#inter-dialogue descriptions

[suddencolds]

Fool Me Twice | [6/6]

Part 6 is finally here! 🎉 (6/6 feels so surreal to write.) I think this will be the last installment out of this mini-arc, but I definitely want to write more of these two in the future (+ have a lot very loosely planned, if I can ever get around to writing it).

Part 6 ft. fake dating, cold-induced exhaustion, and questionable decisions

You can read part 1 [here]! The other parts are listed in my [fic masterlist].

—

Yves isn’t sure what he expects.

He wakes up early to shovel snow from the front porch, makes breakfast, weighs his options over breakfast, and then—maybe ill-advisedly—texts Vincent before he heads out for work.

Y: tell me you got some rest last night! 

V: Of course

Y: more than 3 hours? 

V: Do you even need to ask?

Y: i’m sure no one would mind if you took the day off Y: give someone else a chance to be the most irreplaceable person in the room for a day!  Y: i swear i’ve never seen you take a sick day

V: No need. I’m feeling a lot better today

It’s said with such conviction that Yves thinks he has no reason to question it. It isn’t like Vincent to be outright dishonest, after all. If he’s claiming to be feeling better, he must be at least on the mend.

It’s for that reason that Yves resists the urge to go out of his way to check on him. The office building is spacious enough that neither of them has a reason to cross paths, usually, except potentially at lunch.

And either way, it’s nothing Yves should have to concern himself with—Vincent can take care of himself. He can, and he will, Yves thinks. Perhaps in the future Yves will be able to take him out for a proper dinner, as a way of showing his thanks. But until then, things will be back as they’ve always been, barring the unusual circumstances over the last few days. Yves will go back to regarding Vincent as nothing more than a colleague—as someone he cares about to the appropriate extent, as someone whose life he’s in only tangentially.

And Vincent doesn’t need anyone—least of all, Yves—to look out for him. Yves likes his coworkers, but he knows better than to confuse civility with friendliness. He and Vincent certainly aren’t close enough to be properly considered friends.

It’s with that reassurance that he goes about work for the first few hours of the day. It’s easy, as always, to fall into the flow of it. He’s a little more tired than usual—he finds himself stifling a yawn into one hand during the morning team meeting—but not quite tired enough to be nodding off, at the very least.

Work always feels longer when he’s tired, though it’s never too long of a stretch until lunch. As a general rule, he likes to tackle the more difficult work in the morning, after he’s had his morning coffee, and save the more structured, less demanding busywork for after lunch. It’s interesting, but it’s work nonetheless, and all in all, it goes by especially slowly. He very pointedly does not allow his mind to wander. Halfway through his morning, Laurent shows him some of the ridiculous emails he’s gotten from a particularly standoffish client, and Cara comes over to peek over his shoulder and laugh with him about Laurent’s businesslike, unwavering civility, and the morning goes by faster after that.

It’s only when he’s a few steps away from the break room that he hears—or, rather, overhears—

“I’m sorry,” someone says, from the other side of the door. It takes him a moment to recognize the voice for who it is—the new hire. Angelie. Right. It’s not that he means to eavesdrop, but he thinks it’s strange that she feels the need to apologize at all. It sounds like the kind of apology that she really, sincerely means—not one given out of thinly-veiled obligation, not one exchanged only as a business courtesy, and that makes him pause.

He wonders what it is that she thinks she’s done wrong. Maybe if he sticks around, he can reassure her afterwards—he knows how intimidating it can be to be new. “When I asked you for help, I didn’t realize how much work it’d be.”

“It’s— it’s ndo problem, snf-!” Whoever she’s talking to says. As if Yves doesn’t know immediately; as if Yves hasn’t been thinking—or rather, trying not to think—about said person all morning. “I’m used to it.”

“Still, if I had known how long it’d take—”

“It’s really okay, Angelie.” 

“You’ve been such a big help to me. I didn’t know until Charlotte told me you’ve been here all morning trying to—”

“It’s fine. This isn’t any sort of special circumstance. I’mb - snf-! - frequently here early. J-just a second—” For a moment, Yves wonders if they’ve lowered their voices to speak more quietly, but then the reason for the lull in the conversation becomes evident. Vincent coughs—harshly enough that, even through the wall, it sounds almost certainly painful. When he speaks up again, his voice sounds noticeably hoarser than before. “Sorry. I— coughcough - I’m happy to be - snf-! - of assistance, really.”

“Thank you,” Angelie says. “I honestly don’t know what I would do without you. I think I’m good from here—but um, if you don’t mind me asking…”

She hesitates. For some reason Yves can’t quite parse, she sounds uncertain.

“What is it?” Vincent says.

“Um, are you okay?”

All of a sudden, the apology makes sense.

“What?”

“You— seem—”

“I’m fine,” Vincent says. 

“Okay.” A beat. “Do you need cough drops? I have a whole bag at my desk. I always get sick when I’m in new places, so—it hasn’t happened yet, I mean, but I wanted to be prepared in case it does. If you want any, I have a ton to spare.”

Yves hears the static whir of the coffee machine as it comes to life. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m okay,” Vincent says. “Though, you should - hH… hh… hH-hih’GKT-! snf-!” The sneeze doesn’t sound relieving in the least, and the sniffle which follows seems as good as useless. “You should keep your distance.”

“Well, the offer still stands if you end up needing them later,” Angelie says, sounding uncertain. “Thanks again for all the help.”

“It’s no problem. If you run into any issues later, don’t be afraid to reach out.”

He hears footsteps, receding—Angelie is going back to work, he realizes. And, judging by the sound of the coffee machine, Vincent is still here, making his usual morning espresso.

Yves really shouldn’t interrupt. He should turn around and head back to his office desk. Really, it’s none of his business if Vincent is okay. It’s none of his business whether or not Vincent got to the office early today, as usual, despite working so late last night. It’s none of his business whether or not Vincent is feeling well enough to be here in the first place. Perhaps he should go back to his desk—perhaps he doesn’t need coffee as imminently as he’d thought.

Against all logic, he finds himself on the other side of the break room door.

At the sound of the door opening, Vincent looks up. Yves catalogs his appearance in silence. His hair is as neat as usual, his jacket ironed, his tie perfectly straight, but there’s an unusual flush high on his cheekbones, a paleness to his complexion.

“Yves,” Vincent says.

His voice practically cracks on the syllable, as if he’s just a few conversations away from losing his voice. He sounds so distinctly unwell, Yves realizes.

And he looks exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes are even more prominent than before, and when he lifts his elbow to his face to muffle a few harsh, breathless coughs into his sleeve, there’s an uncharacteristic sluggishness to the motion of it. When he lowers his arm, there’s a thin sheen of water to his eyes—from the sheer force of the coughing fit, perhaps. His eyes are a little red-rimmed.

Vincent sniffles, though the sound is so congested that Yves isn’t sure it’s made any difference at all. Past them, the coffee machine beeps to signal that it’s done.

Yves pushes the door shut behind him. His mouth feels dry.

“I wadted to - snf-! - properly thank you for last ndight,” Vincent starts. “I realize that—” His eyes water, and he blinks, reaching up with one hand to rub his nose. “That you - hH-hHih…” He veers away from Yves, steepling both his hands over his face as his shoulders jerk forward with a forceful, “hihH’GKT’ShhuH!” And then, just a few moments later, another - “hH… hiIH… HIIh’NGKTshHh!-!” The sneezes—even stifled—sound loud enough to grate on his throat. It’s no wonder his voice sounds off. “I realize that you ended up staying a lot later than you planned to.”

Yves stares at him. Is this really what Vincent thinks he wants to hear?

“And I apologize if I came across as…” Yves sees the moment Vincent’s gaze unfocuses. He sees the way Vincent tenses, cupping a hand over his face for another, “HIh’Gktt! Hh… hHh… hiih—!”

The look of ticklish desperation—his eyebrows creased, his expression slack—doesn’t let up, even as his breath settles. Vincent rubs his nose with the bridge of his index finger, sniffling again, as if to coax out the sneeze that his body seems so adamant on denying him—

“hiHH-’IksSHuhh! … hHIH… Hh… hh-hIih—HIih-TSCHhuuh! snf-!” A soft, almost imperceptible exhale. “Excuse mbe, I...” His voice practically gives out on that note, and he takes a halting step back, veering aside with another fit of coughs.

“You said you were feeling better,” Yves all but snaps, when he’s done.

Vincent looks off to the side. “I’m not as tired as I was yesterday,” he says. “So, in that regard.”

He turns aside to lift the coffee mug from where it sits on the machine. There’s a slight tremor to his hand when he picks it up, before he steadies it—indicative of one too many cups of coffee, perhaps—or, knowing Vincent, probably a lot more than that.

“In that regard?” Yves repeats. “So you’re feeling worse off in every other regard?” 

He doesn’t mean for it to come out so accusatory, but a part of him feels—betrayed, maybe. By the dishonesty of Vincent’s response, by the intensity of his own worry.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Vincent looks like he’s about to say something more, but then he’s hurriedly setting his coffee down, raising both hands to his face, again, for—

“hiIH… HIIH’GK-t! Hh! Hih… HIih’IZSCHhuh!” A single, breathless, “Sorry,” and then - “hhH-! snf-…!” Yves watches his expression crumple as he jerks forward, his eyes watering. “hiIH-NGkt-! Hh…. HHh… hiIH-!... HH‘IIKTCHhuhH-!”

The sneezing fit is punctuated by another round of coughing, which all but confirms that all this sneezing is making Vincent lose his voice faster. 

Yves passes him a coffee napkin. Vincent eyes it for a moment before taking it, gingerly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Yves says. “You’re clearly unwell.”

“I’m fine. I had a couple calls this morning.”

“You didn’t think to cancel?”

“They were urgent.”

“And what do you think our clients would think if they see that you’re clearly coming down with something?” 

