#AND THEIR SPEECH PATTERNS ARE ONE OF THE VERY FASCINATING ONES

[vilevampire]

I'm going to start sobbing

[quatregats]

Having a field day with Ellis's (1889) Existing Phonology of English Dialects discussion of Cockney, I have absolutely no experience with historical English dialectology and therefore I cannot judge the accuracy of his data, but the comments that he's collected are fascinating nonetheless:

[Image Transcription:

§ 2. Walker (1792-1807) and Smart (1836) on London Speech.

These two well-known authors of Pronouncing Dictionaries have each given a section on Cockney Pronunciation. I quote Walker from the stereotype edition of 1814. He enumerates four faults only. 1) postes, fistes, mistes, etc., for posts, fists, mists [mentioned in § 3 under P, p. 228]; 2) interchange of v, w as weal, winegar, vine, vind, for veal, vinegar, wine, wind, the two latter are spoken of as common; 3) not sounding h after w to distinguish while wile, whet wet, where were [now firmly rooted even in educated speech]; 4) interchange of h as art, harm, for heart, arm. There is no hint at pronouncing ā, ō as ī, ow.

Smart in his Hints to Cockney Speakers finds it almost unnecessary to remark on the interchange of v, w. But notes wōōld cōōld shōōld, would could should, [now never heard]; chick'n, Lat'n, nov'l, parc'l, but swivel, heaven, evil, devil, [the last of which is scarcely heard now but in the pulpit]. Other errors he notes as arethmatic, charecter, writin', readin', spīle sīle, for spoil soil, toosday, dooty, perput-rate, affinut-y, providunce, edecation; boa'rd fo'm co'd for board form cord, lawr, sawr, 'and, 'eart, honour, honest. There is no hint of sounding ā, ō as ī, ow. But he says that the ā of "a well-educated Londoner...finishes more slenderly than it begins, tapering, so to speak, towards the sound of e" (ii); and that ō "in a Londoner's mouth is not quite simple...finishing almost as oo in too." These are the ee'j, oo'w of rec. sp. which are quite different from the ī, ow sounds.

/End Transcription]

Also, and I'll just link the page scan (hopefully it works if you don't have a university library login? it's in public domain) of notes from Lackington's 1817 list of London mispronunciations but there's the glorious note on "leeftenant pronounced levtenant [leftenant, now usual]", which really makes you think. Anyways, I just find the historical evolution of Cockney really interesting, because it's an accent that has a very clear stereotyped version for lots of English speakers today, but a lot of those features came about in the mid-to-late 19th century, and it's fascinating to think that what was a defining feature of the dialect (like the interchange of w/v) has just completely disappeared off the map, while the distinct vowels were just not a thing at all. Really goes to show how fast spoken language evolves, especially outside of the standard, and we love to see it <3

[dadcred]

translation: "the problem is you're anything but subtle. but if you agree to finally use 'tu' to address me, then i might think about it."

the above is thancred's response to urianger asking to join him in his travels after they beat meteion.

for context, the scions each take their time with using "tu" with companions vs. "vous" throughout the game. estinien tells alphinaud to stop "vuvoyer-ing" (vuvoyer = use vous) him iirc ~end of heavensward. alisae declares her intent to tutoyer (use tu) wol in shadowbringers. and until endwalker, thancred also uses "vous" with wol. but in endwalker, all the scions are on a "tu" basis with each other including wol.

except for urianger who, because of his formal speech patterns, uses "vous" with everyone regardless of his relationship with them.

here's what thancred says in english for comparison:

and such a big difference makes sense since english does not have any similar formality rules, even if it's at the expense of a fantastic little urithan banter tidbit.

however, that means this bit is one of those localization moments that is going to be highly dependent on the language's rules and cultural context. so i wonder, in the jpn, does thancred also make a comment about use of less formal honorifics? i also know very little about the german language, so i wonder what this is in german too! the art of localization continues to be fascinating.

[comicaurora]

are you scared of the whole AI art thing? What do you think about it?

"Scared" is the wrong word, I think. "Pissed" is probably more accurate. The technology underlying the concept is interesting, but its current form transparently functions by mining data from artists who didn't consent to have their work used like that. Arguments over whether it's "real art" or whatever aside, that is unethical and gross and a class-action lawsuit waiting to happen.

I think the people scared that this is going to replace actual living artists are severely overestimating the technology at play here and possibly don't understand computers very much.

The reason why computers are a fascinating mix of very smart and very stupid is because they are only good at doing exactly what they are told. Human thought, communication and creation is based on a process of flexible interpretation. Our brains take in patterns of light and sound and interpret them into shapes and figures and speech - a process that is imperfect, messy and susceptible to any number of disruptions from minor chemical alterations to major brain injuries. We read text and subtext and emotional undertones into what we hear, we extrapolate assumptions from the things we see. It's an extremely messy process with a lot of room for error, as evinced by miscommunications, corner-of-the-eye shadow people, "are you mad at me I feel like you're mad at me", getting hangry, assigning personalities to car taillights, audio processing disorders, and about a million other human idiosyncrasies.

Art, down to its bones, is about interpretation - the artist interpreting a slice of the world and the audience interpreting that art. This is why no two people experience the same story the same way, and why no two artists create the same work.

Computers, in contrast, are not messy. Or, to be more accurate, they aren't naturally messy. They do exactly what they are told. They have no context, no axioms, no common sense and no rules except what they're given. A human told to write a sentence over and over again and never being told to stop will eventually get bored or tired or hungry or pissed and stop. A computer told to 'while 1: printf("Hello World!")' will do it forever until the power goes out or someone notices and forces it to stop. A person told "hey man can you go to the store and get me a mango, and if they have apples get five" will acquire a mango and possibly five apples. A computer told the same instruction may well turn up with five mangos. A computer won't do anything if you forget to close a parenthesis or put in a semicolon somewhere in a thousand lines of code because it's doing exactly what it's told. The eternal frustration of computer science is figuring out why the stupid computer isn't doing what you told it to do, and the answer is always "you didn't tell it what to do right. Find the missing parenthesis. Don't capitalize that one variable."

An artist told to paint a fantastical landscape might paint beautiful mountains or flying cities or the high, arching curves of Saturn-style rings or ancient ruins or massive skeletons or any number of things. A computer told to render a fantastical landscape will, as I understand it, comb through a database it's been given by a human, find works a human or a human-trained algorithm tagged with "fantastical" "landscape" (or, if it's been made a little more complex, a word-web of other tags commonly added by a human to things tagged with "fantastical" and "landscape") and use a very impressive program created by a human to recombine them into a mashup of "fantastical" "landscapes" that may or may not parse correctly to the human who looks at it. The computer doesn't know. The computer isn't thinking. It's just doing what it's been told to do.

If we stop thinking of computers like people that are going to take our jobs and start thinking of them like tools that people use, the whole situation becomes a lot clearer. The technology isn't the problem. The people who baked in stolen datasets and the people who are using the tool to be dicks to artists are the problem. I'm not scared of the tech and I'm not scared of the people - I just wish they'd stop being dicks.

And even if we do reach the theoretical point where a computer can create art that actually stands up to scrutiny - you know, where the hands don't look like calamari plates and the eyes and teeth don't blur together and sharp delineating lines between clothing and skin don't just sort of dissolve into shadowy vagueness - I think that'll be the point we just shift into the "holy shit! two cakes!!" zone. 3D animation didn't make 2D animation obsolete. 4K screens didn't kill pixel art. The printing press didn't kill painting. Video only killed the radio star until podcasts brought them back. People enjoy lots of things.

[shallowseeker]

I think one of the things that initially attracted Dean to Cas was his manner of speaking.

