#(in the broadest sense of the word)

[homolobotomized]

ace and law are such funny characters to me bc the first impression you get of them is that theyre relatively (!) chill people and then a couple arcs later you find out that theyre both like. top five most mentally ill people alive

[maddy-ferguson]

i'm actually not a lesbian yes the concept of heterosexual sex disgusts me on paper but it appeals to me with a few select men. and that's how i've always felt but the lesbian masterdoc which was written by a girl who turned out to be bi got me. and a lot of other bi women with a preference for women. it's crazy to have that much influence when you think about it

[krawwan]

I. May or may not be cooking up a longer essay/opinion piece about how anglophone media portrays organised crime inspired by the Antivan Crows. Because I have feelings about the portrayal of omertà and the crows as uomini d'onore.

[toonagi]

*shoving art of my silly dogs in your face* BEHOLD MY SONS

[boygirlctommy]

this is what the albatross looks like to me. weird and fucked up. 60 feet long at most. doesnt really look like any specific type of boat bcus they had it custom made by 2 inexperienced boat makers. just so very small

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel’s Reaction to You Calling Him a DILF

Warnings: Implied Smut, Dominant Miguel, Profanity, Use of ‘Daddy’, Lyla Trying Her Best <3, Fem Reader.

Despite spending every day with Lyla, an absolutely chronically online AI, Miguel knows little in the way of internet jargon.

Thus, this term - DILF - is one he’s never come across before. Namely because Lyla has never seen it fit to implement it into a conversation.

But, when Miguel overheard you calling him your “Favourite DILF; just a gorgeous, scrumptious specimen,” he had to ask Lyla to translate for him.

Miguel swore he could see her eyes widen, her brow stiffen and crease.

“It’s…it’s — uh — well…”

Lyla scratched the back of her head, her stare sloping off to the side — away from Miguel’s cattish stare. Her teeth gritted, a gateway, a preventative measure to ensure your safety and wellbeing. The only barrier between your open secret and miguel’s discovery of it.

“Oh, come on, Lyla,” Miguel crossed his arms over his chest, as if to inhibit the anxiety starting to bloom there. He doubted that you’d ever bad-mouth him, especially given how close the two of you were, but Lyla’s apprehension was starting to spark some doubts. Regardless, he persevered, kept his stare hard and neutral. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It..it means…” Lyla sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses. She didn’t look up at Miguel, instead finding you in her mind’s eye and cursing you. And wishing the best for your safety.

“Dad I’d like to fuck.”

She came out with it, the words almost poisonous and sour on her tongue as they passed through. And the fact that she’d had to say them to Miguel of all people didn’t help.

At first, Miguel didn’t think he’d heard Lyla correctly, his posture and face remaining unchanged in the fallout of his discovery.

It was only after three seconds passed, four, five, that he truly heard — understood — what Lyla had said.

“Oh.”

A warmth bled across Miguel’s face, a creeping blush hidden only by the console’s yellow hue. Without another word, Mifuel turned tail, unfurling his arms, unravelling to his broadest potential. He began his descent, his destination clear as day in his mind’s eye.

Lyla’s’s eyes widened further, almost bulging from her head. She called, stammering: “(Y-Y/N) probably didn’t mean it! Not like that! So-so don’t go too hard on ‘er, okay?”

Miguel searched the entire facility for you, his face a concoction of emotions nobody (save for yourself) had ever seen before, thus making his mood indecipherable to all that were not you.

He eventually found you, isolated, in a room. Practically begging for what was to come next. He slipped inside, closed the door behind him.

You turned and smiled, sensing Miguel’s presence; the impression of authority.

“Hey, Miggy!” you chimed, eyes crescents. You turned back to checking off your stock list, paying little heed to the shadow advancing on you.

“Playing innocent, I see,” Miguel’s voice swooped and glided as the greatest bird of prey does, coming to stand mere centimetres behind you, his warmth at your back; a dark sun.

“I thought you’d be at home, caring for our child.” His hands came to sit on your shoulders, heavy and large. For a second, you were befuddled, believing Miguel to be spinning you a riddle. Then, realisation. Your heart dropped; you knew Miguel could feel it. Oh my God, Lyla.

“We…don’t have a child, Miguel,” you laughed, humourless and breathy. You knew you had to play your cards right. Carefully. Miguel gave a heavy, brief chuckle.

“Not yet,” he squeezed your shoulders, hands slipping down the length of your arms, the feeling of spiders creeping along your skin. “But seeing as you’re so keen on calling me daddy, I see no harm in pretending.”

His lips came to your neck, pressing deceptively soft kisses there. 

You were frozen, though a fire stoked within you. One you couldn’t bring yourself to put out.

“After all, I am your DILF, aren’t I?”

You bit your lip, eyes squeezing shut as Miguel’s hands slid to your waist, pulling your back to his front where you felt something thick and large and bulging against your tailbone.

“A baseless accusation, don’t you think ?”

Your breath shuttered. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing—“

“It doesn’t matter how you meant it. What matters is it’s inaccurate,” Miguel spoke with a stoic logic you’d seen one too many times. He pulled you to him, tighter, closer, his heart pounding against your back.

“But, luckily for you, I’m in a giving mood. I’m not going to punish you for your little transgression. Instead, I’m going to give you an out.” He descended upon your skin again, nipping it between his blunted teeth, the threat of his fangs in your periphery.

“What…what’s that?” You almost didn’t want to ask, your heart creeping up your throat as if to muffle your words.

Miguel’s hand slipped from your waist, sliding sharp fingers down the expanse of your back, leaving trails of goosebumps. You felt his hand come between where the most prominent part of himself and you connected, his knuckles digging into the small of your back. He ran a hand over himself through his suit, palmed himself. His eye twitched. “You just have to be a good girl and lay down and take whatever I give you until I say we’re done.”

His grip on you tightened. You could feel how dark his gaze had become, weighing heavy on you like a robe.

You said nothing – could say nothing.

“Now, you wanna say that again,” his voice was muffled by your skin, his kisses becoming wetter, languid. He pushed himself against you, taking you by the hips and pulling you so he caught you just right. You spied his eye twitch in the reflection of the filing cabinet across from you as you cracked an eye open, a steady redness overtaking Miguel’s stare, his lips turning up at the corners, revealing his fangs.

“Or are you gonna keep that pretty little mouth shut and make me into a real daddy ?”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[saturnsorbits]

Thirst Trap: Caught Desperate

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Smut, Prone Bone, Spanking, Pictures - Consensual. Word Count: 4k.

Summary: Read the Intro -> Here.

A/N: Idek what the fuck this is. I've genuinely forgotten how to write - smut especially apparently.

-> Part of the 'Thirst Trap' Collab.

Make sure to check out the other incredibly talented authors through the link above and don’t forget to leave a nice comment and reblog if you liked their work!

The first thing he feels is panic.

His phone won't stop. It vibrates against his palm, stirring up a numbness that radiates through his callouses as the screen flickers. The near constant updates create a blur he can't follow, the dull flashes summoning a sharp edge to the headache that has already started to press at the sides of his skull.

Fuck. He sighs, digs a knuckle into the corner of his eye and brackets his hand across his forehead. His PR team might actually murder him for this one.

Prodding at his screen, he manages to slow the endless roll of his feed. The replies are positive, mostly. His fanbase isn't exactly small and, according to the last PR meeting he was forced to attend, they were also predominately women. Although, looking at his phone now, he'd say the divide was probably about 50:50.

Curiosity getting the best of him, he scrolls...

The first few replies he sees are simple enough: suggestive emoji's, notes of amusement, the odd heckle about the size of his cock. Then, there are the more fun ones: the ones calling him a slut, asking to give him more than just head or being up front with their solicitations.

Huffing out a breath, he unfurls, spreading out on the bed and stretching an arm up behind his head. His pants are still unbuckled and pulled to the broadest point of his hips, a casualty of his drunken state. Underneath, his cock presses against the denim – twitching with every mention of the things his fans plead to do to him.

He shouldn't.

He knows its wrong.

Knows that he shouldn't indulge himself.

He shouldn't be thinking about fucking his fist to the thought of an anonymous stranger drooling down his balls, his cock bulging from their cheek, holes stretched out around him as he rolls his hips searching for the thing inside of them that'll make them scream.

His hand cups his pec, broad palm circling gently until he can catch his nipple with each slow pass. It's surprising how quickly his cock catches on. He can feel it leaking, soaking through patches of his underwear as it begs to be released. Letting his hand slip down his body, he feels the tension shake in his abdomen. He's wound tight, muscles shivering even under his own touch as he sinks his hand into his jeans and finally, squeezes his cotton-clothed cock.

He should stop.

Fuck, he should just delete the tweet and get a glass of water.

… And maybe a cold shower.

Licking over his teeth, he's reluctant when he slips his hand back out of his jeans and slams it, somewhat sticky, against his sheets. His cock protests, throbbing with the new lack of friction after being granted so little. It makes it hard to focus, the rolling pit in his stomach, the pulsing of his body – even without his alcohol impairing his judgement, his desire pleads a strong case for him to simply submit.

Bakugo swallows and moves to swipe away from the possibly career-changing tweet on his screen, but the feed is faster than he is.