“I took medicine to suppress the symptoms,” Vincent says, glancing off to the side. “A few hours ago. It’s - coughcough - just starting to wear off.”

“I don’t get it,” Yves says, feeling the frustration build in his chest. “You’re not going to recover quickly if you keep pushing yourself.”

“It’s just a cold. There’s nothing I can do but wait it out.”

“There are plenty of things you could do. You could take a sick day, for one. You could head home early. You could even get more than a few hours of sleep, instead of—” Yves looks toward the coffee mug in his hands. “—insisting on taking cold medicine and keeping yourself awake with caffeine. Just how many cups of coffee have you already had this morning?”

“I’m fine, Yves. 

“As you’ve said,” Yves says, a little bitterly. “Though, even if you insist on lying to everyone else, at least you should be honest to yourself.” 

Vincent is quiet for a moment.

When he speaks, his voice is carefully even. “Is that why you’re so upset?”

“What?”

“It’s because I told you I was feeling better.”

Yves supposes that’s part of it. But another part of him is frustrated—with himself, first and foremost, for putting Vincent in this situation in the first place, for inconveniencing someone he’s already indebted to, only to have to watch from the sidelines, guiltily, with no way to help. Back then—with Erika, with crew, with university; with the cheating, and the aftermath; with the apartment hunting, with the start of his job, with everything else—Yves has always disliked the revelation that there’s nothing he can do.

“You’re free to lie to me,” he says. “I know we’re not close. But I care about you, which is why I asked.” 

“I don’t think you understand.” Vincent takes a measured sip from his coffee. His hand trembles slightly when he lifts the cup, and Yves has the sudden urge to take it from his hands. Vincent sighs. “Do you know why I told you I was feeling better?”

That seems obvious enough. “Because you wanted me to stop asking.”

“Because I don’t want it to be anyone else’s problem,” Vincent snaps. “Especially not yours.”

Before Yves has the time to fully process that statement, Vincent continues. “I don’t want my assignments to be work on someone else’s plate. I don’t want my health to be someone else’s problem. You already stayed so late last night—you went out of your way to get me dinner. How could I possibly ask any more of you?”

The sentence seems to grate unpleasantly against his throat for the way that he winces a little, turning aside to cough harshly into his fist. “I’m not feeling well today, but I knew you’d be worried if I told you. And how could I knowingly take up more of your time? After everything you’ve done for me already?” 

His sentence tapers off into another coughing fit, which he emerges from with another wince. It must hurt his throat to speak.

“I wasn’t being honest when you asked me how I was feeling,” Vincent says—finally an admission, but hearing it now doesn’t make Yves feel better at all. “But it would be selfish of me to make this any more of your problem than it already is.”

In lieu of responding, Yves takes the coffee cup from his hands and sets it down, gingerly, on the countertop. He takes another mug—unwraps an herbal tea bag from the cabinets, while he’s at it—and fills it to the brim with warm water, for the tea to steep. He stirs in a spoonful of honey. Steam rises from the cup in white wisps, and with it, the faint smell of chamomile.

When the tea is ready, he holds the cup by the rims, turning the handle outwards for Vincent to take. Vincent regards it with confusion, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, and for a moment, Yves wonders if he should clarify that it’s meant for him.

But then he takes it. Watching him lift the cup to take a sip—seeing the brief, miniscule flash of relief as his throat dips with a swallow—makes something tighten in Yves’s chest.

It takes everything in him not to cross his arms outright. 

“You are really a hypocrite,” he says. 

“What?”

“You helped Angelie, just yesterday. You helped me when I was just starting out. Both of us made our work—and our training, and our inexperience—your problem.” For all the things Yves has asked of him—for all the things he’s seen others ask of him, however inordinate—Vincent has never once complained. 

“You’re always taking on things for other people, because you know you’re capable of doing them,” Yves says. “How is it any different if it’s you?”

Vincent doesn’t say anything, to that.

“You’re harder on yourself than you are on anyone else,” Yves says, with a sigh. “Even if you tell me not to worry, I’m still going to worry about you. But it’s not a burden to me.”

Something in Vincent’s expression stills. 

“I know I can’t change your mind,” Yves says. “But you should get some rest—whenever you can. You’ve already done more than enough, I promise. I—or anyone else on the team—can take up anything that can’t wait until you’re feeling better.”

Vincent turns away, his shoulders trembling on an inhale, and Yves barely squeezes in a preemptive “Bless you,” before—

“Hh… hiIH’EKkTSHuhH! Hh… hh… HiIH’IIKKtsCHuhH! snf-! ”

He lifts his free hand up to cover, his eyes squeezing shut as he muffles the sneezes into his wrist. It’s a miracle that the tea doesn’t spill, Yves thinks.

When he emerges, a little teary-eyed, sniffling, he really does look tired. He says, “I don’t understand why you care so much.”

Isn’t it obvious? Yves opens his mouth to say just as much, only…

…Only, Vincent looks genuinely stricken.

“I like you,” Yves says, because it’s the truth. Because he wants, suddenly, for Vincent to know it. “Do I need any other reason?”

“That seems… impossibly simple.” “It is,” Yves says. For a moment, he wants to tell Vincent just exactly how simple it is, just how easy Vincent is to like.

“I didn’t intend to worry you,” Vincent says, looking off to the side. “I didn’t expect for anyone to be worried in the first place.”

Yves—who frequently worries about people, whether they want him to or not—laughs. “If you don’t want me to worry about you, you should hurry up and get better.”

At this, Vincent nods, contemplative. “Duly noted.”

“Which means getting some proper rest.”

“I’ll consider it.”

(Yves half expects that to be a lie. But when he gets to work the next morning, Vincent’s desk is unoccupied, for once, and there’s a small packet of cough drops leaned up against his desktop monitor—so he had asked Angelie for them yesterday, after all—and a stack of files set off neatly to the side, marked For Later.

Yves supposes he can deal with that.)

#snz fic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snz #as promised! posted today! #it sucked the life out of me to write this installment 😭 heart to hearts are so difficult and i really struggle with writing like #inter-dialogue descriptions #i hope it was alright 😵‍💫 #i have many many plans for these two in the future if people are still interested in reading them still #to anyone who has left feedback in the tags for prev parts i owe my life to you 😭 thank you for encouraging me to finish this #my fic #yvverse

[dravikso]

Iterator puppet design trends headcanons

[Image ID: A drawing with Looks to the Moon standing on the left and Five Pebbles on the right; LTTM is labelled as an early generation iterator and Five Pebbles as a late generation iterator. Neither are wearing clothes. The text to the left of LTTM describing early generation iterators reads: "More realistically proportioned, but still doll-like. Tend to be taller. Often have static (or limited motion), single antennae pairs. Feet privileges." The text to the right of FP describing late generation iterators reads: "Exaggarated, unrealistic proportions, usually with proportionally longer lower arms and legs when compared to their upper counterparts. Tend to be shorter; about the height of an adult slugcat (not including antennae). Often have articulated, double antennae pairs. Tend to have exposed mechanical parts, particularly at the neck. Feet privileges: revoked." End Description.]

I finally got around to finishing that headcanon sketch of what I imagine the differences between Early and Late gen iterators are.

This is obviously not a set rule for every iterator even within the headcanon, there's a lot of variability intra-generationally and it just happens to be more noticeable inter-generationally given the sheer amount of gradual change over a long time involved. A bit like fashion, a lot of iterator puppets were built in line with the stylistic trends at the time but didn't always stick to them.

I like to imagine that mid-generation iterators in particular tended to have a huge amount of variability; late gen iterators I feel came at the point where there was growing disillusionment with the whole iterator concept and tend to be more uniform in design, and early gen iterators came a bit too early for pushing the envelope on designs.

Anyways I'll probably clean these up and whack some clothing on them and put them into my general canon iterator design work at some point, especially now that I have a better grip on how I want to draw iterators from different generations. Speaking of, Is there in game dialogue suggesting around when SRS, NSH, and GW are from? Because I don't. Remember.

#rain world #art #digital art #my art #five pebbles #rw fp #looks to the moon #rw lttm #rw iterator #data pearl

[starlightvld]

20 Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰɪᴄ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀꜱ

Tagged by the lovely @snarky-magpie - thank you!!

1. How many works do you have on A03? 13 (for now...☺️)

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 429,228

3. What fandoms do you write for? Voltron: Legendary Defender and Call of Duty: MW Reboot

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? - Couch Surfing (COD, soapghost) - Broken Bones & Shattered Hearts (COD, soapghost) - Up in Smoke (COD, soapghost) - Formalities (Voltron, sheith) - Research and Development (Voltron, sheith)

5. Do you respond to comments? YES. I love talking to people in the comments. 😍

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Probably Couch Surfing because it's an "in progress" ending. But it's still mostly happy because I can't really write anything else. LOL

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Probably Formalities? But all of them are pretty tooth-rotting...

8. Do you get hate on fics? No

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes, but it's always slow burn smut with feelings (hi, I'm ace).

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I love thinking about crossovers, but I haven't written any yet (unless you count the AU from question 13, I guess).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not that I know of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? The soapghost Punisher AU I'm working on with @kibagib - You're my mask, you're my cover, my shelter - is basically co-written. Kiba gives me the outline for what they want to happen in the scene, and I write it out, adding my own flare here and there. It's been so much fun to work together to bring Kiba's visions to life!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? As much as I love soapghost, I think sheith will always have my heart.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? So far, I've finished or am actively working on all my WIPs... 😯 I do have an idea for a soapghost inter-dimensional-travel, angst-with-a-bittersweet ending fic, but that one hasn't gotten past outline phase. That's the closest I have to a fic I might never finish. (This fic would also win "angstiest ending," btw.)