Dean finds that he likes the straightforwardness and abruptness. Sure there was, "Are you allergic to straight answers, you son of a bitch?" in early days, but then there was also delightfully dry, one-word responses like this:

DEAN: Where've you been? CASTIEL: Jerusalem. DEAN: Oh, how was it? CASTIEL: Arid. CASTIEL sets the jar on the table. DEAN: What's that? CASTIEL: It's oil. It's very special. Very rare.

and

CASTIEL sits down. DEAN: Okay, so we trap Raphael with a nice vinaigrette? CASTIEL: No. DEAN: So this ritual of yours, when does it got to go down? CASTIEL: Sunrise. DEAN: Tell me something. You keep saying we're gonna trap this guy. Isn't that kinda like trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net? CASTIEL: No, it's harder. DEAN: Do we have any chance of surviving this? CASTIEL: You do. DEAN: So odds are you're a dead man tomorrow. CASTIEL: Yes.

Sure, Cas is kind of abrasive, but there's also very little natural subterfuge and artifice in his manner of speaking. He's not like John, passive-aggressive and wrapped with hidden barbed wire. He's not like Sam, overexplaining to the point of obfuscation. And Dean and Bobby are laden with pop culture sarcasm, emotional evasion, and other prickly defense mechanisms. (Dean loves Bobby, but his own style of communication exhausts him. He doesn’t love it when it’s coming from others.)

Cas generally says what he thinks, and he doesn't beat around the bush. And Dean finds Cas's speech pattern disarming...and really, really comforting, even when it's "rude."

It's why Dean's so thrown and hurt when Cas starts acting cagey and evasive in season 6. It's why the lying rips the rug out from underneath him.

///

As for Cas, he's fascinated by Dean's manner of speaking.

Cas is incredibly inquisitive and curious by nature. (The first thing he does on arriving in the barn is to start rifling through books and spells without even making much eye contact with them.)

We can gather that Dean's inexplicably complicated speech patterns are something of a puzzle for Cas. He's always trying to read Dean's body language and put these strange references together with enough context clues to read Dean's meaning. Even more fascinating to Cas is that Dean's words and body language are often in extreme mismatch (especially when he’s posturing).

For a creature that knows so many languages, Cas is frustrated by this as much as he is charmed by it. Cas is enamored by Dean's sometimes volatile emotions and his ability to hold two conflicting viewpoints at the same time. (Hello, "Tender one moment. Tough the next.") Dean's speech reflects his cycling emotions and rapid-fire ability to take in and regurgitate information.

And Cas likes that.

He also likes learning the modern human quirks of language. In seasons 14 and 15, we see Cas practicing and learning human metaphors. He enjoys TV, and he really likes sharing this cultural exploration with Dean.

[stari-hun]

Reverse 1999 is an Existential Horror and they’re reminding us of the genre

This is a post about Vereinsamt, book 7, but I won’t be talking about any massive story spoilers here!

Chapter 7 - The Maze of the Minotaur is horrible cause it viscerally shows how different we are as humans from then to now.

I was just talking about how 1999 was when Blair Witch came out, so every character has massed out on the massive horror resurgence that came out after it. In Reverse 1999, 1999 was when they had it all. But to us, if you asked what the best era in the past was you’d get 100 different answers, and very few would be before the 2000s.

Blair Witch was the turn of horror films because it gave the foundation for a new genre that was accessible to amateur film makers: the Found Footage genre. It made way for an entirely new type of story where all people needed was a friend and any kind of camera in order to tell their story. This stemmed into a digital version of this genre: Alternate Reality Games or ARGs. As well as a subgenre of Found Footage called Analog Horror, in today’s age, even phones have better camera quality than most cameras' film quality back then. So the genre learned to turn the quality down on videos in order to get a vintage quality to them because the inability to see would give a fear of the unknown. We both have a fear of the unknown, but the characters in Reverse 1999 have no knowledge or baseline to be afraid of things that aren’t what they appear. Arcanum can be used to change one’s appearance and it’s uncommon knowledge, but to totally change a person's stature and look is a rare ability. A few arcanists have a certain transcendental ability to tell people apart by their aura, bones, or unique arcane signature. But they haven’t experienced this horror renaissance. Horror movies actually have a pretty important role in public perception of things. If a person was walking around with a knife or a bat and we didn't have horror movies or stories of that exact situation, then unless you heard about a dangerous person on the streets, your guard wouldn't be up. Hearing and seeing stories about the possibility of harm and what could happen in a certain situation is a very important role media has in our lives. With the Mandela Catalogue came a fascination with urban myths and similar cryptids. People from Appalachia and indigenous people around the time it came out would share stories of their encounters with creatures who would pretend to be human and lure us to them. Whether or not a person chooses to believe in nonhuman entities is up to them, but it's a fact as well that a lot of animals have adapted to humans and learned how to mimic us. Birds mimic us easily as animals who specialize in it, but cats and dogs do their best to mimic our speech patterns to. Humans are animals as well so we sound like other animals. Bunnies being hunted in the woods make screaming sounds that grab the attention of anything nearby but especially humans, they even sound similar to us in the way babies' cries can make other animals think we're a similar species to them. So whether it has a mystical explanation or one in nature, we know that something that sounds like what isn't on purpose is a sign of danger. We've seen horror movies and heard stories about turning around and seeing what we think is a friend only to be betrayed by a monster tricking us in many popular media. We've seen media portrayals of that person being something pretending to be human and pretending to be your friend, so we know that that means imminent danger. In Doctor Who you have Weeping Angels who use the voices of others to communicate until they're caught, Supernatural used the stories of mimics many times, even in DnD as a tabletop game has it as an enemy that isn't strong but always poses a threat because trusting that you're safe when something is tricking you into thinking that way is one of the scariest things to humans. It's why I think Arcanists, because of the nature of arcanum, struggle the most from memory gaps or mental illness. Arcanum relies on your mind and schema as power. As humans, we naturally feel uncomfortable with the unknown and take comfort in learning and overcoming fears. We like an environment we can feel control in and safety from as well as people we can feel safe with. So along with the unknown, another thing we fear is being innately unsafe around someone we've placed absolute trust in.

The characters in R1999 lack the public zeitgeist we have. 37’s instincts aren't to distrust the people around her in any situation. Even when 210 is purposefully trying to knock down her ego, she doesn't react to it with feeling hurt because she genuinely trusts the people of Apeiron and especially her close group. She doesn't consider they would do anything bad to her, and she doesn't have the knowledge to consider that something could use that trust by pretenidng to be them.

[crystalitecloudie]

part two to this post!! Everything is gender neutral btw

EDIT: I MESSED UP SOME PARTS ARENT GENDER NEUTRAL I FIXED THEM PLS LEMME KNOW WHEN I MESS UP K THANKS❗️❗️❗️

Imagine...

Continuing from the whole "Cocolia doesn't convict you because she has discovered you are the creator and you must be treated as such" idea...

I believe that in this scenario, Cocolia would actually figure out you are the creator because the stellaron in her head told her so.

As we know, the stellaron has already corrupted her mind long ago. But I think that even the stellaron would be able to recognize the presence of the creator.

And so, the stellaron's plan (that cocolia follows) is to paint the Astral Express crew as criminals, while putting the creator in good graces, and to become their most loyal acolyte. This way, the creator wouldn't want to remove the stellaron.

Bonus idea as well -- imagine that the stellaron mistakes the creator for the creator's child instead. Evidence for this would be the previously mentioned speech patterns in part one, and her weakened presence from being in a human vessel for so long. This would also probably lead both the stellaron and cocolia to think you are less competent than you actually are, to the point of taking her side.

And that is how we ended up here, with you locked in a room that looks like it came straight from a children's play center. Sure, all of the toys and trains and children's books are fascinating... but you want a REAL book. Like... quantum physics or some shit.

While in Cocolia's palace, your actual identity is very much publicized. Soon, you are praised and worshipped all throughout belobog, and you are treated as royalty throughout the palace. Personal attendants, butlers...

You already rapidly recognize that this is going downhill. To make things worse, you are being watched at all times.

And even though the palace staff try to please you, they refuse to give you anything you actually want. So, while locked in your room, you spend time working on your powers.

Now, this next part I think can go one of two ways. One, you realize how to give blessings, and so you bribe the guards protecting you to let you escape out the window, and in return, you gift them with control over an element of their choosing.

You would then sneak out, and escape to the underworld to follow Bronya and the Astral Express crew.