It isn't the message that catches his eye, not at first anyway. No. It's the username. Your username.

He clenches his jaw.

Immediately, you fill his senses. It had barely been a few hours since you'd had your arms wrapped around his neck, your bodies pressed together as you swayed on the dance floor. If he tried, he swears he'd still be able to feel the soft skin of your thigh grazing against his fingertips as his hand had found its way under the edge of your dress. Your perfume had been intoxicating. A subtle mix of vanilla bean, sandalwood and your sweat had drifted from your collarbones and infested his senses, luring him right to the edge of what he'd known would get him into a whole heap of shit.

That was before he'd made that fucking post, of course.

Now, he was starting to wonder if taking you home would have been the right move all along.

His promises be damned.

Chewing at his lip, he lifts his thumb, revealing the message attached to your name. 'Thought you said you weren't that desperate, huh.' His stomach lurches.

The memories come quick then, fighting through the fog of too many whiskey's and regret.

He'd meant it as a joke, he really had, something to give him some pace, to make you think twice, think of the consequences – but he's never been good at managing his tone and at almost midnight even his belligerence had felt semi-formal. You'd been too close, too pretty, with the promise of a night he wouldn't be able to forget laced between your teeth and he'd... Well, he'd done what he does best.

He'd pushed you away.

Your eyes shine in the dull lights outside of the club, the yellowing tinge spilling from the surrounding lamps doing nothing to diminish how stunning you look. The alcohol has blown out your eyes, swallowing your iris' almost whole – although, he'd like to think he had a hand in how truly taken you look right now. His hand is on your waist, equal amounts keeping you close and at bay as you bat your eyelashes prettily at him and pout.

'C'mon...' You press close, hand searching the expanse of his chest. His heart thunders underneath, picking up whenever you near his pecs, so you slip a had over his shoulder and use his height to ease yourself up onto your tip-toes. 'You've practically had your hand up my skirt all night, what's stopping you now?' You chuckle, clicking your tongue against your back teeth.

Bakugo's snarl twists his features before he can stop it. He can feel the barb, feel the world curl on the back of his tongue before he can do anything to stop it. It tumbles from his mouth, but even despite his attempt to spit it out softly – hoping it won't hurt too much, your nose wrinkles.

'You really think I'm that desperate?'

It's like you've been slapped.

Your hands tense on his shoulders, feet falling back flat to the floor. Part of you knows he's just trying to get a rise out of you, but you're beyond sick of the back and forth. It's been months of this, of you getting close enough to taste him only for him to retreat at the last moment, usually with a snarled comment he doesn't mean, or some silly excuse to protect that softly-beating heart everyone swears he doesn't have. Sighing, you step back – the tap of your heels like gunshots on the pavement as you raise your bag from the crook of your arm and back onto your shoulder. 'Obviously not.'

Your distance reads like rejection, burns a hole in his pride and makes him prickle. He shakes his head and slips his phone from his pocket intent on ordering his own taxi, despite the fact he can barely make out the squiggles he hopes are words. 'Fuckin' knew I shouldn't have let Red bring you-.'

After that the memories grow hazy.

He remembers how you'd somehow smoothed over the hiccup in the conversation, laughing it off in all probability, but even then, you'd never quite come as close to him as before. He remembers your laugh. Remembers how the melody of it had ricocheted around his brain in the taxi ride home. He remembers missing your warmth. He remembers the flash of guilt, his half-hard cock and drunken brain at war. He remembers his phone, the screen a pale blue, glowing. He remembers, he remembers his thumb hovering over your name.

He remembers chickening out...

Fuck.

Evidently, he hadn't chickened out hard enough.

Clicking onto your page, he checks your replies to make sure he hasn't hallucinated your response, but before he can even begin to obsess over it – his phone pings in his hand.

It's a message. A real one. Not something filtered in through his socials. With shaking hands, he opens it and pauses.

He has your number saved under your first name.

Just your first name.

Not 'Sidekick''. Not your full title. Or what department you work in. You don't even have a stupid moniker. For fucks sake, he's called Kirishima 'Shitty Hair' in every single phone he's had since high school, and Todoroki has remained solely Todoroki – even despite the fact, both him and his father share the title.

He doesn't dwell on the reasoning.

Instead, he opens the message and is immediately confronted with a screenshot of his tweet. He cringes. Your reply is underneath it, racking up too many likes for his taste, and underneath that is your text.

You: 'You really are fucking desperate, aren't you?'

He waits, palms sweating, watching as three little dot appear and disappear and then, reappear again.

You: 'Can't even reply to me?'

You: 'You could at least turn your read receipts off. I can see you reading the messages.'

You: 'For fucks sake, Bakugo?'

His pulse quickens, thrumming strong and rhythmic under his skin as if to remind him what it is to be near you. The joints in his fingers have frozen, despite the energy rushing through his body demanding movement. Through the haze of his vision he sees you typing again.

You: 'Can we stop doing this now?'

Yes. Bakugo thinks. God, yes. The room spins as he cranes his neck down at his phone, eyes unfocused... His heart and cock war on, but now, the alcohol makes it far too easy for the tide to sway. Flexing his thumbs, he taps back a message before he can think better of it, before the noise of his life and expectation and the world outside can eat away at him again.

Bakugo: 'Please.'

Your reply takes a second this time, forcing the air in his lungs to crystallize; but before he can drum up too many doubts, there's your name again lighting up his screen.

You: Is that the great Dynamight saying please?

Bakugo: Fuck off.

You: Fuck off, or fuck you?

Bakugo's cock twitches in his jeans. He's so hard it's almost painful now, causing an ache to spread up the deep lines of his hips and radiating through his pelvis. Reaching down, he palms at himself again feeling the heft of his desire in his palm. He types back, one handed, the other already occupied.

Bakugo: Don't play with me. You know he'll kill the both of us.

You: I never did get to give you your birthday present.

Furrowing his brow, Bakugo is taps out a series of question marks – unimpressed with the idea of birthday cake when he had come to expect something a whole lot different, but before the thought can fully depress him – another message comes through.

It's a screenshot. The one this entire conversation began with – his own message glowing from his screen. Except this time, underneath is a message that makes his breath catch in a whole new way.

You: 'This offer for everyone, or just everyone who isn't me?'

Bakugo: You.

Bakugo: It was just for you.

Bakugo stills, his breath jammed in the back of his throat as his brain catches up with his fingers.

Fuck.

He shouldn't be doing this.

He should of just had a wank to all of the filth being sent from his fans. Even that would get him in less trouble than this. Part of him wants to back out, wants to claim a hack or come up with some other equally unbelievable and shitty lie so he can turn tail and run, but there's no way back now. He knows that much. His cock is hard and heavy between his thighs, his drunken mind too far from sober for him to see reason.

He types back.

You don't bother changing. You'd dressed to impress after all. Instead, you snatch a condom from your brothers stash tuck it into your bra and order a taxi, checking the address Bakugo had sent you three times before finally confirming the ride.

The journey is short and sweet, filled with anticipation and the soft jazz that trickles through the radio of the car. You've been waiting for this, grown tired of the will they won't they that had lead to this moment, but now it's here, you find yourself: nervous.

The car mounts the curb, almost sending you sprawling, then a tenner and a lift ride later, you're at his door.

He opens it before you knock looking a little more together, but still drunk. You can feel it too, the alcohol still flooding your system and making everything just a little easier. Still, nothing is as easy as coming together. You mouth drops open, an unspoken question lingering on your tongue and then, Bakugo is on you.

'C'mere.' Using one hand, he hooks it around your waist and tugs at you to him. Your bodies collide, palms coming up to rest against his chest as you peer up at him. He doesn't know how he's resisted you for so long, how he's kept true and stopped this. After all, looking at you now cradled in his arms, it is obvious this was nothing, but inevitable.

Your lips come together easily. The kiss is harsh, full of pent up tension and a longing that has broken you both. He nips at your bottom lip before you flick your tongue against his teeth, tasting him properly as he lets you in.

'Holy shit.' Panting, you claw at him – your hands are everywhere: at his buttons, his chest, wrapped in the chain circling his neck. He pays you back in kind grabbing at your hips, taking handfuls of you with an eagerness that radiates through his entire body.

With an unceremonious grunt, he bends at the knees, slipping his hands under your thighs to hoist you up against his waist. He pulls back a slither, blinking at you, his shoulders straining at he takes your entire weight with ease and presses you into the wall of his hallway. A wicked grin takes his lips as you squeak, arms and legs wrapping around him to cling on. 'Hang on.'

He kisses you again then, pressed to the wall, but before you can catch you're breath he's off. You make a stop at a small counter where he presses his clothed cock to your cunt, letting you feel just what you're getting yourself into and again at the wall outside of his bedroom. There he almost leaves your neck raw, biting and sucking, but never enough to leave too much of a mark.

You stumble into his bedroom still cradled in Bakugo's arms. There's sure to be bruises on your elbows, a symptom of attempting to peel him from his shirt while he careened through the doorway, but as your back hitting the bed and Bakugo hovering over you, you find it hard to care. Reaching into your bra, you slip out the condom with two fingers and present it to him by waving it under his nose.

