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silverskye13 · 11 months

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"So I'm about to say something really... Hmm... Weird," Joe said as he leaned against the building, arms crossed.

"Is that supposed to be news to me?" Cleo asked, rifling through her bag and pulling out two apples. She passed one to Joe, and he took it.

"If it were, I don't think we'd be friends."

"I figured."

"Anyway it's a little weirder than normal."

"I'll be the judge of that, I think."

Joe shrugged, took a bite of his apple and said, "So, one of the arguments against a benevolent God -- don't look at me like that I told you it was weird -- anyway, so, if God was so nice, would he have put a bomb in the Garden of Eden?"

Cleo blinked at Joe for a long moment.

"Sorry, I'll back up a little," Joe smiled apologetically. "How much do you know about human theology?"

"I've been human before Joe," Cleo glowered, pulling a knife from her pocket and cutting a small piece away from her apple. "That's just a really strong lead."

Joe shrugged. "Did you expect anything different?"

"No, it's just a little early for theology today."

"We can talk about something else, if you want."

A shout interrupted their conversation. Grian sprinted past, laughing maniacally and apologizing in the same breaths. Doc followed quickly after him, shouting curses and insults. Joe and Cleo both took contemplative bites of their apples and watched the two run.

"No, I want to see where this conversation is going," Cleo said finally, slicing another piece of her apple off.

"Okay, so, some people believe God is all-knowing, all-powerful, and also, all-benevolent," Joe continued, twisting his apple stem with every adjective. "But if He were all of those things, why would He make a bunch of curious humans, tell them they could touch everything except one specific big red button, and, knowing they would definitely press it, just sit back and watch?"

"I wasn't aware buttons and bombs existed at the same time as the Garden of Eden."

"One could argue the whole Soddom and Gammorah thing was bomb-like."

"That was definitely, definitely meteors, Joe."

"Also the bomb thing is an analogy, and you know it's an analogy."

"What are we analogy-ing?" Mumbo asked, flaring his elytra as he landed beside them.

Cleo pulled a third apple from her bag and passed it to him, "Pretty sure Joe is comparing you to God."

Mumbo took the apple, looking incredulous. He gave a laugh that was half nervous, half confused. "I-- well that's-- that's very flattering Joe. I didn't realize you thought so highly of me."

"You would think that," Cleo smirked, slicing off another piece of apple.

"What?"

"So the question stands," Joe continued as though neither of the interruptions took place. "If God is good, why did he put a big red button in the Garden of Eden?"

Mumbo opened his mouth, and then deciding he had no idea what this conversation was about, actually, he closed it again.

"Maybe God was feeling optimistic that day," Cleo offered. "Or maybe even gods need to screw around and find out sometimes. For instance, I know this apple is definitely going to rot in me later, but I'm also definitely still eating it."

"Fair point," Joe said, twisting off his apple stem and flicking it to the ground. "So maybe God can make mistakes, or He was curious, or there was something ineffable going on at the time. But if God did it twice," Joe gave Mumbo a sideways glance, "would that be screwed up or what?"

Mumbo opened his mouth again, closed it, opened it again.

"Mumbo a fly is going to buzz in there if you aren't careful," Cleo said.

"Okay, okay. I can see where -- okay. So, first off, I'm not God," Mumbo said, and then paused, because Scar was screaming and running past them now, followed shortly by Grian, who was followed shortly by Doc. Then he continued, "Also this isn't Eden."

"It's an analogy," Joe reminded him unhelpfully, smiling warmly.

"Also how was I supposed to know this would happen again?"

"That Grian would push a button, or that Grian would push a button specifically to mess with Doc?" Cleo asked innocently.

Mumbo opened and closed his mouth again eloquently.

"You've gotta admit, at this point it is starting to look intentional," Joe pointed out.

"What's starting to look intentional?" Jevin interrupted, landing amidst the group standing on the fringes of the shopping district. Cleo offered him another apple.

"A malevolent God," Joe answered.

"My button," Mumbo grumbled at the same time.

"The hubris of man," Cleo added, because it seemed relevant.

"I HAVE BEEN STANDING HERE FOR THIRTY-SIX HOURS GRIAN. THIRTY-SIX." Doc screamed, passing so close to the four onlookers in his chase, they could no longer talk over his yelling. "I WANT THAT CROWN IT BELONGS TO ME."

Grian slid across the grass, narrowly dodging Doc's thrown axe. He threw the gaudy purple crown he'd stolen to Scar, who sprinted off in another direction with it. Doc roared angrily, "I LET YOU TOO OFF EASY LAST TIME BUT NO MORE! I WILL RAIN TNT AND FIRE ON YOUR BASES! I WILL TEAR THEM APART BLOCK BY BLOCK I WILL--!"

"I'm sorry Doc!" Grian cackled, not sounding sorry at all, "It's just -- you're so fun to mess with!"

He and Scar spread their elytras and leaped into the sky, followed shortly by Doc, who was still shouting.

Jevin, Cleo and Joe all turned to look at Mumbo, who rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Okay so... Maybe it's possible, yes, I could have foreseen this happening," Mumbo said begrudgingly. "But I mean, it's not all that bad, is it?"

"We do have a lot of fun fighting wars," Jevin agreed, shoving his entire apple into his face. It hovered blue-tinted in his opaque slime for a moment before rapidly dissolving.

"You would, Jevin," Cleo smiled.

"Sleep with one eye open, Cleo," Jevin replied conversationally.

"Some of our best mini games came out of the Mycelium War," Joe observed, taking one more bite out of his apple.

Mumbo looked down at his apple contemplatively.

"So the question still stands," Cleo said, after a long pause had passed between them, "is Mumbo evil for inflicting The Button Game on us the first time, or the second time?"

Joe shrugged, "I think like all religion, the answer is subjective. Doc would argue yes. Grian would argue no."

"That wasn't a yes-or-no question," Jevin said.

"I would argue I'm still not God, so this is a terrible analogy, actually!" Mumbo shouted defensively, and then took a bite of his apple, closing the subject.

#the barking writer #hermitcraft #joe hills #zombiecleo #ijevin #mumbo jumbo #docm77 #grian #goodtimeswithscar #the button game #theology #kiiiiiind of #anyway this popped into my head this morning like a fever dream lol

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oliviajdjarin · 1 year

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Joel Miller: Why Can't I Breathe?

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Excerpt:

"You were a woman--a woman with a body, feelings, heart, and intellect way beyond his caliber. You were fiercely loyal to him, almost to a fault, never hesitating to stick both your neck and trusted knife out for him, but at the same time, you were kind. You had been so good to him, too good to him, and all the while looking like that.

As you ducked under the water once again, fully scrubbing your body of grime, he realized that you were nothing less than a belle, a seductress, a venus flytrap set just for him to fly into and crush into a million pieces, and he wanted it. He wanted you.

You were so goddamn beautiful, and you had been his this whole time, he was just too dumb and slow to realize it."

Warnings: minor finale spoilers, Joel gets harddd, bathing, references to nudity, guns, Ellie makes a cameo, descriptions of alcoholism, blood, knives, and Joel doesn't know what a feeling is.

A/N: Happy end of The Last of Us! Who can't wait for Season Two!? *salutes before falling backwards off bridge.* But seriously, thank you for all the love on Joel. I can't explain how much it means to me.

If you'd like to leave a like, ask, comment, or reblog, it would be very appreciated <3

Word Count: 1.5k

Pedro Masterlist

(gif credit to owner I cannot find your account for the life of me).

The first thing that hit the forest floor was your boots, bouncing off the swollen grass loud enough for him to hear. The next thing was your socks, based off of the slight grunt you gave when one got caught. Next was your jeans, indicated by the metal pull on the zipper of your crotch clanking down swiftly. You then paused with a huff.

"Are you sure about this?" you said from behind him.

He sighed. "Yes, for fuck's sake. You were just sayin' how badly you wanted a bath."

"Yeah but--" you sighed, frustrated. "What if somebody--or, something--comes along?"

He raised his riffle over his head in reply before settling it back in his lap, his fingers curved firmly around it, screaming try me. He was sitting on a rock, yes, but he was ready. His body always seemed to settle when he guarded you anyway. He tried not to think about that.

"You know what I mean, Joel," you replied. "My hearin' ain't what it used to be."

He hated the smirk that always managed to wriggle its way onto his face when you mocked the depth of his voice and the thickness of his accent, but in reality, it had been the first time he had smiled in a while. All he could do was shake his head in reply, his typical indicator of you win this round.

You sighed again, the running water of the stream behind you filling the air, before saying, "I'm just worried about her."

It didn't take a genius to figure out that the girl curled up in the cave ten feet away from him was the "her" you were referring to. She had been different, distant, quiet. Adjectives that had never suited her before, but after whatever the hell went down after Joel woke up, they all seemed to describe her perfectly. Her chest rose up and down in an even rhythm, indicating to Joel that she was long gone, but he understood you nonetheless.

"I know," he said in reply, a drop of unease in his voice, "but I've got her."

You took a deep breath, inhaling through your nose and out your mouth, before the scratch of cloth a shirt makes when it's removed filled his ears instead. "I'll be quick. Get me if she needs me."

"I will," he responded, "but take your time. Please."

He knew why he was delaying bringing her to the Fireflies, and he knew that you knew why he was delaying bringing her to the Fireflies, but like many things between the two of you, it remained unspoken.

"Alright," you said, and dropped two more pieces of cloth onto your pile before stepping away, down into the stream. Joel had never seen one quite like it. All the water flowed from a great waterfall at the end, the perfect place to rinse off after miles of hiking in a humid forest, and Joel saw in your eye how badly you wanted to wash it all away. He stopped the three of you and proposed an early dinner--rabbit, water, and chef boyardee--and Ellie passed out soon after, leaving Joel here, keeping watch for the both of you.

He would never admit how much he likes it--watching you both, keeping you safe, protecting his girls. It was something primal, but also something broken, desperate to be glued back together again.

You could recognize that in him, that need, but you weren't much different from him. Twenty years in an apocalypse, constantly watching your six, always on edge. You two were one in the same in that regard, so when your need for control would bubble up to your irises, he would gladly take the night to rest.

Unspoken, yet so not.

He didn't know when the two of you got so good at it, reading each other. Maybe it was back in Boston, the night you two made your first job together, or the night he blacked out from too much booze, only to find himself in bed under a blanket the next morning. He still didn't know how you managed that one. Maybe it was when he got cut clean through the knee, or when you got one through the shoulder, or when he finally explained what the scar on his face was from, or who the scar on his heart was from, or--

Suddenly, the whoosh of a large splash hit his ear, along with the gurgle of air bubbles, and modesty be damned, he turned around. His riffle was immediately pointed down at the water, ready to fire at will, or he would dive the hell down there.

Except, what exited the water was no infected, no raider, no hunter, and no slaver. No, it was you. Hair flattened by the stream, back dripping with droplets of water, tracing the line your spine made down your back. Your head tilted back in relief, free from the prison of sweat and heat, and your shoulders flexed downward, highlighting that fucking line down your back once again. The setting sun illuminated you, basking you in an aura of orange, as you walked underneath the waterfall. The water soaked through your hair and down your body, causing you to lift up your arms to work your hair away from your face and massage your jaw with your nails. Your waist was that much more accentuated, your throat was revealed just so, and the outline of your breasts taunted him against the stone of the stream.

He could feel his eyes dilate, his jaw go slightly slack, his gun practically slip through his fingers, and buttons on the crotch of his jeans pull slightly tauter than they were a few seconds ago.

He couldn't feel his face, he couldn't hear the water flowing, and he couldn't fucking breathe.

Why can't I breathe?

You had always been a looker, he had no doubt about that--constantly getting looks from men on the streets, offered drinks at bars, and invitations for more than that--but he never viewed you that way.

At least, that's what he told himself when he woke up from dreams about you, covered in sweat.

He liked to think that he admired you, respected you. He knew how little of that you got in Boston, and in his own fucked up ways, he tried to show you that you deserved to be. You were more than just tits and eyes, you were capable, honorable, and a fucking badass when you wanted to be. You went through with a hell of a lot more jobs than he did, coming home with stacks of ration cards higher than the expanse of his hands, only to bring them home to his sorry ass. You could make a clean kill, barely batting an eye, and mere seconds later, help Ellie to her feet, and tell her she was okay. You were beautiful, yes, but he thought he saw that more as admiration, respect, and caring for the woman who had always stuck by his side.

But it was more than that. It had always been more than that.

You were a woman--a woman with a body, feelings, heart, and intellect way beyond his caliber. You were fiercely loyal to him, almost to a fault, never hesitating to stick both your neck and trusted knife out for him, but at the same time, you were kind. You had been so good to him, too good to him, and all the while looking like that.

You were so goddamn beautiful, and you had been his this whole time, he was just too dumb and slow to realize it.

The smirk that had formed from earlier had slowly become a smile as he let his eyes slide up and down your body, filled to the brim with emotion and longing, and just as he felt a tear begin to dribble down his cheek at the sight of the woman before him, you turned around, and Joel's stomach instantly fell out of his ass.

He turned on his heel faster than he ever had in his life, wiping at his eye and sniffling, and standing straighter than a soldier.

Of course, you noticed.

"Everything alright?" you shouted from the water below, and with as much dignity as he could muster, Joel responded with a cracked, "yep."

Nothing was, yet everything was.

"I'm almost done," you responded, ducking under the water. You let your mask crack underneath the waves--the smile on your face, the squeal of excitement, and the happiness in your heart.

He was looking at you.

Once again, your mutual understanding remained unspoken, only this time, you had a feeling it wouldn't be for long.

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon @aninnai @darling-murdock

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thebibliosphere · 2 years

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I receive many wonderful and kind comments about Phangs in my inbox daily, but the ones that stick with me the most are always from fellow neurodivergent people, usually elated or crying because Phangs is the first book they've been able to read since their teens, sometimes even decades.

"I thought I'd lost the ability to read; I thought there was something wrong with me; I thought I was broken," over and over and over again.

I've talked about it before, but just in case you need to hear it: it's not just you; it's the publishing industry.

If you follow my Twitter, you may have seen the thread where I talked about what that was like, and how I was often handed the "problem" writers who struggled to conform to the industry standards. (The original thread is gone, but for context, it was about the lack of accessibility in publishing for people with ADHD) I didn't know it then because I wasn't yet diagnosed, but I understood the problems these writers were having because our brains functioned on the same wavelength.

I understood why they felt specific changes harmed the text, but I also understood that it was the cost of being published, and it was my job to help them with it. I went above and beyond to make it as painless for them as possible. All the while listening to my colleagues around the wine water cooler deride these writers as "pretentious" and "too thin-skinned for publishing."

I hated them. I still hate them, and I hate that the industry is the way it is because it's really not that difficult to accommodate.

Suppose an ADHD author tells you the changes you've made have made a sentence incomprehensible to them (and I cannot stress enough how distressing it is to have something you wrote be turned into something you cannot read). In that case, it's likely because you've removed certain critical elements for the sake of brevity. It might not look like vital elements to you, but for ND brains, longer sentences with additional qualifiers and descriptors can really help us latch onto the "rhythm" of a text, which can help us feel more immersed and hold our attention better*.

