#I am vaguely aware of the source material

[donovan-desmond-official]

this is going to be a long fucking post but please bare with me.

I think there has been a huge misunderstanding of my argument and that is on me bc my og post was fairly vague. i should also admit that i have not watched aot s4 in about a year so my opinions are not as up to date as I would like them to be. When i made that first post i was just kind of bitching and not really gearing up for a full defense.

regardless, i do appreciate you taking the time to write about your takeaways from the story. nothing that you said is particularly wrong to me. even if i don't fully agree it is not something i would go back and forth with you on. the story is complex, and there are many takeaways one can have. you do not possess the perspective that i take most issue with so i do not have any interest in debunking any of your points.

my original post was just me dumping my thoughts while rewatching the first season and only reflects a part of my issue with aot. my issue is not with the writing persay but rather the overarching narrative and real world implications of the story. within it's universe, it is fine. but when i consider real world experiences and the source of the material (ie coming Japan a country within the imperial core), it's narrative becomes offensive and problematic to me.

i will take a break here to diverge a little and provide context on myself personally. this is just to better contextualize my argument.

i was born and raised in the Caribbean. i still live here and i attend university here. as a result, i am intimately aware with the history of the region, particularly the trans Atlantic slave trade, the plantation system and the road towards independence. i recently did a course in uni that was about gender and yet i am still learning about how the history of slavery continues to inform my own experiences and the current state of the region to this very day.

the fight for independence in the Caribbean was a violent and a bloody one. the harm and dehumanization that was enacted by the Europeans for over 400 years is still felt to this very day. I have spent my entire life being told about all the ways my ancestors were brutalized, raped, murdered and exploited by colonizers and all the pathetic half baked excuses they came up with to justify the actions.

For this reason, i found the story of AOT compelling. the ways in which the Marleyans oppressed the Eldians was very relatable in a discomforting way. From the oppression on the main land, the terrorism on Paradis, to the continued spread of propaganda and fear mongering they shared with the rest of the world. That final episode of season 3 (i don't remember if it was the actual final one but the one about Grisha's back story) was one of the most horrifying and gut-wrenching moments.

for me, AOT was very personal and reflective of my life and continued experiences as a person from a formally marginalized community. and that makes very critical of how these oppressed groups are seen and how their resistance to oppression is treated.

AOT is a Japanese product and it's narrative is heavy influenced by Japan's history of oppression. Japan has been both oppressors and oppressed and that reflects heavily in the way the relationship between Marley and Eldia is developed. however, this causes AOT to suffer from a problem that forever plagues anime and most stories from the imperial core, this self-pitying idea that war is bad because everyone suffers and so we should all stop the wars and stop holding onto history. In efforts to compete with China for dominance of East Asia, the Japanese would have colonized and brutalized a vast number of East Asian countries. To this day,, the Japanese government refuses to acknowledge the violence and harm they enacted on the people of these countries. (i am over simplifying here). The intentional framing of Japan as victims of colonization will refusing to take any form of accountability for their history as colonizers is a prominent theme in Japanese media.

the idea that war is "cyclical" is problematic for a variety of reasons. it is rooted in the colonizer fear that if given the chance to those who were once oppressed will turn around and oppress their oppressors. this belief is heavily reflected in the narrative of AOT through Eren. This where my issue i mentioned in the first part of the post comes from.

Eren is the embodiment of the fears of colonizers. Eren's coldness and blood thirst, the way he is hellbent on getting revenge on Marley, the fact that he is willing to go back in time to cause his own suffering to ensure he gets the power needed to start the rumbling, is problematic and offensive. Eren's story is no longer him experiencing and responding to the actions of his oppressor, it is instead framed as a self-fulfilling prophecy. That he wanted to suffer, that he wanted to take the most violent and harmful route, that the yeagerists just wanted to be like their oppressors. Framing Eren's idea of freedom as the ability to oppress others is dishonest and harmful.

the narrative of AOT, as tight and well written as it, is still rooted in imperialist beliefs and ideas. it's construction of oppression and war is from the perspective of colonizers and results in a very insulting message to those who have experienced colonization.

in the end, eren wishes away the power of the titans and everyone is able to live merrily together. what that actually means, is that no one has to take any form of accountability, no one has to acknowledge the pain and suffering they caused others. the forgive and forget mentality is one that only serves to alleviate oppressors of their guilt and for the oppressed to shamed into compliance.

there is a reason why my history syllabus growing up was so focused on slavery. it was designed that way to ensure that the stories and the suffering of my ancestors are not washed away. it is done with the hope that we will always remember the torment and violence that they faced so that we never allow ourselves to be put back into that position again. continuing to teach and inform people about history does not perpetuate a cycle of war but rather it ensures that those who once engaged in the oppression of these people are forever reminded of their actions and the fight for true liberation is continued.

in conclusion, while i do not disagree with your analysis of the story, it is irrelevant to my actual argument. my issue goes beyond the writing. it is with the real world implications of the story and the narratives that often spread by countries like Japan. The role of violence as a form of resistance is not one of wanting to flip the script but rather about reclaiming the power that was taken by all means necessary. AOT is imperialist propaganda and a self-pitying story told by guilty colonizers to encourage a culture of silence and anti-intellectualism.

it's a damn good show ngl but man that shit really pisses me off sometimes.

rewatching season one of attack on titan and i am again reminded of just how truly terrible the final season was. perhaps this is another case of me not liking the whole idea of faith and destiny driving characters but i truly find the idea that Eren's actions were "out of his control" while simultaneously "his own doing".

I am at the end where he is hesitating to fight Annie and Armin says something particularly provoking, "to rise above our enemies we must abandon our humanity" effectively telling Eren he has to be as ruthless as Annie to win. That he must put aside his humanity and compassion for the greater good. We also see his regret for not ignoring Levi and turning in time to protect the Levi squad. These two moments combine to develop the philosophy that would inevitable cause the rumbling.

Overall, throughout the story we can truly see the anger festering in Eren and pushing him to a point of no return. For me, the true breaking point wasn't even unlocking the past memories but rather seeing the sea. By that point, Eren's sense of reality and understanding of freedom was completely skewed. He spent the story motivated to see the sea, under the impression that that was all that remained. Upon achieving his goal he also learns that is not the truth and there is so much more out there.