16. What are your writing strengths? I think I write dialogue and emotions/introspection pretty well.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I struggle with descriptions - they are often what I "add in" during the editing phases. I'm also a VERY SLOW writer, which is why it takes so long to update sometimes.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I don't do it unless I have a native speaker willing to help me with the translation. Otherwise, it's just English but in italics. LOL

19. First fandom you wrote for? Dragon Age (long ago with a different user name)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? I love them all, but my first sheith fic - In Sunshine and in Shadow - will always be special to me because it helped me process that atrocious VLD ending.

Tagging... errmmmm... @oodelally9 @kayluvlygrey @hawkeykirsah @ticktockclockwork @ursae-minoris-world @insomnikat-mused @chalkofthevalley

No pressure! Ignore or play as you like!

#sheith #shiro x keith #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap #COD #vld #Call of Duty #COD MW reboot #writing #my writing #OG Starlight

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (10/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~4.8k

Some dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from ACOTAR book one.

Read on AO3 or you can find the tenth chapter below the readmore.

ch. 1 - the altar is my hips | ch 2. - an arrowhead leading us home | ch. 3 - by the way, i just may like some explanations | ch. 4 - can't not think of all the cost | ch. 5 - honey i rose up from the dead | ch. 6 - this mad, mad love makes you come running | ch. 7 - therein lies the issue, friends don't try to trick you | ch. 8 - it's not his price to pay | ch. 9 - is it chill that you're in my head? | ch. 10 - rooting for the anti-hero

Rhys shoved me off his lap, roughly enough that I wasn't entirely pretending to stumble towards an empty spot at the very edge of the room.

Don't draw attention to yourself, he said, closing his shields until the smallest chink of an opening remained. Just enough to communicate, but he was clearly trying to shut me out as best as he could for this.

He sauntered towards the dais, hands sliding into his pockets again. Though his body language was casual, he couldn't hide that lithe, predatory grace as he moved, that way about him that sent even powerful faeries scurrying. Beautiful, in a terrible sort of way.

I took the opportunity to scan the crowd for reactions. A blue-eyed faerie with dark skin and white hair stepped forward, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Though it was muted, I sensed enough of an aura of power around him that I recognized him as the High Lord of the Summer Court. His appearance didn't match the description Mor had given me before I'd left the Night Court. The last one had died, then. This was a new, untested High Lord.

Rhys circled the faerie on the ground. I felt his mounting dread through the bond—it matched my own—but despite that, he was still smirking and making this interrogation into as dramatic a show as he could.

And it was working, the whole throne room waiting with baited breath.

The only sound was the faerie's sobbing and half-coherent pleas for mercy. There was real pain shining in the Summer Lord's eyes. Even fae from other courts looked sympathetic, not just afraid. That made sense—from Mor's brief introduction to inter-court politics, I knew that the Summer Court was neutral, well-liked even.

"He wanted to escape," Rhys said to Amarantha. "To get to the Spring Court, cross the wall, and flee south into human territory. He had no accomplices, no motive beyond his own pathetic cowardice."

The Summer Court faerie pissed himself—perhaps Rhys adding a cruel touch to the show, perhaps real fear—then abruptly stopped shaking. I half-paid attention, more interested in the way the Summer Lord relaxed just the slightest bit despite the puddle on the floor.

It was enough for me to be sure that Rhys hadn't told Amarantha everything. In some small way, he'd shielded the Summer Court.

Amarantha rolled her eyes, pouted like a child, and said, “Shatter him, Rhysand.” She flicked a hand at the High Lord of the Summer Court. “You may do what you want with the body afterward."

The Lord of Summer bowed; he might be untested, but he was clearly savvy enough to recognize this small gift for what it was. The grief on his face was almost too much to look at.

Rhys slipped a hand out of his pocket, and I reached down the bond for him. For once, he didn't shove me out. In an awful way, I was glad of it—I recognized the sick sort of sadness on his side of the bond. I'd felt the same way in between shots when it had taken more than one arrow to kill an animal.

The Summer Court faerie was marked for death as soon as the Attor found him—Rhys was merely putting him out of his misery. I'd done it for countless deer and birds I'd killed with imprecise initial shots, but it wasn't until that moment that I realized that I hadn't afforded Andras the same courtesy, just watched him twitch and bleed as his breathing slowed. A part of me even thought he'd deserved it.

Perhaps that made me a monster, too.

Rhys clenched his hand into a fist, and the faerie slumped to the ground, blood leaking from his nose. At least it had been quick. I squeezed one of the talons in my mind; there were no words for this. All I could do was remind him that he wasn't alone.

Amarantha said something sharp and irritated that carried over the murmuring of the crowd. I didn't catch it—with the attention on the dais, another faerie had come to stand next to the place where I was leaning against the wall.

Like the High Lord of Summer, this male had dark skin and radiated power. The crisp, white bolt of fabric that formed his clothes was a distinctive style that Mor had trained me to recognize. Rhys had called him an ally once.

This was Helion Spell-Cleaver, the High Lord of the Day Court.

He watched Amarantha, but I suspected he was paying attention to me. I was tempted to move away, my sense of self-preservation wisely telling me that High Lords were to be avoided. The protection the body paint afforded me was the only reason I was brave enough to stay.

"The Night Court plays dangerous games," he said, soft enough that I was the only one to hear it. "It's unfortunate that you've become involved."

I had no idea what to say to that. Helion continued to stare straight ahead, as if he hadn't even noticed me. He'd clearly meant to send a message, but I wasn't sure what.

Before I could string together enough words for a reply, he walked away. Just as he disappeared into the crowd, he clenched his left hand and uncurled it. Very deliberately.

Helion Spell-Cleaver knew I'd been glamoured. And maybe he could even see through it.

If he knew about my bargain tattoo, then he'd probably scented the mating bond, too. The smart thing to do would be to pass that information onto Amarantha—I wouldn't blame him for it if he did. There was no winning Under the Mountain, only difficult choices, and he'd be right to shield his court at my expense.

Worse, he could cleave the glamour and expose us any time he wanted.

I was temped to tug on the bond and tell Rhys, but there was still too much attention on him. With the turmoil I was feeling from him, I worried he might not be able to focus enough to keep from visibly reacting to me trying to get his attention. I tamped down my rising panic before it could cross the bond.

Instead, I pushed my way through the crowd, back to the table full of food and drink where Rhys was standing. He poured himself a glass of wine and downed it in a single gulp, the only outward sign he was anything less than perfectly composed. But I could feel his horrible mix of guilt, anger, and self-hatred churning like the sea in a storm.

Amarantha was too angry for the party to last much longer. Faeries made their excuses and left; Rhys said something degrading about returning me to my cell before I threw up again and spoiled the mood, then walked me out of the throne room with a hand on my lower back. Once we were alone in a deserted hallway, he winnowed us to the dungeon.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice thick once we could speak freely. He stopped bothering to hide the anguish on his face. I reached for him, but he shrank back from my touch. "I don't deserve that, not right now."

He wouldn't have tolerated this from me when he'd brought me that soup. I wouldn't accept it from him, either.

"Rhysand," I hissed. He stiffened in shock, eyes going wide at the sound of his full name. It was the first time I'd ever used it. "What you want matters to me, not what you think you deserve. Either come here or tell me you don't want me to touch you."

He said nothing, just took a step towards me. It was all the permission I needed. Completely heedless of the paint I'd smear all over his clothes, I pulled him into an embrace and felt him bury his face in my hair.

"I'll never understand why you didn't run from me on Calanmai," he whispered. "You'd be better off if you had."

This ran too deep to talk him out of, especially after I'd been humiliated in front of a room full of faeries and he'd carried out an execution. But the only direction I wanted to run was towards him. It didn't matter that only a drop of his power was enough to shred minds, that the blood of innocents stained his hands, or that everything about him was dark, dangerous, and deadly.

"I'm not afraid of you," I said, pressing my face to the hollow between his neck and shoulder. "None of this is your fault. All you've done is your best with the hand you've been dealt. Over and over. Read my mind if you don't believe I admire you for it."

He said nothing back, but we were pressed so close it was impossible not to feel him cry. Perhaps it was his turn after what I'd done to Lucien, worse this time because he hadn't been able to prevent a death. I ran my hands up and down his back, just as Mor had for me on my first day in the Night Court.

Eventually he pulled away from me, completely calm again. There was no sign of tears—he'd made sure of that with his magic���but I certainly wasn't cruel enough to point that out. With a flick of his hand, he cleared the paint from his tunic. "You should change before you freeze," he said.

I hadn't noticed my clothes folded into a neat pile in the corner. When I picked them up, I caught a whiff of laundry soap—Nuala and Cerridwen's doing, I suspected. And next to the pile, there was a folded blanket of soft black fabric. Rhys was staring at it, and I shot him a questioning look.

"I didn't ask the twins to do that," he said softly. "That's the bedding in the Night Court servants' quarters—they brought you one of their spares."

News of what had happened to Lucien must have filtered down to them, and yet they'd still done this to help me in a small way. First Rhys, then his family, and now his handmaidens—I'd never had so many people in my corner.

I wouldn't let them down.

But for the moment, Rhys was right about changing into something warmer. I started to slip the dress off, then paused at a shuffling sound behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that he'd turned his back to give me privacy.

I snorted. "It's a bit late for that, don't you think? And if I really minded, I would have waited until you left."

"I would have thought you'd be tired of being stared at," he said quietly.

"Not when you're the one doing it. You're mine."

Maybe it was wrong considering the fresh blood on his hands, but another shiver—this time not from the cold—ran through me as he turned back around. The bond went so taut my heart skipped.

You're mine. Rhys had kissed me the first time I'd said it on Calanmai; something about those two words seemed to have an effect on him. If I wasn't mistaken, he liked hearing me say them. Quite a bit. I filed that observation away for the future.

The hunger that had been missing earlier was plain on his face now. I smiled and pushed the dress the rest of the way down my shoulders. Rhys didn't touch me, just watched. It felt right to peel the fabric off, the same way it had the first time he'd thrust into me on Calanmai. I let that thought cross the bond, and to my immense satisfaction, the violet of his eyes went darker.