Taking it with his teeth, he grins as you let out a sigh that settles in his bones. Beneath him, you look insatiable. Your eyes have blown out, the black of your iris' banishing whatever colour had once been there. The dress he'd been so anxious to get under all night is rumpled, the slit cast aside exposing the thickness of your thighs and a slither of cunt covered by a pair of soft-looking red lace. The bodice is low, the heaving of your chest apparent – your tits held high, pressed together and begging for his hands. Slipping a hand up your thigh, he brushes his fingers across the flesh and earns himself the most pretty of moans.

'I knew you'd break.' Lifting your leg, you kick out at him softly – the ball of your heel connecting with his shoulder. You perch on your elbows, eyes swollen, the pulse of your cunt matching the beating of your heart. It's been rough until now, a clash of teeth and nails, but its hard not to notice the bare desire you see splayed out in his eyes. It's mixed with carmine, a colour that barely covers what, if nurtured, could become love. 'Knew I'd have you.'

He grabs your ankle and pulls on reflex, yanking you down the bed. 'Did you?' Under his skin he feels feral. Something that's only made worse when you lick your lips and nod.

His restraint snaps. Grabbing at your hips, he kneads the fat there before flipping you over. You bounce, a scream escaping your throat, but he quickly transforms the sound into a moan with a harsh slap against your ass.

'Thought you wanted head?' You laugh, feeling your skin prickle under him. There's a rustle behind you, the tell tale sound of him shucking down his jeans and then, his fingers are pulling your underwear away from your cunt and exposing you to the air.

'You always this much of a brat?'

You wriggle and lift up your hips. 'You always this hard for me? Oh wait...' You chuckle. 'You are.'

A growl rumbles in his throat, but it's not anger he's feeling. Taking his cock in his hand, he gives himself a cursory pass – the stickiness of his own pre cum making it easy. His head rocks back on his shoulders. With a bottle of whiskey still coursing through his vein's he's more than sensitive, the simple passes of his hand having him ready to blow – God only knows what the feel of your cunt will do to him.

'C'mon... Fuck me, forget the condom – just -.' Reaching behind you, you attempt to grab at him – to pull him close, get him to touch, to taste.

Chuckling to himself, he bats your hand away easily. 'Nah-ah-ah. Don't think you deserve me raw, sweetheart. Only good girls get that.' He squeezes the base of his cock, stopping a premature end as he tears through the tinfoil of the condom and slips it on.

You go to whine, to kick your feet and protest him not giving into you, but you're not even given the chance.

The first thing you feel is impossibly full. The next is overwhelming pleasure. Bakugo hadn't wasted time prepping you and to be honest, you hadn't needed it. You're soaking, cunt dribbling greedily onto his mattress – like you haven't been waiting forever for this moment. You arc your back, one hand fisting his bed sheets as the other curls around the wrist he plants beside your head. The pace he's set is brutal, each thrust pushing deeper inside of you, taking you as he pleases as you cling on and submit to it.

'Where's the cheek now, huh?' He pants. Honestly, he's surprised he's not cum already. Your cunt milks him, squeezing him so deliciously that he doesn't think he'll ever find anyone better.

Then again, he know what they say about forbidden fruit.

''m sorry.' You moan, back curling as he fucks you harder. It's pathetic how he's barely given you anything and yet, you're already creaming around him. Your body begs for release, teetering you on the precipice of ecstasy as he uses you relentlessly.

'No your not...' Bakugo chokes out, teeth bared as he clings to the last threads of his control. Your tight now, too tight to not be close and if the way you're moaning and almost drooling onto his bed is anything to go by – he's not wrong. Leaning over you, he licks a thick stripe up between your shoulder blades before resting his lips by your ear. When he speaks is a growl, a command that comes from deep within his chest. 'Touch yourself... C'mon, show me how pretty you cum.'

You don't need telling twice. Forcing your arm beneath you, you draw quick, awkward circles on your clit and have to remind yourself to breathe. Your orgasm hits you like a train. Every muscle in your body tenses, your eyes rolling back into your skull as the high continues to roll through your body. It feels like a millennia until you come back again, until your limbs begin to feel under your own control and you become aware of Bakugo still frantically prolonging your high.

'Shit, shit, shit...' Pulling out, he ignores your protests before quickly rolling off the condom. It takes a singular pass of his fist before he cums, a grunt thrown from his chest as he releases himself over your ass. His mess is sticky, a pearlescent sheen that drips between your cheeks and onto your raw cunt – your clit still twitching.

In a moment of madness, he retrieves his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture of the scene. In it, only the edge of your dress can be seen, coupled with the most distant droplets of his spend as it decorates the skin of your thighs.

'Post it.' Craning over your shoulder, you hiss at the new soreness in your limbs as you roll onto your back. You tilt your head, signature mischief returning to your cheeks. 'Got to let those fan girls know you've already being taken care of...' You flash a smile. 'And I'd really hate to see your DM's right now.'

Against his better judgement, he tosses you his phone. 'Knock yourself out.'

It's almost six in the morning when you finally settle for bed. You'd gone another three rounds. Once in shower, over the vanity in the hallway and then, again in his bed and each time had seen both of you aching and sore and more than pleased with yourselves. You'd posted the picture and Bakugo's phone hadn't been quiet since – not that you minded. It wasn't like anyone could really tell what it was. The lighting was awful, the image blurred and you'd cropped it so there was no chance of anyone figuring out who you were.

Still, the idea of it stirs up something hot and heavy in your stomach.

You'd laid your claim now.

'I will never know how you're such a demon when you're brother's a God damn golden boy.' Bakugo's breathing has just about leveled out, you hand rising and falling in a more subtle rhythm where it lays on the center of his chest.

You wrinkle your nose. 'Can we not talk about my brother while I can still feel your cum dripping down my ass, please.'

Bakugo chufs, but relents. His thumb rubs soft circles in the skin of your shoulder, a gentle beckoning to sleep as both of you watch the sun rise and fill his bedroom window with a brilliant orange. 'Stay?' He kisses your forehead. 'I'll make you breakfast.'

Nuzzling into him, you're about to agree – mind already reeling at the possibilities of Bakugo's cooking and another round at a more respectable hour – but, all thoughts cease when Bakugo's phone pings with a message.

'If this is my fucking publicist you can explain yourself.' Bakugo tuts, but there's still a warmth in his smile that betrays his annoyance.

You giggle. 'Happy to.'

Flipping over his phone in his hand, Bakugo's mouth drops open when the screen glows to light his face.

There's only one message on the screen.

And it isn't from his publicist.

Shitty Hair: 'Really dude, my fucking sister?'

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Freewriting

Freewriting - the practice of writing without a prescribed structure, which means no outlines, cards, notes, or editorial oversight.

In freewriting, the writer follows the impulses of their own mind, allowing thoughts and inspiration to appear to them without premeditation.

Benefits of Freewriting

CREATIVE EXPRESSION

Many writers embrace freewriting as a way to find unexpected inspiration.

Outlines and notes can be wonderful for the purpose of staying on task, but they can sometimes stifle the creativity that comes from free association.

This is where freewriting comes in.

By starting with a rough idea, but without pre-planned details, a writer opens themself up to discovery and new found inspiration.

WRITER'S BLOCK

Writers who feel in a style rut, or who actively experience writer’s block, may benefit from a freewriting exercise as part of their formal writing process.

By forcing themselves to put words on a page, a writer may be able to alleviate their anxiety about writing and allow them to be more creative.

SPEED

Freewriting is typically faster than other forms of draft writing or outlining.

Because you are simply writing without a strict form to follow and without organizing your thoughts.

5 Tips and Techniques for Freewriting

JUST WRITE

Any writing coach or writing teacher will tell you that you must segregate your writing process from your editing process.

When it comes to freewriting, first drafts are repositories for every idea that comes to mind, however vague or tangential.

Don’t worry about word count, don’t worry about market viability, don’t worry about sentence structure, don’t even worry about spelling.

Unleash your creativity, let the ideas flow, and trust that there will be time for editing later.

This rule applies whether you wish to write a novel, a play, a short story, or a poem.

GATHER TOPICS BEFOREHAND

Freewriting doesn’t mean you write without having an idea about your topic/story.

Even the most committed freewriters tend to have some degree of a prewriting technique - they ruminate on their subject matter in a broad, general sense.

You don’t have to pre-plan details before you start writing, but it helps to know in the broadest sense what it is you think you’ll write about.

TIME YOURSELF

If you are experiencing writer’s block, commit to getting words down on the page within the first 60 seconds of writing.

Perhaps those first words will not yield anything, but think of them metaphorically as the first drops you put into the five gallon bucket that is your novel.

There is nothing to be gained by staring at a page or computer screen for any great period of time.

COMBINE FREEWRITING WITH TRADITIONAL OUTLINES OR NOTES

While it can be quite satisfying to say that one wrote an entire novel using freewriting techniques (as Jack Kerouac is said to have done with On the Road) what readers care about most is the quality of your writing.

With this in mind, start a project with a substantive freewriting session.

Depending on what you produce, you may want to use that content as fodder for a formal process that more closely conforms to the traditional rules of writing (outlines, notes, etc.).

Let that outline or set of notes guide the remainder of your writing on the project.

Remember, too, that you can always toggle back to freewriting at any point.