From that point onward, Eren lost sight of his goal but maintained that anger and relentless that was instilled into him over the past for seasons. He became a slave to his own rage, detached from his own humanity and unable to cope with the pain he had been grappling with.

more than anything else, we see his comrades suffer due to their own neglect of his psychological needs. continually pushing to the point of breaking over and over again. similarly driven by their own goals but underestimating the toll it had taken upon him.

in the end, death was his only saviour. freeing him from his own mental prison. given Eren the freedom he has always craved. Finally allowing him rest after a decade of fighting.

to reduce all of that development and pain down to some weird convoluted destiny plot is egregious. There was no need for all that time traveling crap, you already had a character whose anger and irrationality was well defined in the story.

but then again, i can see why a japanese manga would not want to imply that oppression and systemic violence can cause grave damage to someone's psyche. that would require a lot of accountability on their part. instead, find a way to blame Eren for his own suffering and destroy your wonder allegory for trauma.

[catd2014]

Binged the whole of Rivals in the last 24 hours, brilliant television

[arolesbianism]

There are many reasons I am excited for Outis' canto but amongst them is my deep desire to see how project moon incorporates the whole trojan horse debacle and how stupid it ends up being and how hard it'll make me cry

[erstwhilesparrow]

ethubs + desert duo hadestown au. not actually wildly familiar with hadestown but something something seeing and not seeing yourself in the bright young couple at your doorstep who have been separated by tragic circumstances?

notes:

etho + scar -- etho striking a deal with scar for a life for bdubs

grian + bdubs -- not sure this is A Thing in hadestown but i would like to play with bdubs's "he loves me!" thing and grian trying to convince him otherwise?

grian playing this season mean, playing willing to break from his allies at the drop of a hat -- again, don't think this actually lines up with anything in hadestown, but some of that... jadedness from third life, the way he starts his season with "everything that happened last time DOESN'T MATTER"

scar spends the whole season alone atop the mountain. that thing someone said once about how desert duo never left that desert but specifically in the sense that they spend every game after playing out warped versions of what they originally had, never satisfied because that moment is long gone and they can't accept it. seeing the funhouse mirror versions of you maybe succeed and maybe fail and kind of hoping-- what, exactly?

[edgeray]

*presses my face against your tank* HELLO RAY !!! :D I AM FINALLY HERE !! MY BRAINCELLS HAVE COLLIDED AND PRODUCED A THOUGHT !!

or, er, sort of? more like a vague vibe, but i digress. basically, consider: pining arle. how does she realize her feelings for you? how does she cope? how does her behaviour around you change? does it? what is she thinking the whole time? when would she consider making a move? essentially i would like to see you psychologically pick apart this woman. go as in depth into her brain or inner monologue as you want !!! the set dressing can be canon or an au, i’ll eat it up regardless :)) and as a professional angst writer i know you can write some absolutely monstrous (/pos) yearning and i’m frothing at the mouth thinking about it 🤤🤤🤤 lookin forward to your thoughts but also take your time with it !!! godspeed 🫡🫡🫡

An Unfit Role 

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Oh sev… you spoil me too much. You truly do. Somehow this turned into very ‘Arlecchino is a person'-esque and I don't know how but oh well. I don't know if this answered your questions very well, but hopefully this is what you mean by psychologically picking apart her! Was this enough pining? Content warnings / info - uhh none I think. just a lil bit of angst, 1.4k words

Arlecchino is many things. The Fourth Fatui Harbinger, a Snezynayan diplomat, the head of the House of the Hearth, and simply ‘'Father.’ She takes on many roles, and enforces them with an iron fist, every facade meticulously practiced and rationalized. Perfected as if she were an actor on a stage, every action and step is calculated beforehand. And if external factors or unpredictable variables crop up in the midst of her play? Well, a good actor knows how to improvise. Arlecchino is well aware of her roles, has memorized the lines and drilled through every movement. The Knave has many feats from each character she plays. A flawless performer, in those aspects.

A lover is not a character she can play. Someone who loves. It is a role that she cannot hope to touch, one she cannot imagine assigning herself too. She is far too inexperienced in what it pertains to. Her perception would grossly mischaracterize it, painting a rather crude display of what she knows of but doesn't know. After all, how could one act without an adequate example? No actor would want to showcase a poor impression of an original source material, an actor presents only their most remarkable qualities. A good actor knows what they cannot act, and it is this where her talents reach their limit. It is what her role as a ‘Father’ stems from; this inability to express something far too fragile and flimsy for her to hold. 

Of the few showcases of others playing the role, Arlecchino is knowledgeable enough that they are simply inept showcases. The Tsaritsa, who has shown the capability to act, and yet chooses to conceal her abilities from her audience. Crucabena, an unqualified actor, whose words dripped with far too much venom for the soft-spoken voice that she used. Perhaps Clervie was the only accurate and genuine actor able to play the part, but one cannot appreciate the traits of an unfinished story. And the naive Peruere, who could hardly imitate her counterpart, was maimed by Arlecchino’s own hands. It is here that she learns that the role of a lover earns no applause, because it adds little to the plot, and so it lacks a function in her story.  

Despite this, she finds herself in this scene, where she plays a character unlike her usual, an entirely new character involuntarily thrusted into her by the cruel machinations of her mind. 

It is a subtle thing. First, she was just the Knave to you. But somehow, among your presence, her facade slips, and she dons another character. 

She becomes a character who knows of nothing but the way her sight is captured by a singular person, a character whose dead heart begins to beat, daring to flutter back to life after it was painfully wrenched out of her chest by her favorite story's ending. She becomes acutely aware of this role when her eyes linger on you a moment longer than need be, when she indulges your empty but no less engaging conversations, when she familarizes herself with the particular fauna scent you carry. When she closes her eyes, your smile flashes through her mind, she knows she's fallen. 

An actor knows when to quit, when they misfit the character they're performing. And yet her mind remains stubborn. Acting a role one does not fit will only damage the actor's reputation, and she intends on abandoning it. But it is difficult for her to dismiss how much she yearns for a warmth that the blood flames in her veins cannot bring. It is difficult to deny that she is not momentarily blinded and stunned by your beaming expression, even when you are not looking at her. It is increasingly more difficult to control the pulsing underneath her skin. This is a character she cannot control, instead, it often feels that the character controls her. 

It is an unseemly, disgusting appearance for her. If it were physically possible, she would plunge her very own cursed, clawed hands into her chest, to grasp onto this fickle, volatile organ and crush it just to exhaust the remaining embers of a futile hope. If only it were as simple as that. Love is far too much of a complicated role for her, and yet it is somehow inescapable. Some sort of torment placed onto her by the archons. 

She can long, she can reach, she can prance around you, but never can she touch. For love imprints its scorch marks deeper than any weapon or assault. One of the lessons her story has concluded to. 