When I was completely bare save the paint that only his hands had marked, I picked up my tunic and leggings but didn't put them on. A damp chill still permeated the air, and the stone floor had nearly numbed my feet. But I didn't want to break the moment.

Unfortunately, the involuntary chattering of my teeth did it for me.

I pulled on the clothes, then slipped on my boots, wiggling my toes to get the feeling back. With one wave of Rhys's hand, the pins disappeared from my hair, which returned to its usual braid. It was easier to think like this, in practical clothes instead of a costume. And we still had more to discuss.

But before I could get a word out, Rhys pushed me back against the wall, the movement somehow both gentle and too fast for my human eyes to follow. He'd been waiting, I realized, ensuring I was comfortable before he pounced on me, biding his time like the world's most considerate predator.

"And you're mine, too," he said, dropping his head to whisper it in my ear. The pads of his fingers pressed lightly into my hips.

I slid a hand between us, running it up his chest before looping my arm around the back of his neck. I wanted to keep him this close forever. Beyond that, after wearing next to nothing in front of Amarantha's court, I wanted his hands on me, a reminder that the rest of them might look but no one other than him would touch.

And well, if our time was limited, we could multitask—there was no reason we couldn't do this while we discussed strategy. "You should know," I said softly, "that while you were busy with that Summer Court faerie, Helion approached me. He knows something, but I'm not sure what."

Rhys tensed, pulling back just enough to watch my face as I explained what had happened. His face darkened, but thank the Cauldron, he didn't take a step back from me, just interlaced the fingers of my free hand with his.

"Unless there's something else at play, Helion's abilities won't tell him anything about the bond, just that there's Night Court magic glamouring you. I'll make sure he doesn't cleave it," he said.

That wasn't as bad as I'd feared, though it made me nervous to know Helion could reveal our secrets any time he wanted, even with just the small drop of power he'd been left with. It was too much leverage for another court to have over us. "How?"

"Helion is a good male, and I should be thanking him for trying to give you an out tonight. He probably thinks I've hurt you," Rhys said, face darkening. "I'll have to snarl a bit and insinuate it would end badly for you if he tries to interfere. That should be enough."

I bit back a frustrated noise. Rhys was already walking a thin enough line, chasing faeries away from me without arousing suspicion regarding exactly why he was so interested in me. Helion had just unknowingly added another complication.

"Will you be alright?"

He squeezed my hand. "I'll manage."

It was better than telling me yes—I would have known that was a lie. I still wished we had a better best-case scenario. Another pang of guilt washed over me; this whole mess was being prolonged because I still hadn't solved the riddle.

"She's going to be upset, isn't she?" I said, lifting the arm I'd looped around his shoulders so I could stroke his hair. Almost imperceptibly, Rhys leaned his head back into my hand.

"Nothing I can't handle."

I took that to mean the answer was yes—though privately, I was beginning to suspect there wasn't anything in the world Rhys couldn't handle when it came to protecting me or his court. Or at least, nothing he couldn't handle when I had his back. We'd get through it.

Rhys ran his nose along my jaw, and a for a moment, we were quiet, just breathing the same air while we still could. "I don't think I'll be able to see you until the night before your first task," he said eventually.

My stomach lurched. "The night before?"

"It was becoming difficult to find compelling reasons that I hadn't had my way with you yet," he said, lip curling in disgust, "but she liked the idea of you walking into your first task as 'damaged goods.' I'll bring you to my room and let everyone else draw their own conclusions about what we're doing."

We'd need to figure something out for afterwards, but it wasn't a half-bad plan. I'd have a better shot at actually getting some sleep before the first task, at the very least. And I wouldn't complain about anything that got me closer to him, even just for a night. There were still several days until then, and it might be enough time to solve the riddle.

I doubted he could stay for much longer—Amarantha wouldn't be pleased her party had ended so early. And I suspected she wasn't quite finished with the Summer Court, either, and there would be more minds she expected Rhys to dig through.

"Stay safe."

He huffed a single, humorless laugh. "Only because you insist."

I started to say something else, but he kissed my cheek, then disappeared into smoke and shadow.

After that, I was alone in my cell for several days straight. Rhys was mostly quiet, though there was a near constant thrum of anxiety and exhaustion from his side of the bond. I hardly slept, all-too-aware of his own constant sense of alertness, and when I did, my dreams were a blur of him torturing faeries for information about the Summer Court or obeying Amarantha's every whim in the bedroom. I barely kept my paltry meals down.

I turned the riddle over in my mind countless times without getting any closer to an answer. As the days dragged on with no progress, so did my gnawing sense of guilt for not solving it and ending this already. I considered every weapon, every object that could possibly land a powerful blow, but none of them would kill anything slowly, let alone have soft-handed and sweet ministrations.

And this was supposed to be easy.

After a few days, Nuala and Cerridwen arrived, wordlessly painting me and dressing me in another barely-there gown, red this time. I wasn't surprised—if Rhys was telling everyone he was dragging me back to his room to assault me, we'd have to make a show of it. I just hoped this party ended up with a lower body count.

Afterward, the twins brought me to the throne room. When I realized Rhys wasn't there to walk in with me, I felt a flare of panic. But a reassuring tug from his side of the bond let me know that was an intentional choice.

He was seated near Amarantha's dais, leaned back in the chair with an ankle crossed over his knee. I tried not to look too relieved, even though it felt like the world righted itself once our eyes locked. The mask was on—he looked me over as if he were trying to decide how best to pick me apart and leave nothing intact, just for sport. I stopped in front of him, glaring daggers.

"Thank you for bringing her to me," he purred, all dark promise. It was directed at the twins, but his eyes didn't leave me.

Despite myself, my cheeks heated. There was still an audience and a role to play, so I decided to spin the flush into one of indignation. "Tamlin will kill you for this," I spat.

Rhys inclined his head to where Tamlin was sitting, silent and useless as usual, while Amarantha leaned in and whispered something in his ear. "Will he? Doesn't seem like it to me," Rhys said.

"Then I'll kill you myself."

He grinned. "I'd like to see you try."

I kept glowering, letting my hands curl to fists at my sides as Rhys dismissed Nuala and Cerridwen with a single elegant, imperious gesture that spoke to years of ordering servants around. He crooked a finger, beckoning me closer. I crossed my arms. Something flashed in his eyes, and I made a show of jerking forward, as if he'd forced me.

There was a soft pulse of approval down the bond as he pulled me into his lap. I hated how good we were getting at this. He nudged my legs open with his, and I sat very still to avoid exposing myself further. Tamlin didn't blink.

"Come now, Feyre," Rhys crooned, wrapping an arm around my waist. "No need to be like that when we're going to be such good friends by the end of the night."

I would have make a show of struggling, but that have just given the entire crowd a glimpse of the parts of me I was desperately trying to keep covered. But still, I needed to avoid looking too comfortable, so I stared at Tamlin and let myself feel every last drop of my rage that the stone-hearted bastard couldn't muster the smallest sign of concern for me. Soothing talons stroked the edge of my mind.

Am I going to have to dance again? I said, opening my shields a bit wider.

No. And no wine, either. We're only staying long enough to get some food in you before tomorrow.

If you're feeding me yourself, I'm going to bite your hand. Not because I minded—there was quite a lot I'd endure if it meant there was food in it for me—but because it was part of the role I was playing. And it would be unfair not to warn him.

Please do.

Rhys flagged down a passing servant and plucked some food off the tray. With our shields down and minds pressed close, I caught a few of his worried thoughts about how little I'd been eating. But even as he fretted inwardly, his smile was full of nothing but malice.

"Eat, Feyre. You'll need to keep up your strength for everything I have planned for you later," he said, holding a piece of fruit out for me. I shook my head. "Open that pretty mouth of yours."

"I'll show you what my mouth can do," I hissed, then bit down hard on the soft spot between his thumb and forefinger. Something that wasn't quite laughter crossed the bond.

But I pretended he wore me down eventually, lulled into complacence like a dog who'll do anything for scraps. Amarantha, at least, seemed to enjoy the show, alternately laughing at me and whispering in Tamlin's ear. Rhys and I kept it up for as long as we dared—not enough for the food to be called a meal, but still a vast improvement over the bread and water I'd been given since I'd arrived.

Finally, he nudged me off his lap, and it was an effort not to look relieved. He led me out of the room. As we passed Tamlin, Rhys got in one last smirk, letting his hand drift down from my lower back to my ass.

Once we were far enough down the hall, we winnowed to his bedroom. I took in the neatly made bed, the utter lack of clutter or personal touches. I'd seen this room in my mind before, when Rhys had made sure I'd known how to find it if needed, but there was something about seeing it through my own eyes that reminded me exactly why he so rarely slept here. I shivered.

"If you'd like to wash off the paint, I ran a bath for you," Rhys said, taking his hand off me and stepping away.

I relaxed, relieved we could speak freely. Even though I'd just bathed a few hours ago, it had been ages since I'd gotten into a warm tub without someone else dunking me in the water. "Thank you," I said.

"I don't trust the servants who clean this room not go through my things, so there aren't clothes for you here. Take mine," he said, jerking his head towards the ebony dresser.

I pulled open a drawer to find a stack of neatly folded clothes, all black. In the townhouse, I'd refused to snoop through his things, so I wondered if the lack of color was normal for him, or an affectation he put on Under the Mountain, even if black was the color of the Night Court. Pushing those thoughts aside, I grabbed a set of sleep clothes that were almost certainly too big for me and headed to the bathroom.

Bathing with Rhys on the other side of the door and a pile of his clothes to change into felt like a strange mockery of the sort of domesticity we'd never been able to have. I hadn't ached more for Velaris since coming Under the Mountain. I didn't call the city home the way Rhys did—I didn't have a home anymore—but there wasn't anywhere else I'd rather be.

