if a fic uses a song lyric as a title or the author mentions a song as inspiration, I will try to use that song as the music if possible. I'm especially proud of how I used "Wait for It" at the end of An Endless Uphill Climb.

I use sound effects far less frequently than music, but they are fun when there is a natural place for them. I love the Star Wars audiobooks, and they often use sound effects and music in a way that heightens the emotions in the listener. That is always my guiding star, though I will admit to sometimes using effects just because they make me happy!

Cover art:

Like music/sound effects, this part is totally optional, but I usually do it because I have a lot of fun with it! I make everything in Canva, and again, I try to use public domain or creative commons images. Openverse is my go-to search engine because they make it really easy to tell which images I'm allowed to use in what ways. Sometimes I have a vision and try to find images to match; other times I have no idea and just see what I can find, or I can't find what I had in mind and have to switch gears.

Random facts that I couldn't find a spot for:

I learned how to read for an audience by being a lector at mass (reading either something from the Old Testament or something from the New Testament, other than the Gospels) in a church with lots of marble, which explains why I read on the slow side. Had to leave room for the echo before I started speaking the next line!

I've actually found that my own fic writing became easier to read aloud once I started podficcing. That doesn't make it better or worse—there are beautiful passages in literature/fic that are easier to read with the eyes than with the ears. But it is definitely a thing.

Thank you again for sending this ask! I hope this peek behind the curtain was interesting to you, even if it was probably far more than you were asking for xD And another thank you for listening to my podfics—it really does mean so much to me that something I've made can brighten up your day 💖

#the-blue-eyed-firebender #my things #podfic

18 notes · View notes

fili-urzudel · 1 year

Text

Dating Elrond Headcanons

When I wrote these, I was kind of imagining more RoP Elrond than LotR movie Elrond, but it's playing out in your head, so picture whomever you desire!

Warnings: None just Elrond being a sweetheart

Word Count: 0.3k

- You once mentioned in passing that you liked a specific species of arctic bird. Well, in his research of this bird, he found that one of the mating rituals you likely found "cute" was the exchange of specially curated rocks, to symbolize the want to construct a home together. Finding this heartwarming, he set out on an excursion. - There are cool rocks showing up on your desk, on your doorstep, in your bag, sporadically for months. - Luckily you catch the reference so you know exactly who they're from and find it endearing - Even though he understands the risk of a human-elf relationship, that doesn't mean he "gets" humans completely lol - At least, not until several years with you - He kinda… showers you with gifts - Like a lot - A month after you started dating, he presented you with a ridiculously expensive pair of earrings - You loved them, obviously - But after a few more like that, you actually had to tell him to tone it down, you didn't need bribery to be with him - You can actually tell that while he is older (by a few thousand years) and wiser (by a few thousand books), he has never been in a relationship before - Or maybe he's just, y'know, like that - He's very sweet and doting, always offering to run errands with/for you "should you wish", escorts you everywhere, and will actually leave or blow off meetings to make sure you're getting enough of his time. - Somehow, even with all this, he's still very pleasantly surprised when you take an interest in him - You thought he was going to combust when you asked him for a much simpler gift--3 or 4 of his favorite books that he had already annotated, so you could see what he thought of them - If you bought/made something for him because it reminded you of him? - he's always really cool and collected but he might tear up a bit - he would be thanking you profusely for weeks, probably whenever he looked at it (or thought of it) - Proposal/engagement/wedding headcanons coming soon

#lotr #lotr fanfic #lotr fandom #lotr headcanons #the hobbit #rings of power #elrond #elrond peredhel #tolkien #lord of the rings #elrond x reader #elrond x you #elrond x y/n #elrond headcanons #elrond hcs #lotr hcs #lord of the rings headcanons #dating elrond

112 notes · View notes

knownoshamc · 2 months

Note

oh hi book reader here i love talking shit about marius may i join the hating marius hours? -"#I don't know that bitch from the books (except from some info)#but I feel like he'd be very ???#that someone is talking to him like that?" correct bc in the books he definitely has the attitude of I Am Good and Wise and Know Better Than All of You How Dare You -RE armand being afraid of him and such: in armand's book, there's so much stuff where his internal monologue in the modern timeline is so textbook someone not quite understanding just how bad the abuse was but still being clearly viscerally uncomfortable around marius a lot and reluctant to leave his young human loved ones anywhere near him specifically. and when he's still human/freshly turned he's firmly in the mindset of people who are like it's not abuse...he loves me. and it is so sad. (i unfortunately have read it several times and annotated it rip) -also RE armand being afraid of him like the physical violence on top of the csa like the physical abuse is just as bad like truly: "he approached me and i shrank back, actually afraid. but by the time he struck me, hard across the face, he'd recovered himself, and it was just the usual brain-jarring blow." FREE THIS CHILD -also in his book in the part set in renaissance venice there's a girl who's in marius and armand's friend group who ends up sort of involved in a murder (simplifying lol) and marius is on his high horse with her about how morally bankrupt and awful she's being to be involved in something like that and they're arguing in front of armand and she says to marius "no, you cannot judge me! a magician you might be, but you are no angel, marius. not you with your boys." and i think it's the only time in the books anyone explicitly calls him out like that -also fuck him for knowing full well what happened to armand RE getting taken from venice, tortured, being forced to watch the other children get killed, and then getting stuck in a literal cult for several hundred years and just choosing not to help him. die in a fire, marius. no wonder this guy is such a mess. -anyway fuck that asshole thank you for coming to my ted talk lol