So, instead, she reduces its role to a minor character. She lets her stares remain, but she observes you from a distance. She does not dawdle a second longer besides you if she needn't be. She dresses the role of a lover as an observer. Everything she touches with these wretched, blackened hands soon turns into nothing but embers and ashes, and so the only way that you will remain is away from her.

On her desk, sits a vase with a single flower. It is your favorite flower, the flower that you smell of. It does not move from its place, nothing is done to it besides being watered. Its stem is so brittle, and the petals are far too easy to wither away.

(It is a reminder, every time she sits at her desk. Oh, how'd she like to stroke the patels with as much tenderness as she could muster. How'd she like to cradle it in her hands, this source of life, despite being so delicate, is so beautiful. How'd she like to be able to wake up everyday, and view upon this blossoming flower. But she is not a gardener. She knows nothing of how to make a flower bloom.) 

Humans are the only viable actors for the role of a lover. A curse is not. 

(In her dreams, sometimes you are in place of Clervie. Yet, like Clervie, the only moment she is able to cradle you is when her sword impales you. She will not let another flower wilt, she will not burn another flower.)

It is why you baffle her. Why do you gaze upon her with that expression, as if her claws are not one one more inch from piercing your skin and ripping into your flesh? How do you take her hands in yours, somehow slotting them as if they were always meant to, when they’re soiled with vulgar blood? Her cutting words and sharp tongue, how do they not dissuade you? How do you see her blackened skin, and not be driven away by such a mark of impurity and depravity? 

How could you not tell that she is improper for the role that you seek?

She wonders if a flower is a poor description of you. She wonders if you are instead a Sundew ensnaring a spider, unwilling to let it escape. No, perhaps that is not fitting for you, because you are unaware how effortlessly she can char you–unaware of the imminent danger that comes with keeping such a venomous creature.

Arlecchino is many things. She is a coward, if only for you. She cannot abandon her role, but she cannot perform better, floating in the state of inadequacy that she so despises. Playing a lover makes her foolish, and it is a compromising role. 

She is foolish, but she is despicable. She is selfish. And though she is perfect actor, even performers must fail to succeed. One day, her mental will and patience crumbles. She requests you into her office, your doe-eyed expression widens when she gives you the flower that sits lone in a glass vase on her desk. She tells you that you plague her thoughts, every feeling and emotion is muddied when they concern you, a culmination of things not within her grasp, not within her control. 

It is your performance that finally teaches her what she lacked before: playing the role of a lover requires another. It is a role dependent on another character, otherwise it cannot succeed. It matters not how experienced one is with the other, as long as the characters are committed to it.

There is another lesson that she learned from you.

“I cannot act as a lover.”

“Why must you act to love me?”

Love is a fickle, unpredictable thing. There is no words to be practiced, no actions to be scripted. 

Arlecchino is many things. A lover may be one of them. 

[mossstep]

More sagau (self aware genshin au) headcanons(plus a little bit of writing) These ones are a bit more focused instead of general.

Ghost!reader sagau headcanons

As always: I am a minor, don’t be weird with my posts!

Note: these posts are made with the intention of lightening up the sagau tag, also, if you’re interested in me writing an entire story using my headcanons just ask and I’ll be happy to!

Tw/cw: sagau, swearing, references to the 4.2 archon quest (not 100% sure if this is needed)

Arriving in teyvat

Waking up in teyvat was certainly not on your bingo card for this year. You had only been playing genshin seriously for about a year or so. You had played before that, but had gotten bored after the Monstadt archon quest, because of the steep ar requirements for the Liyue archon quest.

So waking up in Liyue, specifically wuwang hill was, jarring to say the least. You had recognized the area immediately. You had basically lived in the crimson witch domain farming for your Hu Tao. Not that you had Hu Tao yet, having lost your 50/50 on each of her reruns. (Seriously! Talk about bad luck!)

As you get up you notice a vague feeling weightlessness, looking down, you noticed that you were partially see-through? What?

-

So the creator would probably meet Hu Tao first, as she likes the hang around wuwang (I don’t know her lore to correct me if I’m wrong) and Hu Tao would almost immediately recognize the reader as the creator due to their “golden aura.” Despite this, she’d treat you as your average ghost

-

The creator’s appearance would be like the ghosts seen in a game. But instead of that blueish-white color outline, the creator’s would be golden.

-

The creator’s ability to interact with things would be limited, only being able to slightly nudge or push things. They wouldn’t be able to pick anything up, or eat anything.

Despite this, they’re able to be seen/talk to vision holders and other elemental beings. While regular humans would only be able to sense them.

Also, the creator can possess shit, because ghost!

-

It’s likely that Zhongli, after catching wind of the creator’s arrival in not only teyvat, but also Liyue, would try to meet with them.

I can see the geo archon getting in contact with Ei or Neuvillette about making a mechanical puppet/body for the creator, since they were very limited in what they could do.

-

In their ghost form the creator would likely be able to take advantage of laylines/teleport waypoints/statues of the seven/etc. to travel around teyvat, which is how they meet with their favorite characters, wether or not they know about the creator’s arrival

Creator: hi tighnari :3

Tighnari: ARCHONS WHERE DID YOU COME FROM!?

Creator: secret :3

Alternatively

Creator: Hi Kaveh

Kaveh: OH SHIT A GHOST (unaware they’re the creator)

-

The creator would probably spend a whole 6 months or longer in teyvat without a body, because the people of teyvat would make sure only the best body is given to them.

If the people of Fontaine make a body for the creator they’d probably have the the fortress of meropide temporarily stop production on gardemeks to put all their energy in making the perfect mechanical body for the creator of teyvat.

If Ei instead uses the technique she used to create the shogun and scaramouche she’d source only the highest quality materials, then spend ages meticulously working on every little detail to make sure it’s perfect

No matter how much you say you don’t care about it being perfect, the people of teyvat would consider it blasphemy to give anything less than the best for their creator.

[devinwolfi]

Meta: Would He Fucking Say That? On Characterization and Voice in Fanfic

Below is a 2.1k meta essay/opinion piece. I touch on characterization, identify the difference between character voice and writer voice, and address the writing of British-accented characters. I do this primarily through the lens of Ted Lasso with a focus on the character Jamie Tartt. Beyond examples for the sake of argument, this is not a fandom specific piece, and applies to plenty of others I've engaged with in my time.

This can also be read on Dreamwidth.

I’m not an expert. Never will I claim to be an expert. I feel as though most, if not all, metas are largely subjective, but like any other kind of opinion piece, it doesn’t matter how well researched it is, if at all. It may just be off the cuff ramblings, rapid fire thoughts and feelings about something. It may also be as well researched and properly cited as a paper you could find in respected, published journals.