BRING IDEAS TO YOUR SESSIONS

Some writers, particularly poets, begin sessions with no ideas or themes they plan to tackle—they simply begin writing with the first word or phrase that comes to mind, and then they let the process unfold from there.

While you can work toward this point, if you’re new to the medium of writing and are seeking to unleash the writer within, plan your freewriting sessions when you have a strong idea of your story or theme.

The most effective writing has thematic or narrative consistency, and starting with a small germ of an idea may help you achieve that consistency.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[fizzamess]

Keep the aroace positivity flowing (day 10):

Mom’s advice to caedsexuals:

My mom is a survivor of SA and so am I. Hence why I relate to the term caedsexuality.

I asked her to give me an idea for today’s positivity blog and she told me this:

“An unfortunate event in life is only an event, that, if seen in proportion to the time you still have here on this earth, it wouldn’t be fair to let it determine the rest of your life. Whether you’re ace because of trauma or because of some other reason, you still deserve to love and be loved (in the broadest sense of the word)”.

[hobgoblinns]

no i’m not suggesting doctor who has much in common with jim garrison’s investigation into the kennedy assassination lmfao. but prior to watching the film i didn’t know a whole lot about the kennedy assassination, or america’s military industrial complex. and after adding that context to ‘boom’, it really changes how you see it (unless you’re cool and already know about that stuff — this post is based on my own ignorance. in my defence, i’m not american, don’t know much about geopolitics, and in many ways naïve about the kind of evil that lurks behind a corporation’s desire to profit. but i feel the need to add a disclaimer: if you’re familiar with the military industrial complex, the JFK conspiracy, or even similar conspiracies like the danny casalaro murder, this probably won’t be new information to you.)

you watch ‘boom’, and you (i) think, ‘ok, i get it. it’s a clever bit of satire. moffat is saying that in war, we’re fighting “ourselves” (ie. common soldier of x team against common soldier of y team) while the real enemy is the military corporations profiting from the violence. when we see villengard tech killing the soldiers it’s designed to protect, it’s commentary on how corporations are the ones indirectly ‘killing’ by supplying the machinery, even when someone else pulls the trigger’. you enjoy the episode, think, classic moffat, and go on with your day.

and then you watch a film like oliver stone’s ‘JFK’. it’s a 3-hour epic based on an autobiography by new orleans district attorney jim garrison with so much going on that i can only give the most basic of summaries: garrison investigates the inconsistencies in the official court findings of the JFK assassination and ends up uncovering an elaborate conspiracy, leading him to the conclusion that kennedy was killed as part of a coup d’etat with the intention of installing LBJ as the new president in order to escalate the vietnam war and thus ensure continued profit for the defence industry.

side note here: watch the film, and if you can, read the book, too. i’m normally a very sceptical person, but considering the fact that as of 2023, more than half of the US population believe there was more than one gunman involved in the assassination, i don’t think it’s particularly controversial of me to suggest here that i was convinced. though the film is a dramatisation, you can fact check most of what’s presented to you, and once you do, it’s hard to go back to accepting the official story. so from here on in, i’m going to act on the assumption that garrison’s theory is correct — that kennedy was murdered for arms dealers’ profits. that in mind, i’ll be using the term ‘they’ a lot, because there isn’t really one name i can umbrella these corporations with. i hate to paint them as these shadowy puppet masters, but i don’t have much else to go on.

i mentioned my naïveté earlier. though i have nothing good to say about the us government or the radical branch of capitalism it operates on, it was still a tough pill to swallow. this whole ‘essay’ (used lightly — this is a self-indulgent post made on a ton of caffeine whose main purpose is to take the thoughts out of my brain and put them in words) is, in case i distracted you, about doctor who, so i’ll use it as an example. if you’re raised on that show like i was, you’re instilled with at least some kind of optimism. a belief that nowhere in the universe exists pure evil. a belief that the good and the noble will always triumph if they’re brave enough.

so it can be difficult to wrap your (my) head around the fact that there are people in the world — powerful people, at that — whose sole aim is to perpetuate war and violence. not on the grounds of self-defence, or on religious faith, like the soldiers in ‘boom’. these people don’t even particularly care who wins, or what they’re fighting over. their only interest is ensuring that peace doesn’t happen. how do you even begin to accept that that kind of evil exists?

and that’s where ‘boom’ comes into it. because then you (i) realise that you’ve got it all wrong. this isn’t a satire, perpetuating an absurdist future in which defence companies directly kill their own clients and frame it on an imagined enemy to ensure their continued success. this isn’t some kind of warning — ‘better keep an eye on those corporations! who knows what they might do?’ — and it’s certainly not an exaggeration. it’s a retelling of history. it’s a recount, not a cautionary tale.

because, accepting garrison’s theory as fact, they’ve done it before. not just killing footsoldiers, either. they killed one of the most powerful men in the world simply because he was in a position to negotiate peace. when the villengard tech begins slaughtering soldiers, it’s not a dystopia. it’s a parallel.

moffat has always been known for writing terrifying doctor who stories. he’s a master of monsters. i grew up terrified of the empty child, the weeping angels, the vashta nerada, the silence. ‘boom’ was already a masterpiece of an episode, but with the context i have now, it might also be the most terrifying to date. because there is no metaphor. just a statement of fact — those who stand to profit from war have killed, do kill, will kill, to stay at the top.

for some reason after watching boom i decided to watch oliver stone’s JFK on a whim and by complete coincidence i think i found the perfect “further reading” film

[thewalrusespublicist]

I straight up don’t think that story in skywriting set in Paris ever even remotely happened, I think this is John working through the mix of complex feelings he has about Paul in some sort of semi autobiographical fantasy/thought experiment type thing? I think it’s undeniable it’s about Paul, but wether or not the contents of it are true is a little more suspect, the thing is it’s not the point to me, like, the fact that he’s fantasising about having passionate hate love sex with his boy bestie is the real convicting evidence 😭

Hi Anon,

Pretty much entirely agree! Not going to lie, I love this section of Skywriting as it’s so tantalising. Like what's fact and what's fiction? Where does fantasy overtake the narrative entirely and when does reality trickle through? The line between the two is often blurred in Skywriting as it is in most of John’s creative work.

As to it being an entirely fantastical thought experiment or a semi-autobiographical, I think I lean towards the latter only in the broadest sense.

*One sec, lemme adjust my tin-hat.*

I’m pretty much on the bandwagon that this section is a highly embellished, fantastical account of the summer of 66’ or a pastiche of trips to Paris. John, as he does elsewhere in Skywriting, obscures or replaces the real life event or word with clever wordplay and surrealist imagery. Instead of putting that he was acting abroad in Spain, he uses a play on ‘method acting’ to come up with ‘methodist acting’ and invents a more ‘exotic’ location of Jamaica. Edit 1: @this-never-happened-before has kindly informed me that the British capital of Jamaica was called 'Spanish Town' and Spanish Town still exists as the Capital of St Catherine's province. It's nowhere near definitive proof of course but it's really interesting to think about and could explain if John was thinking of summer 66' why he chose Jamaica as a substitute for Spain. Instead of saying he met up with Paul and co in Paris, he gets a summons from Aime to go to Paris. Whilst the name Aime is obviously part of the allusions to homosexuality and the surreal angle, ‘aime’ nevertheless means ‘friend’ in french. Less discussed is the fact that Aime is also a comrade, which by definition is a friend or someone who works in the same organisation as you or is a fellow soldier. ‘Military buddies’ anyone? So he’s being summoned by someone he defines as being his friend and ‘brother-in-arms’. Pinning it down further to the summer of 66’ is the ‘God Only Knows’ reference. This to me is where I threw my hands up because well, wouldn’t you know guess whose favourite song it is and who played it to death in 66’:

(On the influence of Pet sounds on John)

PAUL: I played it to John so much that it would be difficult for him to escape the influence. If records had a director within a band, I sort of directed Pepper. And my influence was basically the Pet Sounds album. John was influenced by it, perhaps not as much as me. It was certainly a record we all played – it was the record of the time, you know?

Edit 2: I've discussed this a bit in the comments but thought it should go here in the main ask. To me it seems really unlikely that John, who lived and breathed music, communicated to his friends in coded song lyrics and measured time periods by songs (according to Mintz) would not have an especial association with Paul and God Only Knows, especially as Paul would not let up on how much he loved it. Loving someone romantically or platonically means remembering little details like that.

Furthermore, I did a bit more digging and found that John himself loved Pet Sounds but he never mentioned God Only Knows as one he particularly loved. I did however notice an anecdote from Alice Cooper recalling John talking to Brian Wilson about Pet Sounds in the mid 70s. In it John discusses Pet Sounds as something both he and Paul admired together.

''Hello Brian, I’ve always wanted to meet you. I’ve always admired your work, and Paul and I considered Pet Sounds one of the best albums ever made.''

To add to all this, you have:

staying at the George V, the same place John and Paul stayed at when they went to Paris the second time in 64’ (I couldn't find where they stayed in 66’ but it may have been the same hotel).

