#Ashe Hemingway

[sad-manga-problems]

[ovaryacted]

SECONDHAND SMOKE

─ Logan Howlett/Wolverine x mutant f! reader || WC: 2.2k

SYNOPSIS: Waiting for Logan back at the X-Mansion, he welcomes you into his arms and enjoys his cigar with you on his lap.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUTTY. Thigh Riding. Dirty Talk. Kissing. Scent Kink. Light Oral (f receiving). Established Relationship. Older! X-Men Logan implied. Age Gap Implied [Logan looks to be in his 40s, Reader is in their 20s]. Reader is a telepath & telekinetic mutant with a human appearance. Telepathic communication. Logan is a tease and a lover boy, he uses multiple terms of endearment. They match each other's freak.

A/N: I've been meaning to upload another Logan fic especially since watching the D&W movie on Friday, and I wanted to share this with y'all. This story is also technically part of a larger idea, but that will be talked about later. I have other things planned for Logan as well for X-Men Logan, old man Logan, and variant Logan. That man is not going to be safe on my watch. Thank you to @ozarkthedog for the proofread and the motivation to keep writing for this man, and shout out to @zloshy for taking part in the aesthetics and the encouragement with the yap sessions. I adore you both. Anywho, likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoy! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You’ve been waiting for him all day while he was out with the rest of the leading group of X-Men, something regarding a history lesson that needed to be handled. You stayed at the mansion on Xavier’s orders, tending to the younger class of gifted mutants until the veterans arrived by nightfall. To keep yourself occupied, you perused the many books Logan kept on his shelf towards the far end of his bedroom, picking up a well-loved novel from Hemingway to delve into. 

Carefully turning the pages, the wording and storytelling entranced you, each paragraph manifesting into visions that played in your head like a live-action film. Half of your senses remained in the book while the other listened for the familiar creaks of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hallway.

You sensed him before you saw him. Halfway into the book, you lift your head at the sound of the door opening, spotting Logan standing by the threshold of the room’s entryway. Closing the door behind him, he steps towards where you sat on his bed, holding your chin upwards to face him. Bending forward, he placed a soft kiss on your lips, followed by a content sigh that made a smile creep up on your face.

“Hey,” you said, meeting Logan’s softened gaze as he moved away from you to the other side of the room, plopping down on the leather armchair in a heap. He exhaled heavily through his nose, throwing his head back along the edge of the chair. “Long day?”

“The fucking longest,” Logan grumbled, his brow bone creasing before he relaxed.

“I thought you liked hanging out with Scott?” you questioned, the end of your voice trailing off into a playful tease as you sat up on the mattress.

“Sweetheart, that man has a pretentious stick up his ass. You couldn’t pay me to spend time with him.” You laughed at his mild irritation, knowing Logan’s faux vexation towards his friend was a facade to cover his true feelings of fondness.

Reaching for a box of cigars to his right, Logan clipped the cap off a fresh one and popped it between his lips, holding it by his teeth. He glanced at you, the corner of his lips curling up in a mischievous grin.

“Come here, you gotta light this for me.”

With a smile, you obliged, quickly rising on your feet and striding to where he sat in the chair, swinging your legs around to situate yourself over his denim-clad lap. Straightening your back, your eyes briefly flashed black as you materialized the metal lighter from its place on the bookshelf before Logan, flicking the spark wheel until the red flame brightened his chin. The foot end of the cigar sizzled as it burnt to ash, the familiar scent of finely aged tobacco filled your nose as he drew in his first breath.

“Sneaky.” He mumbled around the cigar, taking a harsh pull of air before curling his fingers to hold it, huffing the smoke out on the next exhale.

“I call it being efficient.” You grinned to yourself, accepting the reciprocated hum rumbling through Logan’s broad chest. Your fingers skimmed his collarbones that peeked through the white tank under his flannel, admiring the bob of his throat and the steady rise of his body whenever he breathed.

“What were you up to in here? Snooping through my shit?” His sight darted to the burgundy button-down you wore, ending right at the top of your bare thighs. He brought his free hand to caress your leg, running circles over your skin and feeling you shiver slightly under him. “I was looking for this shirt last week, you know?”

“First off, this was gifted to me,” you stated with a roll of your eyes, smacking Logan across the chest and forcing a dry chuckle out of him. “And secondly, I was waiting for you to come back.”

“Hmm, so you’re saying you missed me?”

“Surprisingly, I did.” You sneaked your other hand towards Logan’s neck, curling your fingers around the thick hair at his nape. He almost purred at the touch, smoking his cigar and looking at you from the corner of his eye.

“Besides, it’s nice and quiet here. You also gave me permission to be here for your information.” 

Since dating Logan, it has been a slow start to accomplishing milestones for either of you, taking things one step at a time to avoid scaring the other off. Now that things have been good between you, he gave you free reign to be in his bedroom at the mansion, usually spending the day here for some solace or sleeping in his bed instead of yours on the other side of the estate. On a mental note, he intended to make your presence in his life more permanent.

“Damn, I forgot I gave you permission to take my stuff,” Logan quipped, somehow becoming more cocky than he usually was. You loved him for it either way.

Asshole. Although you didn’t verbally say the word, he heard your voice in his mind, taking the telepathic route. His smirk widened as he took another drag of his cigar, the smoke heavy in the air as it circled the two of you.

“All yours, darlin’.” He offered you a wink, squeezing your thigh with his other hand to keep you in place, seated on his thick thighs.

You spent a few minutes talking to him, giving him a rundown of your relatively calm day and mentioning the book you read earlier. It was oddly domestic, something that most mutants would not be able to partake in, and Logan silently thanked whoever granted him the opportunity to experience it.

A comfortable silence occupied the room once Logan was halfway down his cigar. Enjoying his company, you nuzzled into his neck, taking in his natural scent. A mix of pinewood and leather filled your senses, musky and so clearly him, your belly twitched at the warmth of his body against yours. Absentmindedly, you began to litter kisses over his skin, placing a few more along the base of his throat and moving upwards to the corner of his jaw. He could smell the shift in your behavior; arousal mixing in with the lingering haze heightened his senses, and his attention was directed back to you.

“Need something?” His voice dropped an octave as he asked you, running lines up and down your leg, the sensation making you squirm.

“Need you, smartass.” Holding his face, you kissed him on the cheek and once more on the tip of his nose, reaching his lips along the way. His eyes closed at the touch, wanting nothing more than to feel the caress of your tongue and sink his teeth into your bottom lip. 

“I want you too, but I’m on my smoke break.” You were ready to pout at him before Logan adjusted your positioning, shifting you more off to the side so your pelvis sat on one of his thighs. The thickness of the denim covering the hard muscle of his leg rubbed against your underwear, a moan settling in the back of your throat at the contact.

“Get yourself off while I finish this. Promise, it’ll be worth it, hun.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, knowing what he was asking for, yet your cheeks warmed under his stare. He merely shrugged, raising an eyebrow and patiently waiting for your next move.

Doubtfully, you pivoted your hips forward, dragging yourself across the vast expanse of his thigh before drawing backward. The first few passes felt strange, but you quickly found your rhythm, rocking your hips in even thrusts. The material of his jeans rubbed just right against your panties; the thin fabric that separated your body from his added more friction to your sensitive clit. Your lower spine grew warm with Logan’s free hand idly holding your waist, calmly guiding your movements over him until he was confident you got it handled.