That being said. What follows is entirely my opinion, and my opinion is one of a White, early-twenties American university science student who has been engaging with fan content at an exclusively amateur level since my early teens. Take with that what you will.

What I want to talk about here is my feelings on, as you can see from the title, characterization and voice. Characterization is fairly obvious. How these characters are written, both in the source material and by fans, and how these two compare. Voice pulls back a little bit, it refers to the voice of the character, which is part of the characterization, but also the voice of the writer, and the balance between the two. I have opinions about it that I recognize are not shared by everyone. There is plenty of good fic out there that treats voice differently than I would, or than I would prefer to read. This does not make them incorrect, or poorly written, it is just a matter of taste, style, and training.

Given that my current, primary fandom Is Ted Lasso, the examples I use will be drawn from that series and the associated fandom. I will not address specific fanworks by name or by author. I will try to keep things vague, while also trying to stay true to what I am trying to say. I will always be explicit when I am quoting or paraphrasing from a fic. So I would like to say up front that if I refer to a work that you recognize or that belongs to you, I genuinely, truly, do not mean any harm. Though, I recognize that harm is subjective and that intention very often does not equal impact. But, I do appreciate the work people do, genuinely and with my entire heart. Even when it doesn’t speak to me or I don’t like it. I will never claim to know better, simply because I do not have the credentials, experience, or technical skill to back that up. I just know what I like, which may be different from what you like. It is the varying tastes of fans at the core of fandom that has allowed us to engage with each other and with media in the way we do. It’s what makes fandom so great. If we all thought the same thing, that would just be plain boring.

-

When it comes to characterization and voice, I’m referring to the ways writers choose to present characters and how those characters perceive their world. How a writer chooses to do this depends largely on how they interpret characters themselves. This on its own causes many different versions of what is supposed to be the same character to come to light.

I’m sure we’ve all read a fic before and thought, “What the hell is this writer thinking?” I know I have, I know my mutuals have. That being said, many of us are aware that fic writing these days is predominated by amateurs. Which is fine, there’s nothing wrong with that. Fandom used to be dominated by White, professional, educated, middle-class women. Thanks to the advent of social media and globalization, fandom is more diverse and accessible than ever. This means that many of the people who are creating and engaging with fan content are not necessarily trained in writing, fiction or otherwise. I believe we have to be comfortable making certain allowances for the sake of reading about the blorbos from our shows.

Many of my fandoms, somehow, end up being British. Perhaps it is my genetics, yearning for the rhythmic tones of my western European ancestors… Or it’s more reasonably just coincidence. British media has a habit of attracting large American audiences, which means swathes of American fanwriters trying to approximate British speech patterns, for better or worse. This observation is at the core of this meta. This isn’t a source on how to write British characters better, because I’m not British, and have no point of authority on the matter. This also isn’t a call for “britpicking,” or even insisting that you need to find beta readers or else your work will never be worth reading. Good betas are hard to find, and while finding one is certainly worth it, you can still be a good writer without one. Trust.

This is a call for paying attention. For identifying speech patterns and perspectives of the character you want to write about, and using them effectively in your own writing.

Effective use being the key phrase here. Plenty of authors can identify quirks, buzzy catchphrases, and all the other little idiosyncrasies that make a character unique, but using them properly is where writers tend to stumble. The key is selectivity. For example, Ted Lasso’s Jamie Tartt, born and raised in North Manchester, known for his iconic turns and miss-turns of phrase. He’s got regionally specific, youthful slang as well as a habit of misusing common words and phrases. It’s all part of his charm! But it can be hard to get right.

Two things often happen to our friend Jamie. First, they underwrite him. Homogenize him, making him just vaguely English enough to pass, I guess. Though I see this most often in conjunction with other characters, who have their own distinctive speech patterns. All of them rendered down into a pile of identical and vaguely British-sounding pieces of wood. The second, they overwrite him. They use slang excessively. Which isn’t wrong per se, but the key point is you must know what it means, and the context in which to use it.

Overwriting is, very possibly, the bane of my fan existence. Few things turn me off a fic faster than egregious mishandling of slang and dependence on popular, canonical one-liners, because I know that the author is trying for realism. I recall very clearly a writer using “well mint (correction),” which to this day makes me physically recoil every time I think about it. Sorry. This also includes the overabundance of “sexy little baby;” an iconic Jamie line. Called back by his mother in her first appearance. Now it’s everywhere. What should have been sweet, cutesy even, has been over-handled, the dough of your story is falling apart. There can, in fact, be too much of a good thing. God help us.

In or adjacent to this vein, there is a misattribution of dialectal patterns. While many of these characters are from the UK, they’re from different places, were raised in different cultures, and use different words. Mixing these up, such as our preppy resident Welshman saying “bruv,” a word with multicultural cockney roots in London's East End (and Scotland), draws attention to the writer as someone who is not paying very good attention to the characters they’re writing about.

Another gripe, and this is one just for me, is phonetic dialogue. I get it, okay? You want to make sure that your readers are reading this in the exact way you want it to sound. This happens in all writing. So many novelists, notably those in the fantasy genre, do this. They shun standardized and comfortable spelling and sentence structure to try and give their characters a little more oomph. However, if you’ll allow me to be blunt, I hate this so bad. This may be great for all the lovely voice actors who record audiobooks, the screen and stage actors and the like. Those who’ve been tasked with turning the written word into an audio experience. Personally, I’ve always found reading it very taxing and distracting.

People especially love to do this for Jamie. Hell, my own dad does it about Roy, and I haven’t had the guts to tell him that he’s doing it wrong. Or maybe he’s doing it wrong on purpose to make me suffer, possible. Jamie, with his charming Mancunian way of going about things, gets this treatment excessively. While I appreciate when it dulls the crude edge of “poop-eh,” I find that it can be overdone and hard to read. That dastardly too much of a good thing again.

The fic that inspired this meta did this. Every other word of dialogue spelled phonetically, and worse? Incorrectly. I don’t know how to say, in a normal way, that Roy Kent would not say words like that. He’s just not doing vowels like that, what can I say? My only assumption is that the writer got so caught up in Jamie’s accent that they accidentally went and gave South Londoner Roy the same one. It was just a lot.

When it comes to voice, there are two kinds: There’s the character’s, which we’ve already touched on above, and yours, the writer’s. It’s important to be able to identify and express how a character views and responds to the world they’re in. It makes your characters feel true. It gives them a sense of identity that can help a reader feel invested in their circumstances. Your voice is how you chose to tell the story. The way you like to structure your sentences and stories, describe things, themes and motifs you enjoy.