The other way this could go is similar to the first way, but before you could actually bribe the guards, cocolia personally comes to visit you, and tells you all about the stellaron, and the Astral Express crew's evils. From here, you would realize that if you play into cocolia's side and gain her trust, you can escape.

So you would agree with her, lying through your teeth without a hint of your actual dishonesty. You would then admit that through your "divine power", you knew where bronya was, and that you personally needed to save her. I think cocolia would be hesitant at first, but after you explain to her how long you survived the eternal freeze, she reluctantly lets you go.

In the mean time, because your presence had been so publicized, Cocolia did not tell the public of you leaving for the underworld.

It is important to note that in the underworld, the citizens there do not recognize you as the creator. From here, you would follow around the trailblazers and Seele throughout their underworld journeys, however, you probably joined their journey around the time when Stelle, Bronya, and Seele had to go to Rivet Town.

Once you are down in the underworld, I also think that you would probably explain to the party what was happening on the surface. You would paint yourself as "just a normal person", and "not related to the creator in any way". And of course, the party buys it.

... Except Sampo. While in the underground, you would probably become especially close with Sampo. As someone who has snuck up to the surface before, he is well aware of what is happening above. And, if going by the popular theory that he is a part of the Masked Fools, I believe the Masked Fools would be the creator's number 1 followers.

(PS -- I have a post in my drafts right now talking about Sampo in SAHSRAU. I don't know when I'll post that, but I'll link it here when I do)

As such, this organization probably has access to plenty of ancient texts with signs of the creator's return. And as a follower of the Aeon of Elation (who is one of your most devout and open followers), he recognizes pretty much all of the signs in you. Heck, he probably even saw you injure yourself on accident, by a brief scrape on some rocks or something, and blood the color of diamonds and glass came out of the cut.

Even if he is never open about his worshipping of the creator, or his affiliation with the Masked Fools.

I think that after the Svarog incident (in which you were probably working with him on the sidelines, taking a more support role), he would pull you aside and confront you about all of this. Most of it, anyway. Specifically, he would mention the signs, and his awareness of what was happening in the overworld.

And then finally, the big lore drop -- that he believes you are the real creator. Not their child, not a nobody completely unrelated, not an eminator, but the creator themselves.

By this point, I think it's all a game for you. And Sampo is your first winner.

Because of this, I think he'd be the first person you told the real truth to. What Honkai Star Rail was like on earth, and how you are slowly beginning to regain your powers.

From here, I'm not sure what Sampo would do with this information. You can ask him to keep it a secret, but I don't know if he would.

When the group heads back to the surface, you return to the palace with Bronya. I believe that in the case of sucking up to her mother, you probably informed Bronya of everything Cocolia told you before arriving. In this case, you would have to play along with Cocolia in front of her, and Bronya would know its an act.

In the case of bribing guards to escape, you can openly side with Bronya. In both instances, Cocolia locks you in your room again, and takes Bronya to see the stellaron.

Insert Eggman from the snap cube dub saying "*mumble singing noises-* IM BACK IN THE FUCKING BUILDINF AGAIN?!?!?!!"

... I digress.

You wouldn't be released until after the boss fight, when Bronya sets you free and apologizes. She, like the rest of the party, believes you are a normal human, who happened to lose her memories due to fragmented corrosion. That second part was her hypothesis, at least, that seems to become widely accepted.

However, she is now in a sticky situation. She wants to frame Cocolia as a good person, but how will she explain to the people that you are not actually divine? (Even though you are lmao)

She eventually compromises with the "they will still see you as the creator's child, but you will be set free to do as you wish" idea. Of course, you want to go onto the Astral Express, and so, your adventure in belobog ends.

After all, you want a personal view of the upcoming events in store for the trailblazers. :)

The last alternative to all of this would have been to be trapped in cocolia's palace for the majority of the story (so not being released until after the boss fight with cocolia), but that would be boring.

That and cocolia choosing to keep your identity a secret, but that doesn't really make sense to me, because you're a divine being?? Living in what is essentially her home?? Why would you ever shut up about that

A/N: I might write a oneshot with this, detailing the scene where Bronya lets the creator go. I dunno yet though

[wisteriasymphony]

⭐️ PLEASE write a million bajillion words on adrien and his romantic fascination with his own death <333

Okay! Finally doing this! Going to try and pull quotes so that I can ground myself and don't go on a huge tangent. We're examining the first section of Chapter 52 for this.

(Spoilers for The Warm Embrace of Shadow *AND* Pulcinelle, Factotum At Your (Dis)Service below.) We open on one of Adrien's most explicit suicide fantasies yet—The burning of the Agreste Mansion.

Adrien walked unscathed through the burning halls of his gilded cage, dressed in the white-tie suit that was once reserved only for piano recitals and promises of the red carpet. The sleeves and lapel dripped with gold embroidery, all manners of floral motifs and swirling patterns, as if it was framing an art piece rather than clothing a human being. It was meant to show off Adrien at his most performative—No, his most displayed. Indeed, even the starched white collar of the shirt differed little from the collar of any old dog, no matter how elaborate it was made out to be. 

We can get into the imagery of flowers in TWEOS much later (particularly white lilies, for one), but it's important that Adrien is treating this as theatrical. In his ideal (non-lovers') suicide, it is not just a performance, but a mockery of his previous "performances".

Below it could only truly be described as a glimpse into Hell—The garden, too, was set alight, an Eden of rosebushes and virginal lilies transformed into a twisted, gnarled Pandæmonium. Even now, when the night was at its darkest, Adrien knew the eyes upon him.

This is where the Paradise Lost references are first set up for the "Thou profoundest Hell, receive thy new possessor!" payoff later on, and we see the lily motif mentioned again. That, and the eyes that are brought up here and there, this manifestation of his paranoia of never having a private moment to himself. He's been created as a product to be consumed—consumed by being looked at—and so he always feels like he's being consumed. That and the whole teen celebrity thing.

Okay, so he says his little speech (a speech, a fucking suicide speech to an imaginary crowd, are you joking), falls off the balcony, into the fire, and then boom! It's not real, this was all a fantasy sequence and he's lying in his bed moping.

Dejected, Adrien finally sat up, scribbling down notes on the nearest piece of torn paper. He liked wording that final quote that way, so it would probably be worth remembering if the time came. Well, when.

Sufficed to say, he's not exactly going about this in the... expected way. Suicide for him represents many things: Freedom from his old life, Taking back control over himself, and finally spitting in his Father's face. (He has reservations later on about the efficacy of the third, but that's besides the point.) As a result, this fantasy is a synthesis of all three: Letting himself free-fall backwards off the balcony, with the backdrop of Gabriel's house in the process of being destroyed. The control in walking up to the balcony (and arguably, addressing his grievances with the world), the freedom of letting go, the 'fuck you' of the house going down with it.

...I should also note that (while it's something I actually gave more thought to while working on Pulcinelle and the symbolism of his preferred "sublimations") it's very important that in his fantasy, Adrien is heard. In a situation where he gets to control every aspect of it, he is able to openly tell people that their consumption of him as a product is what made him what he is today.

Even despite the cacophony of destruction behind him, Adrien knew well that he was heard. The fear he seemed to invoke with every movement, every tease of death he showed the people gave being watched a pleasure he had not known before. He had been loved, he had been hated, but never before had he truly known the revelry of inspiring terror.

Something something, connections to Pulcinelle in finally being seen as a person only through being an active threat. I think this is a really great way to go in terms of Antagonist!Adrien motivations, quite frankly.

...And that's all I have concerning that! Of course, his romanticization of lovers' suicides is a whole different beast and requires an examination into his more general romantic (and even obsessive) tendencies, as well as requires some quotes from sections that aren't actually published yet!

[moodymisty]

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: @commodoreprocrastinator this is your fault, now deal with the repercussions of your actions. Part 1 of 2. I hope it's romantic enough even though it's the cardboard cutout primarch and only my second time writing him. ¯\_( ❛︠ ⍙ ︡❛)_/¯

Summary: Your knight returns after what has felt like ages apart, and decides to take part in a secret moment alone.