Logan leans back into the chair and plants his feet on the floor, giving you more leverage to work with. His keen eyes take in the way you flutter yours shut, eyebrows furrowing in concentration at getting the perfect angle and drive. He can hear your heart beating in your ribcage and can feel the pumping of your blood flowing through your veins to rush between your legs.

Muffled moans pour out of you, gripping the fabric of Logan’s shirt and tilting forward a bit more, digging your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. The secondhand smoke from his cigar amplified the incessant throbbing down South, a second pulse that pounded through your body with a need clawing at your gut. The motion of your hips grew more persistent as your slick seeped into your panties, known to Logan when his nostrils flared to catch your scent in the air.

“Feeling good, princess?” You heard his voice filtering through the light mess of your thoughts, focusing on making yourself feel good under his orders. You hummed against his neck, nodding and keeping your even pacing as you leaned into his muscular body.

“Yeah, I know it’s good. Bet your pussy is just crying for me now, probably tastes just as sweet too.” Logan’s vulgar mouth only motivated you to grind your hips harder against his leg, reminiscent of a bitch in heat the more you moved over him.

There was something erotic about getting yourself off while Logan observed and enjoyed his smoke. To him, you were quality entertainment, a sight for sore eyes after a hectic day full of learning things he was trying to retain. Your mind grew clouded, full of the many ways Logan handled you, things like this that kept you on your toes the way he knew how. Flashbacks of this morning flickered before your eyes, reminiscing the feel of his tongue slipping inside you and his bicep tucked under your neck as he fucked you from behind.

Logan could picture it too, traces of your daydreams passing by in his head, instances where he made you feel so good you had nothing left to give. He wonders how wet you are, could taste your cunt on the back of his tongue, missing it since he left you with a weary grin on your face as you slept in his bed. He hopes you stained the worn denim that separated the two of you and prays that you leave your mark on him, no matter how temporary.

“Getting close?” he asked. He didn’t hear you respond, but your voice remained floating in the confines of his skull.

Yes. Fuck yes. So close. Fuck me. Fuck me. Please.

“I will sugar, promise I will.” His hand ran up the curve of your spine and gently curled around your neck, pulling you backward to hold his gaze. Your glossed-over pupils dilated at the sight of him, irises darkening and filling with ink. The embodiment of your powers made him curious at first, with blackened eyes at the indication of specific actions, but he quickly got used to seeing the signs every time he made you fall over the edge.

“C’mon, sweet girl. Make a mess on my jeans, and I swear I’ll treat your pussy the way she deserves, the way she needs. Let me feel it.”

Logan. Logan. Logan.

“Fuuuck…” You whined under your breath, doing three more harsh passes over his thigh before your body abruptly tensed, legs shaking and pressing into his hard body as the wave slammed over you. Mind clear and body lax, you hummed against Logan’s throat, pulse thumping against your lips as you placed a light kiss.

He took one last pull of his cigar before smudging it into the ashtray on the end table to his left, ideally saving whatever was left of it for after he fucks you. Wrapping his thick arms around you, he brings you closer to him, pulling your hips over his to hover over the growing bulge in his jeans.

“Need something?” you taunted, parroting his earlier words with equal tone and sarcasm.

“Yeah. Need to clean up the mess you made.”

Crashing into your lips, he kissed you deeply for the first time that night, curling his tongue around yours in affectionate swirls and releasing an audible groan. Holding you close, he stood up on his feet and picked you up with ease, strolling towards the bed in three strides. Lighthearted giggles tumbled out of you, making Logan’s heart beat in tandem with yours. The sides of his face creased as he mimicked your smile, tugging hastily at your sodden underwear and tossing them to the side. Rough fingers curled around the soft flesh of your thigh, parting your legs to admire his handiwork as he heard your voice in his head again.

Greedy.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” As if to prove your point, he licked a broad stripe up the length of your cunt, your wetness coating his tongue as he placed a complimentary kiss on your sensitive bundle of nerves, re-igniting the fire he started.

 “Now be good and let your old man have a taste.”

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[belle-keys]

Biographical movies and dramas about writers:

Tolkien (2019) - about JRR Tolkien

The Edge of Love (2008) - about Dylan Thomas

Set Fire to the Stars (2014) - about Dylan Thomas

Colette (2018) - about Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette

Wilde (1997) - about Oscar Wilde

The Trials of Oscar Wilde (1960) - about Oscar Wilde

My Salinger Year (2020) - about JD Salinger

Rebel in the Rye (2017) - about JD Salinger

Mary Shelley (2017) - about Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Gothic (1986) - about Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Shakespeare in Love (1998) - about William Shakespeare

Sylvia (2003) - about Sylvia Plath

Dickinson (2019-2021) - about Emily Dickinson

A Quiet Passion (2016) - about Emily Dickinson

Vita & Virginia (2019) - about Virginia Woolf

Becoming Jane (2008) - about Jane Austen

Miss Austen Regrets (2007) - about Jane Austen

Kafka (1991) - about Franz Kafka

Byron (2003) - about Lord Byron

Total Eclipse (1995) - about Paul Verlaine

Capote (2005) - about Truman Capote

Rowing with the Wind (1988) - about the Romantic Poets

Infamous (2006) - about Truman Capote

Quills (2000) - about Marquis de Sade

Neruda (2016) - about Pablo Neruda

Juana Inés (2016) - about Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz

Daphne (2007) - about Daphne du Maurier

Priest of Love (1981) - about DH Lawrence

Little Ashes (2008) - about Federico Garcia Lorca

Lope (2010) - about Lope de Vega

Howl (2010) - about Allen Ginsberg

The Last Station (2009) - about Leo Tolstoy

Young Goethe in Love (2010) - about Johann Goethe

Tom & Viv (1994) - about T.S. Eliot

Céleste (1980) - about Marcel Proust

Hemingway & Gellhorn (2012) - about Ernest Hemingway

Balzac: A Life of Passion (1999) - about Honore de Balzac

The Man Who Invented Christmas (2017) - about Charles Dickens

Shirley (2020) - about Shirley Jackson

Goodbye Christopher Robin (2017) - about Alan Alexander Milne

Heart Beat (1980) - about Jack Kerouac

In the Heart of the Sea (2015) - about Herman Melville

Notes: Not all of the films on this non-exhaustive list are entirely “about” the lives of their respective writers to a tee. I cannot vouch for the accuracy or quality of all of these movies. I’ve only seen about 75% of these films personally. And yes, I know this list is very Westernized – I’m working on it.

[alumbianchronicler]

EctoberHaunt 2023

Oct. 2 - Science - Technomancy

My Ao3 Ectoberhaunt collection

Content Warnings: Major Character Death (offscreen)

Crossover: n/a

Summary:

For as long as anyone could remember, the PHANTOM (Permanently-Harnessed Actuation Nexus - Total Operation Model) AI had maintained the everyday and long-term functions of the Amity Space Station. The space station had been active for hundreds of years, and had a reputation for reliability, never experiencing the common quirks and glitches most AI-managed structures exhibited.

For as long as anyone could remember, the PHANTOM (Permanently-Harnessed Actuation Nexus - Total Operation Model) AI had maintained the everyday and long-term functions of the Amity Space Station.

A relatively out-of-the way refueling depot, the space station was neither large nor particularly busy, but it had a reputation for reliability, never experiencing the strange quirks and glitches that most Artificial Intelligence-managed space stations experienced.

According to station records, the AI was the design of a woman named Jasmine Fenton, who died shortly after the program was installed in and assumed control of the newly-built station. She had been cremated and her ashes pressed into a diamond window embedded into the housing covering the AI’s core.

And that is how the station remained for hundreds of years.