...I am now convinced that the marius defenders (those hardcore fans that hijack posts to tell you you are close minded, to put it politely. you've met one of those?) have read a completely different book.

#marius rant #Daniel will kill him so much

8 notes · View notes

tamberlanecomic · 1 year

Text

September Newsletter

Happy September! Here’s an update of everything that’s going on behind-the-scenes.

Kickstarter Status

The book is pretty much our entire focus at the moment and is moving right along. Right now I am focusing on editing and laying out annotations while Ari is fine-tuning the comic pages for print within the safety margins. Once the annotations are done, I’ll be re-laying out the Q&A section, then adding Trissol and Growl, and then judging how much space we have left for other goodies.

I also have some exciting news to share: We’ve officially signed on with Lakeshore Printing and Publishing/Artron! This is the printer we will be going with to make the books, and the support and care I’ve received from them so far has been absolutely phenomenal, better than other printers I’ve used before.

As we speak, they’re sending me samples of ribbons and H&T (head and tail) bands, which are the ribbon that goes along the edge of where the paper meets the spine in a hardcover book. This is one of those details you don’t usually think about but it makes a huge difference in the finished product, and I’m thrilled to be able to have that element of control in making these books extra special for you!

Health Update

In between working on the book, comic, and other duties, I’ve been back at the doctor. I have my very own Dr. House (with less illegal action, lol!) helping me try to pin down all of my many, many symptoms to see if we can circle in on diagnoses. My appointments have included blood draws, biopsies, and consultations, so needless to say, it’s been a bit of a busy month!

I have also been doing more treatments to alleviate my fibro symptoms, which does take time away from work. As always, thank you for your patience with me. I know I don’t have to apologize, but it helps knowing I have a supportive community of friends and fans while I deal with all of this.

Tamberlane News

I have two pages in the pipeline at the moment, but to give you something while you’re waiting, I’m going to be posting the thumbnails and sketched pages to Patreon for $10+ patrons to look at while these pages are being completed. If you’re not already a patron and want to see these when they’re shared, be sure to sign up!

Become A Patron

New Art

Patreon pieces are being worked on, apologies for the slowness! Here’s one I just completed for Demonchilde999:

I also took some personal time in between projects to make a new ref sheet for myself:

That’s pretty much it for now, though I’m sure I’ll be sharing any breaking Kickstarter book news when I have it. Hope you have a wonderful month ahead!

#Indie comic #Indie Creator #Web Comic #Art #Illustration #Digital Art #Cute #Animals #furry #furry art #furry community #fantasy #adorable #Tamberlane Comic

25 notes · View notes

pqrfi · 7 days

Text

Deltarune is to Undertale what Alice Through The Looking Glass is to Alice in Wonderland

hear me out real quick.

we’re talking specifically about the books which i have read and annotated in full. i don’t have my copies present anymore so i undoubtedly missed some things but there are still SO many similarities thematically, visually, and simply storyline wise. maybe deltarune theories could even be crafted from this concept, idk! i just know ive been thinking this since i first got into deltarune and not enough people talk about it.

fun fact: alice in wonderland was originally called “alice’s adventures underground”……………… yall.

(also to preface i wrote this while high for a friend who doesn’t know anything abt utdr, so that’s why everything is explained in full)

beginning with undertale and alice in wonderland:

both stories begin with a child falling through a hole in the ground to a fully functioning world with completely different ways of life and rules of existence. both of these worlds flip common ideas on their heads, example plants talking as flowey in undertale vs the talking tulips in alice in wonderland. animals talk as well and come to life in their own society, example the monsters vs the white rabbit, the bitchy mouse, the walrus and the dodo bird. both the main characters, frisk n alice, don’t reject this (past the initial confusion in alice’s case, but even then it’s more like wonder (lol get it)) and interact with this. they each see problems in the world and move to save it, with frisk trying to break the barrier and save monsters (in pacifist run) and alice protesting the queen of hearts’ unfair actions! wonderland is portrayed as a world ruled with nonsense and chaos, like the aforementioned idea of flipping everything on its head from the world the protags come from. in frisk’s case this was by monsters, who they didn’t know existed, being essentially the ruling (yet also subjugated) class whereas they were accustomed to humans. these monsters came in the portrayal of animals and plants and other whimsical concepts coming to life, just like the nonsense elements of wonderland. a big aspect of alice in wonderland is the importance of imagination, the question of if there is any real meaning to life, and the tedious routines, while undertale literally uses this in its meta element by requiring the player to submerge themselves (with Imagination) into the game particularly in order to empathize w these characters and complete a pacifist run but even also in a genocide run the game compels the player with strong themes and language to imagine it as something real and to feel guilt for those actions. aiw’s (alice in wonderland)’s concept of the meaning of life can be seen in undertale as treating these characters who the player knows are fictional as real beings who deserve to survive simply out of respect for their existence!!!!! and the save points also bring in the question of if that life in the game has meaning if you can just always go back and redo stuff, which is floweys whole dilemma and how he ends up the way he does because he feels there IS no meaning. this is his lack of soul speaking but i think the save points and their repetitiveness really drive it home. aiw’s theme of the loss of a child’s innocence is obvious in undertale because frisk has to do horrible things and/or make terribly hard decisions no matter which route is taken!!! and even choosing to take a specific route IS making those hard decisions. both have themes of death, flowey and the monsters in the genocide run representing these while alice’s transformation and growth out of the mind of a young girl is death in the way the death tarot card represents it: change. the caterpillar’s mitosis or whatever also represents this. in both alternate worlds death doesn’t have the same appearance it does in the “natural world” in undertale monsters disintegrate and in wonderland time does not pass the same as seen by the mad hatter and the hare. OH AND both seem to have the voice of a helping hand guiding the protag through, for alice it is possibly the very concept of adulthood and for frisk it could be so many different people, gaster? chara? asriel? toriel? toriel would very much symbolize the adulthood aspect but in a much more loving sense than alice’s. asriel and chara as well since they have stopped aging and cannot grow anymore. also sans and the cheshire cat mirror each other change my mind you can’t

deltarune to alice through the looking glass:

the simplest comparison between both is the use of chess as visual AND narrative symbolism. in deltarune we see lancer and the king with the spades, the spade knights, the very concept of the KNIGHT as such a huge aspect with so much mystery surrounding them. in the looking glass, alice enters immediately to a living game of chess and throughout the entire story the red and white queen and their fellow chess pieces are significant characters. this is a reach probably but in both of these stories the protag (kris (and susie) vs alice) enter to their respective worlds which ARE DIFFERENT from the previous ones despite similarities through an entry in the Wall which appears normal and then transforms. for kris n susie it is through a door to the closet and for alice it’s through a mirror. no more holes! this wouldn’t matter i dont think if their prequels didnt both have the protags falling Into holes. the chess-piece characters in each story behave like their respective piece: ex, the king in deltarune not appearing combatively until the card kingdom is threatened vs the knights in the looking glass having a protective role. in each story the protag has to face a world threatening element that THEY ARE PROPHESIED to take on, example deltarune ralsei’s tale of kris susie and ralsei being destined to save the world from the dark fountains being opened vs the jabberwockys threat to the entire world of the looking glass and ALICE BEINR PROPHESIED to destroy it. (as a theory, she does complete this, so i’d like to say it hints to kris ralsei and susie doing the same)

deltarune is to undertale as alice through the looking glass is to alice in wonderland:

the biggest dissimilarity here is that alice is the same character and self in both of her stories whereas kris is completely different from frisk (and who knows about any relation to chara or anyone else). yet both worlds that the protags travel to in both of their two different stories are separate from each other, and although perhaps connected somehow are not really on the same plane of existence as the other (but both get mistaken as otherwise). the og story in both udtr and the alice duology tells the story of growing up and maturing through the challenges the protags had to face, whereas it seems like their sequels are telling a story of the challenges you face once you have finished or made it through a lot of this growth and now have to handle the responsibility and strength that comes with it. it’s of course harder to say for the sequels since deltarune isn’t completed but the similarities between deltarune and through the looking glass are HUGE and GLARING so it could almost be used as a basis for theories i find it very hard to believe none of these huge comparisons are intentional

i gotta mention how deltarune/through the looking glass were the stories with the similarities i saw most that inspired this idea, yet once i got into writing i found SO many in undertale. which just kind of drives the point home.

sorry if any of the info is wrong! i don’t usually go here… but someone else pls agree it drives me insane this isn’t talked about much

#deltarune #undertale #alice in wonderland #alice through the looking glass #this was so long gosh #there’s less written for deltarune because i got into it more recently AND it’s not finished. so.

3 notes · View notes