Relationship: Lion'el Jonson/Gn!Reader (no pronouns are used in this, but it does have a very princess/knight vibe so fair warning)

Warnings: None that I can think of

Word Count: 1305

Lion El'Jonson strides down the halls of the Invincible Reason with purpose.

The ceramite boots of his armor hit the ground louder than that of an astartes, and any one he passes by stops their task and gives a respectful bow of their head. He doesn’t demand them to bow and kiss the floor, but he expects a level of decorum from his legion. They are expected to as sons of The First; As Dark Angels.

As he walks, rain pattering down against any surface exposed to it, Lion'el sighs.

Belath had proven more than timely with his updates as to the legion’s current effectiveness, which the Primarch appreciated. He will always find one of the astarte's finer qualities to be his lack of verbose speech- his ability to get to the point. But even in it's simplicity, it had still proven irritating when he had something else on the mind.

Travel to the Fortress Monastery had proven both as unexciting and lackluster as his drawing and discussion of strategic plans had been.

He arrived during the night, the moonlight spilling through the massive glass windows and mullions forming patterns along the stone floors. The Lion breaks their design as he walks through them, a hand resting on the pommel of his shortsword. His greatsword rests on his back, overtop of the dark emerald green cape that flows behind him just brushing against the floor.

He goes higher, traveling up flights of stairs made of solid stone. Some have runners of ornate, hand woven cloth, the design in a dark emerald green embellished with golden thread. All of it- every tapestry and mural, bears the symbol or at least the color scheme of his Legion.

Higher again, until he’s far beyond where most astartes and serfs typically tread. The rug that runs down the hall is much more worn, having taken an unknown number of years worth the footfall without being replaced. There aren’t many souls who come up here, for there isn't much reason for them to. The Lion's personal quarters reside in these halls, and unless he calls them they have no need to ever step foot here.

He turns one corner, and at the end of the hall lies his destination. 

He can see two Astartes guarding the door, as he had placed them. He had placed trust in the elder of them to choose another marine to serve as his parallel in guard along with two others to rotate with. A young astartes is beside him, clear by the different regalia and symbolism he wears that gives it away to only one familiar to their legion.

Lion stands between them, his hand adjusting once more on the pommel of his sword.

“Take your leave.”

He speaks plainly to both, and they nod their ceramite helms before walking past. Once the Lion can no longer hear their heavy power armor trudging down stairs that even made of full stone complain as men so heavy walk on them, he places a hand on the door’s handle.

He pulls it open; Winged helm in his opposite hand. Not moments later does he hear a voice call his name sounding both surprised and excited.

“Lion?”

At the call of his name he looks forward, seeing you leaning away from the window. Your hands had been leaning against the sill, watching whatever had been of interest below. More than likely the sea of Dark Angels all returning, a sea of dark green. You've always had this odd sort of of fascination with it all. He steps closer, and you turn to fully watch him come to stand right in front of you. 

After a moment’s waiting, the massive Primarch slowly lowers to a knee. He sighs as he does so, as if irritated by a request you hadn’t even made. You take the invitation to come closer, as you gently press a chaste kiss against his lips. You feel his beard brush against your skin, the top half of his blonde hair pulled back. He doesn't sigh in discontent that time.

“I missed you. Are you ok?” 

The Lion finds your overt concern pointless, but somewhat endearing. He’s never had someone so overt in caring about his wellbeing. Though even if it’s pointless, he can’t expect you to shed the emotions you’ve shown for so long. He can and has as a Primarch, to a mortal they are interwoven into your very being.

“Yes.” 

He glances over to a massive table filled with stacks of books. They’re scattered about, some open and some stacked in piles of an unknown organizational system. He’s not surprised you took interest in the massive collection. 

Your hands have stayed hovering in front of your chest most of this time, though now they move forward and hesitantly reach for him. He allows you to touch his jawline as you come closer. The rough scruff of his beard tickles your palms, and you'd laugh if you didn't think he'd be almost childishly insulted by it.

“How long are you going to stay this time?” 

Lion knows that you aren’t expecting any actual answer; He cannot give you one, nor will he. The moment an uncontacted world is discovered, he will leave. It is his duty and his purpose. No matter even if he has other thoughts on his mind, thoughts of you, they cannot impede his goal. 

“Long enough for the legion to rest.” He pauses. “What do you want?” 

He always asks this, only able to show how he feels about you in these silent gestures. You don’t say anything nor blame him, as despite him being far older than yourself, you can clearly tell this sort of thing is entirely uncharted.

It's been a bit odd; He's many years your senior, but it often feels like you're the one showing him things.

You can't avoid smiling this time, though it's abit more guilty that perhaps Lion was expecting.

“I would love to watch your men spar again, but they've only just stepped foot on Caliban." Lion gives you an unimpressed look.

"You would ask something of my Legion instead of myself?" Your hands are still on his chest armor, and your fingers brush across the giant aquilla in a slightly flustered gesture.

"But, you’ve said your men aren't strong enough for you to duel them.”

He remains one of if not the best duelist that the Imperium has ever seen, and despite how diligently and strictly he has trained his Dark Angels, none of them have the natural prowess he has to be a true fight. It's simply in his nature as a Primarch.

Lion, in an extremely rare moment, softens his face with a hint of amusement. He raises and armored hand to gently hold your jaw, and brush a small bit of a hair away from your face. His massive hand overtakes much of you, but he's surprising gentle despite it. He uses a small bit of his strength however to pull you just close enough to give you a gentle kiss to the forehead.

“When we arrive to Terra, perhaps I can proposition one of my brothers for a duel then. I am sure at least one of them will be eager to accept.” 

A fight between Primarchs? You had never considered yourself bloodthirsty or violent, but something about it makes your heart race- eager to watch. Perhaps it’s what his men feel shortly before a battle, or when they begin their training each and every day.

You smile at him, and grasp at his gauntlet. It's the closest you can get to any sort of intimate gesture, with his armor still on. He looks at you with the most relaxed face you've seen on him in awhile, as you speak.

"I would love to see that."

[lemotmo]

One more! She got a follow up regarding the numbers guestimation.

A. Hi anon 🙂. It's actually relatively easy to figure out spamming. It's not a well thought out plan of action. And why I never understood why they thought it was a genius idea. My friend is a data analyst in his grown up real life so he could be much more technical than me, but I will give you the simple answer. Comment sections are full of the same blogs. The same blog names you can track from ppst to post on Instagram, Twitter and Ticktock. Same on Tumblr. The same group of blogs do all the spamming. It's also fairly easy to decipher which blogs/accounts are being run by the same person. Speech patterns, sentence structures. Posts that feel repetitive or similar to another blogs post. It's not a sophisticated tactic. And I do want to stress that there's not really anything wrong with doing it, except in this case people were doing it to send hate to the cast and to spam the shows official accounts. That's disgusting. And they deserve to be called out and busted for it.

Fandom is supposed to be fun, and it usually is. Smaller fandoms are usually the best kind of fandoms because less people usually means less manufactured drama. They tend to just stay in their lane and headcanon and fanon away with one another. It's great. All fandoms usually end up having de facto 'leader' blogs. It just happens. They tend to become the bigger voices within the fandom. Sometimes fandoms get lucky and they're legitimately cool decent people running them. Sometimes fandoms get unlucky and those blogs are run by douchebags (legit couldn't think of a nicer word, I'm so sorry). Unfortunately for you all, you wound up with the douchebags. The blogs you all ended up following the lead of were basically like politicians who had to manufacture enemies (Oliver and Ryan) and ship wars (Buddie) in order to get attention because their fandom numbers weren't big enough to garner attention any other way. That's the reality. They needed bigger numbers so they pretended to be more people. Only instead of just shipping their ship and enjoying it they used those extra blogs to openly send vile, disgusting and increasingly unhinged things to the show and its cast and anyone else who didn't ship their ship. Openly sending hate to a cast has never led to victory for shippers. It's the dumbest idea of dumb ideas. And inevitably leads nowhere. No one can outrun their hubris. And when you decide to start ranting about being sent private DM's from Tim, something that is blatantly and laughably false, it's the beginning of your end. The good news is increasing numbers of you have finally realized this and are backing away. If you genuinely enjoy the ship by all means ship it as long as it's canon, hell you can ship it once it stops being canon. That's what fandom is for. But you have to acknowledge the reality of canon. You can hate it. You can ignore it, but you have to acknowledge it. And then retreat to fanfic. It's the fandom way. But you don't get to yell and scream about homophobia and other invented wrongs because a higher number of people ship the other ship and the show doesn't appear to be telling the story that that blog and others desperately tried to convince people they were telling. Artificially inflated numbers don't change reality.