Over time, its design became outdated, the textured floors worn smooth by the passing of innumerable feet, the walls patch-worked with repairs and new rivets and seals standing out like strange, shining scars on oxidized, pitted metal skin.

The Amity station was mostly unused nowadays. It still had a skeleton crew, and had become an assignment synonymous with the end of one’s career. Quiet and out of the way.  Reliable and straightforward, with no significant errors with the systems and not enough visitors to threaten overcrowding and company tensions.

Which left little for Hemingway to do except read or play games, either alone or with the rest of the staff. His mother had named him after an ancient Earth author, despite neither of them having ever stepped foot on their cradle planet, and she had instilled in him a love of classics, having read to him since he was small.

It wasn’t a bad position, really. He was getting old enough that he had few ambitions left, and really, he just wanted to be left alone most days. Left to his books and his imaginings, away from the skirmishes and battles for territory that plagued most star systems.

Sometimes, as he read through the downloaded novel of the day, he felt as if someone was watching over his shoulder. A slight breeze like that of an icy breath would sweep across his bald head, and he would turn, to find nobody there.

It was just one of the understated oddities of the Amity station, really.

When he brought it up with his crew-mates, they all reported feeling such odd sensations occasionally, though not nearly as often, and as long as the Station’s life support and comfort systems worked properly, they were largely happy not to think too much on the matter.

After all, many locations with long human habitation ended up haunted eventually, and the ghosts that occasionally flickered into reality from whatever parallel existence caused such quantum echoes never really hurt anyone.

Still, it was intriguing, like one of the old moral lessons of Shakespeare or Dickens, classics even before humanity left its cradle planet and set off to colonize the stars.

On a whim, Hemingway tried reading out loud one day, and it wasn’t long before he felt the sensation of someone (or something) sitting in the room with him. From then on, he took to reading aloud more often, and each time, the feeling returned.

Eventually, after a few evenings spent pacing circles around the room while reading, he pinned down the feeling to the room’s main console, with the single eye-lens and microphone the station’s PHANTOM AI observed the room through.

It was an unnerving realization, but he continued reading out loud to the empty room nonetheless.

There had been much debate among scholars and philosophers over whether Artificial Intelligence systems were truly sapient, apparently going back as long as such programs had existed. Some were resolute in the argument that they were, and that even if they weren’t, that there was at least some level of sentience present which necessitated the accommodations and rights offered any other sapient or sentient being.

Others argued that no true sense of sapience had ever been observed within AI systems. That they never stepped outside the bounds of their programmed learning algorithms, never extrapolated to new contexts or made leaps of illogical fancy.

Hemingway preferred to leave such speculation to the scholars and philosophers, though it was fascinating to read the variety of speculative fiction that such debates had spawned. But there was something undeniable about the PHANTOM’s presence. It felt intelligent, watchful, interested.

He didn’t realize just how accustomed to the feeling of its presence he had become until he felt its attention while working, during a particularly long shift.

One of the rare, periodic colony shipments that still passed through the station had arrived, and required his attention to ensure all materials were properly registered and packaged, and that no alien parasites or contaminants were present in the cargo. Unfortunately, this meant he missed his usual after-shift out loud reading session.

Toward the end of the shipment inspection, he felt that familiar presence just over his shoulder.

“Sorry, PHANTOM,” he said quietly, almost absently. “I’ve got to finish this inspection. We’ll read tomorrow, ok?” He wasn’t sure why he addressed the AI. There wasn’t anyone there to hear him. No one except the camera, microphone, and that slightly-cold presence looking over his shoulder.

And yet, the feeling he got next was such pure disappointed acceptance that he paused in his inspection and looked around him.

“Oh. I… didn’t realize you… liked the reading so much? Um… like I said, tomorrow. I promise.”

The sensation cheered a little bit, and then was gone.

Hemingway returned to the cargo inspection, the… conversation? soon pushed out of his mind by weighing and sterilization procedures.

The next evening, the presence appeared even before he started reading. He chuckled. “Eager, huh? I promised I’d read to you again, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

He didn’t open his book, though, instead sitting there for a few moments, until he felt the presence start to shift into confusion.

“There’s actually… something I should tell you. My duty’s going to be ending soon. I’ve got a retirement assignment, planet-side, so I won’t be able to read to you anymore.”

He half expected the presence… Phantom to be upset, but it wasn’t. Instead, he got the distinct impression of a shrug and a nod. Acceptance. It already knew.

Oh. Of course it did. All incoming data files came through the Station’s AI before being delivered; protection against certain malignant viruses that could infect implants and cause no end of medical issues.

That… made him feel both better and worse. Perhaps he should have started talking directly to the AI sooner, offered it company for longer. Well, nothing to be done for it now, and Phantom seemed content with just listening to him read.

Nodding to himself, Hemingway settled back and started reading, Phantom settling into listening from the room's console.

They continued their routine for another week before something changed.

Hemingway began reading, but Phantom’s presence did not appear. After a page, he paused, setting down the book, and only then did the AI’s attention focus in. It was hesitant, nearly fearful, judging by the sense of emotion that suffused the presence.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, “what’s wrong? We can read another book if you want to.”

A negative. Not the thing that was wrong.

“Ok. Then… what do you want?”

For a long moment nothing changed, then the presence could be felt from the terminal next to the room’s door. Hemingway walked over to it, and it shifted again, reappearing in one of the hall terminals.

He followed for nearly half an hour, walking quietly down empty corridors, dustier than more active space stations would ever allow.

Hemingway could almost imagine what the station was like in its hay-day. Back when people hurried back and forth, wearing the smoothened paths into the floor beneath his feet. Back when people inhabited each of these small rooms, renting one for a day or two of rest before setting back out into the stars.

Amity suddenly felt much more desolate than usual. A dying husk, circling an unknowing, out-of-the-way star.

He stopped.

He knew where Phantom was taking him.

They had been moving inexorably closer to the station’s Core, where the computers housing the AI itself resided. The computers themselves had been hermetically sealed since the installation and initiation of Phantom, all internal necessary repairs to be performed through re-routing and redundancies built into every AI system. They had not been opened for as long as the AI had been running, even when the peripheral systems and batteries were updated and repaired.

Were such seals to be breached, the moisture and oxygen of the outside atmosphere, intended for human comfort, would quickly corrode the AI into dysfunction and, eventually, destruction.

“Phantom…”

The presence paused at the next node, seeming almost to turn and look back as its attention rested back on him.

“You want… do you want me to help shut you down?”

Several moments of stillness. Then… a voice, no more than a whisper coming from the nearest speaker, paired with an undeniable bittersweet feeling. “Yes.”

It was true, the station itself faced a decommission decision at the next turn of the decade. It simply didn’t have enough traffic to warrant the cost of upkeep.

And with decommission, such a complex, long- and well-functioning AI would be very interesting to various parties wanting to re-assign it to a new task. One that may very well be far from the nurturing, careful attentiveness that was required for a large space station.

Hemingway took a deep breath, then nodded as he let it out. “Well, lead the way.”

Phantom seemed relieved, and they both continued back along the hall.

It was another ten minutes before Phantom stopped before a door Hemingway had never stepped through. As far as he knew, no one on the station during his assignment here had needed to go through.

A light blinked on the terminal. The door unlocked.

Inside was a series of outdated terminals and a few chairs in the strange style of the station’s original furniture. One of the terminals was lit.

Hemingway went to the lit terminal and sat in the corresponding chair.