When I returned to the bedroom, Rhys was still standing in the same spot, and if he hadn't also changed, I would have suspected he hadn't moved at all. Something softened in his eyes as he took in the sight of me in sleep pants I'd had to roll up several times to avoid tripping on.

"The bed's yours," he said simply.

I sighed. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed, Rhys." Not when I'd spent years sharing a much smaller one with both of my sisters. It's not as if there was another option—I wasn't enough of a monster to make him take the floor.

I slid under the covers, and the bed was so large that if he'd done the same, I didn't feel the telltale dip in the mattress. Out of habit, I curled up near the edge, taking up as little space as possible. Not that it mattered when there was so much room.

I closed my eyes, and the candles in the room winked out. Rhys didn't come near me. I tried not to think about it—there were a million reasons that had nothing to do with me that he might want the space. This night was as much of a reprieve for him as it was for me.

But if I wasn't thinking about that, it was the riddle and how I still hadn't solved it. I worried about what I might face tomorrow, whether or not I'd live another day and everything that would be lost if I failed. My thoughts were so loud that even with my shields up, I suspected I was shouting them across the bond.

I'd never fall asleep like this.

I rolled over to face him just as he did the same, our movements inadvertently coordinated yet again. Even in the dark, his eyes glittered like stars. I wondered if it was Night Court magic or another aspect of his usual annoying perfection. His hair wasn't mussed despite rubbing against his pillow.

"I can't sleep," I whispered, my voice unexpectedly rough.

"Too much on your mind?"

His lips twisted into what was clearly meant to be a knowing smile, but I sensed his unease, too. No matter how perfect his mask might be, he couldn't hide it. Not from me.

"Can I come closer?"

"I was waiting for you to ask."

Before I could move, his arms were around me. I slid one of my legs between his—when I'd said closer, I'd meant closer. I tilted my head so it was pillowed on his bicep and resting just underneath his chin. He pressed a kiss to my wet hair, splaying both hands on my back to pull my chest flush with his. I don't think we could have been touching in any more places.

It still didn't feel like enough.

"That's better," I whispered once we were settled. He hummed in agreement.

This was the closest thing I'd felt to peace since I'd woken up after Calanmai, but the knowledge of what tomorrow would bring kept both of us from relaxing completely. But still, we deserved more nights like this. I'd solve the riddle and make it happen. I had to.

I closed my eyes and willed sleep to come, but it never did. From the rhythm of Rhys's breathing, I could tell he was also awake. But I kept quiet, afraid of disturbing him if he did manage to drift off. He did the same for me. Though I didn't sleep that night, I let myself dream for the first time in a long while. Curled up in his arms was the only way I felt safe enough to imagine what things might be like if—no, when—we escaped from Under the Mountain, a future worth fighting for.

We stayed like that for hours, though it wasn't nearly long enough. Rhys must have known it was morning from some internal clock he'd developed after decades Under the Mountain, or perhaps because as Lord of Night, he always knew the position of the moon. "You should be getting back soon," he murmured, breath warm against my cheek.

I sighed—he was right. It took all my willpower to pull away from him and stand up, a new wave of fear crashing over me. The full moon was rising. My first task was in a matter of hours.

Rhys shifted me back into my tunic from the Spring Court and himself into another immaculate black jacket and pants. I took a breath, then held my hand out so he could winnow us back to my cell.

Perhaps it was just the dim light of the dungeon, but when I dropped my hand, there was no sign of fear on Rhys's face. For once, it didn't feel like an act. Before I could ask, he said, "The task plays to your strengths. You're going to win."

I nodded, letting that steady me. Even if Rhys couldn't tell me about the task, he'd had her ear this entire time. He'd been fighting for me. "Of course I'm going to win," I said, forcing a smile.

Amarantha, I was sure, would want to hear all about how the night had gone—Rhys couldn't seem to eager to stay with me. As much as I wanted to keep him longer, I couldn't. I leaned forward to kiss him goodbye, but he stepped back and smirked. "I'll kiss you afterwards. Consider it extra motivation to beat the task."

And that's when I knew none of his confidence in me was an act—if Rhys thought there was any chance at all I'd die today, he would have kissed me goodbye. My smile went a bit wider. "If it's my reward for not dying, it had better be one hell of a kiss," I said.

He winked. "Only the best for you, Feyre darling." Then, more softly, he added, "I'll see you soon."

He winnowed away, and I was left alone again. I spent the rest of the time pacing my cell, hoping I'd come up with the answer to the riddle at the last minute, but I had no such luck.

The guards arrived to drag me upstairs for my first task.

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

[tiodolma]

This exchange betwen Merlin and Uther is freakin jaskhdjhddj

Uther: Who made it?

Merlin: uhh Tom the blacksmith.

Uther: It’s worthy of a king.

Merlin: You’d be better off with a sword you trusted.

Uther: No. It has almost the perfect balance.

Uther (realizes something): Tom’s not the royal swordsmith. I am surprised that Arthur went to him.

Merlin: uh That was me.

Uther: ?????

Merlin: I felt he needed a better sword.

Uther internal dialogue

1) His son’s serving boy has no way of affording such a fine sword unless he sold his entire life;

2) this idiot has the Balls, the Audacity to question the skills and work quality of the Royal Swordsmith that Uther must have personally approved of;

3) also like he can see this lowly but obviously favored serving boy look at him straight in the eye without flinching.

4) who tf does that? (Uther's tits are Shaking.)

Uther: You show him the most extraordinary loyalty... Merlin: That is my job sire.

Uther: ...beyond the line of duty.

Uther internal dialogue:

IT IS NOT PART OF YOUR JOB DESCRIPTION??? ARE YOU NUTS??

Merlin: Well you can say there is a bond between us.

Uther: I’m glad. Look after him.

Uther interal dialogue:

OMG MY SON MADE SOMEONE LOYAL TO HIM???? WITHOUT QUESTION???? YOOOOO (dabs)

#bbc uther #bbc merlin #s1 #bbc uther pendragon #adventures of merlin #theres nothing logical abt this exchange lmao #uther is generally so nice to merlin #at least his son got a friend? or loyalist suporting him? a favorite #itd be funny if he rewarded merlin for the sword #but i bet uther wont ever admit that #tbf arthuriana merlin was pretty supportive of uther so #im not even mad

[eccentricmya]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you so much for the tag @zealouswerewolfcollector ! 💛💚

1. How many works do you have on ao3? 16, as of today! I tend to compile my ficlets (<2k) and drabbles into one place.

2. What's your total ao3 word count? 95483. So close to 100k! Soon.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Silmarillion, LoTR, and one other fandom that I shall not name here (it's visible on my ao3 though lol).

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? I'll list the Tolkien ones:

Promise of Happiness : A kidnap fam fic! They tend to be popular in our fandom, don't they?

Words They Said : Collection of my dialogue-centric ficlets.

To Learn Thy Song : My beloved Aragorn/Lothiriel post-war WIP!

Where do we go? : The first fic I wrote for this fandom. It's a Feanorion bonding short piece.

They Named it Love : Unrequited Russingon with aroace Mae!

5. Do you respond to comments? Usually yes. I try to. But I've missed some due to irl constraints... they haunt me though.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Oh this is a difficult question. Maybe Kinslayer in Truth? Yeah, Maedhros dies in that one 😶

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Oh easily, Promise of Happiness! It's there in the name. And Loveless too! It's a good warm one with father-son bonding and aroace Fingon.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Nope. The only kind of silent readers writers are happy about are the outraged ones.

9. Do you write smut? Ah I really cannot imagine myself ever writing that. Smut and I are acquaintances and no more. I mean, as a reader I search it up once in a blue moon, but on a regular day, you cannot tempt me into even reading it, much less writing it. It's a skip for me.

10. Do you write crossovers? Again nope. I'm not a fan of crossovers either. I've read some brilliant ones, but I don't see the appeal myself... One canon universe is already too big for me to handle.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? I don't write that good for that to happen lmao. (But I once had my poetry stolen. It was a bot copying the site I posted on. I was so mad I got DMCA to hide the links from showing up in searches at least.)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! In the other fandom I write for, someone translated my fic into Vietnamese. Very happy for that.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No... my writing habits don't allow a collaboration, it's too sporadic. But I beta read once or twice! It was nice.

14. What's your all time favourite ship? Me/my metaphorical pen. It's an on and off again, tragic ship with misunderstandings and periods of abandonment. It feels like unrequited love at times, but I hope it's not and that they can live hea 🥺. Jokes aside, as a reader, sure, there are many across various fandoms, but as a writer, I do not.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? This is a sinister question 😭 wdym I doubt I'll finish. I have every hope to finish it someday! The fic is To Learn Thy Song btw. My most ambitious project to date.

16. What are your writing strengths? Oh, one-liners easily. They're different from dialogues to me as they can also be set into narration. I get these singular lines in my mind and I centre whole fics around them. They're strengths as they drive my writing instead of hampering it. That said, I also believe characters and their inter-personal dynamics are a pillar I build my fics on.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Besides writing itself 😅? Plot. I don't think I've ever written a fic with solid plot. I'm also quite slow with setting up and switching scenes. Mostly, descriptions and fillers are difficult for me.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogues in another language in a fic. I would rather use italics and bolded letters to convey different languages. Most readers, myself included, do not bother reading all those foreign letters, they just look for the translation instead at the bottom. One or two words, though, can enhance the reading experience instead of detracting from it.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Supernatural! Funnily enough, that fic is my most popular one. Though given the size of that fandom, it's not as surprising, but given the quality of my writing then? Very very shocking honestly!

20. Favourite fic you've written? Right now, Loveless. 💔

I truly don't know who has done this already so if you see this and haven't answered these already, I dare you to @ me and just do it! 😝

#tag game #this was long omg #but quite fun! #about me

[prpfs]

Hi, you can call me Storm! I'm 30 and the mom of a loud and demanding cat ❤️

I’m a multiple paragraphs/novella style writer. I love to write detailed descriptions and delve into a character’s head/emotions as well as surroundings. I compare it to writing a novel together. Not every reply has to be novella length, however. If there are action or dialogue heavy scenes, I tend to do a shorter back and forth to keep the momentum going. 