 ‘the underlying bastard’ of their relationship which has many possible meanings when it comes to John and Paul (jealousy, competitiveness etc.)

 dating of ‘three months’ before a big fall out. Three months takes us nowhere … but three years takes us to 1969 when things really started to go to hell for them

Then leaving in a seething rage but being like a force fed baby about them… a pretty great description of growing up loving someone and spending so much time with them from a young age or just being bombarded with information and memories about someone like John was with Paul in the 70s

Pure tin hat bollocks ignore me but the 'don't take me for granite Perry', 'Never' I sang reminds me so much of the Oh! Darling recording sessions.

The move from the third to first person in the last part of the section. It could be John acting as an omniscient narrator or revealing that there are certain truths to the story that affect him personally

 ‘To this day, his memories of her are clear and fresh.  Like a force-fed baby, he’ll never forget, and neither, I hope, will she.’’

So yes, whilst I am open to it being coincidental and just pure fantasy, I do think it is at the very least a little inspired by that summer or by his trips to Paris in general. But if the Aime is/is inspired by anyone real, it’s Paul. Aside from the history of Paris in their relationship and the God Only Knows reference, there’s also that John’s Mon Pau Pau demo:

Source: https://got-ticket-to-ride.tumblr.com/post/733073861959139328/john-chanelling-a-french-singer-in-an-audio-from (thank you @got-ticket-to-ride, I don't know how the hell you got hold of this but amazing you did)

I’m unsure with the transcription of the ‘garter … prod’ as Dogget could be right and it’s cartier … throat (though as an aside it’s always wild to me that his transcription removes the Pau Pau section, surely he knew enough about the Beatles + solo work to immediately get the reference and significance?) Nevertheless, John’s in this demo places Paul in the role of a coquettish women which would give the section of Skywriting precedence.

So if it’s potentially autobiographical, how true is the sleeping together bit? Honestly, I agree that I doubt they did it for too many reasons to go into here. But then why on earth has he written this? The tone of the passage is quite light-hearted so I don't think it's delving into any real feeling of angst or forbidden desire. Edit 3: @idontwanttospoiltheparty has raised that there isn't any real reason that John couldn't be playfully writing out a fantasy about Paul for various reasons. Considering John's mercurial moods towards Paul and the playful demo, I am inclined to agree that this was an oversight on my part and perfectly plausible. Aside from playful exploration or a personal joke about the potential boundary-crossing of their relationship, John could be describing their songwriting process. I can't find them right now (which is driving me crazy) but there are a few quotes from Paul which talk about John and Paul taking it in turns to 'turn each other on' with their music. Maybe John was riffing off that supplanting the intense, emotional act of songwriting with sex? Or maybe Paul was a very loose inspiration and the characters and their sexual relationships became their own. It's so hard to decide and discern but absolutely, the fact that he is potentially willing to go there in his mind indicates at least some acknowledgement that maybe feelings/ the relationship wasn't 1000 percent platonic or blurred the boundaries of a standard heterosexual male friendship for the time.

[obsessioncollector]

Hi friends! Inspired by @librarycards I wanted to make a post celebrating Women in Translation Month! Anglophone readers generally pay embarrassingly little attention to works in other languages, and that's even more true when it comes to literature by women, so I will jump at any chance to promote my faves 🥰 Here are some recs from 9 different languages! Also, I wrote this on my phone, so apologies for any typos or errors!

1. Trieste by Daša Drndić, trans. Ellen Elias-Bursać (Croatian): An all-time favorite. Much of Drndić's work interrogates the legacy of atrocities in Europe, particularly eastern Europe. Trieste is a haunting contemplative novel centered on an elderly Italian Jewish woman whose family converted to Catholicism during the Mussolini era and were complicit in the fascist violence surrounding them in order to protect themselves.

2. Cursed Bunny by Bora Chung, trans. Anton Hur (Korean): A collection of short stories that are difficult to classify by genre–speculative fiction in the broadest sense. The first story is about a monster in a woman's toilet, which sounds impossible to pull off in a serious, thought-provoking manner, but Chung does so easily—these are the kind of stories that are hard to explain the brilliance of secondhand.

3. Sweet Days of Discipline by Fleur Jaeggy, trans. Tim Parks (Italian; Jaeggy is Swiss): Another all time favorite! The cold, sterile homoerotic girls' boarding school novella of your dreams.

4. Toddler-Hunting and Other Stories by Taeko Kono, trans. Lucy North (Japanese): I think I read this in one sitting. Incredibly unsettling—these stories will stay with you. They often focus on the unspoken psychosexual fantasies underscoring mundane daily life.

5. The Complete Stories by Clarice Lispector, trans. Katrina Dodson (Brazilian Portuguese): I think Lispector is the best known writer here, so she might not need much of an introduction. But what a legend! And this collection is so diverse—it's fascinating to see the evolution of Lispector's work.

6. Our Lady of the Nile by Scholastique Mukasonga, trans. Melanie L. Mauthner (French; Mukasonga is Rwandan): Give her the Nobel! Mukasonga's books, at least the ones available in English, are generally quite short but so impactful. Our Lady of the Nile is a collection of interrelated short stories set at a Catholic girls' boarding school in Rwanda in the years before the Rwandan genocide. These stories are fascinating on many levels, but perhaps the most haunting element is seeing how ethnic hatred intensifies over time—none of these girls would consider themselves particularly hateful or prejudiced, but they easily justify atrocities in the end.

7. Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972 by Alejandra Pizarnik, trans. Yvette Siegert (Spanish; Pizarnik was Argentinian): Does anyone remember when my url was @/pizarnikpdf... probably not but worth mentioning to emphasize how much I love her <3 Reading Pizarnik is so revelatory for me; she articulates things I didn't even realize I felt until I read her words.

8. Flight and Metamorphosis: Poems by Nelly Sachs, trans. Joshua Weiner (German): Sachs actually won the Nobel in the 1960s, so it's surprising that she's not better known in the Anglosphere. Her poems are cryptic and surreal, yet deeply evocative. Worth mentioning that this volume is bilingual, so you can read the original German too if you're interested.

9. Frontier by Can Xue, trans. Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping (Chinese): Can Xue is another difficult-to-classify writer in terms of genre. Her short stories are often very abstract and can be puzzling at first. I think Frontier is a great place to start with her because these stories are interconnected, which makes them a bit more accessible.

[astrologysh]

angel hours 👼

00:00 - by showing the hour 00:00 on the clock, your guardian angel lets you know that you’re making the right decisions and heading in the right direction.

01:01 - if you check your watch at 01:01, this means a call from your guardian angel to deal with your projects more decisively.

02:02 - If you come across with the hour of 02:02, this means that you should listen to your angel, it is possible that someone is hiding something from you. Go where your instincts take you.

03:03 - 03:03 has a very clear significance; it means anything is possible. Your dreams and plans might become reality thanks to your unwavering determination. It's not a question of magic wands, but of intended changes and success you'll achieve through hard work and determination

04:04 - 04:04 Mirror hour is worrying because it's a warning; your guardian angel is urging you to be careful of what's happening around you and to pay close attention. The guardian angels, who surround you, bring you good news, especially if you suffer from health problems

05:05 - The mirror hour 05:05 characterizes the love of life in the broadest sense of the word, that's to say; fun, sexuality, adaptability, humor, daring, and independence. The vibration of the 05:05 double hour speaks to us of unpredictable changes, excesses, and challenges.

06:06 - Through the mirror hour, 06:06, your angel tells you that you are not alone, that he protects you, and that he acts to reveal your inner power.

07:07 - The mirror hour 07:07 is directly related to the spirit and the inner life. It symbolizes faith, genius, psychology, and spirituality. This double hour promotes change, movement, and action. The essence of this numerical doubling is characterized by "love of life" in the broadest sense of the word.

08:08 - The mirror hour 08:08, urges you to be careful in your actions and attitudes. Here, you'll need to act with respect for others and for yourself. This double time encourages accomplishment through balance. Indeed, the message indicates that success is favored and that it is meant to be dazzling.

09:09 - 09:09 warns you against withdrawal and isolation because a new cycle is coming. This mirror hour invites you to abandon a certain material anchorage in order to be able to realize yourself fully. It delivers a message for you to work on your sociability and your humanity.

10:10 - The 10:10 angel number is a grounding number, meaning that the universe is trying to get you to see how large a role you play in this world. Showing you this number is the angels' way of getting you to see how life works.

11:11 - 1111 is an alert from the angelic energies that you are supported by forces you cannot see. You can sink into relief, celebrate, and get excited when you see 1111 — it gives you confirmation that everything is on schedule and divinely guided in your world at this time.8

12:12 - The 12:12 angel number is an indication that you are at a point in your life where you are ready to step out of your comfort zone and enter into those goals you've been putting off. If you've been contemplating trying something new, this is your sign to move forward!

13:13 - The angel number 1313 speaks of an energy shift, and this can also apply to our romantic lives and relationships. If you see this number, it could be because your soulmate is about to enter your life, so keep building positive energy in your body, mind, and soul so you can welcome the experience with ease and grace.

14:14 - The spiritual meaning of 1414 is about the power of positive thinking and how you can deepen your faith in yourself. By nurturing self-belief and trusting that the universe is working in harmony with you, can lead you to your life path and take you into a new phase of life.

15:15 - Angel number 1515 is a sign of new beginnings and opportunities coming your way. This number will keep following you until you open your heart to receive its blessings. Notice the ways in which you might be holding yourself back or resisting change. While change isn't always easy, it is necessary.