Filler words can help with this; it gives our brain time to process but also figure out which parts are essential and to hold onto. It's sort of like, uh, how people say "like" and "uh" a lot (😋). These act as both social cues that indicate that while we might be pausing in our speech, we are not done talking yet, but also help keep our brains jogging along via the act of vocal stimulation. (If I can find the study I read on this, I'll come back and post the link.)

Regarding "superfluous" adjectives and "weak" adverbs, they often function to provide emphasis and context we might otherwise miss. Sure, you can go overboard with them, and they can lose all meaning if you do, but the general writing advice that "adverbs NEVER be used" is not only lousy in general but also means those of us who struggle with social cues and emotional context can be left feeling out of the loop.

I can't tell you the number of times I've had to go back and verify that a character is experiencing an Emotion because it wasn't emphasized, or the author tried to make it into a gut punch by using "sharp, punchy" language (but all they use is "sharp, punchy" language!), and my brain glossed over it because, well, if it's not part of the greater sentence structure, it's irrelevant.

And this shit is my job! I'm being paid to notice these things! It's just not how my brain works naturally, and forcing it to do so long-term is not only exhausting but distressing. Why would I keep trying to read something that causes me exhaustion and makes me feel stupid because I'm struggling to understand it?

Now, obviously, there will be times when a text needs sprucing up. Everyone has their "comfort" style of writing, and while repetition can be soothing to read, it can also make the text hard to engage with. Same with run-on sentences. Sometimes you need those one-word gut punches. Or everyone's favorite, the italicized "oh."

The trick is finding a happy medium between the two that retains your personal voice and writing style. A good editor will work with you to make this possible. A bad one will hack everything to pieces and tell you, "that's just how it's meant to be."

I was lucky with my editors. Sometimes, I had to tell them that the proposed changes wouldn't work and were causing me distress because I couldn't read them. And I knew. I knew if I couldn't follow the sentence structure, a good chunk of my prospective readers wouldn't be able to either. They weren't doing anything wrong. They were doing their jobs and ensuring my book had as much mainstream readability appeal as possible. However, the problem is that "mainstream readability," as we've already established, isn't accessible to a large chunk of the population. So we found ways to work around it. We made it work.

As is evident in the messages I get in my inbox daily.

Every single day, someone else tells me their friend recommended Phangs to them, and they were skeptical because they haven't been able to read a published book in years. And every single day, someone new tells me they loved Phangs, but the biggest thing they loved about it, was that they were even able to read it at all.

So thank you for the greatest compliment you can give me. A lot of work went into ensuring Phangs would be accessible to as many people as possible.

Also, sorry the industry is like *gestures* this.

----

*This is a generality and not true for everyone. People are not monoliths. I am merely speaking from my personal experiences from the things I have observed in the industry as an editor, a writer, and a lifelong reader who also now struggles to read the current style favored by the mainstream industry.

#writing #publishing #adhd #long post #sorry to just keep ranting about adhd stuff atm #but it's all on my mind

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lunarriviera · 1 month

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Big Dumb Hot Cop & Effete Possibly Sociopathic Genius Consultant: A Manifesto

So it has recently come to my attention that this, my archetypal pairing formulation, has broken containment, probably because I've been flinging these terms around like a deranged person wielding a blunt instrument. Therefore it behooves me to explain what the hell I mean by all these adjectives, and who are some classic and contemporary examples of the idiots under discussion—who are by the way extremely in love with one another whether they realize it or not. (Don't you say "bromance." Don't you dare SAY that word to me.) I will use blorbo from my shows to illustrate.

I first realized that I am in fact a Big Dumb Hot Cop whisperer thanks to Chinese police procedural 猎罪图鉴 | Under the Skin (2022). Right away, it's very important to note that Big Dumb Hot Cop is NOT in fact all that dumb. He's only less intelligent IN COMPARISON to his Effete Slightly Sociopathic Genius Consultant, who is, as already stated, a genius. Big Dumb Hot Cop is in fact ruthlessly good at his job. He's driven, he obsesses about cases, he can walk into a crime scene and pick up on the one thing everyone else has missed. There is no suspect he cannot intimidate upon investigation. And he's even better when he's working with (or against, depending on what stage they're at) the genius consultant. They need each other, whether they're fighting or collaborating. They can only clear cases together.

Here are, then, police captain Du Cheng and his genius consultant, sketch artist Shen Yi, eyeing each other significantly as some witness is, I think, lying his face off? Honestly I can't even remember what's happening because the important thing here is their nonverbal communication. This is crucial for this pairing. They can think circles around each other without saying a word. Love that for them.

Effete Possibly Sociopathic Genius Consultant has two levels of Possibly Sociopathic. Most maddeningly of all, he has secrets. Sometimes many secrets. So at first, Big Dumb Hot Cop is going to think he's the criminal, or in some way involved in the wrongdoing. The second level is that he'll find Genius Consultant just worryingly, disturbingly good at predicting criminal behavior. And he will continue to be suspicious of him for exactly one or at most two episodes, until he's then swept off his big dumb feet by the rapidity and correctness of Effete Genius's deductions. There's nothing Big Dumb Hot Cop loves more than solving cases. Well, maybe beer. He also loves beer. Once he sees that Effete Consultant is useful, he'll do a 180º and stop complaining to his chief of police, and instead start demanding that Effete Consultant be his forever. He'll start hanging out in his office. He'll literally drag him to crime scenes by the wrist.

(And did I mention Effete Consultant must be very pretty? Did I mention that? He is lovely. Long, thin fingers to steeple while he thinks. Delicate features. Haunted dark eyes. Never sleeps. Shocking self-neglect. You may see where I am going with this.)

Another important attribute of Big Dumb Hot Cop: he's big. Or anyway strong, or a gifted fighter. Let's face it, he has to be, because Genius Consultant is going to be reckless with his own personal safety to the point of stupidity (now who's dumb, huh?). For example, consider another Chinese procedural, S.C.I. 谜案集 | S.C.I. Mystery (2018). Captain Bai Yutong is sort of impossibly physically talented (former fighter pilot! national sandu champion! runs over moving cars and then shoots at them, like some kind of weird urban biathlon!) and, like all good Big Dumb Hot Cops, his entire life is thrown upside down because he now has to drop everything to protect his effete consultant, criminal psychologist Dr. Zhan Yao, who's so careless with himself that in any another drama he would probably be driving Bai Yutong to drink. Thanks to the danmei on which SCI Mystery is based, however, we can safely assume Bai Yutong is taking it out on Zhan Yao in blow jobs.

Note that Bai Yutong is the cook, even though he's the gong, and that he moves in with Zhao Yan to "protect" him from...something, I can't ever remember what, and then just sort of forgets to move out again. For the length of the entire series.

I would argue that 镇魂 | Guardian (2018) is a procedural, even if it also has ghosts, a talking cat, snake lady, eerie dark energy that gets flung around like paintball splatters, and a whole bunch of other supernatural stuff that was not approved of by Big Red (it's based on a danmei of the same title by Priest, a novel which has been pulled from circulation for censorship). Further confusing matters, Zhao Yunlan isn't particularly Big or Dumb, nor is he even really a Cop, technically; but I'm claiming him for this genre not least because of his Effete (drop-dead gorgeous) Possibly Sociopathic (Chief Zhao thinks he's a suspect for a good third of the story) and Definitely Genius, Later Gangpressed into being a Consultant, chock-full of secrets Professor Shen Wei.

Once they finally team up, though, they do this genre/pairing proud. Why, there's nothing they can't solve except how to stay alive. Look at them here enjoying some fine nonverbal communication: "Oh my god, you're just like me—you too will fling yourself directly into bodily harm in order to save a clueless civilian. Okay this could be inconvenient for both of us. Also wow for a genetics professor you're really fucking built, do you lift my bro." (Yes. Yes he does lift.)

A final example: the cruelly short-lived 光渊 | Justice in the Dark (2023), which like Guardian is based on a danmei by Priest, 默读 | Silent Reading. I got baited into watching the eight (8) existing episodes by seeing a cut of Captain Luo Wenzhou taking on like forty guys with a champagne bottle, a pair of curtains, an axe handle, and a birthday cake, like some kind of cultivator. He's so big and hot, and he's so very dumb. He's also a cop, and ACAB (which is sort of the plot of Silent Reading); and Fei Du is possibly using him for his own nefarious ends (cf. possibly sociopathic and secretive). But underneath all of Fei Du's "I am the abyss, fear me, rawr!" scary posturing, like a puffed-up kitten, he's just a very pretty tender-hearted effete genius, and you can watch Luo Wenzhou melting, and practically pinpoint the exact moment when his whole heart flies out of his eyes and he decides: Yeah, okay, that's it for me. That one. The annoying little traumatized fuerdai with some kind of a death wish that I do not understand. I'll be throwing myself in front of bullets for him and/or cooking him dinner for the foreseeable future, thanks.

Priest is gonna mess with this dynamic of gong/shou caregiving and safeguarding, because that's what she does; but the fundamental beats are still there. Look at these ninnyhammers, just this second figuring out they're actually kind people who belong to each other.

Here they are confronting a suspect together. (You will notice the large butcher knife wavering in the foreground.) Luo Wenzhou, highly trained, nonetheless cannot de-escalate the situation. It takes a pretty playboy in an arm sling to come wandering into the room, and then, using his superb personal knowledge of what it's like to be traumatized to the point of insanity, getting the suspect to disarm. I just love the way they look at each other, incredulous (Luo Wenzhou) and mock-fascinated (Fei Du). If I ever meet the person who directed this scene I'm going to need to kiss them on the mouth.

Once you accept the gospel of Big Dumb Hot Cop and Effete Possibly Sociopathic Genius Consultant into your media-based life, you'll find it has many applications, not all of which have to be procedurals. Consider: characters from the Daomu Biji franchise, possibly (Hei Xiazi is the biggest dumbest hottest not-a-cop I've ever met). Leverage, in a weird OT3 way. Assorted combinations of Avengers. Teen Wolf fic, absolutely. Various Stargate incarnations. Several other Priest danmei, not only procedurals. Definitely Mysterious Lotus Casebook. Et cetera. (You're on your own with MXTX, though.)

This has gotten long and there are still so many nuances and features and wrinkles and problems with the theory that should be ironed out, but it'll have to do for now. I'll simply close by saying: yes, there is also a classic example and you already know exactly who it is.

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dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice · 2 months

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The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 1

I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who showed love towards the prologue and the memes I made, I've ended up gaining more followers in the last week than I have in the last couple years lol. Unfortunately Alastor isn't going to make an appearance for at least two chapters, but I hope you like what I've written so far. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 5278

Warnings: Period-typical racism and sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 >

PART 1: Chapter 1

Congrats! You're Adopted

Impluvius (Definition): Soaked with rain. (Adjective)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Tuesday, 11th June, 1929.

Arriving on your Aunt’s doorstep soaked to the bone in the middle of a hurricane was the last thing on your list of ‘crazy crap that could happen’. But alas, here you were, shivering and seething as you hauled your trunks up the steps to the front door. You were lucky enough that the area was only being battered by the edge of the storm, allowing you to find a sleeper train that was still willing to run from Montgomery to New Orleans, but it had left you in a sour mood when they had revoked their food services, because damn you were in the mood for a simple ham and cheese sandwich. And the mood only had to sour further when you found yourself standing outside the station for a good fifteen minutes waiting for a driver whilst you and your belongings were drowned by the ongoing summer downpour. Sure, you were used to the torrential downpour of the Yorkshire moors, where there were more wet days than dry, but you were prepared for that, not for the barbarous battering of the 70mph winds that forced you to stuff your useless hat away, leaving the once neat updo of hair that you had meticulously styled that morning to whip you in the eye whenever a gale flew past.

And, as if the gods had something out for you, the taxi that pulled up decided it would be hilarious to speed to a stop in the middle of the giant puddle that had accumulated next to the pavement, sending out a small wave that reached your ankles, soaking your frilly socks and favourite patterned heeled oxford shoes that your mother had gifted on your 18th birthday.

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” You hissed to yourself, lifting your foot to inspect the leather. The driver was lucky that they were already three years old, otherwise you would’ve given him a glare deathly enough to send him to an early grave. Or so you hoped.

Thankfully, the driver didn’t pay you much attention, clearly too tired for small talk, simply asking for an address. Though he had paused when you spoke, turning to eye you up and down where you were cramped uncomfortably between your luggage in the back seat, grunting out a “You English?”, to which you nodded, muttering that you were visiting your aunt. The drive was silent after that, the only sound being the loud sputtering engine and the rain that pounded against the windshield. Minutes passed and you were quickly outside the house, which led to now: trembling in your boots, rapping your knuckle against the green wooden door with wet hair clinging to your face and eyebags that could rival a chronic insomniac.

It wasn’t long until the sound of locks clicking and unlatching reached your ears, and the door creaked open, an eye peeking through the gap. After it landed on you, it quickly swung open, revealing your Aunt Agnes in a nightgown and robe, with an oil lantern in hand. At the sight of her, you gave a half-wave and shaky smile.

She gasped your name. “Oh, there you are my lovely! I thought you got lost in the storm!” Realising the state you were in, she hurriedly placed the lantern on the hallway cabinet, rushing out to help you haul your luggage in. “I was so worried your train had been cancelled by the hurricane. Here, get yourself out the cold – you can put your coat to dry by the fire.” She handed you your leather duffel bag before crouching down and lugging the largest trunk into her arms with a grunt. Making sure everything was in the hallway, she went to close the door, though you didn’t miss the wary scan she took of the street, or the diligent focus of making sure every lock and chain was in place. The wariness soon disappeared, however, as she spun around to face with a grin, her thick braid of long, brown hair whipping over her shoulder.

Giggling as she bounded over, she wrapped you up in a strong hug, and you reciprocated with matching eagerness, but also trying your best not to cringe at the squelching noises your waterlogged coat made.

“It’s so nice to see you!” You said exhausted as you released her, teeth still chattering from the chill. “The rooves were practically coming off in Montgomery, so I’m surprised they were willing to keep the trains running.”

“Well there’s no need to worry about that any more, you’re here now! Come, I must get you warmed up.” she asserted warmly, leading you with a hand rubbing against your back, down the hallway into the kitchen. Rummaging through a wicker basket, she pulled out a spare nightgown. “Go see if your spare underwear is dry, then head to the bathroom across the hall and change into this. I’ll go make you some warm milk and honey.”

Thanking her, you quickly made your way into the living room where your belongings had been left, unlatching the clasps of the trunk to reveal your damp clothing. Luckily, there was some underwear in the middle that had not yet been affected, so you grabbed them and returned to the hallway to try and find the bathroom.

After several failed attempts of opening the wrong doors, you finally came across the bathroom, eagerly shedding yourself of your dripping wet layers, welcoming the warmth of the soft, dry underwear and ivory coloured nightgown. Returning to the living room, you dumped your wet clothes on your trunk, before walking around the sofa. Planting your behind in the armchair closest to the fire, you melted into the cushions with a relieved sigh, sticking your feet out in front of the flames to try and get some feeling back in your toes.