There is a balance between these things. This balance is different for every person and every work. Some writers are confident in their own voice and express more of that than a particular character’s. Other writers, those who feel really in touch with their characters of choice, may choose to emulate a character’s thought process in favor of their own. It doesn’t really matter which you choose, both are effective, and both can make for a good story. One is not better than the other. Do what feels right for you and your story, and switch it up sometimes! It’s good for you and your craft.

Your voice does not exist in a vacuum. It comes from everything you’ve ever read, watched, conversations you’ve had, things you’ve learned. It is a concentration of self. It can be refined, nurtured into something you can be proud of knowing you not only got your point across, but sounded damn good doing it.

It’s important to be able to determine the difference between your voice and the character’s. Sometimes, as awful as it is to admit, that delightful little phrase you cooked up sometimes isn’t what they would say. Are these characters actually that emotionally (un)intelligent? Would they really get caught up in sexuality labels and drop their hot new therapy buzzwords in casual conversation? Do whatever you want, make them say whatever you want, it’s fiction about fiction. But if you catch yourself projecting a little, or a lot, determine if you want to do it with your whole chest and double down, or if you want to reevaluate and revisit the source.

Like character voice, author voice can also lead to homogeneous characters and stories that all sound the same. Plenty of writers write the way they do because they enjoy it. They consider themselves, as they are, to be good, and they very well may be. The writer, first and foremost, writes for themselves. Why shouldn’t they try to write something that speaks to them? There’s nothing wrong with this either. All of us know those fics that have us wishing there were a hundred more just like it. But watch out for if all your characters just sound like you, unless that’s what you’re going for. A little self insert never hurt anybody.

Can you still write a good fic even if you do these things? I don’t see why not. You can plot well, introduce conflict with a deft hand, and write satisfying endings all while your characters talk like a bunch of dialects bundled into a trenchcoat and thrown in a blender. But it can distract or drive readers away from all the good bits of your story because you’ve accidentally gone and fumbled the voices of the characters that they wanted to read about.

All of that being said, there’s no need to write up extensive linguistic bios or do fandom wiki deep dives before you write a character, not unless you want to. It’s just a matter of engaging critically and consciously with the source material. Listening to the things characters say, how they say them, and why. It will make your characters feel more real, closer to canon, rather than leaving your readers raising their eyebrows and thinking about how much he would not fucking say that.

[katyspersonal]

hey sorry i know you get a lot of asks but i really wanted to know if you think midra and shabriri could be related by blood? i am not sure who else to ask.

Awhhh it isn't just this, it is also that I am stuck on my phone and only got so many pictures here, when I prefer to answer asks with screenshots spam! XD But this question doesn't offer very much to bounce off of from what the source material offers so time to use my imagination..? 🤔

I did an analysis of Frenzied Flame's and Three Fingers' "timeline" in this ( x ) post, but the thing is! Previously those afflicted by Frenzied Flame had to contact the Three Fingers and had to be grasped by them directly, not only if they wanted to be a Lord, whereas the "become too sad and you will get Frenzied Flame" disease is stated to start FROM Shabriri! Even when eyeballs afflicted by it across Lands Between carry his name now:

^ Vyke's one is unique in this case, because he WAS grabbed by the Three Fingers! Meanwhile, as for the Shadow Realm:

So, in case of Shabriri's relation, I believe he'd have to be of younger generation than Midra and his servants! I also think this because Three Fingers are imprisoned under Leyendell. In fact, BURIED there!

(Tomb of an ancient god line) Also, there are no Winter Lanterns (the ER edition I mean xD) or wandering Aging Untoucheable that apparently are heralds of big Frenzy Nuke that collect the frenzied eyeballs in the Lands Between where Frenzied Flame is! It is also a pointer towards Three Fingers having been weakened/"killed" since the time Midra himself was grabbed by them!

My idea is that whereas Three Fingers are called readerless, technically Shabriri was the one and only "reader" for them! Functionally he is comparable with Gowry more than with Enia, but I have the mental image of him having the glimpse at these fingerprints desperately trying to get out, and deciding that it was a good idea to bring about what they wanted rather than personal pain/revenge or some grand idea of ending all suffering. (As much as I LOVE the joke that Allant and Shabriri are depressed and manic side of the same concept hdgfjfhfjgdf)

^ The crime of slander he got punished for WAS accusing Nomads of worshiping the Frenzied Flame, and judging from his expression he knew it wasn't the end 🌛 That's why I think he knew what he was doing all along, playing with Marika's fear of fire because no way any of that shit gets anywhere near her precious Erdtree *looks at Fire Monks incantations repeatedly stating Fire of Giants was enemy for GO it could burn the Erdtree* *looks at her being scared of Messmer's flame*

So, if we say he is a later relative of Midra, there is still the important factor that he inflicted Frenzied Flame on himself rather than was already infected by it! If we say he had a natural affinity to "listen" to Three Fingers because of being born by someone in Midra's Manse who was infected, that'd be direct relation! I do think that the torch Nanaya is cradling IS that of hers and Midra's son, so let's say they had another child who they yeeted out of their place for hopeful adoption so Inquisitors don't kill them or at least they have a better life 🤔 Either that child then would be ancestor of Shabriri, or Shabriri himself! He could have still had a natural hunch, or be vaguely aware that his ancestors were isolated and perished by Frenzied Flame and got curious to learn what it WAS! Maybe that's why he went digging into the tomb, rather than just found it?

Personally, I think emotionally it works better if Midra and Nanaya only had one child, who failed to become a Lord! But as I was typing this response, the idea of them getting (another) child outta here for better life started to look fun x) Coincidentally, 1) I draw Shabriri's original body with black hair that Nanaya has and 2) I was discussing the similar "dooming self by getting curious about heritage your ancestors SAVED you from" trope recently about Beatrice from DS1 vfhgfhh It looks like I can't escape this trope xdd

^ I also can offer an idea of collateral/distant relation, since devs made darn sure you can see Midra's Manse used to have the same flowers as Shaman's Village! Midra's servants, who were Hornsent unlike him, were hunted by Hornsent Inquisitors as "heretics", and tolerating all that WAS what brought Midra and his people to Frenzied Flame! They probably bullied fellow Hornsent exactly for serving the shamans (or closely related people) as nobles when by their understanding shamans were unworthy of living!