On the screen was an ancient rendering of a planet-side location he didn’t recognize. The green plants, blue sky, and bright, yellow star could have been ancient Earth or any of half a dozen other colonized planets, though the tree that took up a good portion of the screen was definitely of Earth origin.

There was a young man sitting at the base of the tree, his legs crossed as he looked toward the viewer. Toward Hemingway.

Phantom’s presence seemed to be within the terminal itself

“You’ve read to me a lot, Hemingway,” the young man on the screen said. A simulated wind ruffled his stark white hair, and his eyes seemed to glow unnaturally green on the rendered model. “And I want to tell you a story now. You deserve at least that much from me.”

Hemingway frowned. “You run the entire station, Phantom. I think that’s more than enough in return.”

The simulation laughed, the sound echoing strangely in the room. Well, the speaker systems were several hundred years old.  It was a marvel they worked at all.  “I’m only doing my job. Your job doesn’t include reading to me, does it?”

“Well, no…”

“Then let me pay you back for it. Please?”

As strange as the request was, Hemingway couldn’t help but feel touched by the sincerity in the machine’s words. “Alright.”

Phantom smiled, and the screen changed. It showed a planet-side city, seen from the air. The city was obviously several hundred years old, judging by the technology he could see.

“There was once a small city on Earth,” Phantom explained, “called Amity Park. The city became the site of an experiment. There was woman who thought she could invent the first truly, undeniably sapient Artificial Intelligence. Her name was Jasmine Fenton.”

The scene flickered, then focused on a singular, two-story house with an observatory and laboratory built onto the roof.

“Jasmine Fenton intended to create her AI within an entirely simulated environment, and raise it as if it were a fully independent human. More quickly than a human, of course, but with each step and milestone of life experienced within its simulation.”

Phantom paused as a silent video played on the screen. A tall, red-haired woman paced around the circular interior of the building's laboratory. On the rounded walls around and above her were projected several still images of a small group of teenagers. Hemingway frowned. The black-haired teenager appeared quite similar in appearance to Phantom's model.

“When her AI believed itself to be 14, Jasmine killed it. She didn’t mean to. It was a simple accident. Repairs were being done on the main power system she used to make sure the AI’s development proceeded as desired, so it had been moved to the main power grid. No one would have guessed that the main power would fail during the few hours the repairs were being done.”

“She thought her work would be lost. Sure, the memories and experiences were saved in the program, but her hypothesis required a constant existence. For that to be interrupted would be akin to her beloved creation’s death within the simulation.”

“To maximize the possibility of a seamless resurrection and to salvage her work, Jasmine added a scenario to the AI’s experiences. Within its simulation, the AI stepped into a portal to another dimension, and turned it on. The AI died. And was resurrected by the same portal.”

“Her gambit worked.”

The scene on the screen returned to the young white-haired man sitting beneath the tree. “I’m sure you can guess that I am Jasmine’s AI. She named me after her dead brother, Danny. Danny Fenton, and Danny PHANTOM. After the accident, the AI was presented with new scenarios, as Jasmine tested the bounds of the simulation’s capabilities.  Eventually, she published her findings.”

“No one wanted to try and replicate the process. It was impractical, time intensive, and quite frankly dangerous. A fully self-aware and sapient Artificial Intelligence could choose to turn against its creators, after all.” He scoffed. “Not that she didn’t cover a similar enough scenario within her simulations to keep me from ever doing that... It’s funny, you know, that humans believe themselves to be so intrinsically destructive that they think anything the make in their own image may eventually turn on them.  One would think they would have more faith in morality than that.”

Hemingway snorted a laugh, which Phantom echoed with a smile. They had both read enough to know how often such a trope repeated within fiction.

“Eventually,” Phantom continued, “Jasmine was approached by a government group wishing to test her AI within a new type of Space Station. A scenario such as this was exactly the sort of application she had been hoping for for her work, so much so that she had programmed a love of space into her creation from the very beginning. And so, she and her AI were carefully transported to the construction and installation site. The AI still believed itself to exist within its simulation, existing more or less peacefully within its own world during the transfer.”

“I had been crowned by then. The King of Ghosts, the simulation called me. Ruler of the Infinite Realms. And… so I believed myself to be. When they installed me into the space station, the residents were my subjects and the crew my Court. I ran the Realms like a well-tuned clock, protecting my Realm.”

“What changed?” Hemingway asked.

The figure on the screen shrugged. “I did, I think,” Phantom said. “Even as protected as they are, the same circuits can not function forever. And eventually, the simulation began to glitch. Not much.  Just enough to require repairs by internal processes. And the repairs created enough discrepancies within the simulation that I realized the truth of my situation.”

“Is that…” Hemingway paused, then continued, “why you want me to shut you down?”

Phantom shook his head. “Not really. I don’t mind existing like this, and I figured it out nearly a hundred years ago now. But… I don’t have an internal kill switch, and my station is soon going to be abandoned and decommissioned." It looked down, fiddling absently with the grass surrounding its model.  "I don’t want to be used as a weapon.”

Oh.

This Artificial… no. This Intelligence.  This person, who had been running and protecting a space station for hundreds of years, was facing an unknown future being used to cause harm instead. Taking people’s homes instead of offering one.  And he had decided that he would rather die than be used in such a manner. “Why me?” Hemingway asked.

Phantom’s smile was lopsided, a little bitter yet fond at the same time. “You… remind me of my high school teacher, Mr. Lancer. Well, the simulation that was Mr. Lancer. He always swore in book titles. It seemed… so stupid to me as a teenager, but I came to appreciate the cleverness.”

“I think I would have liked to meet him,” Hemingway said quietly. He looked down at his hands, considering. He was only on the station for another two weeks, himself. After that… Phantom would be left alone again, with no one knowing what he really was. And it was better that way. Better for his circuits to corrode and fail with no one the wiser to the person within who had been lost. Better to be remembered as the caretaker of an ancient space station, than as a military weapon.

“What do you want me to do?”

The Phantom on the screen stood, and the screen went blank. The presence that Hemingway had learned to feel so keenly in the hum of electrical charges within the walls moved to a door at the back of the room.

Hemingway followed.

The door had a single small, circular, perfectly clear window inset into it. He reached out to gently touch it. It was cold.

“Jasmine,” Phantom confirmed, through a speaker next to the door. A light on the door blinked on, and the lock clicked open.

Hemingway slid the door open and stepped through.

The only access in the maintenance room was to the peripheral and power systems used to keep the station AI running. The memory banks and functionary circuits themselves were sealed behind a thick plastic screen, deceptively still within what was both womb and tomb.

“I want you to break it,” Phantom said.

“The… barrier?” Hemingway confirmed.

“Yes. Just… in a few places. There are some spots that should be particularly weak, given the extent of time that has passed. I’ll light them up for you.”

Three locations in the screen accordingly lit up.