I only do MxF (with me writing the female role). I don’t double, but I’m more than happy to write side characters of either gender to help move the story along. I only want female authors writing male characters as I’ve had bad experiences with cis male authors. (Trans men and nonbinary pals are exceptions).

I'm really hoping to find a friendship, someone who can add to our story, and most importantly, someone who wants a long-term connection. It's difficult for me to write with someone if I don't feel that genuine bond. It's also important to me to have a high level of activity, with at least one reply a day. 

If you suddenly stop replying ic and ooc, I'll drop the story after 2 attempts of gauging interest spaced a week apart. But feel free to message me if you want to pick the story back up again, even months later. 

Searching For: 

20+ partners only 

An excellent grasp of grammar, punctuation, spelling, and capitalization. (Literate to advanced writers only, please. I'm not looking for newbies)

Plot before smut. While mature themes will be in my writing, there needs to be chemistry between our characters. I normally do a 60/40 plot to smut ratio and my characters tend to be subs/switches depending on the circumstances 

 An older male character (early forties to mid-late fifties). I love the gruff and tough men with dark pasts who secretly have a soft heart. I also love grumpy, hypermasculine men being intimidated by sweet but fiery women. My characters are mid-late twenties to early-mid thirties so the age gap is legal. 

Enthusiasm to chat about our character and ship, how to crush them and then gushing over fluffy moments. I love crying over characters and what the heck they’re doing. I want my heart ripped from my chest from angst, then feeling like it’s going to burst from overwhelming cuteness. I want us to love these characters and the world we create. I want to make pinterest boards, spotify playlists, graphics, and toss headcanons back and forth until late at night. 

Have an idea for a scene? Found a picture that inspired you? Send it to me! Be invested when it comes to plotting/worldbuilding. There’s nothing worse than receiving one sentence in reply to two paragraphs of ideas, or having a doormat partner who says “sure” to whatever I ask. Building ideas one on top of the other, watching them snowball into amazing plot threads brings me joy. But having to pull plot ideas like I’m pulling teeth makes me think you’re not interested, and I will lose interest in return.

Interests: 

Modern fantasy, monsters, sci-fi, omegaverse, southern gothic/midwest gothic (i’m a sucker for that southern/texas drawl), horror, height/size difference, cheating/affair, enemies to lovers, slow burn romance, spooky small towns, post apocalyptic/dystopia, crime/mysteries, emotionally charged/dark and gritty, bodyguard x assignment, forced proximity, opposites attract, fated mates, anti heroes/morally gray characters, traumatic pasts, grumpy x sunshine, one bed, men who simp over their women, touch her / him and die, and more.

I have lots of original plot ideas in mind as well!

Fandoms (OCs ONLY) 

Star Wars, Stranger Things, Mercy Thompson Series, True Blood, The Last of Us, Hunger Games

I write only on discord using servers with organized channels. Like this post or add me on discord (magicofrain) if you’re interested. The most effective way to grab my genuine interest is by messaging me as if we've been friends for years. Please let me know which interests you liked from my ad.

DM @stormsongroleplays if interested!

#star wars roleplay #star wars rp #stranger things roleplay #stranger things rp #mercy thompson series roleplay #mercy thompson series rp #true blood roleplay #true blood rp #the last of us roleplay #the last of us rp #the hunger games roleplay #the hunger games rp #fandom roleplay #fandom rp #oc x oc #m/f #dead dove #20+ rp

[paradizetobefound]

Okay so I am trying to posit what separates demons from humans in arknights without (idk, I think there are people who know more) having proper idea wtf ak demons are.

DISCLAIMER: demons from tundra and from the south are not discussed there at length or on their own.

So there was this one piece of dialogue in Vigilo event, the difference between machine and human being "obsession". And I had a sudden thought about how this conversation could also map on the demon question.

We know very little about actual demons and what constitutes a "demon". But we have few implications, and there are creatures that seem "demon". Like Kaschei. Phantom troupe itself feels "demonic". And there are mentions here and there of witchcraft and of how it seems to affect the user.

But before we talk about the theory about demons and their relation to humans we shall talk a little about arts, and more specifically, witchcraft since it seems for some reason to have more dramatic manifestation. The second reason is how, at least within european thought, "witchcraft" is historically tied to demons, who are, in fact, a source of witchcraft. (we can talk about how more traditional practices were frequently proclaimed witchcraft under Christianity, though note that this is a shaky argument since while european culture is one of influences within Arknights, it is but one). But the connection is there.

First is the Wight King, who has a very colourful description of him. And this is said to be a consequence of his art practices. We don't have a proper explanation of differences between witchcraft and "normal" arts but still, it is fairly interesting how a "goat" ended up undergoing changes specifically due to witchcraft (something generally associated with the traditional Sarkaz), something that puts under certain question some things about Sarkaz-kind. Regarding the Sarkaz kind, who are frequently derided as "demons" (despite the setting having actual demons whatever they are supposed to be), we know that Kazdel has witchcraft still as a significant aspect of their culture (regarding other lands, one can wonder what "witchcraft" practices could have existed there in the past, idk if it was brought up anywhere) and... it seems to have a rather dramatic synergy with the bloodlines.

While in some ways Sarkaz could be argued as "different groups of people lumped together" and are stated to not having been a properly unified kind, a rather significant aspect of Sarkaz culture is the inherent tie with the Sarkaz Crown (Civilight Eterna). So I think a point I am going to make still stands. Bloodlines have their witchcraft they specialize in, and their inner culture, even some physiological traits (in case of vampires!!) are seemingly reflecting their arts and their psychology.

The vampires would be a good example to dissect as we have a) good representation b) Midnight vs Closure. See, the hypothesis I am about to make is "Vampires manifest more clearly pronounced "vampire" traits as they increase usage, intensity and potency of their blood arts". Exhibit a. Closure is a "Prince" and yet, due to her disintirest in vampire things, she likely doesn't use the arts much. She also shows little bloodlust. Exact status of Midnight as a Vampire is ambiguous but we have little indication of him being "deep" in vampire arts, though he seems to use a little of it in his skin art. Both of them are Vampire Sarkaz who seem to come from very different origins but both share traits of little bloodlust and not going deep down blood arts path. Warfarin meanwhile employs her blood arts (as we can recognize it being a case of her using vampire arts based on observation of vampire arts in chapter 9 and also, it being likely) with much more readiness and she is clearly very interested in blood. And finally, if we examine events in chapter 9, we can notice a further evidence to blood arts boosting bloodlust in a specific scene where Warfarin meets *spoiler*. the king of vampires can easily trigger her bloodlust with his own arts which may also give some implications about how inter-sarkaz connections work So, it is in fact possible that while sarkaz clans gradually grew "more in tune" with their preferred arts as they specialized in them over generations, the preferred arts also may be directly tied to either manifesting or developing specific traits.

To lesser degree we can also observe how Mudrock interacts with soil and also the entire deal with "cannibalism" (for all the issues the whole matter has) and Patriot's background (see his flashback).

Now this particular thesis is... not exactly on the most solid ground. But I think there may be enough food for thought here to post it so, carrying on.

Next are the Blades. The little Kal'tsit's dialogue says us is actually one of the core foundations of the entire theory. We know the bit used to create an Imperial blade comes from actual demons for one. But you see, when Kelsey talks about Blades, she implies a) the way the demon flesh changes not just body but also the mind of the host b) the effect may be considered as growing stronger over time. Now, the narrative links the fanaticism of blades with them gradually loosing their humanity in a manner that seems to suggest as if the demon bit actively interacts with the matter of ideas and ideologies, as if it parasitizes on the thought... wait, it does remind of something.

Originium. Canon information is such: originium stores massive amounts of energy and also, information (more specifically, it may store information of its consumed victims), with stones all but said to create a form of network between themselves, that almost constitutes a collective evil rock mind. Pretty much any cases where it is implied that an "entity" is originium-born, it was almost always single-mindedly obsessed with a certain "something" (and also frequently violent). Easy examples being Ifrit's demon (who is obsessed with burning things down), the voices in Ptilo's head (literally appear after she connects her brain to originium) that are rampant and agressive. Nightmare (in who's profile it is stated that personality disorders like this are one of possible symptoms of oripathy) who is... Nightmare. All of them are "emotional" and all of them are fixated. Less obvious example is Mephisto's bird form, which also seems to be stuck in its own song, hiding away from hurt. Even less obvious example is Rosmontis' brother, who may be the true form of her arts (as per what we get from her profile) and, surprise, after being killed in an experiment (all about creating a living arts-using war machine) with his consciousness "transfered", little we can glimpse about him seems to revolve around his sister remaining "safe". We can talk about it more (like what's up with the Frozen monstrosity and FrostNova) but it is already too long.

From this pespective another argument to be made is how originium's tendency to accumulate information like this and how it may be forming its "cognition" can be taken as "originium is parazitizing on the souls of living things". (kinda puts on the opposite scale of seaborn who are explicitly a rejection of "ego" and of "imagination", so kinda like, idk, if we go for bible metaphors, originium is all about fallout of eating a fruit of knowledge and seaborn are all about rejecting the very notion of tasting a fruit of knowledge and thus remaining "pure" and "undying".)

We have observed that witchcraft, or rather nature of a given witchcraft seems to steer the wielder towards embodying it more. We have observed what seems to be a direct parallel between arts and demons and originium and how it all in the end ties to "emotion", survival, and also, to certain degree, to thought and congnition.

So, the point I am trying to make is that, if humans differ from machines in how humans possess capacity for "obsession", we can argue that it also gives us an answer to what is fundamental to demons in arknights settings, that if humans have obsession, then demons is when "obsession" may as well be all that remains.