16:16 - When you notice 16:16 regularly, this marks the end of a cycle, or the end of a love story. Seeing this time can symbolize a break or a renewal. It is an obligatory passage to start again on healthier bases, on something more fulfilling.

17:17 - The angel number 1717 is concerned with good fortune, and new beginnings, and encourages you to finally take that leap of faith and follow your heart. This number calls on the energy of the number 1 and the energy of the number 7 and doubles its power.

18:18 - Change and prosperity are the meaning behind the angel number 1818. For those who keep seeing this number show up, take it as a positive sign from your guardian angels that something is about the shift and that positive energies are working in your favor to ensure you the best success is coming.

19:19 - 19:19 Mirror hour meaning: An invitation to be patient. Doors open and you want to go through them. However, if you see the time 19:19, it means you have to be patient. Whatever is getting in your way will disappear, but you need to have a plan.

20:20 - In love, the frequent appearance of 20:20 heralds the reversal of situations for both those in a relationship and singles. It indicates that your relationship life will soon be turned upside down. If you're currently in a relationship, this mirror hour reveals that you may be in a bad relationship.

21:21 - Sentimentally, 21:21 means fulfillment. In other words, it may mean formalizing a union, building a home, having a child. For single people, this time symbolizes the realization of a wish, the announcement of a beautiful meeting or some good news.

22:22 - The number 22:22 is an angel number, which represents harmony and serenity,” Zee explains. She continues: “It holds a very strong message that you must find balance in your life and that you need to gain clarity on what you want to desire and co-create with the universe to take aligned action.

23:23 - The spiritual interpretation of the double hour, 23:23, indicates that you will be successful in all your endeavors. The news is rather good, nevertheless to keep it that way, you will have to control a tendency to impulsiveness and instability.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Lilia please impart some sage wisdom to Fellow like how Uncle Iroh gave advice to the one guy that tried to mug him in Ba Sing Se. He fr needs some guidance counseling

I wrote this one while running on like 4 hours of sleep so I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense 🤡

So tell me, do you wanna go?

Fellow nearly leapt out of his own skin at the figure that descended, upside down, from a tree. They were short, with choppy bangs streaked with magenta, his irises the same bright color, his vest a neon green. But youthful as the student seemed, his voice was as ancient and as deep as a starry night sky.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Lilia drawled. “If it isn’t Fellow and young Gidel. It has been quite some time. How goes it? I certainly hope you boys have been behaving yourselves.”

"W-We've been just fine and dandy, I assure you!" Fellow instinctively took a step in front of Gidel. He provided the broadest smile he could muster in that moment. "And you've been in good spirits as well, I presume?"

"Oh, I'm fit as a fiddle, as you can see." The fae swung, righting himself and expertly landed beside Fellow. Gidel clapped, as if applauding a acrobatic performance, but stopped when Fellow shot him a withering look. "Now then, what brings you to our side of the island, hmm? Surely you're not simple tourists."

"Call it temporary residence."

"Temporary residence!" Lilia echoed, his eyes set glimmering like jewels. "My, that takes me back. I was a globe trotter back in my day too, you know. Lived the nomadic life, going wherever the wind took me."

Fellow stared at him as though he had just sprouted a third eye on his forehead. This guy's got a baby face, but he's talkin' like an old geezer... (If Lilia noticed, he wasn't bothered and continued, unfettered.)

"It's wonderful to meet new people and to experience new cultures," he said dreamily. "You learn so much, even from the humblest and most simple of folk. And such interesting stories they shared, kufufu. I’d like to depart on another trip, but I’m afraid school’s got me preoccupied.”

Fellow found himself frowning. He scanned Lilia up and down—the smart uniform, his high-waisted pants, shoes polished. Neat and sweet, likely another privileged kid vacationing on daddy’s dime.

When you’re poor, they call it trashy. When you’re rich, they call it ‘taking time off to discover yourself’.

“Must’ve been real nice for ya,” Fellow muttered under his breath. The brim of his top hat fell down, eclipsing his grimace. “You can choose to stay put or leave for a new place whenever you want. It’s not really an option for us.”

“Ah, but it’s not about the frequency of travel but what you gain from it.” Lilia lifted an index finger. “For example, did you know that sleeping with an uncovered mirror directly at you is bad feng shui in the Land of Crimson Long? They also have an awe-inspiring tale about a woman that took her father’s place in the military and saved the whole country.”

Gidel listened to him intently, ears perking up.

Lilia noticed, his mouth quirked. “Oh? I trust you’ve yet to visit. You should sometime, it’s a lovely place.”

“Maybe one day, though we never stay for too long. The locals, as you can probably imagine, always come to realize they aren’t fans of us.”

“If you opened your hearts to them, then surely…”

“We don’t have that luxury,” Fellow replied, a bit of ice to his words, “unlike you. The world isn’t that kind to us.”

Lilia quieted. His expression shifted, turning several shades more serious. “… Oh dear. I knew a man like you once. He was lost too. Angry, confused, despairing—and lashing out at the world and the people he believed had wronged him, denied him happiness.

“One day, while wandering in the darkness, he came upon a patch of moonlight. It lit the way and led him out of the thicket he had been trapped in for so long.”

That man was…

Lilia smiled softly.

“We cannot turn back time, but we can make the most of what we have left. If I may ask just one thing of you… live on. Look for that moonbeam in the night, that what brings you happiness. Protect it, treasure it, nurture it—so that it may, someday, see the sun.”

Lilia gave a gentle nudge to Gidel, causing the boy to stumble. He caught Fellow’s arm to balance himself.

“And if you can do that for one person, then it’s possible for you to do that for everyone. This world needs more love… not war.”

Fellow shook his head indignantly, but he supported Gidel by the back all the same. “I don’t get a lick of that. Love, war… whatever it is, it’s not my problem. We just gotta get by.”

“Someday, you’ll understand,” Lilia said with a terse laugh. “For now, I think you’re doing absolutely fine as you are. You’re the dynamic duo, never one without the other.”

Fellow smirked, his canines proudly protruding. “Hmph. You’re damn right we are.”

[heartbeatbookclub]

I've attempted cobbling together multiple different full-length essays on my thoughts on Yuri being autistic, something i've referenced multiple times on this blog virtually every time I do any deeper analysis of her character, partially as a means of pressuring myself, but mostly because I really don't think there's a way I can understand her character without this as a baseline. It's something that's really fundamental to how I see her character, and as something of an autist myself, it's something I feel pretty strongly about.

I've attempted making multiple full-length pieces on this. Emphasis on attempted. So, rather than doing a true full length analysis, I thought I'd just throw myself in and go a bit off the cuff.

Understanding is what follows Trust, quite literally immediately after. I think I've been underserving my point (and my own understanding) every time I've talked about the Side Stories directly without addressing the formatting and overall themes. I've got an extremely old draft trying to enunciate my fuller thoughts on it, but I doubt I'll ever take that anywhere, so here's this now: I think probably the broadest theme across all of them comes down to something like connection. Communication, miscommunication, words left unsaid and the fact that you never really know what's going on inside someone's head. And despite all of the individual problems which can create conflict and breed disconnect, the Literature Club is formed with the intent of being a club for everyone, where each person can come and feel safe expressing themselves, with the hope that they could find community. Which they succeed in.

I think, really, when you look at DDLC as a whole, its entire point can be condensed within this idea, and both the Side Stories and Base Game are just two different ways of viewing it. This post puts it pretty well, I think. There's this constant emphasis on the unseen side of someone, just beneath the surface.

"Can you hear me?"

Anyway, my broader point in leading with that is, each of the titles refer to specific ideas which the stories they contain deal with in great detail, usually as a central element to a given conflict, and revolving around some central thing that needs to be learned (further emphasized in Equals). They're obstacles to the connection they're trying to create. These traits are instrumental, both in terms of building the club as it comes to be, and in bringing each of the characters closer together, solidifying the connection between them in spite of their differences. I think in general you could also describe them as fundamental traits that go into creating the Literature Club as a concept, particularly on terms of the vision as a place people can feel comfortable expressing themselves in.

Trust is all about the relationship built between Sayori and Monika, and the...well, trust they build with each other. The trust they invest in one another, that leads to them sharing some of their deepest secrets with each other. It also, I think, represents the trust that's necessary in the environment they're trying to create (It's difficult to express your true self if you don't trust the people you're expressing yourself to, after all!) I think Trust sets out the modus operandi which the rest of the stories operate under; in order to create the environment which Sayori and Monika envisioned at the start, there are a few essential hurdles which need to be crossed.

I think Understanding having direct continuity from Trust is important in that sense. It's a direct showcase of their vision in action; from creating it in Trust, to making it a reality in Understanding. And in that sense, it showcases the first major hurdle they have to get over.

To get away from the whole subtextual analysis thing, Yuri's introduction does a lot in a short period to establish the kind of person she is. As Monika puts it: "intense". She jumps straight in to talking about her books as soon as she's sure she's in the right place, in a way that awkwardly (but effectively!) side-steps the attempt at introductions which Monika and Sayori give (a theme that becomes common as the story goes on), and gets straight to her point, that she wants to join their club, and that she really wants to share her books with them.