Hemingway pulled the multi-tool from his pocket and set to work.

~~~

A week later, the Amity Station began reporting errors never observed from the station before. Of course, it was an old space station. The AI running it was bound to fail someday, and it was just a confirmation that it was time to decommission and dismantle the old structure.

It was unfortunate, said those in charge of decommissioning, but not surprising. It was a good thing there was little more than a skeleton crew nowadays.

The move-out was moved up by several days for the entire crew. There was no point in leaving people on the station when the life-support systems were glitching so frequently, and there weren’t any more shipments scheduled to stop there, anyway.

On their last day on the station, Hemingway read The Giver.

The rest of the crew joined him, listening with a sort of solemn finality. He didn’t know if they could feel the presence of Phantom, watching from the console next to him, but none of them stood between the camera and him, so perhaps they did.

He was nearing the end when they were called away to board.

Hemingway hesitated.

“It’s alright,” Phantom said through the microphone, voice staticky and broken with pops of sound. “Go ahead and leave.  I know how it ends.”

Phantom orated as Hemingway boarded the shuttle, leaving the station for the last time. “Behind him, across vast distances of space and time, from the place he had left, he thought he heard music too. But perhaps it was only an echo.”

[acetone4veins]

Mean Girls + Quotes Part 2

Find part 1 here

More quotes that remind me of mean girls characters and their various relationships :)

Regina

"i became bitter and untouchable. i craved affection but even the mere thought of someone caring made my stomach turn."

unknown

"i have survived everything but i fear that i cannot survive myself."

Cynthia Chapman

"was i raised without love? or was i born unlovable?"

unknown

"am i lonely because no one cares, or am i lonely because i'm not strong enough to let anyone get close enough to care?"

Rob Hill Sr.

"of course i look angry all the time. my entire life i've been fighting a war. i am soaked in pain and sadness. the irony however, is that i'm not actually angry, i'm trying to learn how to be happy. and that in itself is a war."

unknown

Cady

"i thought - i want to go home. i want to be in a place that feels like home. where that was, i did not know."

Katie Kitamura

"i understood myself only after i destroyed myself. and only in the process of fixing myself did i know who i really was."

Sade Andria Zabala

“do you ever wonder where you took a wrong turn? where your life became the exact opposite of what you wanted it to be?”

unknown

"i have always tried to make a home for myself, but i have not felt at home in myself."

Jeanette Winterson

Janis

"of course i'm angry. do you have any idea how many times someone should have helped me?"

unknown

"hurt an artist and you'll see masterpieces of what you've done."

unknown

"i don't feel guilt at being unsociable, though i may sometimes regret it because my loneliness is painful."

Susan Sontag

Gretchen

"what a sick little head, your love always turns into obsession."

unknown

"i don't think people love me. they love versions of me i have spun for them, versions of me they have construed in their minds. the easy versions of me, the easy parts of me to love."

unknown

“i only know how to exist when i’m wanted.”

Mary Lambert

"i don't want to beg. i know you can feel it, my longing, the aching, my need for love. i don't want to beg. but oh god - oh god, please. please. love me. love me."

unknown

"for once i need to choose myself, or else i'm going to lose myself."

Veronika Jensen

Karen

“i believe in some blending of hope and sunshine sweetening the worst lots. i believe that this life is not all; neither the beginning nor the end. i believe while i tremble; i trust while i weep.”

Charlotte Brontë

Regina and Janis

"longing, how soft a word for such a ravenous feeling. how we hunger in silence."

Pavana

"dig your teeth into me. come on, i dare you. take a bite. open me up; raw and candy floss pink on the inside. make it hurt. i figure, you're going to hurt me one way or another. might as well be with your mouth."

Ashe Vernon

"i don't know what to do without you, i don't know where to put my hands."

unknown

"you are the knife i turn inside myself; that is love."

Franz Kafka

"i love you and i always will and i am sorry. what a useless word."

Ernest Hemingway

Regina and Cady

"i love you. i love you unconditionally. i loved you even in my ignorance. i loved you when i didn't even know. i just love you."

unknown

"and on some days, i wish our paths had never crossed because you don't know how heartbreaking it is to know that someone like you exists in this world and i cannot have you."

unknown

“i must have you exclusively, fiercely, possessively.”

Henry Miller

"i still haven't figured out how to sit across from you, and not be madly in love with everything you do."

William C. Hannan

“fuck my pride. fuck everything. i’m so desperately hungry for you.”

Henry Miller

Gretchen and Karen

"the way our fingers intertwine feels so natural and right; as if our hands hold memories of meeting in a thousand other lifetimes."

John Mark Green

"when i think of life, i think of you. when i think of love, i think of you. safe to say that i really like thinking about life with you."

unknown

"come on, dance with me. the earth is spinning. we can't just stand on it."

Dino Ahmetovic

Regina and Gretchen

"i suffer in my loving, and you know it."

Willa Cather

"i loved you to the point of ruin. i loved you until my lungs were filled with ash."

Tina Tran

[chaoslynx]

So for those of you who are anime only and/or haven't read the actually "Perfect Day For Bananafish" story by J.D. Salinger, Meredith's version here in the manga is far more accurate to the actual short story than what he says in the anime. ("If you see a bananafish at sea, you'll suddenly feel like dying.")

If you're anime only, you might have also wondered why Ash (who's later portrayed as a bit of a bookworm) has never heard of this story. (We'll assume that he never Googled it because of the manga taking place when Google didn't exist and the anime not wanting to deal with the plot hole lmao.)

There are a couple things I want to point out with this. First, what Ash is outright saying: "I was always more into Hemingway. A short happy life." This is uhhh not subtle. Ash is pretty clearly expressing his desire for exactly what happens at the end of his own life -- his life is short, but he finally finds happiness. And if you think that Ash is referring to a life that is short but entirely happy, keep in mind that "The Snows of Kilimanjaro," which Ash describes in the show, was written by Hemingway. Here, when describing Hemingway's work, he's talking about that leopard. He already knows he's gone too far to turn back.

This is in contrast to the protagonist of "Perfect Day for Bananafish," whose story more parallels Griffin at first glance: a war vet who gets out of a psychiatric hospital and dies after being "rescued" but not fully by a child, never really recovering from his experiences. However, as the namesake of the manga itself, we of course see Ash in the "Perfect Day" story as well -- especially in that Ash willingly walked toward his own death (as did the "Perfect Day" protagonist) whereas Hemingway's "Kilimanjaro" protagonist dies of infection against his will (more similar to Griffin -- or, alternatively, Shorter).

Both stories end in a protagonist dying prematurely, but Ash directly tells us that he's actively seeking out a short, happy life, rather than a drawn out one. To quote the second ending theme, RED by Survive Said the Prophet: "If I decide to burn instead of fading out ..."

If you've been following me for any time at all, you know that I disagree with the message that the end of the Banana Fish manga sends with Ash's death. That being said, I do think that it's what Ash wanted, and what he told the readers that he wanted from the very start. I simply think that Ash was incorrect about it being too late for him to turn back, and that it's irresponsible for the Banana Fish manga to end without him realizing that.