There are things I am not quite satisfied here as to the overall thesis, but I hope it makes sense.

#arknights #ramblings #arknights theories #ak theories #arknights spoilers #arknights ramblings

[thetruearchmagos]

1 (because im still obsessed with the snippet you shared), 9 & 19 for the writing ask meme!

Heya there, thanks!

Give short descriptions of all your current WIPs.

Well... let's just say this is going to be much harder than you might think. You see, I suffer fom what I call "WIP-itis", where my mind is led to create, daily, an uncountable amount of WIPs to never touch, yet take up brain space. So, to keep to what I've written for:

Swift Seas And Whirlwinds: A "Techno-Thriller" stype piece, that focuses on the far off war between the United Commonwealth and the Republics of Nouvolouis. In the aftermath of a coup that toppled that Republics last reformist hopes, the Theocratic-Military junta that reigns afterwards has its eyes set on the archipelago state of Ngaionui, to shore up its regime's reputation and get one back at the United Commonwealth. In a violent, tense conflict in this far off land, fate lies in the hands of dozens across the 12 Worlds, fighting for their cause. This war is their story.

The Commonwealth Calls: The war was a surprise that shocked no one. The Commonwealth and the Ocrisian Empire had fought their wars in the shadows, interests againsts interests across the Worlds, but as the pieces moved and fell and rose, they would all fall into place, and bring about a war like never had been seen. In a cloudy light, the first imperials made their push over the border, and the largest war their ever was, the 1st Great War, whose carnage would touch a dozen continents and millions of lives, would find its start in the confused, violent first hours of dawn. This story is the story of the soldiers who charged into battle in those early days, their desperate fight to hold on.

9. What are you best and worst at when writing?

Ooooh, hard to say!

Personally, I find that I enjoy describing scenes and settings the most, and do that well enough. The environment, the activity, the lights and sounds, I think of it as painting the picture I have in my mind, but through words.

My weakest link, I think, is in softer, inter-personal things. I just feel that outside of dialogue that is directly connected to plot stuff and action, the passionate and personal minds of characters is something I'm bad at.

19. Do you plan out your projects? If yes, to what level? how well do you stick to your plans?

... Maybe?

Generally speaking, I don't define my WIPs along any single storyline. Rather, they're more based in telling the vast events and plots playing out across years and dozens of perspectives, and picking and choosing which ones to flesh out and write at any particular moment. In that case, my "Plans" are confined more to the Worldbuilding and the sequence and effects of events in the broadest sense, while scenes and "Excerpts" are ad-hoc, on the spot ideas, mostly

#my writing #writeblr #writeblr stuff #my wips #writing #asks

[monocotyledons]

so reblogs have been turned off in this post but i encourage people to read it, because it is such an interesting and almost anthropological discussion on fanfiction. tl:dr - fanfic is incredibly different from published literary fiction because it serves a different purpose and has a different audience and has thus developed its own set of norms and tropes. it's like a "species" of literature that evolved separately from other genres.

recently i've been reading less fanfic and more published books and i think this discussion hit the nail on the head about why i've been craving published fiction - sometimes i want a break from the tropes and patterns common in modern fanfic. i'm not saying that the tropes themselves are bad, and i'm not saying that ALL fanfics are trope-y and follow a pattern. it's more like a change of pace: if one immerses oneself so much in one mode of writing, it's good to take a break and try out other modes so that one doesn't get bored or frustrated.

the discussion on inter-fandom differences was so fascinating as well! this is something i observed when i was still actively reading and writing for touken ranbu, a franchise that has no unified canon apart from the basic premise and rules. i've read dense character studies steeped in japanese history and culture, but i've also read light fics that are just citadel shenanigans or narrative interpretations of in-game events. those reflect the "anything goes" nature of the parent franchise: you've got the stage plays and musicals, which ruminate heavily on the swords' past and the significance of history, and then you've got something like hanamaru, which pokes fun at the characters and in-game events in a slice-of-life setting. and fics are going to have different modes too depending on what the central relationship is: sword/sword and sword/saniwa read differently, in the same way that character/character and character/reader fics for the same fandom have completely different styles.

a lot of the reblogs also added plenty of interesting points (and i encourage people to go through them!!) - one i found particularly fascinating has to do with the medium of the parent franchise. lots of fanfics sound like stage scripts or screenplays because the parent franchise is a film or tv/streaming series or manga - it's already primarily visual in nature, so writers extending that world into their fics tend to adopt a more cinematic mode of writing as well. and that made perfect sense to me, because when i wrote fics for anime / manga franchises i would imagine my fics in that mode too. hell, when i wrote dialogue i would try to imagine it in the character's voice or what it would look like in a fan scanlation speech bubble.

also i'm glad that the discussion was largely value-neutral! fanfic isn't bad because it doesn't sound "literary"; a more literary mode would serve its function and target audience poorly. (and insert discussion here on what powers and institutions decide what "literary" is in the first place, etc.) but yeah if you want to read some fascinating meta on fanfic please check out the original post and its reblogs!

other reblogs that i found particularly interesting:

on writing for an audience + when description is skippable

fanfic evolved separately from other lit genres

fanfic sounds like scripts bc the parent franchise is visual

#mono logues #also if you want to yap abt the post with me please do so!! #either in the replies or in my inbox

[tatiekfuji]

Revealing the deep meaning in “Apart from the Bomb, I Call Your Name in Silent” by Denny Ja 35

In the world of Indonesian literature, the name Denny Ja is familiar. For more than three decades, he has produced an inspiring work and gave a deep meaning for his readers. One of his latest works that should be considered is “Apart from the bomb, I call your name in silence” which was released in the context of celebrating his 35th birthday. In this article, we will reveal the deep meaning contained in the work.    Denny JA is a writer who is able to describe Indonesia’s social and political life very well through his writings. His work has a strong writing style, full of emotions, and is able to arouse the feelings of his readers. “Apart from the bomb, I call your name in silence” is also no exception.    In this work, Denny JA took the background of the suicide bombing tragedy that had occurred in Indonesia. He raised sensitive issues such as terrorism, radicalism, and the role of the media in forming public opinion. Denny JA describes the characteristics involved in the tragedy in great detail and displays different perspectives. He also showed the psychological impact experienced by the victims and their families.    One of the things that makes “escape from the bomb, I call your name in silence” so interesting is the use of a distinctive language style of Denny Ja. He is able to describe the mood and emotions of his character characteristics very well through the use of the right words and in -depth description. The reader can feel the tension, despair, and pain experienced by the characters in this story.    In addition, Denny Ja also uses complex narratives but is still easy to understand. He uses different storytelling techniques such as monologues in the form of poetry, inter -character dialogue, and news reports. This provides variations in reading and making this work more interesting to follow.    In the Indonesian social and political context, “Apart from the bomb, I called your name in silence” also gave a strong message. Denny Ja presents a deep question about radicalism, terrorism, and how we as society can understand and deal with them. He did not give a simple answer, but he encouraged the reader to think more deeply about this issue.    In his conclusion, “Apart from the bomb, I called your name in silence” was an extraordinary work from Denny Ja. He is able to present a story full of emotions and arouse the feelings of his readers. Through this work, Denny Ja managed to reveal the deep meaning of the suicide bombing tragedy and social issues around him. This work not only gives us new insights, but also encourages us to think more deeply about the world we live in.

Check more: Uncover the deep meaning in “Apart from the Bomb, I Call Your Name in Silence” by Denny JA 35

[abiyatno]

Explore the meaning in Denny Ja’s 38th latest work: Then they pray Friday at the Church

In his latest work entitled then they prayed Friday at the Church, Denny Ja again showed his expertise in inspiring emotions and stimulating the thoughts of his readers. The work that is the 38th celebration of this talented writer offers a unique experience and encourages us to question the limitations in our lives.    In this short story, Denny JA described an unusual situation in which a group of people chose to carry out their Friday prayers in a church. As readers, we are brought to reflect and look for the meaning behind this action.    In the religious context of Indonesia, this incident presents interesting questions about tolerance, perspective, and interfaith understanding. Denny JA cleverly plays this narrative by giving the background of the characters and the reasons they choose the church as a Friday prayer. He explores internal and external conflicts that may arise in this kind of situation, as well as its impact on community perceptions.    One interesting aspect in this work is Denny JA’s ability to describe human complexity. He shows that the individual is not in line with the stereotypes that are often applied to him. Some characters that may be considered as religious devout people, apparently have more inclusive thoughts and are open to differences. Conversely, characters that look secular and liberal, may have unpaired spiritual needs.    In then they prayed Friday at the Church, Denny Ja also described the important role of art and culture in embracing differences. The church in this story becomes a meeting point that offers a safe place for those who are looking for alternative spiritual paths. This illustrates the importance of space for individuals to express their identity without fear of being judged or criticized.    In addition, Denny Ja also uses strong emotional elements in this work. He explores pain, confusion, and uncertainty that may be felt by the characters in this unusual situation. Through the use of detailed descriptions and authentic dialogue, it presents a deep experience for the reader.    One thing that needs to be appreciated from Denny Ja’s work is his courage and creativity in choosing a controversial topic. In a society that is sometimes vulnerable to religious conflicts, stories like then they pray Friday in the church encourage us to think more broadly and exceed the limitations. He invites us to question the prejudice and stereotypes that often limit our understanding.    In the whole, then they pray Friday in the church is an inspiring work, with a deep message of tolerance, perspective, and the search for meaning in life. Denny Ja succeeded in creating a captivating and provoking narrative, encouraging us to see social problems with a new and fresh perspective.    Denny Ja’s latest work is proof of the strength of the words in embracing differences and exploring complex thoughts. Through then they pray Friday in the Church, he shows that art and literature have an important role in encouraging inter -group dialogue and building a more inclusive understanding.