I also can't go on without at least mentioning this adorable little moment--

It's really obvious from the outset here that Yuri is very excited to have found a place where she can talk about her books; a place filled with people who seem to share a common interest with her, where she can find like-minded people to make friends with based on her love of fantasy literature. In fact, she seems so taken with this idea that she doesn't even seem to notice Monika or Sayori being put off at all by how overexcited she is. She gets so caught up in her own thoughts on the matter, in fact, that without a second thought with regard to the social consequence, she takes off to go and get her books once she realizes she didn't bring them.

I gotta be honest, I don't think Yuri was really paying attention to how this conversation was going, not to dig on her. There's a particular reason for that, I think.

I think she spent a whole lot of time running this entire moment over in her head, again and again.

That might seem like an obvious assumption, but I have some specific reasons why I think that, like the fact that she forgot Monika's name two separate times, or that she says she took the flier immediately but had to work up the courage to come in. I'd say even the fact that she feels the need to say that she "should be good enough" to join their club (as though there's a skill based barrier to entry in a school hobbyist club?) indicates that she probably spent a lot of time creating imaginary standards to check herself against just to be sure she'd be up to snuff in any serious literary debates.

I think her idea of a "Literature Club" is fairly similar to what MY idea of what a Literature Club would be when I first heard the title, and what I'm sure a lot of other people kind of envisioned: something like a book club. For books. And people who read books. Made for people to come in and talk about books. As a consequence, I think she excited herself building this idea in her head of a club at her school, filled with her peers, where she could go in person to meet like-minded people to talk with about something she's truly passionate about. It's all of these factors together that lead me to thinking she probably came in with a very one-track plan in mind, potentially as simple as "see if anyone there likes fantasy, see if anyone there likes annabelle dupont, makes friends by talking about annabelle dupont!" after doing a lot of thought on the matter, and considering a lot of what could go wrong.

I think that's why she pushes past the introductions quickly, and why she's so resistant to (or, maybe better put, uninterested in) small talk. When she came in, she had a few very specific, and very important thoughts in mind. She wanted to see if anyone in the club shared her specific interest, and she wanted to join their club. The introductions, the social element? That was mostly secondary to her real desire here. I'd say she even saw it more like an obstacle to what she wanted to do.

And this introduction, with this context in mind, leads me to a very particular idea about Yuri's whole deal.

Yuri is very passionate about literature, in particular a specific fantasy series by Annabelle DuPont, which she is very happy to gush about at length with likeminded people. Yuri lacks a great deal of intuitive social awareness, and has a tendency to get caught in her own thoughts pretty easily, social consequence be damned. This in conjunction with her obsessive interests can be very clearly seen to put off people around her, and impair her own ability to recognize when other people are put off by her. She takes a rather literal, straightforward approach to things, and is mostly uninterested in introductions as opposed to a conversation about her interests.

Guys...I think she might be Literally Me.

Okay, so I'm not going to pull out a full DSM-V diagnostic criteria list here, but the emphasis on her social dysfunction combined with her obsessive interest in a particular subject (in this case, with a particular overcomplicated fiction series) are some clear indicators, but it does go a bit deeper than that, imo. It's hard to really typify, but unironically, there are a lot of things to the way she's written that I just deeply identify with as an autistic person, coupled with some dense anxiety.

The moment of her pressing her knuckles against her cheeks is a pretty obvious example of stimming, something she does in this instance because she's too excited and happy to express the feeling in any possible words. Her immediate jump into asking about fantasy I think comes from the fact that this question was on her mind and she just needed to find a moment to ask it--something I find particularly relatable as a former child who could never find a good moment to interrupt a conversation. When you have something really strong on your mind that you really want to say and you're just looking for a good moment where you can finally break in and ask it and it just seems to never present itself so you just have to break in at some point even if it's awkward--whether that statement is "I want to join your club!" or "Do you like fantasy?" or "Is your shirt a reference to this band because their music literally changed the course of my life and if you like them I wanna be your friend". I view this as something of a consequence of autistic inertia (as in, the trouble many autistic people have of switching between tasks), particularly when you have to deal with engaging in a conversation you're currently in which you'd like to steer in a particular direction--or that you just want to jut this question into. This is, in my experience, one particularly common reason an autistic person might come off as blunt or tactless in conversation: sometimes you just wanna say something and you don't know how to do it naturally or politely. (At the very least, this is a common reason I've personally been called blunt or tactless.)

And of course, since I mentioned it without focusing much on it earlier: Yuri's intense focus on her books and what she's talking about leading to her not noticing how the other two are reacting is a neat little showcase of impaired empathy, though it's also a consequence of her hyperfocus on her own train of thought in that moment.

It's also a very nuanced, and I would say exceptionally real portrayal of autistic empathy. See, I've mentioned this before on this blog, here, but there's this funny little trope with autistic characters, where due to the idea of "impaired empathy" as an autistic trait being...rather ironically taken too literally, autistic characters are often presented with this unflappable confidence of having never been rejected by other people in their life, as though they can't even empathize enough with the idea of rejection to understand that they're supposed to feel negatively about it. As a consequence, autistic characters will often be written with this constant need to be insensitive, emotionless little weirdos, and any blunt, tactless, implied or explicit insults they share are just accepted because "they're autistic lolz", and they never advance from this perspective.

This is...needless to say, not a good way to portray autism, I can speak firsthand, hi, I know a shitload of autistic people and also I am one of those, what the fuck guys, at least make me a cool terminator robot or a Ryan Gosling character or something--anyway, more bluntly, it's also just inaccurate, and speaks to a misunderstanding of what autism even is. I think most portrayals of autism in Hollywood and TV are broadly misinformed about the autistic perspective (ignoring that there isn't really a universal autistic perspective...that's a broader discussion that's not important here tho), and the way they portray autistic people's experience with empathy is probably one of the most obvious examples.

Autistic people do not have some magical lack of empathy. It's not somehow impossible for autistic people to understand (or at least relate to) your feelings. It's just that there's often this extra little gap you need to bridge to really get there. It's a bit tough to really explain past general terms like this, especially since every person's experience with autism is different, but let me just elaborate on it on terms of Yuri, because she outright defies this very Hollywood idea of impaired empathy in a pretty nice way.

When the others react to Yuri's enthusiasm, she doesn't seem to really pick up that they're uncomfortable. She doesn't seem to notice their facial expressions, or the overall tone of the conversation, or how one-sided it really is. She gets one piece of positive affirmation from Monika ("Fantasy is cool.") and immediately latches on to that, ignoring the rest of the awkwardness of the conversation around it. She's not picking up the cues here that the others aren't on the same page with her, and it's only after she receives an admittedly very minor and well-meaning bit of pushback from Sayori that she realizes she might've gone a bit far. More specifically, it pumps the brakes on her excitement and forces her to be a bit more receptive to an actual conversation, which enables her to slow down, and in that way, reflect a bit more.

She doesn't let on anything about it immediately, but the following day, she apologizes, revealing that on reflection, she decided that she was being overbearing, and didn't consider anyone else's feelings in the matter. Here, even when Sayori pushes back on that, telling her she didn't do anything wrong, she's pretty set on apologizing, acknowledging she did do something wrong, and pulling back, instead letting other people take the lead. She states (her opinion) that nobody was actually interested in her book, and instead that they were just humoring her. When Sayori pushes further, indicating that she is interested, and it's something she really wanted to do as a club activity, Yuri immediately swaps to the other end of blaming herself, immediately questioning why she's being so resistant, when she wanted to do this anyway, then apologizing for "being like this".

The anxiety on display, the immediate turn to catastrophizing about how this situation can go wrong (or already has), something we saw briefly earlier when she talked about how she thought Monika might've spoken ill of her in the club when she received the flier, that's all one thing, but what seems plainly clear here is that there's a gap which isn't being bridged. Yuri doesn't actually understand Sayori's thought process, and Sayori doesn't understand Yuri's, and that's the fundamental conflict here. That's the real gap in understanding.

And that gap, between how one person looks at a scenario and how another views it? That is, in my view, the most fundamental element of autistic empathy. That's what fuels the disconnect. There's a lot of different traits which might make up an autism diagnosis, but the differences they create on terms of thinking and behavior aren't some magical other separated from neurotypicals as a class of people; there's always some fundamental logic to it, which you just need to take the time to understand.

Digressing--there's a lot of littler things around these moments that I tie to this view, like Yuri's issues with many people, or Yuri only seeking out people to talk about literature with online. I mean, when you consider it, it is kind of obvious to check around the posted clubs to see if there were any to suit her interest...so why didn't she? I think it was intentional, though unconscious. I think her decision to come to the Literature Club was actually fairly motivated by the fact that Monika outright placed the flier in front of her, creating an impetus for her to want to join, besides the fact that it seemed like it was perfectly made for her. There's now an active pressure for her to go, as opposed to a passive "oh that sounds nice..." you'd get from seeing it on the walls.

There's also that little back and forth between her, Sayori, and Monika, where she quickly focused on the framework Sayori created on the conversation rather than anything else (you say something, then I have to say something), then immediately struggled as Sayori broke that framework to do a quick bit with Monika, before turning back to her. Again, I think there's more struggle here with figuring out when it's her turn in a conversation, which is probably a big part of why she prefers to stay quiet.