It wasn’t long before the clinking from the kitchen ceased, and your Aunt came back through, meticulously balancing a wooden tray with two large steaming mugs sat on top. Placing them down, she handed you the one covered in purple flowers. Thanking her, you instantly took a sip, letting the sweet honey and heated milk warm your insides as you watched your aunt take a seat in her own well-loved armchair.

“Sooo,” she began with a knowing grin whilst tossing you a crocheted blanket. “How’s America been so far for you?”

You scrunched your face in thought. “…Surprisingly not as bad as I thought. I think Great-Auntie Beatrice had influenced my opinion a bit too much growing up.”

Agnes rolled her eyes. “A bit?? That old woman has despised the country since that American lad up and left her back in the 1870’s.”

You snorted over your mug. “Well, she certainly has taught me to not raise my expectations about the place, but, I’ve got to say it has allowed me to be more impressed by what I see – especially the Appalachian mountains, they’ve definitely got a unique charm to them. Thank you, by the way, for letting me use your cabin up there.”

She waved you off. “Oh, it’s no problem, really. I would give you the place if the twins weren’t so keen on going up there.”

“Speaking of the twins, how are the three of you doing?” you asked.

Agnes let a weary smile cross her face. “We’re doing better, now anyways. The twins had some issues when starting school here – starting fresh at 16 in a completely different country certainly has its cons. It’s died down now, but in the first few months they were followed home by some kids who would taunt them for the way they spoke. Hell,” she laughed in disbelief. “they even had a teacher who thought they were Scottish for the first three weeks until I came in for a meeting about their grades and spent ten minutes explaining to her that not everyone in England speaks the same way as those pompous Londoners who squeal at the slightest bit of mud on their shoes.”

“What?!!” you guffawed, trying to stifle a laugh. “Please tell me they at least beat some of the kids up.”

“I wish.” Agnes sighed, sinking back in her chair. “But I don’t want anymore attention on them than they already have. Anything else and those kids will go looking for dirt on them and the last thing I want is for them to find out who their father is.”

You looked up at her in surprise. “You don’t??” you asked, perplexed.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Agnes said sternly. “I loved their father to the ends of the universe and back, but the two of them being mixed English-Japanese will garner the wrong type of attention here. God forbid, if it gets out their mum’s a pagan witch it’ll be the end of peace!” She vented, throwing her arms up in frustration.

You pondered her words for a moment. “But I thought New Orleans was considered a safer place for things like witchcraft? Isn’t voodoo a popular religion and practice here?”

“It is, but it’s still kept more on the down-low. When you have a religion originating from a place like Africa, white Christians can get reeeaallll iffy about it, and it’s no different here – I believe there’s laws in place against parts of the practice.” She explained. “But it doesn’t stop them from keeping their shops open. Our neighbour Neliah runs a gorgeous corner shop near the outskirts – I can’t and won’t practice voodoo, but I do treat myself with a visit whenever I need new herbs, I could literally fall asleep in there with the lovely way it smells.” You smiled at the way she seemed to get lost in thought, though she quickly snapped herself out of it. “But anyway! How’s my sister doing? How did Emmett react with the news?”

You startled slightly at the sudden change. “Yea, mum’s actually doing alright. Dad… took a while to get his head around what was going on, you know, when he found her Grimoire and spell books, and the fact that we’d been hiding it from him for years, but he’s surprisingly calmed down about it. They still go to church, to keep up their reputation and all that, but he’s letting her hang up protection wards around the house, he even got involved with casting a spell with us at one point, even though he had no clue what he was doing the whole time.” You snorted, memories of your father’s wide eyes as he watched your mother wave a stick of incense around him, reminding you of the time when you were around six, you had returned from the forest by your house, covered in mud and brandishing stick-swords, declaring yourself as the deer queen as you dragged a shedded antler you had found among the moss through the back door – the look on your father’s face when he walked in from work to see you tying pink ribbons along the muddy, moss-covered bone was priceless.

Agnes let out a chortle, before sipping at her drink, her expression shifting slightly to one of mild concern. “And uh, how did they react when you were – ah – found out?”

Right, the whole reason you were here in the first place. “Not the greatest.” You said dejectedly. “Mum was distraught when they said they were thinking of taking me away – calling them every name under the sun the second they said ‘asylum’. So when dad suggested coming here, she jumped at the chance, but was crying the whole drive to the docks. I gave them an itinerary of where I was going to be and when, and they’ve been using it to send me letters and gifts, but it’s been hard being fully alone for the first time in my life.” You sank into your chair, tears building in your eyes the longer you spoke.

Agnes looked you up and down, her eyes filled with sorrow for you. “Well,” she began softly, standing up to approach you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “you're not alone anymore, so you can forget about those stupid government officials and your, uh,” she squinted her eyes in confusion. “what do they call it?”

“Over action of the mind.” You forced out with a huff. “They don’t have an official name for it, but me being fidgety and forgetful is enough for them to call me insane apparently.”

She held her hand out for you to take, which you did, allowing her to pull you up. She said your name sternly. “You are not insane. You’re the loveliest, most intelligent girl I know – especially considering the amount of books you’ve read in your 21 years.” You gave her a small smile as thanks. “Now, I’ve readied your bedroom for you. It’s a little bare, but you're staying a while so I’ve left it to be up to your imagination, and with how fast your mind goes a minute, I’m sure you’ll make it the most fantastical and extravagant room in New Orleans.” She explained as she helped you pick up your luggage, leading you through the hallway and up the stairs.

Walking down the main upper hallway, you followed her down a second one to the left, until you came to a stop on the first door on the left side. Lowering her voice to a whisper, Agnes gestured to the door on the left further down. “That’s the bathroom. I’ve moved the boys’ stuff out and given them the second one across the main hall so you can have it to yourself.” She then gestured to the two doors on the right side of the hall, with a sign hanging on each, though the candlelight was too dim to make out the words. “That’s their bedrooms, so I’m afraid you’ll have to prepare for some loud wake-up calls.” She said with an amused smile.

Opening the first door on the left, she led you into a spacey room, that was, as described, quite bare, with only a four-poster bed pushed into the top-right corner, a dark, polished set of drawers and matching wardrobe facing the bed on the opposite wall, along with a familiar -looking changing screen in the bottom left corner decorated with storks flying above a Japanese landscape – you recognised it as one of the wedding gifts your uncle had gifted your aunt sixteen years ago. In the top left corner by the large open window was a vanity with clawed feet, holding up a large, ornate oval mirror, a cushioned stool pushed under it. Next to it was another door that led to the balcony. Nearer to the bedroom door was a large roll top desk, covered in drawers, shelves and pigeon holes, though the only object present was a small typewriter tucked under one of the shelves.

Excitement filling you, you strode across the room to the bed, the feeling of the fluffy rug under your feet a welcoming sign. Placing your trunk and bag down as gracefully as you could, you spun around to face your aunt with a wide grin on your face. “This is amazing!” you gasped quietly, mindful of the two other sleeping residents. “You didn’t have to give me all this.”

“Of course I did!” Agnes exclaimed, walking over to give you another hug. “Did you forget your mother and I practically lived and raised you and the twins together until just a year ago? I’m treating the three of you as equals until the day I die.”

Looking down at her, you observed the slight wrinkles appearing under her eyes, and the dark rings accompanying them that hadn’t been there the last time you saw her back when she still lived in York. Sighing, you stepped back. “I know.” You agreed warmly. “And thank you, for everything you’ve done so far.”

She ruffled the top of your head, your long strands of hair still clumped together with rain water and the clips you had failed to pin it back with. “Anything for you. Now get some sleep, it’s past midnight and the boys will be giving you the earliest and loudest wake-up call once they figure out you’re here.”

You agreed, bidding your aunt goodnight before taking the candle she left for you over to the vanity, where you spent the next ten minutes trying your best to find every pin and clip in your damp hair, then tediously trying to brush it smooth enough to then twist into a loose braid. You also quickly took out your belongings that were wet, hanging them over the screen and the drying rack you had found in the wardrobe. Satisfied you collapsed onto the double bed, bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. Burying yourself under the covers, you blew the candle out, bathing the room in darkness, and using the rain outside as white noise, you slowly drifted off, mentally preparing yourself for the twins when they would come to wake you up.

Oh, and wake you up they did.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Wednesday, 12th June, 1929.

You were barely able to pull your heavy eyelids apart when the door in the far corner swung open, the door handle hitting the wall with a resounding ‘BANG!’, followed by a very loud “BOYS!!”, echoing through the house.

That wasn’t the end of it though. You had barely begun to turn over at the sound of several pairs of heavy footsteps bounding across the wooden floorboards, when two very heavy weights crashed on top of you, causing your eyes to fly open as the wind was knocked out of you.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?!” you screeched, flailing about as much as you could until your arms were free, reaching over the covers to shove at the two long figure sprawled across you.

Loud giggling filled your ears, and you looked over your duvet to find two familiar identical-looking faces, with matching cheshire grins, peering over at you mischievously from where they laid across your body. Groaning, you flopped back down, choosing instead to stare at the forest green drapes strung across the poster bed. Though it was soon replaced by two mops of loose, curly hair as they peeked over the edge at you, one dark brown-almost black, the other a pale blonde. You were thankful of their opposite hair colour, because the only way you would’ve been able to tell them apart otherwise would be with the different freckles and moles dotted across their pale faces.

“Mum said you came in looking like a soggy rat last night.” Teased Allie, reaching out to prod at your cheek with a snicker.

Your own hand shot out, shoving his blonde head away. “Did not.” You responded groggily, as you tried to shove his twin off the other side of you. “Now get your fat arses off of me.”

They gasped in mock offence, immediately plopping themselves back on top of you, both reaching to poke and prod at your face. “You said a bad word ~” Ollie chimed in a sing-song voice, kicking his legs behind him playfully as he tried to shove a finger in your ear. Slapping them both away, you prepared for another onslaught, until determined footsteps drew closer to your door, and the two of them froze as their mother walked in, a wooden spoon grasped in her hand.

“ODESSEY. ADAGIO. Get off of your cousin before I send you to school WITHOUT breakfast!” She hollered, a thunderous look on her face.

The two of them collectively groaned. “Muuuumm, don’t call us thaaaat.” Whined Ollie, as he took his sweet time slowly rolling over your whole body before sliding off the bed to stand next to his equally grumpy brother. You followed not long after, sitting up at the edge to watch the ordeal with a smug smile.

“Call you what?! Your real names?! Well then, you better get yourselves downstairs!” she exclaimed, pointing at the door with the wooden spoon.

Reluctantly, they complied, but that didn’t stop Allie from poking his tongue out as he disappeared through the doorway, narrowly missing a swing from his mother’s spoon. Facing your aunt, you finally noticed that she was already up and dressed for work, donning a cream blouse with a blue ribbon tied around the neck, along with a matching blue maxi pencil skirt that reached just above her ankles. Her hair was meticulously styled in an updo similar to the one you had yesterday, her chestnut brown hair twisted back in swirls that ended in a loose low bun, with some strands neatly framing her face. She approached you, the short heels of her shoes muffled by the rug.

“Morning! Breakfast is ready.” She explained with a smile that you returned. “Freshen yourself up and come meet us downstairs, ok?” You agreed, and she disappeared back downstairs.

Rummaging through you clothes that were now thankfully dry, you opted for a loose blouse, and a pair of wide-legged tweed trousers, taking them to the bathroom. Slipping a leather belt through the loops, you quickly wet your hair over the bath, scrubbing in some shampoo and conditioner before rinsing it out and rubbing a towel over the strands until it was no longer dripping. Happy with the light makeup you applied, you headed back downstairs, running a hand through the wet tangles until you reached the dining table.

“I see what mum meant by soggy rat.” You turned to see Allie smirking over the table as you sat down in front of a plate full of English breakfast.

“I’ll turn you into a soggy rat.” You muttered back, stuffing half a hash-brown into your mouth, whilst simultaneously trying not to sigh in relief after not eating for at least 24 hours.

“OoOoh shiver me timbers!” he mocked back, waving his hands in mock fright.

Ollie’s tall figure appeared as he walked over from the kitchen - bacon, eggs, hash-browns and baked beans piled excessively onto his plate. “Mum told us you were going to be staying in our cabin up in the mountains.” He said as he sat down. “Did you like the gift we left?” he said with a grin half lopsided by the food he was shoving in his mouth.

You glared up at them from your plate. “Yes. The excessive amount of fake cockroaches in the bathroom was a very welcomed surprise. Odessey.”

The grin on your cousin’s face fell into a pout at the use of his full name. Letting out a prolonged grunt, he returned to his breakfast.

“Besides,” you started. “It’s not like I’m the only one suffering here. Apparently you’re both Scottish now.”

The two of them let out a collective groan, slumping in their seats.

“It’s not our fault Miss Sammie has less intelligence than a hamster.” Whined Allie as he stabbed an egg with his fork. “She thought Japan was part of China the other day!”

You let out a sharp laugh. “I hope that doesn’t reflect on your learning, or your mum will end up with steam coming out her ears.” You snickered.

“Thankfully it doesn’t.” replied Ollie, rolling his grey eyes as he stuck a whole wad of bacon in his mouth, making sure to not get any grease on his uniform. “Otherwise we’d be begging mum to move us back to England.”

“Speaking of moving, how are you guys finding it here?” you asked, hoping the answers were positive.

“Meh, it’s been alright.” Said Allie with a shrug. “The alligators are cool, but apparently we’re not allowed to wrestle them, which is soooo boring.”

“And the summers are shit. Nothing but heatwaves.” Ollie added.

“Well that’s what you get when you’re used to living in the North-East of England, where one of the nearest land masses is Norway.” You pointed out. “Plus English summers can be unbelievably humid, so I’m not sure what you’re whining about.”

“Oho, just you wait until July hits, then you’ll eat your words.” He retorted. “Hurricane season can be a bitch, too.”

“Don’t remind me.” You groaned. “I barely experienced the tail-end of one last night and it almost killed me.”

The two cackled at you, much to your annoyance, but is was cut short at the sound of your name being called. Looking up, you watched as your aunt poked her head around the doorway, the handset of a rotary phone pressed between her ear and shoulder, beckoning you over with an eager look, before disappearing back into the hallway. Quickly, you got up, marching round the table. Turning the corner, you watched as she ended the call. “Yes, yes. Thank you so much Mr LeBlanc, I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Yes – buh-bye now. Bye.”

Placing the phone back on its metal cradle, she whirled around to face you, excitement prominent on her features. “Sooo, that was Mr LeBlanc on the phone…” she proclaimed, eyeing you with a growing smile.

All you could do was stare in confusion, silence filling the wood-panelled hallway. Agnes darted her wide eyes between you and the phone, clearly waiting in anticipation for your reaction, but you only knew two things about New Orleans: jazz, and that it had a river shaped slightly similar to the London Thames. So you continued to stare.

Seeing that you weren’t going to react, she let out a sigh. “Mr LeBlanc runs Héritage Amour Réparation D’Antiquités on Julia Street down near the Mississippi River, and he’s willing to take you on as an apprentice?” she said as if it was the most obvious thing on Earth.