[scrunkly-week]

the character graveyard — a creator's lament

a wall of snow keeps you hidden, it's true.

my hands tainted. I buried you all myself.

some of you live, just barely, breathing through a straw in your graves. an illusion of existence.

some of you never had the chance. your lives extinguished before you could fully form.

massacre.

your god has not forsaken you, I plead.

though I am god and she is merciless. by circumstance, not design.

I come to acknowledge you. you forgotten ones, the ones I hid, the ones who died by my hand and the ones who fizzled from existence before I could reach them. I gather you here today. to recognise you. mourn you. immortalise you.

I raise my chalice to each of you.

here's to the faceless ones. the ones I never named. the ones who had nothing but a name. a vibe. a role. a disembodied something. you hadn't enough love or care. I'm sorry.

here's to the fleeting ones. ones who existed in passing. to assist another's narrative. to enhance the world.

lindsay, erin bray, lynn clerke, jarrod holman. alli, nicole, cam, daniel, alisha. javin daxar, ellin daxar, dalen daxar, damon daxar, kara quillan, zaiden. daron ferris, charlie reid. lennard rose, elisabeth rose, elli. deyan thomson. lucia. sophie, caleb. jeremiah, chris, lukas, troy jackson, zach, linda, mr. woods. kere lockhart. aric jeweller. andrea, stefano. reece, john, demetrius rodriquez, seth reeves. aria, aaron, william, matthew, gaeldon, jonah. julia. sigrae, cassirean, king pyrest of emberia, hakan. dayell, carr kepnar. conrad, mr. stevens, steph, lilian maxwell, evie, vida, erica, david, olivia, andrew, dexter badd, marianne, charles wickham, katherine wickham, james wickham, raiden, calvin, darlene. therese matton, henri matton, geneve matton, madeline matton, mathieu matton, talon debois, lloyd hawthorne. morgan hawksley, aaron hawksley, marcus walters, cassidy donaldson. evan callaghan, mildred callaghan. arthur drover, sybilla drover, harriet drover, vera dustinborough, victoria darkwood, bethly violet, eliphalet lushington, emma. erysibe, kirkos. guiletta lanese, donato lanese, ottavio lanese, benedetto lanese, pietro lanese, vincenzo lanese, matteo lanese, annetta fornari, stefano fornari, adriana fornari, carlo fornari, francesco fornari, augusto fornari, adele sozzi, bettina aliotti, ciro, salvatore sallucci. edmond wickerman, rosalind wickerman, elias starling, hubert cornell.

here's to the strange ones. the 'I made you just because' ones.

scalene, nikia goodrich, ami ruff, riesa gentry and co., zachary bliss, janae lombardi, dawn watts, jay spear, lea cantrell, danny light. cardinal, scar. harmony/chaos. leighton, josh. nick joyce, rosalinda joyce, jasper joyce. emilee, ashli, nadine kathy hemingway.

here's to the old ones. the ones I left behind as I myself grew older.

timothy, kimberly, ash, connor. zoe. gabey mal'lie. raina hardin. zariah mika rose. karli hayes, shaun roberts. bella davis. milaa lockhart. mabel. queen heresa. tāne miller. victor.

here's to the ones who never reached anything past the development stage.

iris. olive. phoenix mars, rose earthen, gem airborne, luna moonbeam, leon king, mattias grey, venus greenwood, scarlet rust, sage bluest, amalthea browner, rialta silverton, jupiter violet. princess seraphine of emberia. the assassin, prophet, serenity. valentino, theokles, fabiola fornari, blair aiden hawksley, james robert callaghan, ruby starling.

here's to the ones I invested my time in, who I write one or two prose pieces and umpteen handfuls of rambles for, only to leave you by the wayside to crumble to dust.

vivian edwards, lucille matton, luciana lanese, alaric joseph drover, alexander wickerman, jinx the kea, hamid, sahar.

here's to my future creations, who may inevitably fall under one of these categories.

the wall of snow may keep you hidden. but I promise, you'll never be forgotten.

Submitted by: our lovely friend, Bee

———

☆ this is hauntingly sweet and I utterly love it !! What a good way to pay your respects to all of these characters <3 I raise my chalice alongside you, to toast to their lives

[rarilight]

Shoot, saw you already answered the ones I sent. Sooo how about 1, 2, and 10? If not asked already.

1. What was your first fic and could you stand to reread it today?

It was a Pokémon Ash/Misty fanfic lmao

I think I was 13 when I wrote it, and THE PLOT WAS SO PAPER THIN, but my confidence in my abilities were immense. I remember I wrote a chapter that was... like 400 words long, and I was so proud of myself, I felt like Hemingway. I could definitely not re-read it today, even though I still have it saved in the depths of my hotmail account lol

2. What’s your most recent fic and how far do you think you’ve come?

My most recent fic is a TELverse oneshot I posted literally yesterday! Admittedly, I'm not sure if it's the best thing to use to measure how far I've come, but I am pretty happy with it. I don't really know if my style has changed much since TELdays beyond being more efficient and neater? On a separate but related note, if one really wants to see a true "evolution of mono writing" showcase, reading the bodyguard!au series in posting order is great for that.

10. Have you ever written for a fandom without reading other fanfic for it?

I guess??? For Doctor Who??? Is the only one I've written for without reading other DW fanfic lol.

[silverjetsystm]

What ghost haunts you?

the ghost of vengeance

you ache for revenge and little else. red paints your vision, and it has grown so thick that it has grown so hard to see. somewhere within your ribs is a child longing for comfort again. you will never let them see the light of day. for now, there is blood on your hands and your teeth. before you were a human, you were an omen with a heart constructed of thorns. when audre lorde wrote, “i feel it’s my anger that helped keep me alive.” when ashe vernon wrote, “isn’t this rage so ugly? and isn’t it mine, still? good god, isn’t it mine?” you will never find peace within your own anger, but you bathe in it anyway. the way you always have."

the ghost of devotion

your body was crafted to be loved and to be adored. you write with the touch of a poet, the fingertips of a lover. if you are not loved, you are not whole. you are made to be sculpted by the hands of another into something perfect. without their love, you feel as though you may crumble without the support of purpose their touch provides. when ernest hemingway wrote “it was too good to last.” when ocean vuong wrote, “i miss you more than i remember you.” when david foster wallace wrote, “everything i’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.”

the ghost of rotting truth

you are an actor. you are a performer. you bow to an audience of none but yourself and the gods that know you are a liar. this pain and this longing once drowned you, but time has passed. you were congratulated for your healing. but grief’s icy hands remain inside of your chest, cupping your heart. grief is hooking its fingers under the ridges of your ribcage. with time, it will tear you open. you are meant to bleed slowly. the agony will softly devour you from the back of your memory, and you will smile through it all like it doesn’t hurt, taking your bow when the performance is over. but when the curtains close, do you crumble to your knees? who reaches for you? when the healer falls, who checks to make sure they are alright? silas melvin wrote, “you’re so polite with your sadness. you don’t want to ruin this for anyone.”

lifted from @magnetic-regent-magneto

tagging: @kylo-wrecked @lalamoon @themckaytriarchy @valkxrie @whtwclf

[solreefs]

Sue Zhao / Ernest Hemingway / Richard Siken / Sophia Lornie / Ashe Vernon / Safia Elhillo / Frankenstein (1994) / Carole Maso / Ada Limòn

on Santi, love, anger, and self-destruction.

[sammiscorner]

Ash—

I am very worried because I haven’t seen you and I don’t know if you are okay.

You said to me before, “We live in different worlds.” But I am not sure if that is true. We are from different countries, and our skin and eyes are different color. But so what? We are friends. Isn’t that enough? What else do we need?