On to them reading, there are even more little things, like Yuri's particular way of explaining the lore, introducing the series, and using paper to take notes and detail her thought process (which individually indicates that she seems to have a very particular and seemingly meticulous way she likes to enjoy her favorite series, and her desire to share it in EXACTLY the way she likes it, so she can be sure to get all of what she views to be most important about it, and of course, a need to be organized to keep all of her thoughts together and help visualize everything; this kind of alternative thing isn't just an autism thing, but autistic people tend towards using alternate forms of communication and visualization to help understand something in their own particular way, more on that disconnect), as well as that not so subtle example of her not picking up on Sayori's extremely mild sarcasm, or the fact that "you can't generalize intelligence" is quite possibly the most technical and autistic way of downplaying a compliment I've ever read committed to word. Oh, and Yuri's indignant little response to Sayori writing nonbook notes on the book notes page, minor and offhand as it is, indicates further that Yuri's a stickler for details.

Once they start reading, we see more of the actual issues Sayori has, which fills out the rest of the conflict. Both of them end up stuck in their head. In Sayori's case, her own inferiority complex builds this progressive sense that she's not doing good enough for Yuri, and that must be why she's not having a good time. Meanwhile Yuri becomes convinced that Sayori is just patronizing her (despite all appearances), in large part because of her past experiences with others, which I think is an especially important thing to address.

I've already touched a bit on the following conversation between Monika and Yuri here, but this part kinda just lays a lot of it bare. Yuri's great at talking about her interests, but struggles with anything else. She has a lot of trouble doing this kind of social reflection and trying to figure out what other people are thinking. She doesn't know how to bridge that gap. She's really bad with other people...and she's accepted that.

I think that's an especially important thing at play here, and it's where this whole conflict comes from.

Monika's able to bridge the gap in the first place, because she knows what to say to direct the conversation in a useful direction--to make Yuri trust her, and trust that it's okay for Monika to act in her interest, because she's club president. It's her job to try to help everyone feel welcome. Then, as they talk, she's finally able to work out what Yuri's actual problem is, peeling the wall back between them with trust, then bridging the gap with understanding. And Monika does understand! Because Sayori and Yuri...aren't so different.

Both Sayori and Yuri have this constant preoccupation with the fact that they aren't good enough. Yuri, in particular understands that she's an awkward, deeply weird person, and she can accept that about herself. Everybody seems to have one of a few different reactions to her. Realizing that she's weird, and awkward, and makes people uncomfortable...well, the only reason people must appear to be accepting of her is because they want to make her feel better about herself. To allow them to make themselves uncomfortable, to deal with all of her inability to be a more socially conscious and considerate person...that'd be evil. She'd feel guilty doing that. And the thought that she could be doing that to someone because she doesn't understand that they are just humoring her? That's one of the worst feelings in the world.

As a consequence of all of this, and her constant preoccupation with not doing that, with not taking advantage of another person's kindness, she overcorrects. She assumes that other people can only tolerate her being herself, being who she is, and not actually like her. They're patronizing her to pretend, and so the only way she can truly be accepted is by suppressing herself, or just not even participating.

She thought the Literature Club might be different, but the thing of it is, she is the problem. Not because she's somehow uniquely unlovable or because she's just gotta pull herself together and can't, but because her entire view of the situation is off.

I think a big part of this comes down to Yuri's previous experience with social rejection, which isn't directly detailed here, but is at least tacitly expressed. And I think a lot of this view of herself, as though she's some uniquely socially broken weirdo who will never truly fit in anywhere she goes, and can only find tolerance, not true acceptance, likely in some part comes from that rejection. That's probably why she focuses so much on her own interests, and in talking with people about them online.

That's probably why Yuri wasn't looking for a club that suited her interests at all. And it's why the Literature Club was something she really, really needed.

This...in particular, is why my view of Yuri's whole deal is specifically undiagnosed autism, and it's actually a pretty big part of why the entire thing sort of clicks for me.

Because fun fact! I didn't even have an inkling that I might be autistic until I was 19, despite plenty of evidence. The only reason I'm actually not diagnosed (shock, awe!) is the fact that my parents fought the school board on it so I wouldn't be placed in special ed. That's a whole other conversation, back to my point; A lot of Yuri's reflection on her social struggles is very relatable to me personally, particularly with her difficulties understanding why she is the way she is, and the shame that creates. Not even just in Understanding--a lot of what happens, a lot of what she talks about throughout the Side Stories is something I personally find relatable in a way that's hard to conceptualize for me without tying it to my own autistic experience.

To finish, I'll brush over a few quick thoughts and then talk about the conclusion in Understanding a little.

Both during the conversation with Monika and leading up to her breaking down in tears, Yuri has these sudden little outbursts; things she says before she even realizes she's saying them (This is something that happens in Self-Love, too!), and I just wanted to mention it, since I've done it too, sometimes. I've talked quite a bit before about how Yuri tries to keep a handle on her emotions, but when she does get emotional, things spill out. This is an especially common form of masking ("sometimes, masking is fighting to appear aloof at all times because emotion comes out too strongly to be controlled and expressed in a socially acceptable way"), and this particular kind of emotional outburst and breakdown is something which is a common consequence of it. It's gotta come out at some point, and when you're so used to maintaining that kind of control over yourself, emotional regulation can be especially difficult.

AND THEN SAYORI BRIDGES THE GAP BECAUSE SHE'S THE GOOOOOAAAAAATTTTTT--

ahem.

Sayori bridges the gap because she's the goat. finds her own way to peel back Yuri's walls. Just in time, too...

Creating a path for the two of them to be honest with each other, and (albeit...unintentionally?) preventing her from running away, all but forcing her to take her kindness to heart. Yuri finally just drops all pretenses and lets out all of the thoughts she's had this whole time. Monika created an environment where she could feel safe expressing these thoughts and not feel judged, and convinced Yuri that it would be the same with Sayori. So she's spilling her guts as a part of learning to trust other people. Now that she has, it's on Sayori to finish it, and bridge that gap. Mend the divide.

Yuri's speech, obviously, just reinforces everything I've been saying thus far. She wants to be a normal person, at her core. But she isn't normal. She knows that.

And the reason she's here is because she wants to make more friends...but this hasn't gone at all how she's expected. It hasn't gone to plan at all.

Sayori's here to show her that that's okay. Sometimes, things are messy. People are messy. It's not something that's easy to understand, and that's okay, you don't need to, totally.

And in turn, she shares her own anxieties, her own problems that she's been having, which shocks Yuri. This is another little element of empathy, but more of what I think this represents is self-image vs how others view you. Yuri points out--she did all she could to reassure her! She would never get frustrated with her while they were reading. She knows that.

But Sayori doesn't, and moreover other people can't just peek directly inside your head.

So to get these things across, you need to talk them out. Without communicating with each other, it's impossible to understand each other. People aren't mind readers.

But Yuri, being autistic, needs a great deal more help communicating, both on terms of understanding others, and explaining herself so others can understand. She says herself--she doesn't have good communication, so she needs others willing to reach out a little to bridge that gap, which is what the Literature Club is for.

Oh yeah and Yuri's comment about getting people's consent to be touched makes me chuckle because that's some shit I'd do. You know she was thinking about that from day one but didn't want to be rude about it, and now that they're being honest with one another, she's gotta say it, even just at the end of that huge emotional conversation. That's another point for bluntness.

This has been something I've had in the drafts for months, almost a year by now. It's the last major character analysis type deal I still had outstanding, and I've got piles and piles of notes. I've watched back over Understanding multiple times for material, and I have (as mentioned) multiple unfinished versions of this analysis. I wouldn't call this perfect, but it says most of what I've wanted to say for a while, including referencing most of the other major posts I've made on the subject. I might have more to say on the subject later, I might even correct a few things on this later, but as yet, these are my thoughts. She's got that certified autistic rizz guys

[cartermagazine]

Today In History

An impresario in the broadest and most creative sense of the word, Quincy Jones’ career has encompassed the roles of composer, record producer, artist, film producer, arranger, conductor, instrumentalist, television producer, record company executive, magazine founder and multi-media entrepreneur. As a master inventor of musical hybrids, he has shuffled pop, soul, hip-hop, jazz, classical, African and Brazilian music into many dazzling fusions, traversing virtually every medium, including records, live performance, movies and television.

Quincy Jones was born on March 14, 1933, in Chicago, Illinois, and brought up in Seattle, Washington. His musical studies at the prestigious Berklee College of Music in Boston, Massachusetts, afforded him the opportunity to tour with Lionel Hampton’s band as a trumpeter, arranger and sometime-pianist.

He moved to New York in 1951, where his reputation as an arranger grew. By the mid-1950s, he was arranging and recording for such diverse artists as Sarah Vaughan, Ray Charles, Count Basie, Duke Ellington, and Dinah Washington.

Celebrating more than fifty years performing and being involved in music, Jones’ creative magic has spanned over six decades, beginning with the music of the post-swing era and continuing through today’s high-technology, international multi-media hybrids.

Jones has 28 Grammys, including a Grammy Legend Award in 1991, producer of the album Thriller, by the king of pop Michael Jackson and as the producer and conductor of the charity song “We Are the World.

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