You blinked. “Wait, you’ve been looking for apprenticeships for me??” You gawked. “Since when??? I don’t think I even mentioned that I would be looking for one in the letters I sent you.”

“Oh, you haven’t.” she assured. “Your mum told me in a letter about a month ago when you were up in New York, so I thought I would speed up the process by looking for one for you.”

You continued to gawk in silence.

“Careful,” smirked Allie from over your shoulder. “You’re gonna catch flies.”

You didn’t even turn to face him as you reached a hand back, ignoring his whine as you smushed it against his face, shoving him back into the dining room.

“You –” you pointed at yourself. “You got me an apprenticeship??” She nodded excitedly. “Jesus Christ Agnes. At this point I’m gonna be indebted to you for the rest of my life!”

She clasped her hands together, throwing her head back as she laughed. “It’s no problem, really. I just want you to get settled in as soon as possible. I told Mr LeBlanc that if you accepted, he’s welcome to come for tea on Friday to meet you, then, if he’s happy, we’ll go for a day out around the city centre, and maybe visit him in his shop during that time. Sound good?”

You blinked repeatedly, trying to wrap your head around what your aunt was saying. “I – uh, yea. That would be great, actually.”

“Great! I’ll give him a call back, and you’ll meet him on Friday.” She proclaimed, satisfied as she picked the phone back up, holding the headset to her ear whilst twisting the numbers into the dial.

Still in a small state of shock, you turned back towards the dining room, slowly making your way back to your seat. Plopping down, you were met with the smug smiles of the twins.

“Looks like you’re gonna have to splurge big time on mum’s birthday. Don’t ’cha think Allie?” said Ollie, turning to his brother with a shit-eating grin.

His brother returned his expression with equal enthusiasm. “Oh yea. I was thinking, perhaps a top of the range Gramophone? I heard they have the new model in down at that shop on Canal Street.” He turned to you. “What do ya think cousin? Ready to serve our mum for the rest of eternity?”

All you could do was flick egg at their foreheads.

——

Friday came running up on you before you even realised, and here you were helping your aunt prepare roasted duck and vegetables whilst simultaneously trying to keep the twins away from the desserts in the icebox – you figured the sneaky buggers knew exactly what creaky floorboards to avoid. When the doorbell rang, Agnes encouraged you to go answer it, so, putting on a smile, you opened the door to welcome in your guest.

Mr LeBlanc was a warm and chirpy type of man: 63 years old with white hair and a matching frizzy moustache and beard, dressed in a smart blue shirt and neatly ironed trousers and slacks. He was around 5’7 – around the average height for men at this time. Sticking his hand out, he gave you a wide smile, and feeling the welcoming aura ride off him in waves, you gladly grasped his outstretched hand with your own.

“Bonne soirée! I do hope I’ve got the right address!” he laughed, his accent a funny mix between French and southern American. You assured that he was at the right place, introducing yourself. “Oh, what a lovely name! I am Ralph LeBlanc, but I’m sure your aunt has already informed you of me.” He said expectantly, voice slightly croaky and hoarse from old age.

Giving him a smile and a nod, you invited him in, bringing him to the dining room where your aunt and cousins were just finishing the preparations for dinner, and you all sat down, tucking into the delicious meal.

The dinner was successful, Ralph happily agreeing to take you on as an apprentice whilst also assisting him with running the repair shop, as he was currently the only one managing it. You had informed him of your history degree, and your school awards in art, and after that he was very eager to agree, almost acting excited when he invited you to come to the shop next Monday for a ‘starter shift’ where he would show you the ropes and make sure you were settled. It was as if the gods switched up on your luck, turning it round from the horrific start you had arriving here, and you weren’t planning on losing this good streak anytime soon.

“Now,” said Mr LeBlanc as he stood putting his coat on by the front door. “Make sure you are wearing something comfy and flexible, preferably pants if you own any, as we don’t want any skirts getting trapped in anything.” You nodded, and he paused for a moment, looking up at you. “Odd question, but how tall are you and your cousins? I don’t think I’ve met many with your heights, especially a woman.”

You glanced at your feet, now conscious of the way you towered over him slightly. “Last time I checked I was 5’9, and the twins are 6 foot. I uh, got it from my dad – he’s 6’1, and they got it from theirs.”

His eyes widened as he puffed his cheeks out. “La vache that’s tall. And did you say the boys were only 16? Wow, I really ain’t trying to make this sound weird but those magazine people would snatch you three up if they knew you were here.”

You laughed shaking your head, albeit nervously at the thought of having your picture taken. Thanking him, you waved him out and said your goodbyes.

Closing the door, you let out a relieved sigh, grateful that the evening was successful, and you retreated back to your room for the evening.

Thought it didn’t stop your excitement for the Monday to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you've enjoyed it so far! The ending’s a bit rushed, and Alastor's not going to appear for a couple chapters, but I hope I can make the wait worth it. See you soon for Chapter 2!!

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theresattrpgforthat · 1 month

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It would be awesome if you could recommend some solo ttrpgs! I've been getting into them a lot lately and want to know more of what's out there. Especially journalling ones, as I enjoy creative writing. So far I've looked into (and will probably buy soon) Firelights, Apawthecaria, and Fox Curio's Floating Bookshop.

Also, I love this blog a ton. Already there have been some awesome games I've learned about from you, including the one you're currently working on. Excited to give it a try sometime! Keep being amazing 💜.

Theme: Solo Journalling Games

Thank you so much for your kind words! I'm certainly excited to run Protect the Child for folks, play-testing it so far has been really fun!

As for your ask, solo games and journalling go hand in hand. These next few games are just a sampling of what I've added recently to my Solo Games folder on Itch.

Cats Know Things, by Mushroom Witch Games.

CATS KNOW THINGS is a light-hearted game meant to tell a humorous story of intrigue, all while pretending to be a very nosy cat.

But you are no ordinary cat.

You are a very special feline who, through some magic you cannot explain, can communicate with your human, an individual who wishes to make their mark in society by any means necessary. The two of you decide to start a society page, (a very fancy type of tabloid newspaper dedicated to a particular location) revealing the glitz, glamour, and inner turmoil of the town’s most notable individuals.

Use a d6 and a d10 to generate numbers, and sneak into places to listen into secret or private conversations. Then bring this news to your human companion, so that they may relay this gossip in the local society page. You need to find 6-8 scintillating stories before the week is up, so that your human has enough to print.

If you want a game full of scandal and cute furry little rumour-mongers, this might be the game for you!

Lingering, by Meghan Cross.

The last thing you remember, you were dying.

Now, breath fills your lungs once more and your eyes open, slowly shifting side to side as you attempt to regain your bearings. You are alive. But you are…changed. Your human form is gone, and in its place is one that is different, foreign, animal…

In Lingering, you play as a person who has died, only to find yourself alive again in an animal form, unable to move on to your eternal rest until you settle business left unsettled from your life.

Throughout the course of a game, you will make several attempts to communicate with a chosen human, hoping to convey a message to them so they can assist you and help you move on once and for all.

This game uses a deck of cards and some guiding adjectives to determine how your attempts at communication will go. Over eight rounds, you’ll flip cards while guessing as to whether each card will be higher or lower than the previous one, and a successful guess means a successful interaction. The details of those attempts are what you’ll be journalling, and Lingering provides a number of questions that you might try to answer with each attempt.

This game takes place over eight rounds, so it’s excellent if you want a short, contained game. It also has a two-player option if you want to try this game out with a loved one.

Dragon Dowser, by HatchlingDM.

Dragon Dowser is a solo journaling RPG using the Carta SRD by Peach Garden Games. You play a mysterious character known as a 'Dowser'. Your aim is to locate abandoned dragon eggs and return them to your Sanctuary. If you succeed before expending your resources, the hatchling you rescue will be reared to change the kingdom forever!

This is a lovingly crafted game that uses card suits to represent four different kinds of ways your character will be tested, as they interact with different cultures, explore new landscapes, and dea with various conflicts, both human and nature-made.

You’ll travel across a grid of cards that provide you with journaling prompts as you travel. You’ll expend resources to overcome obstacles, looking for a dragon egg, represented by an Ace! Once you return this egg to a sanctuary, you’ll journal about your experience of raising the hatchling. Based on the games you’ve mentioned so far, I think Dragon Dowser is right up your alley.

EDEN, by blasez-faire.

You are Judaiah Clark, the Head Botanical Researcher at the Southern Sector of Eden. You are here for exactly 10 days, and were a last minute choice after the sudden disappearance of ■■■■■■ ■■■■■, the last person to hold this position. You are not here for work. Investigate.

EDEN is a single-page game that takes place over the course of 10 in-game days, with two questions that you will have to answer in your journal for every day. You are expected to write up a report with detailed notes, so much of the extrapolation taken from each pair of questions is going to come from your own imagination. To help with this you might want to come up with names for other characters, draw a map of the Southern Sector, or go into detail about the plants that this research station grows.

One thing is for sure - this is going to be a horror story. If you like games that give you a lot of room to stretch your creative wings, and you also like writing terrible endings for your characters, you might like this game.

Black Mountain Numbers Station, by Simon de Vet.

You wake one morning to the sound of a voice on the radio reading a series of numbers. On impulse, you jot them down. These numbers will become your life.

Black Mountain Numbers Station is a one-page, solo-journaling game about a mysterious broadcast, and about finding patterns in randomness. Using a unique dice mechanic to prompt you to describe your journey, you will tell a short story of obsession, frustration, and discovery.

This game is uses a 6x6 grid with boxes that you’ll need to fill when you roll a pair of dice. You’ll trigger evens when you roll doubles or find a certain pattern on the grid as you fill it, and in both of these cases, you’ll write special journal entries. The game ends when you fill your Frustration track, which symbolizes listening for too long without learning anything new. What exactly you learn, however, is up to you.

Bound, by K Ramstack.

Bound is a single player setting agnostic game about the connection between two people as they travel to a destination through the destruction of the world on a journey they will most likely not complete.

You will create two characters, their relationship to one another, the destruction that haunts them, and the motive for them to move forward.

During the game, you will be asked to write scenes in first person, switching perspectives between characters, and using their personality traits and subjective conceptualizations of each other to answer prompts.

Bound has a single and two-player version, and uses two decks of playing cards, one for each character. Each card will relate to a prompt on the prompt table, but only the highest ranked prompt will be answered. Each prompt will ask a question about the relationship, and how it changes.

If you want a deeply emotional game with a beautiful layout and lovely art, this is the game for you.

The Narrator Paradox, by psychound.

The Narrator Paradox is a one page solo-narrating game where you try to tell a story … if your protagonist will let you. In it, you determine the five acts of your story based on an oracle, then make rolls for your plot beats to see if you can wrangle your protagonist into the prescribed narrative. If you can't, they defy you and take the story into their own hands. Wrestle the story into shape against a rebellious hero, or lose them forever and have to finish the story without them in it.

Using the Major Arcana of a tarot deck, two six-sided dice and a coin, The Narrator Paradox has a number of different ways that you’ll try to keep your story on track. However, with so much randomness, your protagonist is sure to have a mind of their own. This feels very much in tune with how many writers talk about their characters as if those characters have their own desires, so if you’ve ever related to that you might enjoy this game.

Also Check Out...

My Solo Games tag! I use this tag for every recommendation post specifically for solo games.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #indie ttrpg #solo games

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spidybaby · 1 year

Text

She | part 2

Summary: A long talk and a match can be the start to a change between Kylian and you.

Warning: none.

Part one

I know I took too long for this part, sorry about it 😭💜 hope you like this 🥹❤️

Frightening.

That's an adjective you can use to describe your situation. You're standing in front of his door, not knowing if you should turn around or knock on the door.

The minutes keep running as you stand there. The wood door is the only thing that separates you from him.

On the other side of the door, he's anxiously pacing around his living room, wondering if you're going to show up or not.

His questions were answered by the knock on the door, and his heart skipped a bit.

He was kind of ashamed of how fast he walked to the door, not wanting you to wait. When he opened the door, you were there.

He can't take his eyes off of you, the way your hair sits on your shoulders, the way that summer dress looks too good to be truth and the way your eyes are glued to his.

"Hi" is all he can say.

You smile at his shyness, finding it funny.

"Hi, Kyks" you say back.

The nickname makes him feel goosebumps. He moves so you can get inside the house. And you can't help but look around. This was the first time you were there. Back in the day, he owned an apartment and not a whole house.

"You," he cleared his throat, "want a glass of water? Wine?"

You only nod, answering but not answering his question. So, he walked you to the kitchen, showing you the way.

His house was beautiful, the color, the details, all his style. You remembered all the times he talked to you about buying a house together. And you can only think of what your future used to hold.

When you enter the kitchen, you see how kylian opens a big door, showing you his bottle collection. It was not a big one, but it was definitely a good one.

"Choose one, for us"

For us.

You walk inside the little pantry of bottles, your eyes looking around, and he has the most expensive wine you can name.

But your eyes widen in surprise when you see it. The bottle of wine he knew was your favorite. He used to keep a bottle around for every special occasion.

You take the bottle in your hands, and he can't help but smile, even if you can see it.

"Good choice," he says. "Let me get some glasses"

You follow him out of the pantry and sit on the chair he has in there. Your eyes glued to him, watching his every move.

"Here," he hands you the glass and pours one for himself.

You stay in silence for a while, looking at everything but his eyes.

"So" - "I want," you talk at the same time. You can't help but laugh at that. He moves his hands, indicating you to speak. "So," you repeat.

"I wanted to talk because I'm going to be around you, because of Nasser, and we might run into each other, I don't want to feel the tension, I want us to be able to be around each other like normal people." You were talking fast, too fast for him to catch up with every word. "And I just want a good start."

"Okay," he nods his head slowly.

"Okay?" You frown your eyebrows at how relaxed he was.

"I'm sorry," His eyes reflect his true feelings. He can't think of a good start without saying it first. "I was an asshole and a coward, I left you when you needed me to support you, even when you support my every move since day one."

"Kylian, I didn't." But he wasn't stopping. He wanted you to know how sorry he is.

"Don't," he stops you. "I can't go back and not do what I did, but I can show you how much I've changed, I'm not that immature twenty-two year old that was scared of change. I don't want you to hate me."

You can only blink at his words. You can't hate him, no matter what, you can't.

"Don't say that," your voice was monotone. "What you did hurt me, yes." You take a deep breath "but, I've changed too, and I've learned that as much as I want to change the past, I can't, Kylian, we can't."

You doubt a little, but take his hands in yours.

"We can only be better. And as much as I feel that my hate can be justified, " you joke, making him laugh."I can't hate you. You were my best friend, and no matter what you hold a special place in my heart"

His sight is focused on the way your thumbs are caressing his hands, the warmth that you're emanating, the softness of your palms.

"I'm sorry," he repeats.

"Look at me," your voice is firm, "We can't change the past. But we can learn from it and be better. Let's do baby steps. We're seeing each other in one way or another around, so this is the best"

He knew you were right. His friends are yours, his boss is yours. He can't ignore you even if he tries.

"Deal"

The smile that formed into your face has him drooling. How can you be that beautiful without trying?