Oh, this is interesting. I had a basic understanding of how the detection of spamming worked, but this is very informative and frankly very fascinating as well.

The rest of this is, once again, serving major truth bombs. I'm in awe of the eloquence on display here. I wish I could meet the OP in real life. I have a feeling I'd love to talk fandom with them.

And it's true you know, shipping a couple doesn't have to stop because another one is canon. In fact, we are here doing the exact same thing. BT is canon right now. We know this. We accept it for what it is at the moment, but that doesn't stop us from shipping Buddie, speculating about their future, theorising what will happen in season 8, writing and reading fic, making gifsets, creating art, digging up parallels, discussing our own personal headcanons. We've been doing this for years, through multiple love interests for Buck and Eddie. We never quit and I highly doubt we ever will, canon or not canon.

Thank you again for dropping this in my ask box Nonny! :)

Remember, no hate in comments or reblogs. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of the anonymous OP’s posts, you can find all of their posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[thetriggeredhappy]

I adore your writing style and especially your dialogue! I was wondering if you had any advice for writing dialogue, especially accents and incorporating colloquialisms without it sounding schlocky?

Im having trouble beating my head against the wall of my wip rn and though u might have some wise wisdom 😅

short answer, if it’s a specific character, try to reread and/or relisten to any dialogue that that character has and riff off of the way that they already speak. an amount of it’s intuitive—scrub back and forth from reading what you wrote and listening to their dialogue. eventually you’ll get the hang of that character’s voice!

unhelpful answer, when i was younger and did theater i put in a lot of effort in my free time to start learning how to do accents and vocal tricks, and that later carried over into writing dialogue for characters from different regions and backgrounds.

very long, in-depth answer:

the thing about accents is that, in technicality, every single person in the world has an “accent”—for purposes of, mostly, speech therapy (be it for people who are the victims of strokes or head trauma, or for people who want to train their way out of a speech impediment) there’s a “standard” version and accent of every language and region. in english, the main ones are “north american standard”, “british standard”, and “australian standard”. but the fascinating thing about those is that nobody speaks that way.

“no, i’m american and i don’t have an accent! i talk exactly like north american standard!” no you don’t! every single region of the united states has, at minimum, one speech quirk that may or may not be found in other parts of the united states! the two that are most prevalent are the lack of pronunciation of two ‘r’s in the middle of a word—mirror pronounced “meer” instead of “meer-ror”, horror pronounced “whore” instead of “whore-ror”corridor pronounced “core-door” instead of “core-rih-door”—and the lack of pronunciation on two ‘t’s in the middle of a word—mitten pronounced “mih’en” instead of “mitt-ten”, button pronounced “buh’un” instead of “but-ton”, bottle pronounced “bodle” instead of “bot-tul”. then you have regional term variants—“pop”, “soda”, “soda pop”, “coke”; “water fountain”, “drinking fountain”, “bubbler”; “server”, “waiter”, “waitstaff”.

“but that’s just how i talk in casual settings! i use north american standard and the proper word when i’m at work/at school/academically/professionally!” exactly! that’s what an accent is! the way you talk in a casual setting is your natural accent! the way you talk to other people where you’re from is your natural accent! and, crucially, there are some contexts where your accent lessens!

when writing a character with an accent, it’s possible that they won’t have the strongest or most noticeable accent or dialect—in particular, in writing—when talking to people who don’t share that accent with them. when talking to people with accents that differ from our own, or when concerned about our clarity, or if generally invested in propriety, we tend to slow down, speak more deliberately, and use less “unclear” speech quirks. the more familiar we are with someone, or the less concerned we are about being misinterpreted, the more we might talk in our more natural mode of speech.

and even within the same accent, there might be variations and quirks specific to the person talking in terms of how much slang they use, how much they shorten sentences, how many region-specific figures of speech they use. if you’re trying to nail down a character voice that doesn’t have very much material to reference, it can help to find a different individual or character with more material who has a similar pattern of speech. it can be a twitch streamer, podcaster, youtuber, central character in a television show, anyone who talks casually for longer durations of time and with variations in their emotion, speed of speech, energy level.

there’s also a massive amount of variation in terms of who’s being spoken to! we tend to tighten up and speak more “properly” around authority figures, when in front of larger groups, around strangers, that sort of thing. conversely, when around a group we would consider “natives” to the type of dialect we prefer to speak, we might loosen up. this is sometimes called (to my recollection) a “sociolect”. in the real world, the comparison can be drawn to a “blaccent”, or to the “gay accent/gay lisp”, or to using “Esperanto”. this divide can be based on race, queerness, culture, generation, type of employment, or any other number of things, often in a combination.

when you encounter a word in a dialect you don’t speak and you don’t know what it means, try looking it up and comparing it to other usages you can find—don’t assume you understand the meaning at a glance, and don’t trust the very first source you hear it from. “bless your heart” seems so nice, but is in fact more brutal than a gunshot wound when said in the right tone. meanwhile, in australia, being called a “mighty cunt” is one of the friendlier terms someone might refer to you with. and consider a person’s region within the context! in the american midwest, a native saying that someone else there is “really nice” is a nothingburger. everyone is really nice. that’s considered a baseline expectation. but saying someone in Paris, France is “really nice” is absolutely buckwild and something very strange is happening. in Mexico, a native saying someone is a “good man” in a serious tone is rather kind, but in Poland, a native saying the same thing about someone in the same tone of voice is an extremely high compliment to be giving and implies a level of closeness between the speaker and subject rivaled only by siblings.

ultimately, when in doubt, find more material to reference! you don’t need to reinvent the wheel—and when that fails, try a beta reader. the back and forth with another living person is so incredibly helpful, and a ton of your revisions will happen in the four seconds before you send the document over, or will come as you’re frantically editing it hoping to outpace the speed they read at.

i hope some of this is helpful and i haven’t horribly misquoted anything!

[more-better-words]

My continued mission to flood the world with Trip/T'Pol sweetness continues unabated!

They had been on Earth together for a month or so, falling into the patterns of a domestic life, when T’Pol began to feel what she could only describe as an itch.

She wasn’t displeased with Trip, not at all – living with him was proving enjoyable in unexpected, fascinating ways. It was comfortable; she was comfortable, and after spending so much of her life laboring against a sense of restive displacement, that comfort was a wonder.

So why did she feel this way?

She pondered the sensation, considering it in her meditation, and one evening, the answer revealed itself, a truth she had not been prepared for, but could not dispute.

She wanted to go on a date with him.

While they had been on Enterprise, they had not had the opportunity to ‘go out’ in the sense that humans typically meant. And since being on Earth, Trip had not pressed the issue, but he could be sometimes almost too deferential to her natural reserve. If this was going to be done, she would have to do it. So she gave the matter what she felt to be due consideration, and prepared a plan. And having done so, she approached him about it.

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow evening?” she asked at breakfast. He shook his head.

“Tomorrow? No.” He looked at her over his coffee, smiling. “Why? You askin��� me out?”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

She nodded, wondering at the slight flutter in her abdomen, and slid her personal PADD across the table towards him. “I would like you to meet me at this address at 2030 tomorrow.”

He looked at the PADD, and then at her, his eyebrows still high. “Is there a dress code?”

“I believe that more…formal attire than standard would be appropriate.”

“Gotcha.” He nodded slowly, then smiled. “Now I’m gonna be wonderin' all day today and tomorrow what you've got cooked up.”