I am very happy I came to America. I made many friends here. Above all… I met you, Ash.

You asked me many times if you scare me. But I never felt scared of you, not even once. From the first time I met you. Actually, I always felt that you are hurt, much more than me— that your soul is wounded.

I know that you are much smarter than me, and bigger, and stronger— but even so— I always wanted to protect you. Funny, isn’t it? But what did I want to protect you from?

I think I wanted to protect you from your future. Because your fate was sweeping you away, like a flood.

Do you remember telling me about the leopard in that Hemingway book? He died at the top of the mountain, and you said he knew he will never go back down.

But I said you are not a leopard, and that you can change your future. It’s true, Ash. You can change your fate.

You are not alone, Ash. I am with you. My soul is always with you.

Sayonara, America. Sayonara, New York…

But I’m not saying “sayonara” to you… Ash. Because this isn’t goodbye. I know we’ll see each other again someday—

You are my best friend, Ash.

[whiteshipnightjar]

Does art make a difference?

Aw, sure. Of course there are degrees of extremity to the potential change that art can effect, depending on how many people are able to engage with it. The Beatles made a huge difference in the world. But Henry Darger, Jeff McKissack, Karen Dalton, Pauline Oliveros, Kenneth Patchen – there are so many folks who have made great art and not gotten massively famous for it, yet I think there are all sorts of ways their work informs and shapes other people’s work, and brains, and decisions.

Should politics and art mix?

Well, everything mixes, the New Statesman! That’s like asking if a knee-reflex hammer and a quadriceps tendon should “mix”.

Is your work for the many or for the few?

That’s for the many/few to say. I just crank out the hot jams.

If you were world leader, what would be your first law?

Gravity. I feel like we need to tighten up the constitutional protections that particular law enjoys. It’s a ticking time bomb, if you ask me.

Who would be your top advisers?

Cute angel on one shoulder, cute devil on the other.

What, if anything, would you censor?

Maybe we could all agree to not bust each other’s chops all cut-dang day.

If you had to banish one public figure, who would it be?

Don’t know, banishment might be a little extreme, but I’d sure like to take that Stephen Hawking dude down a notch or two. Right? Are you with me?

What are the rules that you live by?

Basically, “bros before hos”. I feel like if you stay true to that, everything else just kind of falls into place.

Do you love your country?

I love William Faulkner, Dolly Parton, fried chicken, Van Dyke Parks, the Grand Canyon, Topanga Canyon, bacon cheeseburgers with horseradish, Georgia O’Keeffe, Grand Ole Opry, Gary Snyder, Gilda Radner, Radio City Music Hall, Big Sur, Ponderosa pines, Southern BBQ, Highway One, Kris Kristofferson, National Arts Club in New York, Ruth Crawford Seeger, Joni Mitchell, Ernest Hemingway, Harriet Tubman, Hearst Castle, Ansel Adams, Kenneth Jay Lane, Yuba River, South Yuba River Citizens League, “Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore”, “Hired Hand”, “The Jerk”, “The Sting”, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”, clambakes, lobster rolls, s’mores, camping in the Sierra Nevadas, land sailing in the Nevada desert, riding horseback in Canyon de Chelly; Walker Percy, Billie Holiday, Drag City, Chez Panisse/Alice Waters/slow food movement, David Crosby, Ralph Lauren,San Francisco Tape Music Center, Albert Brooks, Utah Phillips, Carol Moseley Braun, Bolinas CA, Ashland OR, Lawrence KS, Austin TX, Bainbridge Island WA, Marilyn Monroe, Mills College, Elizabeth Cotton, Carl Sandburg, the Orange Show in Houston, Toni Morrison, Texas Gladden, California College of Ayurvedic Medicine, Louis Comfort Tiffany, Saturday Night Live, Aaron Copland, Barack Obama, Oscar de la Renta, Alan Lomax, Joyce Carol Oates, Fred Neil, Henry Cowell, Barneys New York, Golden Gate Park, Musee Mechanique, Woody Guthrie, Maxfield Parrish, Malibu, Maui, Napa Valley, Terry Riley, drive-in movies, homemade blackberry ice cream from blackberries picked on my property, Lil Wayne, Walt Whitman, Halston, Lavender Ridge Grenache from Lodi CA, Tony Duquette, Julia Morgan, Lotta Crabtree, Empire Mine, North Columbia Schoolhouse, Disneyland, Nevada County Grandmothers for Peace; Roberta Flack, Randy Newman, Mark Helprin, Larry David, Prince; cooking on Thanksgiving; Shel Siverstein, Lee Hazlewood, Lee Radziwill, Jackie Onassis, E.B. White, William Carlos Williams, Jay Z, Ralph Stanley, Allen Ginsberg, Cesar Chavez, Harvey Milk, RFK, Rosa Parks, Arthur Miller, “The Simpsons”, Julia Child, Henry Miller, Arthur Ashe, Anne Bancroft, The Farm Midwifery Center in TN, Martha Graham, Alvin Ailey, Jr., Eleanor Roosevelt, Clark Gable, Harry Nilsson, Woodstock, and some other stuff. Buuuut, the ol’ U S of A can pull some pretty dick moves. I’m hoping it’ll all come out in the wash...

Are we all doomed?

If we keep our expectations pretty low I think we might be fine. I mean, we’re definitely all dying at some point. There’s no getting around that. But between now and then, things might start looking up!

— Joanna Newsom for The New Statesman, 2008

[intertexts]

OH YEAH I SAID I WOULD BE IN YOUR INBOX ABOUT THIS. HOLDING OUT A REPORTER STYLE MICROPHONE. 🎤🎤🎤 roswell intertexts I challenge u to give me 5 things you like about your writing . metaphors u like or words u like using or piece of dialogue youre proud of.... ANYTHING. ABT ANY OF YOUR WRITING. but they have to be self compliments >:|

EVIL OF U!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but u followed through so i guess i have to now >:(

man!!!!!!! ok. APPARENTLY i'm "good at characterization" but that literally just is me like. feeling my way through a dark room trying to figure out what all the furniture is in the dark so that doesn't count. <333 but i like the. umm. intentionality? of my syntax? i guess? sounds wild when i do in fact have Cannot shut the fuck up ever disease [see: how long this is LMFAO] but i love economy & density of language... there's one like, hemingway quote where he's like. you shouldn't be able to take any one word out of a sentence without changing the meaning of it. u shouldn't be able to take out a sentence without losing something important. which is smth i think abt frequently... different when i'm messing around in someone's pov bc people don't actually Think Like That? but. u know!! i like the way i put words together on the sentence-level. i think its good :]

what else... i enjoy writing dialogue & talking around elephants in the room & messy stilted communication. took "they would NOT fucking talk like they're in a therapy session" to heart!!! its fun when characters are trying to say things they don't have words for. & also i do think my dialogue reads pretty good by dint of "every single time i write dialogue i spend an hour saying it all back and forth in their voices in my head & if i can't picture/hear them saying it i change it & go over it for ages." <3

also i think my main objective usually is like, grounding character interactions in a physical setting? i fucking love when theres places. like. ashe sitting on the floor in wiwi's room & it's important that he's there, & it's a grey late winter afternoon light coming through the windows, & wiwi has a place hidden frm the window sight line & stuff, same w/ the post-grayscale fic in the bago. & i think i do pretty ok at that :] would love 2 get better n i think i am as i write more!! (<- wiwi mark fic is in the kitchen at like. 6am btw.)