The talk didn't finish there, you caught up with him, asking him about the club and him asking you about the moving. It was a long way ahead, but like you say, baby steps.

"Jules, can you send me again that email, Mister Nasser, ask me to answer? please"

You were stressed. It's been a few days into your moving, and you already feel like everything is going crazy.

Nasser did as promised and hired a whole agency to help you move into your new apartment.

And since he also promised, he was remodeling the office you were supposed to work in, so you had to work from home, thing that makes you feel crazy, not being able to find a lot of the things you needed due to not knowing where it was stored.

"Jules, can you also find my calendar?"

Jules was your assistant. She accepted to move countries with you, loving the way you worked and you loving the way she worked.

She was young and still studying, but she was good and efficient, things you liked.

"Thank you," you smile as she hands you the calendar. "I know I'm stressing you, but bear with me"

"The email is on the important carpet on your email, and you have an hour to be ready." Your confused look made her laugh. "y/n, don't tell me you forgot"

"I didn't" lies, you did.

"Okay, then I'll guess I don't have to say what you need to be ready for"

You narrow your eyes and look at your agenda, not wanting to admit that you did, in fact, forget what she was talking about.

"I'm just answering this, and I'll be ready for that." You smile, still confused.

Jules laughs, knowing your expression as the palm of her hand. "Okay, then I'm just putting this in your room, and I'll head out"

You nod concentrated into the email. Tying your best to be quick.

After a good twenty minutes, you finish with your work for the day, jules already gone, you check the time. You have exactly forty minutes to yet be ready for whatever you need to be ready for.

You walk to your room and in your bed you can see a paper bag with a note sticked to it.

"You did forget, have fun tho"

You smile at Jules calligraphy and open the bag. The PSG shirt is the only thing in the bag, making your mind clear as you remembered that Nasser asked you to come to the game with him.

You only take a deep breath, even tho Kylian and you are civil with each other, doesn't mean you'll be friends and you'll go to every game like you used to.

You connected your phone to the charger and got in the shower. Since you weren't going to wash your hair, it was a quick shower.

You picked some mom jeans, a tank top to put under the PSG shirt and your Jordan's. For your hair, you put your hair into a ponytail, and for makeup, you only did some concealer, powder, some blush, and using the same blush as eyeshadow you added mascara. Something light for you.

You disconnected your phone checking the time. You were on time to go to the stadium.

Nasser sent you your tickets and vip access with his assistant, so you didn't have a problem. You get inside. Grabbing your purse and wallet, you walk to the elevator and down to your car.

The ride to the stadium was a calm one. The traffic was starting to get heavy as everyone was trying to get there. Thankfully, Nasser reserved you a spot at the parking lot. Which makes your life easier.

Once you walk inside and find your boss and some other executives, you greet everyone with a smile.

"So Happy you actually made it, I was getting worried you leave me here alone." He joked.

"Oh no, as I said on the phone yesterday, I'm so excited to see the match." Lies, you didn't want to be there.

You make small talk with Nasser wife. The game starts, and you notice Kylian was the captain. You knew his parents were somewhere around. They tried to always come to their games.

It was a good match. PSG was winning 2-0 against the other team. Something that made Nasser really happy. His wife told you they were having kind of a bad season, so this match was a game changer.

The first half was done. You take this as an opportunity to check your phone, Ethan sent you a dm.

You laugh at his messages, and you check his story, noticing he was at the game with his mother.

After a good five minutes, you get up of your seat, ready to say hi to him as you open your arms. He was taller, a lot taller.

You hugged him tightly, Ethan, and you were close. When you moved to London, he was very sad but you promised to text him every day and you kept that promise.

You let go of him and kissed his cheek. You asked him to sit next to you. Luckily, there was an empty spot.

"Why didn't you call me?" He was happy to see you. He always saw you as his sister. And you loved him as your baby brother.

Growing up as an only child, you never had that sibling love, but Ethan gave you enough love for a lifetime. And you were grateful for him.

"I was going to." You didn't lie. You were going to do it as soon as you were totally moved. "But I wanted to have my apartment ready"

You showed Ethan the pictures of your new home. He was excited for you to be back. He also knew his brother was also happy for you to be back.

Ethan stayed with you during the second half of the match, PSG scored another goal. The fans were happy, and so did the team.

You were happy, missed the adrenaline of the games, missing the emotional environment of the stadium.

You were obvious of the eyes that had been on you the whole second half. Kylian, find out you were at the game. Thanks to Twitter, he saw a picture of you next to Nasser's wife, and when he found your location every time he could, he would look at you.

You were back at your house, exhausted but happy for the team. After all, they're Paris team.

You change into more comfortable clothes to sleep, wash your face and brush your teeth, and do your skincare.

You were laying in bed reading some book your friend recommended focused on the words, when you hear the sound of an insta notification you grab your phone checking it.

You smile down at the dm Kylian sent you. You were lying if you said you weren't expecting it. After all, you find out Twitter fans noticed your presence at the game. And probably he did too.

You laugh, knowing he was referring to you. You chose to joke along with him.

You knew you say baby steps, but talking to him like you used to feel good, you don't want that feeling to go away just yet.

You laugh, knowing he was joking and choosing it was enough jokes for the night. You left your book and phone at your nightstand and turned the lights off.

Your mind was tired but still awake enough to create hopes up for you, was he just joking?

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littleplasticrat · 2 months

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I added this to a post going around about the joys of commenting on fanfic, but it always gets hidden behind the 'read more' button, so I thought I'd post it separately <3

Hey! I know that it's hard to leave comments on fanfics because you don't know what to say and don't want to be cringe! Here are some examples of different kinds of things you can write on fics that you have enjoyed so that you can feed the writers as they have fed you:

Before we start, you've gotta remember this: You've just read the work of someone who was so cringe about their blorbos that they wrote (probably) a minimum of 1000 words about kissing them or touching their feet or whatever. You're not going to out-cringe them by complimenting their efforts!

Keyboard smash or emoji spamming

Difficulty: easy

You might as well be doordashing a big bag of drug to the writer's house. This is also a good way to communicate if you have run out of spoons

"Thank you!"

Difficulty: easy

A simple thanks or 'thank you for ...' will certainly be appreciated and also doesn't require you to engage your brain if it's just been annihilated by some incredible smut

"I thought it was so [adjective] when [thing happened in the story]!"

Difficulty: medium

This gives the author a bit of an idea of what moments readers like you might have enjoyed specifically. It's also a nice way for you to relive your favourite bits!

"When [thing] happened, I [hyperbolically showed my enthusiasm]!"

Difficulty: medium

I think it's OK to get a little weird here, but don't write something you wouldn't say to your friends at a party.

"I love the way you X"

Difficulty: hard

Praise the author's writing skills a little bit. It's nice!

Other things to note

Genuine questions are good but bear in mind the author may not write you a detailed answer, especially if it might spoil later chapters

The comment section is not the place to share criticism with a stranger.

If you really like the writer, DM them. I'm such a little freak like that and I've met some really cool people that way (u know who you are)

#fanfic #bg3 fic #fic culture #authors and readers #lkjNIKJBHFIOUFOJK

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unamused-boss · 9 months

Text

Good energy

Okay. This is my first ever fic on here, so I do appreciate polite criticism pls! Plus I've read almost everything for every character I am unhealthy obsessed with... sooo here we go!

Billy Hargrove x Fem Reader

(Billy might be a bit OC in this)

Warnings: strong language, under age drinking

Summary: When Billy moved to Hawkins Indiana he expected rednecks, hicks, and cows. Which he did see and was very much disappointed with. But that was until he sees some color pop out of no where one night in Hawkins.

.......................................................................................................................

Billy was spending his time in Hawkins as patiently as he could, which was close to none. The people were bland, the school was bland, and the weed was bland. 'God I want out of here' was a common thought that crossed his mind through out his day. Between having to deal with his shit-bird of a step-sister Max and with the ass kissing wannabes that do nothing but stick to his ass. All Billy wanted to do was go back to California. The sunsets, the beaches, the waves, the girls, all of it he wanted it all back. The only slight enjoyment he got was when he took the title as 'King' from 'King Steve'.

Currently Billy is walking out to his camaro, wait on his bitch of a sister, drive as fast he can home, hopefully avoid everyone in his house, then go out and get drunk in someone else's backyard. But the universe had other ideas... those idea's being Tommy fucking Hagan. He saw him running up to him from a mile away.

"You gotta be shitting me." Billy muttered irritatedly leaning against his car. Billy to a long drag of his cigarette, hoping for some relief.

"Hey Billy!" Tommy slightly shouted, he seemed somewhat winded from his short run. " You got plans tonight?"

"No, what's it to you?" Billy replied, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"Well there is gonna be a party down by the quarry tonight." Tommy said with a grin on his face.

"Okay? So what's that gotta do with me?" He was getting irritated now. Not only was Max running late but Tommy was still here.

"Harrington's got some girl coming with him, probably his rebound from Princess Wheeler..." That perked Billy's interest, making Steve miserable is his favorite thing to do. "So, what do ya say Hargrove?"

Billy stood still for a minute. No expression on his face only throwing his cigarette on the ground and snubbing it out.

"Count me in... Can't wait to steal Harrington's new girl." Billy laughed as he moved to the driver's seat of his car.

'little shit can skate home' He thought as his car roared out of the parking lot.

On the other side of town at the Chadwick (that will be your last name... sorry not sorry) residence...

Steve was pacing a hole into the floor as his childhood best friend went through her clothes.

"Do you seriously want to go with me tonight? I mean you moved away when you were in sixth grade now you're back... and I mean NOTHING has changed!" Steve was stressing way to much about one party, that being your first party back in Hawkins.

"Steve I'll be fine, the energy that you are putting off right now is not good." You smiled to him. "Good energy will come to you if you let it, you love parties what's got you so worked up plus you've changed for the better."

"That right there! This hippie shit is what is wrong!"

"Steve. If you're gonna worry about me like some mom don't come with me then okay." You didn't want to hurt his feelings but you wanted to have fun. "I get they are all judgy and whatever other adjective you used on the car ride over here, but I don't care. I like who I've become, so "this hippie shit" is trying to decide on the flowing warm skirt or the flowing purple pants!"

"I just don't want you to get mixed into the wrong people." Steve retorted.

"And I won't. I get the you broke things off with all of your old friends and who ever this Billy guy is but you don't have to protect me." You reassured.

"Fine." Steve sighed. "And go with the skirt it will look better with the top."

You smiled to him. "Thank you Steve... now get out I gotta change."

Steve made his way to get out of your room for you to get ready. "Yeah Yeah whatever."

. . .

The time was currently 12:39 am. While the party in the quarry has been going on for quit some time now. Many of the familiar faces of the so called popular crowd made their way in, those faces being Tommy, Billy, Tina, Carol, and among a few others. Billy was buzzed. It may not be a back yard but at least he'd get drunk at the end of the night. Music was blasting from some dude's portable speakers. There was a bonfire lighting the night away. Everyone was either dancing or talking, a few were some were throwing up in the bush. Billy was about to down another drink when Tommy came hurdling right into his back.

"What the hell Hagan." Billy shouted not only for him to hear him but also out of anger.

"Harrington's here with his new girl." He laughed. "You gotta see her, Carol come over here!" Tommy ran and in quick follow so did Carol. Billy sauntered his way over, with what little drink he had left, to where the two love birds perched themselves. And that is when Billy Hargrove saw a burst of color. There she was. She didn't dress like anyone else in Hawkins (Think Stevie Nicks Style). 'She couldn't be from this shit hole. Her hair was frizzy and a but unruly. Her skin glowed with the warm light. The clothes held to each curve of her body but flowed so elegantly as she walked. Who is this babe, not chic she's to pretty to be called a chic, and why was she with Harrington.' All these thoughts pondered Billy's mind.

"Holy shit." Carol said. Tommy and Billy can bot clearly see the shock on her face.

"What?" Tommy questioned, "Do you know her?"

"That's Y/N Chadwick! She moved in the sixth grade!" Slapping Tommy's arm. He gave no response only to be in more shock than Carol.

"Ain't no way... she looks great." That comment got a direct and aggressive response from Tommy. To which he responded with a vocal "Ow!?".

With you and Steve, you guys were just strolling by the bonfire. A cup of jungle juice in your hand with Steve was cupless due to being the driver of the night.

"So first party back in Hawkins, how does it feel?" Steve asked.

"Pretty far out, kinda better than any party from the city." You answered joyfully. To be honest you were happy to be back in Hawkins. City life was fun but it was getting to be to much for you.

"STevE!" An uneven voice yelled out across the rocky yard from us. You saw a girl with bangs and a bob cut calling over to Steve. Clearly she has had her fair share of alcohol.

"Hey Robin!" Steve responded. " You don't mind if I go talk to her do you?"

"No, go have fun!" You cheered. " Go flow, relax!"

"Good energy." Steve gritted through his teeth with a smile as he made his way over to this Robin girl. While you stayed right by the fire with your drink.

Billy saw his opportunity, you were alone and he could talk to you with Steve out of the way. Billy made his way over to you by the bonfire. You look to the guy that has just appeared beside you in the moment.

"Hey." He said it very smoothly.

"Hello." You respond with a sweet smile. Billy could just stare at you smiling. 'Come on man... you just met her get it together.' Billy thought.

"I've never seen you around before, I'm Billy." As Billy introduced himself, he took a step forward to close some space between the both of you. You ,however, stayed where you stood just smiling to the guy Steve was telling you about.

"So you're Billy." You grinned to him. 'God why do the jerks have to be so pretty'. "Steve mentioned you a few times but he didn't tell me how handsome you were."

"Well at least you get the in person experience." Billy answered, " So from what I've heard you have returned to Hawkins."

"Yes I have, what's it to you?" You questioned with a grin.

"Well sweetheart I wanna get to know you, I get you moved back but I am no longer the new kid on the block."

"Well what do you wanna know?" He is trying to be sly. You wanna see were this plays into. His eyes glance behind you.

"If you're gonna ask me if I'm dating Steve you would be wrong." You stated. "He was my best friend as a kid that I kept in contact with, plus he has a lot of stressed energy."

"So you're a hippie girl?" Billy said it as if he was fascinated by you. " Could you tell me what my energy is?"

"You're very hostile." You answered. "You are very tense, you have not relaxed since you have started talking with me. If this is some front you're putting on... I don't dig it." Billy was stunned.

"I'm not putting up any front." He retorted.

"Billy you seem like you have a lot of inner conflict with yourself, and don't try to say other wise." You said. "I already know about the stuff you've done around here and to Steve."

"What?" Billy is confused. "I thought you were into me but now you're giving me this psychoanalysis shit." Billy was clearly getting frustrated with you. So much so it was able to catch Steve's attention.

"Listen, I get some of the stuff I say is weird but I'm not wrong and you know it..." You said. "And I am into you but not if this front you're putting is what I'm getting."

Billy could not believe it. He was getting rejected, rejected by a beautiful girl. ' What the hell'...

"Billy." She cuts him out of his thoughts. "I would love you get to know you if you let me." She stepped closer this time, gently placing her fingers into his. She looked to him, he wants to answer but words aren't coming out of his mouth. 'Say something stupid... anything.'