I insist that Dominula Celebrants are descendants of surviving shamans (here ( x ) are more justifications for that), so, say, Midra's relatives from there escaped, and Shabriri was amongst their descendants! + yeeted to live in another place because apparently no shamans not celebrants keep males around jfggvbgh

Latter one would imply a very long generational gap though! However, this idea might have given more insight on why Shabriri's word had a weight to begin with! The interesting detail is, developers edited out the part about him having been a noble! It was in the original unpatched version, then patched out:

And for now, the mention of him being a noble is only saved in Shabriri's Woe version as one of keepsakes we choose at the start of the game.. but that is only in localization! The Japanese original DID patch it out as well!

Fuckin sneaky patching out Nameless Moon Presence flashback hfgyygjg And before, I didn't second-guess it! If his word mattered so much as to people to believe his slander about something so crucial for the fate of the Erdtree, he had to hold an important position anyways! But after the DLC I start to question whether instead, he was amongst the people Marika held dear due to sentimentality 🤔 Especially much earlier in the timeline. Maybe she was slightly more willing to trust what little was left of her folks than anyone else! She might have even been aware of what happened with Midra's Manse if he was connected with the shamans (or just shaman but not living in the village as a male), let alone the possibility of sealing Three Fingers herself, so the "not this shit again" effect worked very well!

___________________

In the conclusion, I think the relation is possible! I AM weak for "consider not being so curious about (bad) fate of your ancestors because nothing good will come of it" trope it seems hfgthvgg It could even solve the weirdness of editing out his noble status! I am still giving him pretty clothes tho

[ollyou]

!!WARNING FOR PMTOK FANS!!

Please reblog for awareness.

Someone has attempted to grab my IP address using a Grabify link. Thankfully I was smart enough to instantly recognize the link as malicious, but there’s no telling if this person is sending the same link to followers or other PMTOK fandom members in general.

I have reason to believe this is likely a targeted attack on me, due to a sudden influx of threats from a certain PMTOK fan’s follower base towards me that happened after I vaguely described I found out someone who used to follow me is a lolicon on my alt Twitter to ~20 followers. I will not be sharing names because as I had stated in my original thread, I have no intention of starting drama, just sharing my disgust and shock at something that happened. The point of me describing this is only to explain why this may have happened.

DO NOT LOOK UP THE LINK BELOW UNLESS YOU ARE FINE WITH POTENTIALLY HAVING YOUR LOCATION SHARED WITH THIS PERSON.

I HAVE NO IDEA IF THE LINK CONTAINS ANY GRAPHIC MATERIAL, AS IT HAS A PNG FILE ATTACHED. PLEASE EXERCISE CAUTION.

THE MESSAGE:

PROOF OF IT BEING MALICIOUS:

There are many dangerous and manipulative people in this fandom, and I want everyone to stay safe. I will be contacting law enforcement if this escalates further, though thankfully at the time of being sent this link, I was already far from home and so my IP changed to match that. I did not load the particular link so I don’t believe I am in any immediate danger, but THIS COULD VERY WELL PUT OTHERS INCLUDING YOURSELF IN DANGER.

Do NOT click any suspicious links sent to you— heck, don’t click links sent by anonymous sources at ALL. ALWAYS use a website checker if you’re that curious and need to click it. Please do not make a fool of yourself and wind up with your info in dangerous people’s hands.

Thank you for reading and remember to stay safe online. Please contact me if you’re in the PMTOK fandom and/or are following me and receive any strange links from anonymous or burner accounts.

[thebananwithaplan]

@emptyzone asked:

"You gotta be a biiiiiiit careful with that 'meta knowledge' of yours, bud." The flower smiles playfully. The statement is more of a tease rather than made out of genuine concern. Yes yes, scary flower from Undertale, he knows the vague look in the other's funny eyes. "That sorta stuff can break people's minds, you know~! A lot of people still can't cope with the multiverse. Or talking bananas. Or flowers."

"...Yes, I'm painfully aware that not all memes and references transcend other worlds and dimensions. I don't expect every multiverse in existence to know who I am, nor am I going out there and telling everybody that they're well-known.... differently where I come from." Look, his own world is basically 'like real life' but the humans co-exist with toons in a much more modern-day setting than in Who Framed Roger Rabbit, so to speak. Some characters are living and walking about, while others still 'existed' only in their source material, be it literature, video game, other cartoons, etc. And that for some reason some toons are even more aware of what's beyond the 4th wall than others...

But at least even knowing how 'untrustworthy' Flowey was in his source material- because let's face it, who hasn't heard of 'Undertale' irl at this point? - at least having an occasional outlier to break the 4th wall with allowed him to have somewhat less-restricted conversations. And speaking about Flowey's sudden appearance, DB had a hunch as to why the flower of all people would suddenly appear in front of him with this meta-teasing and whatnot...

"I'm going to assume that you somewhat know who I am, and will also assume that you seem to be aware of how well-known your... world is, which is definitely not the exception in mine nor to the people reading this."

"...But from what I've read in your conversations so far, whatever reason you may have for making yourself more open to others currently doesn't concern me at all, 'in-universe' nor otherwise." If anything, what actually 'concerns' the banan' is that he's not entirely sure how much the flower knew about him. If Flowey's just as meta-knowledgeable as he's currently presenting himself as...

"I don't have any reason to 'spill the beans' about ya other than to play the 'no fun allowed' card and ruin the fun of future plots for ya and everybody else in the rpc, which is not the type of banana that I am."

[quonah4dead]

Whiskey Shakes: Part 1

Word count: ~5.5k

Rating: Teen for language, alcohol use, mention of sexual topics

Pairing: Nellis

Characters: Ellis, Keith

Previous "chapters": Closets... WS: Prologue

Source material: Primum non Nocere by Ladyred-ms

Summary: Part 1 of 3 (probably). Ellis came out to Keith yesterday, though little else was revealed in that tearful conversation in Keith's car. Keith resolved to get Ellis to talk, and when Keith wants to do something, he does.

A terrible pulse throbbed through Ellis’ head, coming to an aching focus behind his eye sockets. Stirring to awareness, the first thing he noticed was that something felt wrong about the space he was in. Maybe it was the texture and weight of the blankets, or the fact that he was still in jeans and not sweatpants, or maybe it was a strange feeling of claustrophobic, careless disarray in the air. Perhaps it was the light blazing in around the blinds, striking him at the wrong angle.

Right. I’m at Keith’s... Lord, I feel like shit.

The next thing he noticed was how damn bright it was.

What the hell time is it…?

He did not want to look at a clock.