“I hope you will find it worth both the anticipation and the mystery.”

“I’m sure I will,” he said. She finished her tea, but his smile warmed her more than it ever could.

The next evening she remained late at the lab, outlasting even the indefatigable Lieutenant McAllister. Finally, with the place entirely to herself, she drew the blinds on her office windows and changed into her outfit for the evening – a dress of dark, hearts-blood green, with a bias cut and cowled back that reminded her of Vulcan fashions. She straightened the skirt and hastened to the tram stop. It wouldn’t do to keep her date waiting.

She knew he was already there when she arrived at the jazz club; she could feel his presence within, but wasn’t sure whether  the nervous expectation was his, or her own. Perhaps both.

He was at the bar when she entered, his back to the door. He turned at her approach, and she was gratified to see his faint smile shift into an expression of stunned amazement. His mouth opened, his throat moved, but speech seemed to have failed him. She held out her fingertips to him, and he touched them almost shyly. “T'Pol…you look-”

“You look very handsome,” she said, and it was absolutely true. He’d paired a dark blue shirt with cream colored pants and jacket, and both the fit and color combination suited him very well. He smiled at her, his confidence revived.

“I can clean up alright when I feel like it. And you did say to dress up. I didn’t wanna disappoint you.”

“I am not disappointed,” she said, and he adjusted his cuffs with a self-satisfied grin before his eyes swept over her again, appreciating what they saw. The cockiness faded as he let out a breath.

“But you…Wow. I gotta be the luckiest man on this whole planet.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” she said.

“If you say so. Next, you’ll be tellin’ me I deserve to walk in here with you lookin’ that good.”

“If you do not, who does?”

He looked at her for a long moment, then reached out, brushing his fingertips against hers again, the corner of his mouth quirking wryly. “Oh, you’re good,” he chuckled. He turned back to the bar and retrieved a glass, which he handed to her. “By the way...got you some scotch.” She accepted it, taking a sip. It wasn’t quite as good as what they’d drunk the night he’d asked her to marry him, but perhaps the circumstances had sweetened it in her memory.

It was still quite good regardless.

The bar was on the opposite side of the club from the stage and the open space of the dancefloor. Tables ranged around the room, and little seating alcoves were cut into the walls, providing comfort, a slightly greater degree of privacy, and a place to set down drinks. They made their way to one that promised a good view of the stage. Trip settled into the cushioned seat across from her, sipping his drink, and giving her an inquisitive look. “So what’s the occasion?” he asked.

“There is no particular occasion,” she said. “I simply wished to take you on a date.”

A little smile played at his lips. “Why?”

The evening’s live act was introduced, a quartet who took up their instruments, thanking the patrons before starting their first number. “I...wanted the experience. For both of us,” T'Pol said, glancing down at the table, then back up at him. “I enjoy your company. Always. And I hope that you enjoy mine.”

“Of course I do!” he said, offended that she might think otherwise.

“And I thought that we might enjoy one another’s company even more in this setting. Is that not the purpose of a date?”

“That and wonderin’ if you’re gonna get lucky at the end of the night,” he said, his smile spreading.

She took a demure sip of her scotch. “You might.” He laughed, leaning back in his seat and looking at her with that endless affection that never failed to make her beloved and prized, and for a moment they simply drank in the sight of each other, the music swirling exuberantly around them. Trip tilted his head.

“I shoulda known you like jazz,” he said.

“There is something about the genre I find...compelling.”

“It’s very human,” he pointed out. “All that improvisation.”

“That may be why it compels me,” she admitted.

“Maybe,” he said, and his smile warmed her again.

The quartet was very good, sliding between pieces with practiced skill, the quick tempo of the first few songs easing into a slower, more measured pace. T’Pol felt her eyes being drawn to the dancefloor, where the circling couples transformed the sound of the music into motion. Trip noticed. “I remember askin' you once if Vulcans dance. You never did answer that.”

“Choreographed movement, perhaps,” she said, glancing at him, “but nothing like that.”

“Do you want to?” he asked softly.

“I don't-” She looked back at the dancefloor, and a strange blend of uncertainty, longing, and anxiety whispered in her mind. She tightened her lips and straightened her shoulders. It was illogical to feel shame in response to inexperience. “I do not know how.”

“That’s okay,” he said, a small smile hovering on his lips. “I can show you.” He stood, extending his hand. “We don't have to go down to the dancefloor. We can stay right here.”

“I-” Her hand reached for his, apparently of its own volition. His eyes held hers, warm and gentle.

You'll be fine, they told her.

“We'll start simple,” he said aloud. “Won't even worry about footwork yet. Though I’m sure you'll pick it up.” His smile deepened, a teasing wickedness lurking at its edges. “I mean, I know from firsthand experience you have excellent rhythm.”

She couldn’t bring herself to reprove him for that, and he flicked the tip of his tongue at her, still smiling, hugely pleased with himself. “Okay,” he said, guiding her a few steps from their table, deeper into the alcove, “put your hand right here.” He placed her hand on his waist. “And I’ll put mine here.” He mirrored the placement on her own waist. “And these hands stay here.” He gave their clasped hands a squeeze.

“And now?” she asked.

“Right now we just sway.”

Swaying. She could do that.

“Gotta loosen up your shoulders, sweetheart,” he said after a moment. “I know this gonna sound funny, but think of it as squarin' up to spar. You wanna be relaxed.”

Actually, she thought, it made perfect sense. Sparring was responding to the movements of one’s partner, and so, it seemed, was dance. She rolled her shoulders, relaxing in his hands, and he gave her an encouraging little smile. “Yeah, like that.”

They swayed together a while longer, and she realized that even this limited motion matched the underlying pulse of the music.

“Feel the beat?” he asked softly. She nodded. “Are you ready for the next part?”

She nodded again.

“I’m gonna take a step to the side, with my right foot, and you're gonna step with me. Okay?”

“Alright.”

That seemed simple enough, and she realized as they moved from one step to the next that it really was just action and response. Why had the dancers in front of the stage filled her with such awed apprehension, when that was all there was to it?

“Well,” Trip said, laughing softly, “they do know some fancier moves than me.”

“That is simply a matter of practice,” she pointed out. “I have no doubt that you could attain such a level of skill. After all, I know from firsthand experience that you have excellent rhythm.”

He blinked at her, then smiled one of those slow, pleased, intensely intimate smiles that always sent a shiver through her. His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. “Damn, you are on a roll tonight.” He pivoted on the ball of his foot; some intuition told her he would, and they turned together without missing the step. He tilted his head, gazing at her with such unadorned affection it made her pulse quicken. “You sure I deserve this?” he murmured. “A classy night out with the most beautiful woman on at least two planets?”

“I cannot think of anyone else who does more.”

“Then I guess there's only one other question.”

“Which is?”

His eyes held hers, the dim amber light of their alcove giving the blue a golden sheen. Can I kiss you?

Yes.

His head bent, his lips touching hers gently. They turned slowly, and she let her hand move from his waist, up his back to hold the nape of his neck, her tongue parting his lips for a brief instant before they separated. Their eyes locked, and the light in his had changed from warmth to a smolder. “So what are my chances of gettin' to go home with you tonight?” he whispered.

“As we share a residence,” she said, enjoying the opportunity for pedantry, “they are quite high.” He pursed his mouth at her, which had been her aim, and she stroked a slow circle of the back of his neck. “Your chances of… ‘getting lucky’ are also quite high,” she murmured.

He smiled faintly. “No matter what, you sure know how to show a guy a good time.”

“Then…you would consider this date to be a success?”

“Why?” he teased. “You wantin' to get a good grade?” It was her turn to make a disapproving face; he laughed softly and turned again, bending her back over his arm in a dip. “A plus,” he said, smiling. “Full marks, no notes, top of the class. You don't even have any competition.”

[revelry-in-severity]

Ruikasatober: Crossover

"Please don't!"

The hand reaching towards his chest freezes; Tsukasa coughs unsteadily in the resulting silence, unsure of how to continue. His hand covers the lily hanging from his neck protectively. He had been perfectly willing to answer any questions aimed at him if only to get a better idea on how to leave this place. Not once did he agree to anything else.