"How about next Saturday, at 6... good for you?" He said this more gently this time. His frustration and building agitation was gone now.

"I would like that Billy." You answered with a smile, a smile that caused Billy to return. It was like a moment was set in place for you both. Billy could no longer hear the laughing or music, all he was looking at was you. There was something different about you, in a good way. Billy wants to know what that is. Your somewhat romantic moment was busted when a certain head of hair popped up next to you.

"Do we have a problem, Hargrove?" Steve asked. Not only did he get too distracted that Billy walked up to you but he seemed to have been in a sort of deep conversation with you. If you can call it that.

"No. No Harrington we're all good here, right sweetheart." Billy answered, he grinned.

"Yeah, we're fine Steve... I'll see you later Billy." You walked away with Steve. Well more like Steve dragging you to his car to leave after the interaction. You gave a small wave to Billy as you were dragged away.

"What was that all about?" Tommy asked drunk and confused.

"I think I got a date." Billy answered still looking off to were you left. In that moment Billy Hargrove had a thought he never thought he would have... 'I hope this works out.'

When you and Steve reached his car, he instantly went to mom mode.

"What was that about!" Steve shouted, frazzled at the look and thought of the two of you interacting.

"I think I have a date." You giggled. Steve paused...

"WhAT!"

............................................................................................................................

Okay so I'm gonna end it right there. Please tell me what you think, I would love to hear feed back. As well as what to do to improve myself.

Thank you so much for reading!

#billy hargrove x fem reader #fem reader #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove #stranger things #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #dustin henderson #eleven hopper #demogorgon #vecna stranger things #x female reader #hippie #80's

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wild-karrde · 2 months

Text

I'm gonna say something, and it's not targeted at any one user in particular because I've seen this ramping up A LOT across the fandom, especially with the premiere coming this week.

People are allowed to have different expectations/hopes/opinions than you, and that's not a personal attack on anyone. They are allowed to do that.

You can hope a character comes back from the dead. In a franchise that has practically written the joke that only Qui-Gon Jinn can't survive a lightsaber to the chest, I think it's more than fair to hope Tech re-emerges (I have my own EXCEPTIONALLY dark theories on how that may go, but we'll see). It's also ok for you to want him to stay dead. You are completely allowed to think that his arc hard run its course and his death served a purpose.

You can like the clones' physique as it's portrayed. You can prefer them thicker. And having one of these opinions is not an attack on the other.

You can want a happy ending for the Bad Batch and can be sad if it doesn't happen. That's allowed. You can also expect them to all die and to have our souls crushed. And wanting one of those doesn't make you "naive" or "too dark" or whatever adjective for not expecting the other.

I could go on and on with examples, but all to say there's this weird passive aggressive atmosphere going on right now where people post one thing, and others in the same circles/community feel the need to post the exact opposite like it's some kind of weird debate. There's posts circulating that feel borderline shaming for people that have particular hopes for the season. This is Tumblr. People just post stuff that makes them happy. Posting something you enjoy or have a theory about on a show isn't an attack on someone else or their opinions. And if you don't like someone's opinions THAT MUCH, then just unfollow them. It's really that simple. I've done it without saying a word to the person I disagreed with.

It's just really strange to me that a community that thrives off of theories and possibilities and different character interpretations and twisting threads of canon into complex stories based on a single line of dialogue or passing glance would be getting chippy with one another for having the same types of theories and hopes for undetermined canon. This is media we all love, so can we please let each other have our individual thoughts and opinions about it? I have had PLENTY of differing opinions with my friends on here about things I did/didn't like in a show. They're still my friends though.

In addition, can we all remember that just because something doesn't turn out the way you wanted, that doesn't mean it's bad; sometimes, sure, it's bad, but what I've found is that most likely means it just wasn't for you. And that's fine. Not everything can/should be for you. So go write a fic about it. Seriously. We all live for AUs. Go do it.

Let's all just be kind to one another, yeah? Because lately it feels like we're stepping on one another's excitement, and I'm not here for that.

#maybe we all just chill #because the last few weeks have been a lot #and every time I log on here I find I'm getting annoyed #let people have their feelings and hopes and theories #it costs you nothing #and impacts you in no way #and that's why we're all here anyway right?#so just be nice #don't be a wombat

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moanz111 · 11 months

Text

✩°⋆｡ system error ⋆｡°✩ - 3

chapter 3 ✧ lost in the lights - written

< previous ✧ m.list ✧ next >

synopsis ✧ you've always dreamt of having your fantasy-like love story. naturally, hearing the sweet melodic ring of your love alarm was what you wanted the most, right? until it actually happened. four times.

pairing ✧ uni student! choi san x fem! uni student! reader

wc ✧ 2.3 k

warnings ✧ party, mentions of getting drunk/alcohol/throwing up, slight angst, there might be mistakes (tell me if i've missed something ♡)

mood songs ✧

You feel awkward.

Sitting in the backseat of your car and listening to the late-night university radio show, you wait for your dear friend Jeongin to come out of the luxurious house in front of you. As you check your watch, you realise it’s been 48 minutes since you arrived, and you are already running out of patience.

Jeongin drunk called you in a panic while you were sleeping and you had no other choice except to pick him up from Changbin’s party. Of course, you were invited by its host a few days ago - his parties were not ones to be missed, and mysteriously enough, he really wanted you to be there. However, you weren’t so sure you did. There was always a lot of alcohol and trouble involved, and you weren’t in the mood for drunken mistakes.

Also, you knew that Choi San was probably going to be there.

Maybe I should’ve gone.

The late-night spring breeze, softly caressing your face through the rolled-down windows fills your heart with melancholy and you let out a deep sigh. You open yet another jelly package - your 5th for the night. It makes you feel better, or at least you think so.

You see couples - all smiles and giggles, leave Changbin’s place, holding hands and ready to continue the night in someone’s dorm. You can’t help but feel a little jealous. There are also a few wasted students, barely able to walk, emerging from his front door and still singing whatever song was playing inside. And no sight of your friend.

A small voice in your head whispers to let loose for once and go inside, but you silence it. You just have to pick up Jeongin, drive him to his dorm, and go home to watch Spirited Away for the 20th time, crying in your bed for being so single.

Pathetic. Yes, that is a better adjective to describe your feelings.

“So don’t get discouraged, my friends. It’s perfectly fine to stay single during your university years,” you hear the radio host say with a laugh. Perfect timing. “One-night stands are always an option if you’re not ready to tie the knot!”

“Oh, come on,” with a groan, you reach out to the front of the car to turn the volume down. You don’t want to listen to a random guy indirectly making fun of your love life. The bitterness doesn’t leave you, though.

You’ve had your fair share of first dates but that was all it was - there was never a follow-up date or a shy goodbye kiss at your dorm’s door, promising more. So all you can do is dream and hope for your turn to experience love to come sooner or later.

Relationships are difficult. That’s what you know for sure, especially when you rely on a so-called love alarm. No one exactly knew where it came from or who made it, but everyone around you trusted its judgment. It seemed to be “attached” in a way to every person and watch their every move. Fate sure had its strange ways.

Walking on eggshells around every guy you met, you used to dread the day your alarm will go off. Everyone said it’s a sign you’ve found your soulmate, and you should be on cloud nine if you happened to hear it.

You heard it once.

And weren’t so happy about it.

You chase your thoughts away and take out your phone from the handbag next to you. Now isn’t the time to feel sorry for yourself.

Tonight couldn’t have gotten any better than this.

Reluctantly, you step out of your car and start walking towards the entrance of the house. You can’t possibly leave Jeongin here even though you prefer to stay in your car, eating your favourite gummy bears.

The first thing you notice once inside is the smoke. It makes you cough so you put your hand in front of your nose to shield yourself from it. You start making your way through the dancing students, crowding the rooms on the first floor, trying to find your friend, but in front of you is an endless ocean of unfamiliar faces. The deafening music makes you want to forget why you’re here and join the others, but all you do is hum to the beat as you walk around.

As you reach the kitchen area, you trip on an empty whiskey bottle and almost lose your balance before someone grabs your hands to keep you in place. Looking up, you see a tall guy gazing down at you. It’s too dark to see clearly, but you’re pretty sure that’s Yeonjun - Beomgyu and Kai’s roommate. The neon lights - purple, green, and blue, coming from small projectors placed around the room, slightly illuminate his features and you see the pleasant surprise in his blurry eyes.

Yeonjun’s dressed in a casual black t-shirt and stylish pants of the same colour - simple but effective. He has never needed much to stand out anyway. You feel your heartbeat accelerating, making your ears ring. You used to have the biggest hallway crush on him a couple of months ago before you actually spoke to him and realised you had close to absolutely no chance with him.

That was fine. You got over it pretty quickly. However, there was no place to deny Yeonjun was and still is way too attractive, even though his reputation could be problematic at times. At least that’s what the hushed voices in the girl’s dorms said.

“Easy there, Y/n,” he leans in to shout in your left ear as he eases his grip on your hands. His drunken grin makes you laugh. “Didn’t see you earlier.”

“I just came,” you explain, your eyes wandering behind Yeonjun. No sight of Jeongin. “Have you seen Felix?”

“Darling, I don’t even know if I’m dreaming or fully awake right now,” his right hand slides around your shoulders as he moves to stand beside you. You feel his hot breath tickle your neck before he places a soft kiss behind your ear. He has never been so close to you before, except for the occasional greeting hugs he gave you when you saw him at your friends’ dorm. “But I know I want to get out of here with you.”

What?

“You’re too drunk to have this conversation, Yeonjun,” you say and push him away a little. There’s no way you’re dealing with another highly intoxicated individual tonight even though a small part of you wants to. His eyes are filled with disappointment, and there’s a slight pout on his lips as you turn to properly look at him. “See you around.”

“Call me!” You hear his shout as you leave the room and go for the second floor. Here, it’s calmer, and the corridor is empty except for you and two guys sitting on the cold marble floor making out. Judging by the layout, there should be only bedrooms, so you excuse yourself as you jump over their legs, careful not to disrupt them.

After opening most doors and witnessing some quite traumatising things behind them, you finally find your friend in one of the bathrooms. The room is small - there’s just a sink and a toilet, so Jeongin is taking up most of the space, curled up on the tiles with his head on what looks like a folded hoodie with a few questionable dark spots on it. You almost take out your phone to snap a picture and laugh at it in the morning. Too much hanging out with Beomgyu.

His eyes are closed, and his breathing - heavy as you kneel next to him and shake his arm. “Jeongin, you have to get up.”

Your friend’s face twists in disgust, and his body suddenly tenses. “I’m going to throw up.”

“Hold it,” you say, backing away from him and getting up. You turn on the sink and splash him with cold water, to which he protests. “I’ll drive you home. Come on.”

“Man, I can’t. Lift me,” Jeongin’s whine makes your eyes roll, and just as you’re about to answer him, the door opens with a loud creak.

“Jeong, I found-,” the raspy male voice you hear behind you gives you goosebumps. Now that was unexpected.

Turning back, you can’t help but feel excited. You wonder what kind of look you’ll see on its owner’s face, and when you’re met with his icy dark eyes, piercing through yours, you smile to yourself. So the usual.

At this point, there are no surprises between you two. Whenever and wherever you saw him - it was the same. At first, you were offended by his cold and distant attitude, his sharp look, and his pursed lips, but now they don’t bother you as much. Or at least you thought so.

Choi San hadn’t always been like that when it came to you, though. When you first met him six months ago at the freshman welcoming party, you found yourself smiling way too widely after your conversation with him. Honestly, your memories from that night were a blur, but you did remember some things.

Maybe you took a few shots together.

Maybe you danced a little too provocatively with him.

And maybe you even almost kissed him.

However, all that was shattered into million pieces after he just…changed. After the party you started hanging out together - your newly found friends were his too, so it wasn’t a rare occurrence for you to go on a spontaneous trip out of campus for the weekend or have an unproductive study session together. Things like that, though, don’t last long.

Suddenly, his boyish smile and charming dimples were never for you.

Neither were his jokes and compliments meant for you to hear.

You weren’t sure what about you made him switch up so drastically in the following months and neither did any of your friends know. He didn’t seem to care to explain too.

Sometimes you miss his other side - the one he shows everyone else (and the one you used to know so well), and secretly you want to see it again, but you aren’t delusional. There is not a single universe where this is possible. You don’t believe in this anymore. Still, a small part of you wonders why.

Even though your heart still sometimes flutters at the sight of him, you find it easier to give him the same attitude back instead of asking questions. Your relationship is confusing enough as it is. No need to complicate things further. You can live with the “I hate your guts” dynamic.

So now, knowing it pisses him off, you flash him an ironic smile, “Hello to you too.”

“What are you doing here?” San’s voice echoes in the space between you as he closes the door. The slight blush on his cheeks from the alcohol, the black t-shirt, tight around his toned body and his disheveled hair make you stare more than the appropriate amount. Mentally scolding yourself, you notice the water bottle in his right hand and point at it.

“You might want to spill it on his face. He’s not getting up,” you joke and step aside so that San can squat beside Jeongin. The woody smell of his perfume fills your senses as he passes you, making you dizzy.

“Yeah, he’s wasted. I’ll take him home,” San says in a matter-of-fact tone and pats your friend on the cheeks. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” anger is building up in your whole being, making your blood boil a little from his demanding voice. “And I am taking him home. You’ve drunk.”

“That’s why I’ll call an uber and-”

“Can you shut up? I’m really going to throw up,” Jeongin interrupts you two as he tries to lift his head before San can say anything else. His teary red eyes meet yours before he looks around, confused, “Where’s Felix?”

“He wasn’t here when I came in,” both you and San say simultaneously, frowning at each other. You pull your phone from your back pocket to try texting Felix, but as usual, luck is on your side - your battery is dead.

“Whatever, just get me out of here before I completely lose my mind,” groans Jeongin, and you quickly help him stand up - his arms around yours and San’s shoulders. As much as you are annoyed with San’s presence, you’re grateful Jeongin had someone to look out for him while you weren’t there.

On your way out, you see some of San’s other friends wave at him from the now quieter living room downstairs. You only recognise Wooyoung, laying next to two other guys with his eyes closed on the fluffy white carpet amongst empty bottles, and Seonghwa, smiling warmly at you from the couch. “Are you guys leaving?”

“I’m helping her with Jeong,” shouts San, sounding irritated —a win for you. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Seonghwa nods and turns to look at you, “Have a safe trip to the dorms, Y/n. See you tomorrow.”

Avoiding his eyes, you feel a little flustered by his words and his deep voice but manage to find the strength to wish him a good night. While you’re walking to your car, San lets out a low laugh, and you give him a warning look.

“You’re as red as a tomato, Y/n,” he says, amused. “You should’ve heard yourself.”

“For someone so skilled at ignoring me, you surely pay a lot of attention,” you tease him as you unlock your car and open the back door. You only hear San huff in response after he lays Jeongin down on the seat and then turns to face you. What you see in his eyes this time is unreadable, and you aren’t so certain what to make out of it. Was it hurt? Jealousy? You shake your head - no point in trying to figure him out.