Despite his exhaustion the night before, sleep came slowly, and it didn’t really deepen. It wasn’t even like his mind was racing or he was plagued with anxiety, he just didn’t rest. There was a vague memory of the sound of a door opening and closing, announcing the arrival of the middle Nelson brother after a late shift, which meant that Ellis had at the very least been semi-awake around 4 AM.

Carefully, groggily reaching up to grab at his phone from on top of one of Keith’s nightstand piles, panic and shame immediately battered at the resolve of his fatigue. He was soooooo late for work.

A message from Keith waited in his texts, and as he was wondering why the hell nobody woke him up, his question was immediately answered.

“Coverin 4 u at garage. Food im the fridge. U owe me asshple.”

They let him sleep in.

A part of him was relieved. His head hurt, his eyes hurt, his mouth was dry, and he definitely needed rest. Given his current state, trying to do anything in the shop would probably just be hazardous.

On the other hand, it felt awful. He didn’t want to be babied, didn’t want special treatment even if he was struggling. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…” he muttered spitefully to the room. He didn’t even know what he was calling stupid. Not himself, exactly; maybe just the whole situation.

He needed water. He needed food. There was an impulse, then, one that had grown familiar over the past few weeks, to just sit there and spitefully let the sun burn at his eyes until he was so delirious with hunger that he didn’t have to pretend to be human anymore. But from somewhere within him, a part of himself that had seemed all too quiet recently, a different voice showed itself.

Stop bein’ a fuckin’ loser, man. Get up ‘n’ have a slice of bread’r somethin’.

It wasn’t cruel, either, the way some of his ‘encouragements’ had become in the wake of the breakup. It was just a push. A gentle, tired nudge in the right direction. It took him a few minutes to heed, unfamiliar as it was, but eventually he managed to slide out from under the shroud of Keith’s comforter to navigate his way out of the disaster zone of a room, buoyed by the faint encouragement from within.

Two chicken nuggets and a small handful of home fries served as an unappetizing cold breakfast, downed alongside two glasses of water that partially spilled onto his shirt in a desperation that surprised him. Sustenance made him feel slightly more like a person, and he aimlessly meandered his way onto the couch to boot up Keith’s console in lieu of having anything better to do.

Time moved in a hazy blur, and beyond a quick but awkward (on his end, at least) greeting, small-talk, and farewell to Drew, nothing roused him from the lethargic cottony feeling that had taken root in his mind. He didn’t even realize he’d begun dozing, feet on the coffee table, until a series of alarmingly loud bangs against the apartment’s door jolted him to awareness.

He cursed under his breath, quickly moving to recover the controller that tumbled to the floor, and another couple impacts rattled the base of the door, about a second between each.

“Quit kickin’ the door, man, I’m comin’! Good grief…”

Knowing that the kicking would not, in fact, stop despite his holler, he rushed to twist the lock before turning off the console and setting the controller down on top, making sure to crack the door open just enough for Keith to shoulder through.

The smell of fried abruptly filled Ellis’ nose and mouth nearly as quickly as the blond clumsily bumped his way into the apartment, and when Ellis turned around, he could see why.

Keith was kicking his shoes off, arms completely full, and curled in his left hand’s three fingers was the top of a nondescript brown bag, dangerously saturated with grease. He bit his bottom lip in a kind of mischievous delight when he noticed Ellis’ attention, and wiggled the bag enticingly, expression somewhere between a smirk and a lopsided grin. “Got Skip’s!”

Ellis’ stomach clenched painfully, abrupt awareness of his hunger nearly nauseating. The cold breakfast he’d had was tiny.

“And milkshakes,” Keith tacked on, wiggling the paperboard tray balanced on his right arm in a half-shrug, half-display. He then tapped a finger on the neck of the bourbon bottle that was in his right hand, brown glass shaped in a way that suggested it was slightly nicer than the bargain-bin whiskey they usually got. “And the good stuff.”

For a moment, Ellis froze to eye the bottle in confusion, but he was quickly prodded into action.

“Well don’t just stand there, man, get some plates! I only got two hands!” Ellis scurried off, then, grabbing plates, condiments, and seasoned salt. The burgers were incredible, but the fries always needed a little help. “They were outta tots today, so yer gonna have to do with ‘tater wedges instead.”

The tiniest excited chuckle escaped Ellis, despite himself. “That’s fine, man, you ain’t gonna find me complainin’.” He stole a glance at the stove’s clock, and while it didn’t slow him, it did make him pause for a split second. “Yer home early.”

“Yeah, well, it was a slow day and it weren’t my turn today, anyway.” It was a half-truth. Paul hadn’t needed too much convincing to let Keith off the clock early, but it had certainly helped when the youngest brother had muttered something about making sure Ellis didn’t starve to death.

“You didn’t have to, y’know. Coulda woke me up.” Ellis might have had the wherewithal to sound put out, had his mouth not flooded with saliva upon seeing Keith pulling wrapped burgers and paper fry baskets out of the bag.

The expression that was fixed upon him looked very dubious.

“Sure, bud.”

The urge to protest against Keith’s skepticism was solidly overwhelmed by the eagerness that compelled him to scoop up his food. He dropped the burger onto his plate and doused it with condiments, then piled up the ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise in a big lump for dipping.

His first enthusiastic bite caused the mixture of sauces he heaped onto the burger to squish out of the sandwich, plopping onto the plate. Unperturbed, he scooped up the mess onto his next bite, practically forgetting to taste the meal. Delectable grease and aromatic juice quickly began trailing down his wrists. When he took the briefest moment to lick his forearms, he quickly shifted to scooping up handfuls of fries, dunking them in the deliciousness pooled on his plate, and stuffing them into his face.

He didn’t even realize he’d forgotten to season them before digging in, but this detail did not escape Keith’s notice.

Glancing up from his own rapidly-diminishing serving, Keith narrowed his eyes. “Did’juh not eat anything all day?”

Ellis managed to make a protesting nnmph sound around his mouthful, swallowing just enough to get out an incredibly scuffed, “I had the nugs from last night,” before refilling the space that had just been freed in his mouth.

Keith simply snorted, and resumed attacking his own meal.

 As the heavy food set in, Ellis felt warmth return to his hands, felt his entire body draining of a tension he was unaware of. He’d even managed to outpace Keith in polishing off the food, and he leaned back on the couch with a weighty oof, reclining happily, content to bask in the feeling.

Content, at least, until he remembered the milkshakes in front of him. 

He jerked in his seat, eyes flashing open, limbs flailing to lurch his full torso forward to snatch up the foam cup with bday cake scrawled on the side in black marker. Just as his fingers were curling around the cup, a harsh crack of skin striking skin sounded out, announcing a ruthless blow from Keith on his wrist.