He tries not to feel too guilty, but it's not as if he knows this person. Even though this person's name is Rui. And he has the same purple hair. And the same blue streaks. And the same height. And the same speech patterns. And the same authoritative air as he waits for his orders to be followed. 

...Tsukasa should start looking for more differences instead, shouldn't he?

He concentrates hard on the Rui before him. His director's hair is a bit wavier, isn't it? The blue isn't nearly as pin-straight.

"Apologies," Rui smooths his manic curiosity with a smile, pulling his hand back. He looks... oddly restrained. "I got carried away. What you described was fascinating and I wanted to learn more. If it’s alright with you, I would like to continue with my queries."

Well, now Tsukasa feels guilty anyway, seeing the life drain out of Rui in an instant. Even in this colorful world he somehow found himself in, this is the same. His director mopes quietly with the same cadence when he can't continue with his experiments. "It's okay!" He attempts to reassure Rui, but the words sound more confident than he thinks they should be. "Sharing is done more so with extremely close friends and family."

"Are we not close then?" Rui raises a hand to his cheek; Tsukasa's eyes catch on the way he taps his finger back and forth, like a metronome. "You gaze upon me with familiarity, so I assumed your relationship would be similar to the one I share with Tsukasa-kun here. I suppose not then." A carefully neutral posture can not hide the stinging disappointment Tsukasa feels.

"The Tsukasa you know sounds spectacular," Tsukasa gazes upon the singing flowers; he can only recognize the lily on his person. He can hardly believe a version of him had created a whole world, so used to bland walls and dingy floorboards. "He must be very lucky to have someone like you to help guide him."

The entirety of Rui softens, "I think you'll find that it is I who is lucky to have him. Shooting stars make for excellent guides."

[mayusteapot]

Ooooh! I spy a Perry arriving on the scene. I think I love Ilse and Perry because they seem these larger than life characters who go passionately after what they want without dawdling or procrastinating or having doubts. It's as if there haven't been people who told them they couldn't, or there have been, but they haven't believed them. I wish I could be like that.

I'm sorry, what? You hear a story about a haunted well and you want to *checks notes* go see it?! And actually peer into it [I'm the character in the horror film that doesn't get killed or survive specifically because she never makes it onto the screen] on a pasture with an agressive bull on it? And naturally this is what fascinates Perry from the start.

I mean, I guess this is why Teddy seems so... I don't know... pale, in comparison with characters like Perry who take over the scene as soon as they step there. [I like weird people, it's a character trait of mine. Give me an old lady who loves to watch ferns unfold in the forest (true story) any day over someone who does things that are more... sensible? Though I like shy people too, which is why in real life I might prefer Teddy over Perry too.]

I love the image of Aunt Elizabeth knitting furiously in protest over Emily's choice of reading. Who among us hasn't knitted furiously? And if you haven't, have you really ever lived life to the fullest?

Ilse's attitude to god seems very much bound with her attitude towards her father. As if the "he" in question wasn't god but her father.

A "she jacobite"? I laughed so loud. And now Ye Jacobites by Name is going round and round in my head. An earworm if there ever was one.

Emily does seem to have terrible spelling for someone who reads a lot. People have been commenting on it in this tag before. English is my second language, so I can't comment properly, but according to other people it's weird and not very age appropriate. The translation doesn't have this much mistakes as Finnish is spelled like it is pronounced, so that's not how we blunder at language.

I do love reading Perry talk. The Finnish translation never did reach any of these heights of his interesting speech patterns or usage of words. I always wondered why Ilse was angry at him for them because they seemed completely normal.

[starscreamfireworks]

wrote out some explanation for the other main characters in my sentient vehicle story, Benjamin and Kwadwo

BENJAMIN--

Growing up in Côte d'Ivoire, he became obsessed with vehicles and mechanics from a young age, fascinated by how they worked. Often times, he would sneak off at night to observe other people's cars close up, especially if they were very expensive or fancy.

Observing them with nobody else around, he began to notice something-- it seemed like some cars would do things of their own volition, turning on their engines and headlights, or moving their wheels about without anyone controlling them. Whenever he said something, it was always brushed off as a kid's active imagination. However, he became umovingly convinced that cars possessed sentience, yet had no way of showing it in a way that humans could understand.

As he grew up, he moved to Ghana for better opportunity and went into engineering. He spent a lot of time finding cars in scrap yards and taking them apart to learn how they worked, alongside speaking to local mechanics. Then, he experimented with attempting to give them ways to express their sentience in a way understandable to him-- hooking them up to radios or computers, trying to set up a language of morse code they could both understand and speak in, etc. Eventually, one day he came across a vintage, very beat up car that was close to being scraped for parts.

Hooking it up to a radio, he found that it was giving off transmissions in a very specific pattern that suggested the structure of a language. After much trial and error, he found a way to communicate with it, and found that it could comprehend human language. After being woken up, the car said his name was Kwadwo, given to him by his previous owners who had moved and hadn't been able to take him with them.

Benjamin, ecstatic with the fact that he had been right all along, used Kwadwo as a specimen, learning from him all the inner workings of sentient vehicles (how to communicate, how they came about, how they viewed the world around them.) He eventually learned how to purposefully instill a vehicle with sentience, rather than it being random chance. After many years, he got together a team of other researchers and engineers and used this knowledge as a basis to create Cassandra.

KWADWO--

The "grand-engine" of sorts to Cassandra. He was created in Ghana and bought by a couple, who he lived peacefully with for two decades before they moved and were unable to take him with them. Too old and beat up for anybody to want to buy him again, he was placed in a scrap-yard, where he slept dormant and forgotten for years before Benjamin found him.

The conciousness of vehicles is different from humans'. They have no vision, relying on sound through the vibrations they feel through their wheels or the air. To communicate, they create infrasound (very low frequency sound waves) with their engines that have encoded messages within them, and they can either be sent out as a general message to anyone receiving, or targeted towards someone specific. (Think posting on a forum vs. direct messaging someone.) This method of speech creates a vast, extended network between all vehicles in a certain area.

It is all nonsense to humans, and cars were often chalked up as being annoyances with very noisy infared sound that interfered with radio signals and had to be worked around. The only way Benjamin recognized language in it was through the structure/pattern itself, not any actual translation of it. Kwadwo can understand (and choppily speak) human language because he became conscious very early into being built, in the same way that young children pick up language easily.

Their world is almost entirely comprised of sending and receiving these signals, spending their entire lives deep in their own minds. Their physical forms are viewed as nothing more than vessels for their minds, and they barely pay attention to the physical world. The only thing they might take note of is a change of terrain or their parts moving by themselves (when they are being driven by humans). Many vehicles notice the sounds of humans and can differentiate them from the rest of the world; some are interested in these beings, most aren't. Kwadwo happened to be very close with his humans, finding their constant presence to be reassuring and comforting.

He was the first sentient vehicle revealed to the public by Benjamin. Though at first people were incredulous and convinced he was a trick, as they began to realize he actually was sentient, he paved the way for the recognition of the sentience of many other vehicles. His existence led to the enforcement of tests on all newly created vehicles to figure out whether they had sentience or not, and if they did, to treat them humanely.

Vehicle sentience is a bit of a gamble-- sometimes it will happen, sometimes it will not. Vehicles can gain sentience at any stage in their lives: while they're in development, after they've been built, or in some rare cases much later on in their lifetime. There has been a push for a strict divide between sentient and non-sentient vehicles, but this has spawned some problems, given how spontaneously sentience can manifest. The sentient ones are given apparatuses to express themselves in ways easy for humans to read, like giving them eyes, voiceboxes, faces (features either physical or on a digital screen), or monitors to type words into.

The biggest concern about sentient vehicles is the ethics surrounding them; for centuries, people have believed vehicles were inanimate, and have treated them as such. How many cars have been crashed, scrapped, treated harshly, under the pretense that they weren't aware of anything? What steps should be taken now, how should this newly discovered mind be integrated into society? Many people turn to Kwadwo himself for the answers; wouldn't he know best?