Check more: Exploring the meaning in Denny Ja’s 38th latest work: Then they pray Friday at the Church

[blogaida2]

About “Analyzing Interesting Contents from Denny Ja’s 38th Elected Work: Then they pray Friday at the Church”

In the world of Indonesian literature, Denny Ja has long been known as a creative and innovative writer. His work often lifts attractive and controversial friends. One of his 38th chosen works, “Then they pray Friday at the Church,” became our main focus in this analysis.    In this short story, Denny JA displays an unusual and attractive situation. Imagine, a group of Muslims who usually performed Friday prayers at the mosque, this time decided to carry it out at the church. This concept directly arouses our curiosity and makes us want to know more about the reasons behind this decision.    In this work, Denny JA explores a very different cultural and religious meeting. He shows that even though the difference exists, we as humans can reach agreements and respect each other. In a complicated and tense situation like this, Denny JA managed to show how important it is to understand and respect the beliefs and cultures of others.    One of the other interesting things in this story is a living and complex character. Denny Ja carefully created a figure who has a different background and has an interesting internal conflict. This gives a deeper dimension to the story and makes us emotionally connect with them.    In addition, Denny Ja’s writing style in this work also deserves thumbs up. He uses simple but effective language in telling stories. The use of regular dialogue and living descriptions makes us feel the presence and atmosphere of the places depicted in this story.    In the Indonesian social and political context, this story also has a strong relevance. This work raises the issue of religious tolerance which is very important in our society. Denny Ja shows that despite religious differences exist, we can live side by side with peace and mutual respect. In the midst of conflict and tension that often arises, this work gives a positive and inspiring message.    In addition, “then they pray Friday at the Church” also highlighted the importance of inter -religious dialogue. Denny Ja illustrates how open and honest communication can overcome misunderstandings and encourage peace. This is a very relevant message in the midst of polarization that often occurs in our society.    In the conclusion, Denny Ja’s elected work 38th, “then they pray Friday at the church,” is an interesting and inspiring story. By combining elements of cultural, religious, and social elements, Denny Ja succeeded in creating a work that builds understanding and tolerance between us. Through a living and complex character, he invites us to see diversity as wealth and build dialogue that strengthens unity. This work not only provides entertainment, but also provides valuable and relevant messages to our society.    Thus, “Then they pray Friday at the Church” is evidence of expertise and creativity of Denny Ja in presenting a charming and boring work. We hope that the next work from Denny Ja will continue to inspire and stimulate our imagination.

Check more: Analyze the interesting content of the 38th elected work of Denny JA: “Then they pray Friday at the Church”

[bryanos12]

About the accurate review of the 38th elected work of Denny Ja: Then they pray Friday at the Church

In the accurate study of the 38th elected work of Denny Ja, an interesting work entitled Then They Prayed Friday at the Church became the main concern. This work illustrates an unusual situation, where a group of people decided to carry out Friday prayers in the church. Through this paper, Denny JA brilliantly invites the reader to reflect on tolerance and interfaith dialogue.    In this work, Denny JA arranges the story neatly and establishing strong characteristics. The storyline that stretches clearly and in detail makes the reader amazed from the start. He described this unusual event with an interesting style of storytelling and presenting a very real atmosphere in the reader’s mind.    One interesting aspect of this work is the depiction of the main figure who has a different religious background. Denny JA managed to highlight the differences in their beliefs very subtle, without taking sides or leading opinions. He provides space for every character to tell their experiences and views about religion, so that opening a rich dialogue space and arouses the reader’s thoughts.    In addition, Denny Ja also explores the theme of inter -religious tolerance and in -depth. Through a strong narrative, the reader is faced with differences in views and attitudes in addressing religious differences. At the same time, this work also highlights the importance of mutual respect and mutual understanding of the beliefs of others. Denny Ja succeeded in making the reader reflect on how important it is to support harmony and diversity in society.    Denny Ja’s writing style in this work also should be appreciated. He described the atmosphere of the Church and the atmosphere of Friday Prayers in a very detailed and emotional. The reader can feel the silence and solemnity in the church, as if they themselves were there. This shows Denny Ja’s expertise in building a strong story atmosphere and reviving every scene.    In addition, the language used by Denny Ja in this work is very beautiful and flows smoothly. He combines a strong dialog on detailed description, creating an interesting narrative and arouses the imagination of the reader. This unique and colorful Denny Ja writing style makes this work very interesting to enjoy.    Accurate review of Denny Ja’s 38th elected work: Then they pray Friday at the Church is a work that should be appreciated. Denny Ja is able to describe an unusual situation with great brilliant, combining the theme of tolerance and interfaith dialogue neatly. Through his writings, he invited the reader to reflect and respect religious differences in society. The beautiful and flowing style of writing Denny Ja makes this work so interesting and attractive. Hopefully the upcoming work from Denny Ja will continue to provide inspiration and in -depth thought for the reader.

Check more: Accurate review of Denny JA’s elected work 38: Then they pray Friday at the Church

[syifablog2]

Discussing in depth Denny Ja’s 38th choice then they pray Friday at the Church

In a series of famous works, Denny Ja again presented a work that attracted public attention. This time, the work entitled “Then they pray Friday at the Church” became a hot topic of conversation among Indonesian literature lovers. In this article, we will discuss in depth about this 38th Denny JA choice.    In its provocative title, Denny JA invited the reader to reflect on the tolerance and diversity of religions in Indonesia. “Then they pray Friday at the Church” describes an unusual situation, where Muslims perform their Friday prayers in a church. This work directly invites us to think about how important it is to respect differences and uphold diversity values.    In the story, Denny JA carefully described the characteristics that live in diverse society. He presents a figure who comes from a different background, with different religious beliefs and understanding. Through a strong narrative, the authors describe the spiritual journey of these characters and how they overcome the conflict arising from differences in beliefs.    One of the interesting things about this work is the way Denny Ja describes the Dialogue inter -student very naturally. He is able to capture the nuances of conversations that occur in everyday life very well. This dialogue not only illustrates differences, but also brings the reader to see that behind the difference, there are similarities that can be a meeting point.    In addition, Denny Ja also managed to present a background of stories that are rich in detail. He clearly described the atmosphere of the church, mosque, and around the main figures. The reader seems to be invited to enter the story and can feel the atmosphere that is around the place. This life description makes the story more attractive and provide a deeper reading experience.    In assembling this work, Denny Ja also plays a very good story structure. He arranged the storyline with full surprise and was able to maintain the tension of the reader throughout the story. The presence of the conflict on the journey of the characters becomes a catalyst that makes the story more interesting. Denny Ja managed to combine dramatic elements with strong social nuances, so this story not only entertains, but also gives a deep message.    The 38th Denny Ja choice work also received high appreciation from literary critics. They recognize Denny Ja’s expertise in describing complex characters and raising relevant social issues. In this work, Denny Ja invites us to think of the importance of mutual respect and side by side in the midst of existing differences.    As a reader, this work also gives us the opportunity to reflect on our attitudes towards religious differences in society. We are invited to see tolerance as a force that can bring peace and harmony. In this increasingly pluralistic world, works like “then they pray Friday in the Church” becomes important in inspiring our awareness to coexist with mutual respect.    In the conclusion, the 38th Denny Ja’s choice of choice entitled “Then they pray Friday at the Church” into a literary work that arouses feelings and talk about diversity values.

Check more: Discussing in depth Denny Ja’s 38: “Then they pray Friday at the Church”

[anikablog2]

Tracing the meaning in the elected work of Denny Ja 62: Religious Raya Session

In the world of Indonesian literature, Denny Ja 62 is known as a productive and influential writer. One of his works that attracts attention is the "Religious High Session". In this article, we will explore the meaning in this selected Denny JA 62 work, through the analysis of stories, themes, and messages conveyed. I. Introduction Denny JA 62, or often also known as Denny JA, is a writer who has produced many literary works. He is known as a reliable writer in raising complex social and political themes. One of his works that attracts attention is the "Religious High Session". In this work, Denny JA 62 brought the reader to an interesting and meaningful journey. II. Story analysis "Religious Raya Session" is a story centered on a large religious session. This story tells the meeting of religious leaders from various denominations to discuss complex religious issues. In this story, Denny Ja 62 shows his expertise in describing the atmosphere and complex characters. III. Theme The main theme that emerged in the "Religious Raya Session" was inter -religious harmony. Denny Ja 62 raised religious issues that are often a source of conflict in the community. He highlighted the importance of dialogue and mutual understanding between religious believers to create harmony in religious life. IV. Message Through the "Religious Religious Session", Denny Ja 62 wants to convey an important message about diversity and tolerance in the community. He shows how important it is to respect differences and maintain harmony between religious believers. This message is very relevant in the context of Indonesia which has a diversity of religion and culture. V. Sub Theme In addition to the main theme of inter -religious harmony, "Religious Religious Session" also raised several interesting sub themes. One of them is the role of religious leaders in maintaining peace and harmony between religious believers. Denny Ja 62 reflects his thoughts about the moral responsibilities of religious leaders in building a harmonious society. VI. Structure and writing style In the "Religious Religious Session", Denny Ja 62 uses an interesting structure and writing style. He uses a strong narrative and a living description to describe the atmosphere of a large religious session. The use of dialogue also gives life to the story and strengthens the existing characters. VII. Conclusion In the "Religious Religious Session", Denny Ja 62 managed to trace a deep meaning of interfaith harmony and the importance of inter -religious dialogue. He brought the reader to an interesting journey and full of moral messages. Through this work, Denny Ja 62 reminds us of the importance of respecting differences and maintaining harmony in religious life. This article has reviewed the "Denny Ja 62 religious" This work confirms the quality of writer Denny Ja 62 in raising complex social themes. In the context of Indonesia which has a diversity of religion and culture, the message conveyed in the "Religious Raya Session" is very relevant and important to be infused. 

Check more: Tracing the meaning in the elected work of Denny JA 62: Religious Raya Session