“Be careful, Y/n.”

These are his only words before San hands you the water bottle he was carrying and turns around, leaving you alone and baffled. You sigh as you look up at the night sky.

For some reason, tonight the stars are shining brighter than before.

note ✧ it's my first time making a written chapter and i hope you enjoyed it! writing it wasn't easy haha feedback is greatly appreciated and it really makes my day so please lmk what you think of the story so far! ♡

#✩°⋆｡ system error smau #ateez smau #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fake texts #ateez fanfic #choi san smau #san x reader #ateez social media au #ateez fic #ateez x you #san x you #kpop smau #Spotify

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oddballwriter · 2 months

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Stranger Than Fiction

Summary: Marc moves into a cabin in the woods to escape the risks of being found out as a werewolf but as he lives amongst nature and hears a few tales, he finds that he's not the only living piece of folklore around the forest.

Warnings: Werewolf nonsense. Mentions of forest spirits and fae. The reader is a forest spirit/fae type being in the forest. The reader is referred to using she and her and with fem-associated adjectives. Marc is kind of emo in the beginning but honestly, he's always been like that, like that's just how he is. Only Marc is here and there is no mention or implication of Steven or Jake.

Author’s Snip: I wrote this in one sitting late at night so if any of the grammar or sentences are weird then I'm sorry and also blame my grammar-checking software for not getting it.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 1,691

Living in the middle of nowhere woods seems like it would be a given for a man inflicted with being a werewolf to live, but this would be the first time Marc has actually taken on that life. Regardless of the fact that he's from the city of Chicago, the exact opposite of a vast untouched green of nature. In the end, it was for the best, for everyone. He wouldn't run the risk of getting hunted down for what he is, and no one would panic over a wolf creature running loose in the city.

Marc wanted to fade away into the forest and live alone where the forest could hide him both when in and out of his monstrous state. He had found and bought a cabin property deep in the forests of southern Illinois, a very different place than he's used to, but he can adapt. He always has.

When he made it all the way there he got a good in-person look at it. It was nice. Homey. It would do well and he could see a comfortable living in it. It's far from the nearest official town but that's how he wanted it. It's far enough away that no one will bother him or catch the sight of him on a full moon. Even with the nearest cabin considered it was a good enough distance. It was perfect. He could hide here.

Marc did have to meet his 'neighbor', so to speak. He was the man who lived in the cabin nearest to him, as mentioned before. He came saying that he was aware that someone new had come along and wanted to give him a warm welcome. Although Marc wasn't much of a social person he decided to humor the man since he had driven the whole way here and came bearing gifts. Those gifts were food from his personal garden saying "I know there's a market in town but nothing beats the ones you grow in unaltered nature. They're pure and clean, nothing added but what the dirt's already got in it.". Some hippie-ish stuff about Mother Earth and all that. Marc could tell that this man was one of those old men who was tired of the world and wanted to live off the land. Power to him, but Marc couldn't shake off the feeling of being preached at.

Eventually, the man wrapped up his speech, or so Marc thought. Apparently, the pause that Marc took as a wrap was actually the man rerouting his topic. "You ever hear the legends, son?" the man asks. Marc scrunches his face in confusion, "The what?" he asks.

"You know, the legends! About the things that exist here in woods like this." the man exclaims as if Marc was kidding around with him, "The fae folk, the forest spirits, nymphs, what have you." he lists off. Marc shakes his head, "I'm not really a folklore and mythos kind of person." Marc says half-heartedly with a shrug. "Oh, they aren't just stories. I've met a few people who claim to have seen a thing or two here." the man smiles.

Marc crosses his arms unsure of where this guy is going with this. "I'm guessing you're going to tell me about some local cryptid?" Marc asks. "Oh, she's no cryptid, son. She's real. And she's everywhere." the man laughs in a way that is meant to be lighthearted but seems slightly ominous with the words he's said. "And... who is she?" Marc questions. The man clears his throat from his laugh and spins this small tale, "She's believed to be some kind of forest spirit who lives and watches over this part of the forest here. Wandering around making sure no one takes more than they need and occasionally watching those who are here from a distance to see what you're up to." the man explains.

"Some say they see her and that she's as beautiful as the land itself and changes with it in the seasons but she's a hard chase of you try to catch her, running as fast as a quick breeze and disappearing into the trees and the sound of the leaves rustling. but those who try to chase her say that you can hear her giggle in the rustling like it's a game of tag. If you stay on her good side then she has the breeze carry the scent of the forest for you to enjoy and has wild flowers grow around your cabin or helps grow any plants you might have." the man says further.

Again, just some hippie-spiritual-mythos junk, but that story sounds amusing at least. "And what if I make her mad?" Marc asks and that man begins again.

"Oh, well if you get her mad then she has all the trees pent you with their seed pods and nuts or she gets the animals involved. She sends them down to either dig up your property or scare the hell out of you in the middle of the night. Let me tell you something, son. Stags and deer are pretty in the day, but at night when it's just them and their bright unmoving stares in the middle of the darkness it's the thing of nightmares. And if she's real mad by hurting nature then she lets it take a bite right back at you, and Mother Nature is a fearsome thing when scorned." the man tells Marc, with occasional add-ins.

Marc scoffs at the stories and nods along. "You laugh but I swear to it. She's here and she keeps to her deeds. I got greedy last hunting season and shot an extra rabbit. Soon after that, a whole hoard of the little bastards came and ate up all my home-grown food and the squirrels were throwing the scraps in their burrows at me from the trees." he swears. "I still get pelted with one every now and then and at this point I think she's just trying to be funny." he adds.

After some more back and forth, the man leaves to let Marc have his first night in peace as the sun sets and baths the forest in a golden glow. Marc takes the luxury of not having it be a full moon any time soon and watches as the light goes from gold to a soft deep blue and purple and then the black of the night. He can hear the distant sounds of crickets talking in their chirps. As Marc settles into bed and lies in the quiet he finds himself thinking about the story that the man told him. He still feels disbelief in the tale but there's a part of him that doesn't want to be too skeptical. He is a werewolf who came to hide in the forest after all.

After a brief amount of time living in the cabin and counting down the days till his next turn with the full moon, Marc finds himself simply existing in the area around his new home. The trees are still lush with green leaves that shield away the sun but still allow it to be bright enough. He's been using his time outside of going into town to get supplies for the cabin occasionally picking up litter and trash and getting rid of all the dead leaves that have gathered while the cabin has been unoccupied.

He jokes to himself, calling out "I'm cleaning your forest. I hope that's okay with you." to the air as if the tales are true and you truly are watching him. However, he does notice that in the passing days, the patches of dirt around his cabin are being taken by green grass and some wildflowers are starting to bud from miscellaneous spots, and sometimes he smells the scent of the trees as the wind blows by occasionally but he just deems it a coincidence each time.

The first time he had a sign that he was wrong in his dismissal came soon after though on the night first turn here and the morning after. It happened like any other full moon. He painfully turns, runs and wanders the area, all of which is in a blur that feels like watching a slide show of photos taken and various moments. It all happens as it normally does but as he wakes he sees glimpses in his memories of a figure who is illuminated by the moonlight just away from sight but as he looks at them in his memories he feels no sense of danger. Instead just watches from afar as he moves along.

But when Marc truly wakes up, his body aching, and the morning sun burning his sore eyes he finds something strange. He's lying with a ring of flowers around him and some on him. He sits up in shock despite his muscles still recovering after the stress of changing twice in the span of the night. He catches some of the flowers as they roll off seeing that they are picked wildflowers and dandelions, and so are the ones around him.

Marc is reasonably confused and fearful. Did someone find him? Did they see everything? Why did they pick flowers and put them around him? Where the hell are they now? The flowers are still fresh and haven't started sagging yet. All these questions ran through his mind. But just as he's about to call out, he feels a soft breeze pass him and the smell of the forest come to his nose.

Marc looks around and his eyes fall on you a bit away blending in with the colors and hues of the trees and foliage, almost in beautiful camouflage with the surroundings. Marc calls out to you and stammers to get up, but his legs give and he falls back down. He looks back up but you're gone just like that.

Marc is at a loss for words but settles on a confused but still appreciative "Thank you." for the seemingly kind gesture of covering him in flowers, whatever that means, feeling that you're still around to hear it.

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

#moon knight #moonknight #moon knight x reader #moonknight x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #werewolf!moonboys #werewolf #werewolf au #werewolf!marc spector #fae!reader

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i-translated · 5 months

Text

I want to talk about syllable count in English vs Russian, and I'm going to use "Surface Pressure" as an example because of how fucking horrendous the official Russian translation is, let's go.

So English is a relatively simple language, and a lot of its simplicity is owed to how little various grammarical structures affect the modifications of words.

English nouns aren't gendered and only ever go through a transformation when you add a plural. Car - cars, city - cities, etc. Note that an -s at the end is itself a consonant, and in most cases does not influence the syllable count of the word.

English adjectives don't even have plurals. A fast car - two fast cars. The only modifications occur in comparatives (a fast car - a faster car -the fastest car) or in derrived adverbs (a quick move - to move quickly). All of these add only one syllable most of the time.

Verbs go through the most transformations. I move - I moved - I'm moving, etc. You can pair then with auxilary verbs (I have moved), though again in many cases it doesn't influence the syllable count (I move - 2 syllables, I've moved - still 2 syllables, only a bit more of a mouthful).

Now, there are obviously more complex structures out there, this is just a short sample for comparison. Now let's look at what's going on in Russian.

Nouns in plural typically gain at least one additional syllable. Conpare: cat - cats vs кот - коты. An ы is a vowel. A bitch to rhyme, too.

Nouns have cases. For instance: (this is a) house - дом, 1 syllable; (in the) house - (в) доме, 2 syllables.

Adjectives also have cases, and they match the nouns that they are describing. See: (this is a) big house - большой дом, 3 syllables; (no) big house - (нет) большого дома, 5 syllables.

If you have more than one adjective in a row, all of them have to natch the case of the noun they're describing. See: big pretty house - большой красивый дом, 6 syllables; (no) big pretty house - (нет) большого красивого дома, 9 syllables.

Verbs are even worse. There's no gerund, so every instance of it in English is a separate sentence. For instance: I saw him running - Я видел, как он бежал (lit. I saw how he ran). It's almost always at least two additional syllables, if not more.

Present participles get even longer. I need a separate bullet list just to demonstrate. Compare:

I run (2 syllables) - я бегу (3)

Running (2) - бегущий (3)

Running by (3) - пробегающий (5)

(A girl) running by (3) - пробегающая (6)

(To the boy) running by (3) - пробегающему (6)

And these are just the simplest examples. There are English infinitives that turn into whole Russian clauses (I want you to go - я хочу, чтобы ты ушёл). There are simple, everyday use words that are just longer on average, like:

If (1) - если (2)

When (1) - когда (2)

Which (1) - который (3)

This (1) - это (2)

Why (1) - почему (3)

Because (2) or 'cause (1) - потому что (4)

I could go on. Then there's also the fact that Russian is very phonetically consistent, meaning there's little to no phonetic reduction. You can't y'all'd've your way our of a long ass sentence. You have to work with it.

So here's what you end up with.

On one hand there are Russian-to-English translations that are short on syllables and you have to pull them out if your ass to fill up those bars. Not saying there isn't an occasional tight squeeze - Russian too can be concise and punchy in a non-verbose way - but to me the space within the lines seldom feels too cramped. You may phrase something in an unnecessarily complicated way or add a word that wasn't in the original, but as long as you stay humble and remember your role as a translator, you can do the original justice with minimal errors.

On the other hand you have English-to-Russian translations that always - and I do mean always - have too many fucking syllables. This is arguably much worse. One's ass may very well be a bottomless pit to pull words from, but you can't stuff them back in. Those syllables aren't going anywhere. You have a sentence on your hand and you can't cut any of that sentence without losing a part of its meaning.

If you've been following the logic so far, you're probably asking yourself: so what the fuck am I supposed to do with all those leftover syllables? That's a very good question! I ask it every day. It's agony.

Here are a few methods I've learned to utilize.

Sentence-slicing. Sometimes you can't match the lines exactly, so you step on the next oine until you get obe with some breathing room and "catch up". You can't do this too often or for too many lines in a row because the translation starts to "fall behind", but there are times when you can get away with it.

Wordplay! It's pretty hard to pull off in Russian but you totally can, and it feels amazing when you pull it off. Why use two words when you can use one with a double-meaning?

Use thesaurus. And if that don't work? Use more thesaurus.

Sometimes things will get cut. You must accept it. Not every metaphor can be translated. Not every rhyme can be preserved. Some words will have to be changed. This is very important to understand. A good translator must take responsibility for every meaning they twist. They must analyze the material on more levels than just literal and linguistic in order to accurately transfer it into another language with minimal, acceptable losses. I cannot stress enough how hard and how important this is.

Now, let's talk about "Surface Pressure".

The original lyrics were written by Lin-Manuel Miranda, and I don't fucking care what anyone says, this man got bars. It's kind of a trend to poke fun at Hamilton, but In the Heights won a ton of awards, and nobody fucking says the songs in Moana were bad, do they? Point is, I like his lyrics. They're extremely good. Great job, Mr. Miranda.

The Russian translation I'm going to be tearing to shreds today was, from what I could find with tough fucking luck, made by Disney Character Voices International, Inc.. This is only to say a studio approved it. I'm not harping on, like, one little guy. There were corporate decisions made there.

I'm also gonna compare it to my own translation because I just think that it's better. It's not perfect by any means, but then the bar is already pretty damn low.

With all that out if the way, lets read some lines! Out of order because this is my post and I can do what I want. Exhibit A.

"It's pressure like a drip, drip, drip that'll never stop // Pressure that'll tip, tip, tip 'til you just go pop" is a line from the chorus that gets repeated a few times. I likeit because it's cute, evocative, and alliterative - it creates a particular "beat" sound by using frequent consonant repetitions "drip-drip-drip" and "tip-tip-tip".

The original translation gives us: "Давит тебя вниз-вниз-вниз и всё ближе дно, Давит тебя вниз-вниз-вниз, выплыть не дано" - lit. "Pushes you down-down-down and the bottom gets closer // Pushes you down-down-down, it's impossible to surface". It's not the worst offender but the alliteration is gone to fuck, now it's "down-down-down" in both lines and sounds pretty repetitive.

I did it like: "Давление по кап-кап-капле прижало грудь // Тянет тебя вниз, вниз, вниз, не даёт вздохнуть" - lit. "Pressure by drip-drip-drip(drops) pressed your chest // Drags you down-down-down, doesn't let you take a breath". The first line is actually a wordplay, "кап-кап-кап" (kap-kap-kap) is the sound water droplets make, and "давление по капле" or "pressure by drops" is a lowkey classic metaphor for continuous strain on one's nerves. The line also isn't tautologic because it uses two different words for pressure.

I wanted to keep more of the origial meaning but "pop" did not translate. Couldn't imagine what one would say instead. Хоба? That's so rustic.

If you're thinking "it's not too bad" then we'll get there when we get there. Exhibit B.