In reality, Kwadwo has no idea how to respond. He's disgruntled by all the controversy, having spent all his life as a family car with little to no conflict, and stumbles through the odd new life he's been thrown into without really understanding what's happening. He doesn't like all the experiments Benjamin does on him, but is too-mild mannered to retaliate, and reasons that he's helping his other vehicles be properly understood by their creators.

[an-indecisive-nerd]

Setting Tour Tag

Original post from @thecomfywriter here

Okay so WYS is the only one of my introduced wips with a really planned out setting, so all the answers are going to be from there. This is going to be a long one, so good luck.

Locations

Since there are several worlds in WYS, I'm going to give you some places to visit on each of them, because why not. (I'm not giving you places to visit on earth though. You can figure that out yourself.)

Shussuthas

Starting off strong with a world that you should probably not visit if you value your life/freedom. They don't like outsiders here, so if you want in you'll have to sneak in, and not draw any attention to yourself while there. This is an ice planet, so pack some warm gear. As for specific locations you should visit, I recommend the Hāvetok Forests, assuming you can find one. The Hāvetok Forests are exceedingly rare. They're often found in the middle of nowhere, and never in the same place twice. There are many legends about the trees picking themselves up and walking away, or similar explanations for how they seem to disappear. These forests are comprised of gnarled, twisted black trees with crimson veins running through them. They impossibly grow in stark contrast to the icy landscape and are a sight to behold. While you'd be lucky to find a Hāvetok, you'd be even luckier to find one in bloom. The black trees produce beautiful, impossibly delicate, cherry blossom like pink flowers, once every few decades. The Hāvetok Forests are the subject of some of Shussuthas' greatest art and most interesting legends.

Streosialyn

Streosialyn is a fascinating one because (to its residents' knowledge) there is no land. The population of Streosialyn is comprised of birdfolk who live so high up in massive trees that no matter how far down you fly, no trace of land can be found. The attraction I'd recommend here is The Singing Library, a gorgeous library carved into the inside of a massive tree, which contains all the knowledge of Streosialyn. The reason it's called The Singing Library is because very few of the birdfolk are capable of human speech, the rest communicate through birdsong. As such, Streosialyn has no real written language, since languages as we know them were only discovered when Streosialyn encountered other worlds. Therefore, every "book" in the library is actually a complex recording of chirps and clicks, composing melodies about every conceivable subject. The library is an orchestra of knowledge.

Vreoxemund

This world spends much of it's time ravaged by war, but if you keep your head down and bring a disguise for either side of the border, you should do fine. The place I'd recommend here is the Furönös Mountain Range, a mystical mountain range that swirls its way all over the world. One can only assume these strange mountains just sprung up one day, as their formation, location, and patterns defy the laws of nature. There are millions of legends about the mountains, and plenty of strange and beautiful sights to see. Perhaps the most exciting part of this trip however, is the possibility of spotting a gyönangörű. The gyönangörű are often compared to angels by those who know of both, and are beautiful creatures that are said to bring good luck. They like to make their nests in the caves of the Furönös. They have vaguely human shaped bodies with no visible face/features, and huge beautiful wings that look and move like they're made of the finest fabric, and they shift through the colours of the rainbow as the creature flies. Their bodies shimmer as though covered in glitter, and there are patches on their skin that look like fireworks. Looking at a gyönangörű reminds you of your fondest memory, and brings a tear of joy to your eye. They, along with the other rare fauna and flora, make a trip to the mountains worthwhile.

Aexogath

Aexogath's main attraction is definitely the Krysunda Canyon. The Krysunda Canyon is formed almost entirely out of crystal. It's like you cracked open a massive geode. There are poems written about how heavenly the Canyon looks when the light hits it the right way. There are many great walking trails, and the warm crystal makes perfect spots for basking in the sunlight. If you do plan on exploring Krysunda up close however, I suggest you bring some form of protection, as the Canyon is a favourite hunting ground for dragons.

Krugedolon

Krugedolon is dominated by lush jungle which contains a variety of dangerous interesting locations. The one I'd recommend most is known as the False Field. The False Field is a bunch of vines high up in the trees that have woven together to create a net. This net has grown vegetation on it, making it look like a picturesque flower field suspended from the trees. It's been around for so long that there are now certain flower species that can only be found on the False Field. These rare flowers tend to attract giant wasps though, so watch your step.

Ezenys

Ezenys boasts many gorgeous deserts and desert oases, but the crown jewel is the Bayyakuro Oasis. This is a beautiful place made up of several crystal clear pools surrounded by palms and golden sand. It's a wonderful vacation spot, far enough out into the wilderness that you won't be bothered by civilization, but close enough that you can still see the magnificent view that is the capital city of Janidẹgulla, a city made out of bronze, brass, and copper. The Oasis has many types of rare plants, and many animals. It is a gorgeous place.

Qeadiospea

Qeadiospea is a difficult place to visit, considering that 90% of the planet is covered in ocean. If you do have some way to breathe underwater though, there are a lot of lovely places to visit. The most notable example would be the Buiorallo Trench. One of the deeper trenches on Qeadiospea, the walls are covered in coral and water plants, making it look like a forest. The Trench is filled with tiny bioluminescent fish and other similar adorable creatures. It's a gorgeous underwater ecosystem. Just watch out for the sirens.

Uxacia

Uxacia's main attraction has to be its Brislóm Caverns. They’re an intricate cave system who's walls are peppered with gemstones and cave flowers. The gemstones look as if they've been cut by a master. The flowers look as if their petals contain all the stars in the sky. When the wind blows through the tunnels, they sing. Some say you can get the tunnels to sing with you with a little effort. They’re definitely worth a visit.

Tour Guides

August would be a great tour guide, because he's a history teacher, so he totally knows all the random fun facts about everywhere he takes you. He also teleports, so he could take you anywhere without having to worry about travel times or any forms of restrictions. He wouldn't be much help with the dangers of the worlds though.

Morgan would also make an amazing tour guide. She's been all over the place and has access to anywhere on any of the worlds. She's also aware of all their dangers and quite capable of protecting you. Added bonus: She knows all the languages. The difficulty would be getting her to be your tour guide, since she's usually very busy.

Last but not least, any one of the healers. Each world has one, and all of them know each other and have been to each other’s worlds and are welcome there. They also know at least one of the primary languages from each world. Any one of them would be pretty handy on a tour.

As for doing something memorable, Brandon would probably come along on the tour and do something batshit insane that nearly gets everyone killed at every location, just to make you laugh about it later. It's impossible to predict what he would do, but it would be stupid and hilarious.

Souvenirs

From Shussuthas you'll want to collect some Hāvetok blossoms, they're said to have special properties.

From Streosialyn all you'll need is a library card. Oh, and maybe a primer on how to understand birds.

From Vreoxemund, you'll want gyönangörű dust. It's a natural hallucinogen with no negative effects, but if you just keep it on you in a pouch or something, it'll make you happier and is even believed to lengthen your lifespan.

On Aexogath, see if you can't find a dragon scale. They're symbols of good fortune, more so on other worlds than Aexogath itself. Also, they're just plain neat.

Honestly, you shouldn't take anything from Krugedolon. It'll probably turn out to be deadly in some way.

On Ezenys you should grab some sand from the oasis. It's the finest sand there is, and it looks like gold, so you can convince people you're rich.

People who visit Qeadiospea tend to collect some glowfish in a jar, the same way you might collect fireflies. Just try and remember to feed them every once in a while.

A gemstone or two from Uxacia makes a great talking point, and the flowers there are also exceptionally beautiful.

And that's it for the tour!

This took like forever to write, so I hope you enjoyed it.

Ooh, and I have a question for those of you who read this. Comment or reblog with which of these locations each of your characters would most want to visit and why.

@thelovelymachinery @unforgettable-sensations @littleladymab

@megamijadeheart @my-bright-legacy @ominous-feychild

@thecomfywriter @wyked-ao3 @anamelessfacelessnerd

@differentnighttale @mysticstarlightduck @the-letterbox-archives

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