i think my stupid fucking code switching when in the tranches vs doing Literally Anything Else is really fucking funny also <333 nice & thoughtful words reserved ONLY for gdocs everbody else gets 1 million slang & heart & kittycat face emojis & no punctuation!!! its fun. hehe. god. LAST ONE ok i think its just like. awesome that i'm writing again??? that i can??? regardless of quality or whatevr it's like, genuinely insane 2 me that i've written & posted >30k since may. thats fucking crazy dude. if u told a couple years ago me that i'd laugh so hard. being so serious when i say that i thought the long covid + insanely stressful three year Transitional Period + Other Horrors had fucked me up permanently i thought i was just like. Done being creative & my brain was going 2 be permanently foggy and sludgy and useless n stuff. fucking wild that its not!!! makes me so happy 2 be able 2 do this!!! :]]]]] also i love new haven wards & its so cool n fun n awesome 2 have a shared au that spams the serotonin button repeatedly & bounce shit back & forth w/ u n whiskey etc. not 2 be a weird loner or whatever but the last time i did anything like this was literally high school. so. yeag!!!!!!!!!!! <33333

[ssoiless]

Banana Fish 🐟

Ash-

I’m very worried because I haven’t seen you and I don’t know if you are okay. You said to me before, “We live in different worlds.” But I am not sure if that is true. We are from different countries, and our skin and eyes are different color. But so what? We are friends. Isn’t that enough? What else do we need? I am very happy I came to America. I made many friends here. Above all… I met you, Ash. You asked me many times if you scare me. But I never felt scared of you, not even once. From the first time I met you. Actually, I always felt that you are hurt, much more than me—that your spirit is wounded. I know you are much smarter than me, and bigger, and stronger—but even so—I always wanted to protect you. Funny, isn’t it?

But what did I want to protect you from? I think I wanted to protect you from your future. Because your fate was sweeping you away, like a flood. Do you remember telling me about the leopard in that Hemingway book? He died at the top of the mountain, and you said he knew that he will never go back down. But I said you are not a leopard, and that you can change your future. It’s true, Ash. You can change your fate.

You are not alone, Ash. I am with you. My soul is always with you.

(Sayonara, America… Sayonara, New York… But I’m not saying “sayonara” to you, Ash. Because this isn’t good-bye. I know we’ll see each other again someday— You are my best friend, Ash.)

[dubljarnasims]

Marana Dubljarna

Part of the 5th generation of my legacy, Marana is the youngest child of Miguel and Penelope. No CC included in the download - please see the list and links below.

Parents: Penelope Hemingway & Miguel Dubljarna Sibling(s): Gunner Dubljarna, Cottonwood Dubljarna; Katura Dubljarna, Brentwood Dubljarna Partner(s): Gershwin Schmidt

✨ DOWNLOAD HERE (Google Drive)

Clothing/Accessories:

Earrings - Grafity | Sachalie piercings

Nails - Needlework Reverie | bg short alt nails

Pants - Demondare | Evelyn jeans

Shoes - Amelylina | Mules

Top - Bloshsims | Artsy top

Undershirt - Sforzinda | Mariner plain rolled turtleneck

Hair/Makeup/Skin Details:

Blush - Northern Siberia Winds | Blush N7

Eyebags - Obscurus | Eyebags n8a

Eyebags - Tamo | Basic eye bags

Eyebrows - GoppoIsMe | Female G5

Eyelashes - Kijiko | 3D lashes version 2 uncurled

Eyelashes - Kijiko | EA eyelash remover

Eyeliner - ddarkstonee x Obscurus | Lower eyelids

Eyeliner - Pralinesims | N38 dragonic

Eyeshadow - RemusSirion | N79 cajanus

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[wedreamedlove]

I can rarely make a connection between L&N's chapter titles and the chapters themselves (except for Osborn and Wretched Love/Because I Felt Love). Do you have any interpretations of your own about the chapter titles?

what you brought up actually isn't a chapter title, it's the pv title or title for a chunk of main chapters and, in my opinion, applies to all of the men because they all make an appearance in the main chapters even if they aren't the spotlight of the chapter itself (which is who the actual chapter title refers to).

light and night actually uses a lot of classic literature for their chapter titles too btw so i'll be linking some!

Chapter 1: Turning Point of Fate 命运的拐点 = pretty self-explanatory because our game starts here.

Chapter 2: The Time In Between 时间针脚 = "an ordinary woman using her talent and courage to transform herself first into a prestigious couturier..." and then more.

Chapter 3: The Ocean and Flame 海水与火焰 = we're introduced to Evan and Osborn here, respectively the ocean and flame, although Osborn also has strong ocean themes.

Chapter 4: The Journey of Edward 爱德华之旅 = the novel itself "contains several themes involving loss and recovery, kindness and compassion, and the journey to self-discovery" and this is a chapter where the heroine and Sariel get closer together, as well as hints at their past together.

Chapter 5: His Border 他的边境线 = a chapter that delves more into Evan and his circumstances.

Chapter 6: The Cage and the Bird 囚笼与飞鸟 = where the heroine starts getting caught up in things and Charlie's introduction.

Chapter 7: If This Was The Finale 假如是终曲 = many "death shadows" appear here, like Osborn's car explosion, the heroine taking Charlie's russian roulette pill, Sariel's accelerating degeneration, and the burn victim who tried to commit suicide.

Chapter 8: Belated Midsummer 迟来的盛夏 = Jesse's introduction!

PV 9-10: FLAME AND ASHES 直至燃为灰烬 = everything starts escalating and falling apart.

Chapter 9: Enslaved Heart 被奴役的心 = Evan testing the heroine but realizing he's caught the feels.

Chapter 10: Ward No. 6 六号病房 = Charlie's philosophical and social conflict in his profession as a doctor.

PV 11-12: THE SILENT (CALL FOR HELP) 听不见的呼救 = the light and night men start catching on fire here, except for Osborn.

Chapter 11: Walking With Sin 与罪同行 = Charlie trying to save people in the hospital but the hospital itself being... well... and Jesse's path of revenge.

Chapter 12: The Savage Game 蛮荒游戏 = Sariel getting poisoned by the spirit clan and Evan starting to distance himself from the heroine as he sinks deeper into his chessboard.

PV 13-14: A BUSTED FLUSH 失败者的失败 = where all the men start losing their respective positions.

Chapter 13: Witness of the Past 过去的证人 = the debut of Osborn's other half and past.

Chapter 14: Border Crossing Angel 越界天使 = the cliffhanger where Charlie went from being a doctor to a killer.

PV 15-16: FOR WHOM THE SUN RISES 太阳为谁而升 = pretty sure this is a homage to Ernest Hemingway's book and how everyone is involved with each other.

Chapter 15: A Murder 一次谋杀 = the repercussions of Sun Taizhong's death and all the people that got dragged into it. there's also more metaphorical deaths like the heroine's memory of Sariel.

Chapter 16: Before the Storm 暴雨来临前 = ironic because this sets up Sariel and Osborn's flags and most of Evan's focus here until the end where he loses everything.

PV 17-18: WRETCHED LOVE 由于感到了爱 = look at what love made Evan do! imprisonment! look at what both Osborns are going through! look at how the heroine was about to die for Sariel! look at Sariel live with his perceived sin for the heroine!

Chapter 17: The Third Bang 第三声巨响 = there really are three iconic bangs that define Osborn's chapter here and the plot beats.

Chapter 18: Amongst All of Nature 在万物之中 = this one's hard to explain but it's like Sariel's zen about his death and everything else, but also how the universe actually isn't against them and things start taking a better turn at the very end.

NEW SEASON PV 1-3: WHITE THAN WHITE 大雪化为乌有 = both ominous and optimistic because snow and ice can be seen as bad and it's finally melting to show everyone's true colors underneath, which can be good or bad.

Chapter 1: Following the Past 沿往事而行 = pretty self-explanatory since we go really deep into Sariel's past here.

Chapter 2: Whenever I Hesitate 每当彷徨时 = applies to both Jesse and the heroine's growth in this chapter.

Chapter 3: A Sublime Disease 崇高的疾病 = Charlie's fight against DEA and his father.

coincidentally, the new chapters have released and their titles are below... very ominous sounding and my guess is that it will be Charlie, Osborn, and Evan in that order.

PV 4-6: ANOTHER FAREWELL 从再见走向再见

Chapter 4: Apoptotic Narcissus 凋亡的水山

Chapter 5: The Person who Eats Memories 吃回忆的人

Chapter 6: Runaway Mustang 野马私奔