"Diamonds and platinum, I find 'em, I flatten 'em // I take what I'm handed, I break what's demanded, but-" is one of my favorite lines in the goddamn song. Notice how the first line has a quadruple rhyme? So fucking crisp and juicy. Fuck yeah!

The original translation gives us: "Тверже бриллианта, сильнее Атланта // Я всем помогаю, я строю-ломаю, но-" - lit. "Harder than diamond, stronger than an Atlas // I help everyone, I build and break, but-" and y'all this is so cringe. What's up with "I help everyone"? It's so childish, it doesn't fit the tone of the song at all. All the rhymes in the second line are verb rhymes which is the laziest, most childish, most unoriginal type of rhyme in the entire goddamn language. Seriously. Silver Age poets are turning in their coffins right now. Good fucking heavens "Строю-ломаю" what a Care Bears ass phrasing. Also, Atlas? Really? Go off ig but I think that's just cause they couldn't find another rhyme for diamond and didn't even try for platinum.

I did it like: "Бриллианты и платина - вызов под стать, а мне // Брать что дают и ломать что некстати, но-" - lit. "Diamonds and platinum are a challenge to match (me), I have to // Take what I'm given and break what's not right (what's amiss, what's unneeded, neither here nor there)". So the quadruple rhyme still couldn't be preserved (sorry Mr. Miranda) but I did manage to rhyme platinum, and I kept the "I take what I'm handed" line in a way, which I feel is very important? Like, in the context of the song? It refers to her literally carrying physical items as a part of her work and to her metaphotically "taking" shit from her family that was pressuring her, and it reads both ways in translation too, it's kind of like "be content with what you're given", it's very in-character, I feel like. I did lose rhymes though. Can't be helped, I suppose.

"It's still pretty okay-" EXHIBIT C:

"Pressure like a grip, grip, grip, and it won't let go // Pressure like a tick, tick, tick 'til it's ready to blow" - another line from the chorus, very good alliteration still, very steady rhythm, very evocative, I kiss this song on the mouth if you even care.

The original translation throws at our face: "Давит тебя вниз-вниз-вниз, это нелегко // Давит это, тик-тик-тик, взрыв уже недалеко" - lit. "Pushes you down-down-down, it's not easy // Pushes means tick-tick-tick, the explosion is already near". I fucking hate "it's not easy" for how stupidly blunt it is, I hate that "tick-tick-tick" no longer has as strong of a metaphorical connection, I hate that they repeat "down-down-down" for the third goddamn time, but y'know what? I could forgive all that if they haven't broken the rhythm. Allow me to illustrate.

Slashes are stressed, Us are unstressed, the dash is a skipped beat.

Do you see the extra syllable? Do you see it? I see it. I lose my sleep because of it. This isn't, like, a classic translation liberty. This is legit a mistake. They just said Fuck It, Who Give A Shit. Well, I does. I gives a shit

I did the line like: "Давление как взять-взять-взять и держать в тисках // Давит будто тик-тик-тикает и бабах!" - lit. "Pressure like to grab-grab-grab and hold you in a clamp (a vise? what's it called, the scary construction tool) // Pushes as if tick-tick-ticks and kaboom!" So... Ticking is a verb now! And a bit of a wordplay, too. My line is actually one unstressed syllable short but it doesn't break the rhythm because you can, y'know, stretch the previous syllable. Cause it's a song. And you do that in songs. Also the next beat is the one you skip anyway. God, I sound so arrogant but this is just so much better.

So I actually didn't check the official translation at all when I made mine, but there's a part we did very similarly but the official one is just... Clearly worse? Okay, hear me out. Exhibit D.

"Who am I if I can't carry it all? If I falter..."

The original translation presents: "Кто я, если всё не потяну? И вдруг дрогну..." - lit. "Who am I if I can't carry everything? And suddently falter..."

My version is: "Кто я, если всё не потяну? Если дрогну..." - lit. "Who am I if I can't carry everything? If (I) falter..."

Pretty straight-forward but I'll explain. My issue is with the "If I falter" part.

So. Mine is pretty word-for-word, the official one adds a "suddenly" in there. Why, I don't fucking know, but it's not thematically terrible abd doesn't step on the meaning of the line, so whatever. But.

But! I know y'all can't read cyrillics so let me translit that real quick.

First, my version: Если дрогну - Yésli drógnu

Now the other one: И вдруг дрогну - I vdrúg drógnu

This isn't, like, critical, but if you look at the consonants on the second one, it's just VDRGDRG

I mean, fucking hell, right? I'm a native speaker and it's hard for me to say out loud. Why did they feel like it needed to be there? Why did they not just translate literally this one time where a word-for-word translation would fit perfectly? Who thought this soft gentle fade-out part needed to sound like a steel bolt in a cheese grater? Top fifteen questions that keep me up at night.

We're getting to the really bad ones.

So, the verse repeats the phrase "under the surface" a few times and rhymes on it. Like, a lot. It's very impressive and I love it.

Me, I'm a madman who loves pain and suffering, so I translated it as "сказать открыто" lit. "to tell openly" and then stayed up all night rhyming on Ы.

The official translation, however, hates to use its brain, so it went with "на самом деле" lit. "actually" and then rhymed with fucking. Nouns in the same case. Like some type of kindergarten.

I'm gonna list a bunch of lines that use this bit so I wanted to get that out of the way. Now, exhibit E.

"Under the surface, was Hercules ever like 'Yo, I don't wanna fight Cerberus'?" is a line I like for it's rhyme and dislike for something else I'll tell you in a bit.

The official translation smacks me upside the head with: "На самом деле, а мог ли Геракл сказать: 'Подвиги мне надоели'?" - lit. "Actually, could Heracles say 'I'm tired of (heroic) feats'?" which breaks the rhythm again and follows neither the original nor the music, but is overall okay if you don't count how childish it all sounds.

I did it like: "Сказать открыто Геракл не смог бы, что, мол, этот подвиг претит ему." which is actually a wordplay, so a literal translation would do something like "To tell openly, Heracles couldn't (tell openly) that he's sick of this (heroic) feat".

Note how we call him Heracles, not Hercules. That's cause that's his fucking name in the myth.

He didn't fight Cerberus either, he tamed him.

Also my translation follows the beat of the song, at least. Fucking hell of a line.

Okay, ready for the worst goddamn line ever? Meet exhibit F.

"Under the surface, I'm pretty sure I'm worthless if I can't be of service" is a hella powerful line to me personally.

Let me show you my version first this time, it goes like: "Сказать открыто, невыносимо стыдно, что я непродуктивна" - lit. "To tell the truth, (I am) unbearably ashamed that I am unproductive". It's not the prettiest line but it's solid enough.

The official translation curses my fucking bloodline with: "На самом деле, я каждый день недели стараюсь быть при деле" - lit. "Actually, every day of the week I try to be at work". You don't need to speak Russian to notice that within the span of a line these people actually and with full seriousness rhymed "деле" and "деле".

"Well maybe it's just a different word" no it's not.

It's the same word.

They rhymed on the same word.

I actually wanted to add more but Tumblr glitched and posted instead of saving to drafts. I think it's good like that. We're done here.

#discussion #surface pressure

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starglitterz · 1 year

Text

elysian.

─── THE BEGINNING ; 02.

elysian adjective; relating to or characteristic of paradise

summary: when you lose your job out of the blue, you’re pretty sure this is the end of the road for you. at least until you reconnect with your childhood best friend aether and he offers you your ideal job and a place to stay. the only condition is that his office will be behind the store you’ll be running, and under no circumstances are you permitted to enter. that’s how you begin your new life as a florist, though you’re not sure how to focus on working when aether seems to have too many pretty boys working both for and against him. your fresh start gets a whole lot more interesting when you discover just how many secrets these men are hiding, but somehow you think you’ll still be able find the elysian ending of your dreams.

pairing: various genshin male characters x gn!reader

a/n: aaaa i've been very busy i'm sorry for the long gap between chapters :( this chapter introduces a few of the boys hehe, hope u enjoy it ! next ch is the last one before reqs open aaa im so excited🤭

previous. // elysian masterlist. // next.

“Aether, it’s fine! Don’t worry, I can carry these in myself,” you heft the cardboard box you’re holding so you can see Aether’s face. “I don’t doubt that, but there is an awful lot of stuff…” He looks back at his car, which is piled to the brim with messily taped boxes. “Hey! You don’t get to say that when your room in college literally looked like it could be on an episode of Hoarders,” you roll your eyes at his lifted eyebrow, and he raises his hands in surrender, “Nooo, don’t bring up my dark past! I just meant that it would be faster if I helped.” “Whatever,” you stick out your tongue playfully at him and he laughs.

“Hm? And who might this lovely person be?”

A voice behind you sounds, and somehow you can already hear the smile in their tone before you spin around sharply to face them. It’s a tall man with a shock of ginger hair, sea-blue eyes scanning you intently and a smirk playing about his lips. “Childe, what are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you all to clear out earlier?” Aether doesn’t sound too happy about this turn of events. “Oh! You must be the new florist!” Childe blatantly ignores Aether’s exasperated tone and rushes forward to shake your hand heartily before winking, “He didn’t mention that you’d be this pretty.” You laugh, “Thanks. He didn’t mention he had such handsome friends either.” “Oh, he’s more like our boss-”

“Childe.” Aether’s tone is stern this time, “Can you please not overwhelm Y/N? They’ve just got here.” “Sorry,” Childe backs off with his hands raised in surrender, but then he shoots you a sly smile, “Can’t wait to get to know you better.” Massaging his temples, Aether sighs, “I take you being here to mean that so is everyone else.” “Correct!” Childe finger-guns before effortlessly lifting the box out of your arms despite your protests, “And they’re also excited to meet you, so let’s head right in!” As soon as Childe leaves, Aether groans, “Sorry about that, Y/N. I didn’t mean to introduce you to everyone today.” “Don’t worry about it,” you nudge him, “I appreciate the warm welcome. So, was that one of your colleagues?” “You could say that… though they’re more like subordinates,” he chuckles, and you gasp dramatically, “I can’t believe you’ve become a boss! Do I have to call you sir now?” Aether’s cheeks turn red and his eyes widen, “No!” “Alright, sir,” you tease. He looks away, unable to meet your playful gaze as he huffs, “Let’s just go inside.”

–

Upon entering the building, you’re met with a stunning sight. Almost every surface in the room is covered with flowers of every kind imaginable; sunflowers, dahlias, roses, tulips… the list is endless. It’s a rainbow kaleidoscope of colours wherever you look, and it takes you a few moments to really absorb the fact that this place is yours. “Ta-da! Welcome to your flower shop, Y/N!” Childe stands in the middle of it proudly, grinning at you until somebody whacks him in the back of the head. “Ow!” he rubs the bump with an offended look, “Xiao, what was that for?”

A shorter man with teal streaks in his dark hair steps out from behind Childe, “Accident.” “Yeah, right-” “I think it’s because you’re being irritatingly loud,” another man steps forward, this one with cropped indigo hair that matches his eyes, “You deserved that.” “Hey! I thought you were working on your anger issues,” Childe scowls, to which the other man says, “This is me working on my anger issues.” “Great first impression, guys,” Aether cuts in abruptly, shooting the three of them glares, “Anyway, meet Xiao and Scaramouche, Y/N.” Xiao offers you a curt nod, while Scaramouche looks you up and down judgmentally without even bothering to hide it. “See something you like?” you query with a wink, and his face turns as red as a tomato as he splutters, “What?! As if!” Aether groans and swiftly changes the topic, “Ignore him. So, what do you think of the place?”

“It’s amazing! Thank you so much, Aether!” you spin in a circle again to take it all in, and find that you can barely wrap your head around how you’re going to be in charge of all this – your childhood dream is finally coming true. “No need to thank me,” he smiles, “Most of it was already here, we just spruced it up a bit and brought in fresh flowers.” You cup a large drooping lily, and the grin on your face speaks for itself as to how happy you are.

Before you can thank them all even more, a couple of other men deep in an avid discussion about plants turn the corner. One has green hair cut into a neat bob, and the other is blonde with his hair braided to the back yet still reaching his shoulders. Seeing as they haven’t noticed you, Aether clears his throat, “Tighnari. Albedo. This is Y/N, they’ll be staying here from now on.” Both men look up at the same time with surprise, and Albedo tilts his head, “It’s nice to meet you.” “Indeed. I look forward to seeing how you’ll handle the place,” Tighnari shakes your hand firmly, “If you ever need any tips for how to look after the flowers, feel free to ask.” “Thanks! I’d really appreciate that,” you reply warmly, clasping his hand with both of yours and gazing into his forest green eyes with a smile.

Aether claps his hands, jolting you out of your reverie, “There’s still a lot of stuff from Y/N’s old apartment in the car, could you all help move them upstairs? Y/N, you should go outside and look around. After all, this’ll be your new home.” After he reassures you that they can handle transferring the boxes on their own (although Scaramouche stalks off with a grumpy “We don’t get paid enough for this.”), you decide to explore the area behind the building. There’s a hidden garden there, and it’s almost straight from a novel with how pretty it looks. A white swing set stands tall in one corner, while a bird feeder and a fountain decorate the rest of the area. Bushes of blossoming buds and trees swaying gently in the breeze grow in every inch of empty space, with a neat cobblestone path winding through it.

Yet there’s something that seems out of place: A tall man with blue hair tied neatly into a ponytail perched on the edge of the swing.

“Hello?” you try to acknowledge him, but it comes out as more of a question than a greeting. The melancholy written on his face as he stared into the depths of the small pond disappears in a second as he stands up with a smile, making you wonder if the pensive expression you saw was nothing more than a trick of the light, “Hello there. Who might you be?” “I should be asking you that,” you maintain eye contact, taking a careful step backward. “Me? I’m one of Aether’s employees, he’s got a pretty large company over here. The name’s Kaeya.” You relax at the mention of Aether, “Oh, I thought you were a creep from the way you were hiding out back here.” His chuckle rings out in the afternoon air, “What a wild assumption. Aether told us to stay far away until you got properly settled in here.” “Looks like nobody listened.” “Hmm… let’s just say that none of us are upright rule-followers.”

He leans in as if telling you a secret, “And you wanna know something else?” Your curiosity is piqued too, so you move closer excitedly, “What is it?” “I’m actually a pretty good tour guide!” Kaeya grins, “And I know all the best spots around here. What say we ditch them and go for a ride?” Guilt pricks at your conscience for leaving the other boys to deal with the boxes, but you soothe it by telling yourself they said they would be fine. So you beam, “Sure, let’s go!” “It’d be my honour to show such an adorable person around,” he winks, beckoning you to follow him to the car, “Now, your majesty, your carriage awaits.”

In hindsight, that was a pretty bad decision to make, especially on a day which had started off with awful news – there’s no guarantee that it would have ended with the sudden influx of good luck. So the moral of the story should be: don’t follow random strangers into their car even if they claim to know your friends, because it could end up with you locked in an interrogation room at the local police station for crimes you didn’t even know about.

And if that sounds oddly specific, it’s because you lived through it.

#💫 — elysian !#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #aether x reader #childe x reader #xiao x reader #scaramouche x reader #kaeya x reader #tighnari x reader #albedo x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff

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