“Hey–owwww! Whut was that for??” Ellis failed to return the hit and shook out his hand petulantly.

Keith waggled a finger in scolding, uttering a negative mm-mm around his food. As he worked on swallowing, he reached for the bottle of bourbon and started to work on cracking it open. Ellis fixed him with a scrunched-up look, suspicious and disbelieving. To be fair, it was well-deserved. The brunet snatched up his dessert, then, ignoring the further beating Keith administered to his arm, reeling back away from his friend and holding his cup out even farther, protectively. 

“The hell you think you’re gonna do tuh my shake??”

“Uhhh, spike it. Duh. Give it here.”

“Like hell I’mma let you fuck with this! It’s mine!”

“You will let me fuck with it, ack-shully, ‘cause if yuh don’t, I’mma make it end up on the floor. Spilled aaaaalll over,” Keith emphasized by splaying out his remaining right-hand fingers, palm down, dragging his hand slowly across the imagined plane of the floor.

Ellis gasped in horror. Keith did not make idle threats.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Keith’s lips pulled back in a threatening grin. “Hoh yeah, I would.” He stretched out his hand and twitched his fingers, beckoning. “Now give it here.”

Looking deeply betrayed, Ellis floundered for a moment, making little blubbering noises that were the terminated beginnings of protest, or ineffective pleas. Eventually, he settled on whining out a small, “Why…?”

“‘Cause I said so.”

“Wuh- well that’s a shit reason!”

“No, it ain’t. Give-vuh,” he demanded, dramatically vocalizing the sound of the v.

“Why?” Ellis pressed, digging in his heels.

“Do yuh really need a reason to have the good whiskey?”

The shorter man scrunched his nose, narrowed his eyes. “If yer pushin’ so hard on it, then yeah, I do.”

Keith slouched off to the side, rolling his eyes, belabored sigh collapsing his posture. With exasperation in the tilt of his head and the lowering of his eyelids, he looked up at his friend. “We’re gonna paint our nails. Talk about boys.”

The distrust in Ellis’ face turned to a stark, potent fear. Tension shot through his body, and though he managed to keep his brows furrowed, his nostrils flared and jaw clenched as if someone had suddenly brandished a knife.

Keith kept the dull irritation on his face as the two friends stared each other down. Then, he rolled his eyes. “C’mon, man, we already got the–,” uncertainty suddenly washed over him. “Wait. That was the big deal, right? The whole- problem? The guy thing? You ain’t keepin’ nuthin’ else from me?”

The man across from him only managed to hold the eye contact for another few seconds before dragging his gaze unenthusiastically away. He sighed, and in a confirmation laced with potent shame and a hint of regret, ghosted out, “Yeah… Yeah, that- was the big thing.” Though no other answer seemed more accurate than that, he still somehow felt like it wasn’t exactly truthful.

The taller man perked up, gesturing with his open right hand and the bottle in his left. “Well, there ya go! We got the big thing out, now we just gotta get the other stuff.”

Ellis didn’t move, simply opting to sulk rigidly around the cup he now cradled against his chest. Keith waited as patiently as he could for as long as he could, though that meant he waited rather impatiently for a shorter time than he probably should have.

It was in his nature to push, and so push he did. “It’s the whiskey shake or no shake, brother. Whut’s it gonna be?”

Ellis’ jaw clenched again, cheap styrofoam creaking slightly under the pressure of his grip. He didn’t want to talk about it, he really didn’t. He didn’t want to say shit that might make Keith recoil, or mock him, or maybe even silently remove Ellis from his life. The likelihood of that last outcome seemed to be diminishing, but the blond could still change his mind, if Ellis said something wrong. That, and Ellis was kind of afraid of sounding like a sissy, moaning over his gay-ass problems like some kind of girl. He really didn’t want to sound like a bitch.

On the other hand… Keith was literally asking for it. Not asking: demanding. Was it not indicative of… something? Ellis had let Keith in on his business, just a little bit, and instead of recoiling or letting it awkwardly lie, he was bringing him food and prying for more.

Ellis turned, slouching slightly away, but directing his eyes toward Keith.

His friend was prying for more, and he was doing it with a matter-of-fact attitude, brow raised, hand outstretched. He was trying to be patient. He left Ellis an out, even, though that would require a tragic dairy sacrifice.

Isn’t it what he wished for? To have someone else know who wasn’t just a hook-up or a dirty secret, themselves? It was dreadfully uncomfortable if he allowed himself to remember the confession of yesterday, but he had felt better today than he had in ages. Felt more like a person. A person who kind of wanted to crawl out of their skin, but a person nonetheless.

Though the blond man held steady in his expression of nonchalant expectancy, a twist of displeasure was just barely beginning to pull at the corner of his mouth.

Ellis… Knew he wanted to talk about it with someone. The pain of anticipated rejection was immense, but so was the pain of hiding. It ached and pierced, and though it felt safe to hide, it was also terrible.

Keith’s posture sagged a little, irritation clear in the tilt of his shoulders.

Ellis felt a small seize in his gut. Talking about anything felt like it would be a mistake, but… He didn’t want to push away his friend. Didn’t want to be the one to pull away.

And he really wanted his damn shake.

Besides, even if he resigned himself to the alcohol, it didn’t mean he had to just roll over, gushing embarrassing details unbidden. He could say as little as possible while engaging in whatever conversation Keith had planned.

Turning his face away again, Ellis reluctantly held out the cup to Keith across the length of the couch.

“Atta boy. Took yuh long enough, jeez.”

With a cautious glance, Ellis saw his friend dump a generous amount of bourbon into the vessel, cheap whipped cream sloshing around on top of the new layer of fluid, a smoky brown trail lightly painted on the foam.

“Mix that in,” he was advised, before Keith grabbed the other shake, labeled pbcup, and did the same to his own. Though, Ellis was certain, less alcohol was added to that one. Fucker.

After popping the candied cherry in his mouth, Ellis stirred his dessert with its fat, rigid straw. A delightful, overly-sweet vanilla flavor filled his mouth on the first sip from the portion of the drink that had been stuck in the straw from the start. The harsh flavor of hard liquor in the back of his throat suddenly pinched at his nose as he got the first hit of the whiskey, diluted though it was, the contrast of fiery alcoholic burning and frozen treat creating a confusing temperature contrast in his throat on the way down.

He gulped the fluid down, anyway, enjoying the gentle embers flickering to life in his esophagus and stomach once his first bout of chugging was finished. The aromas of vanilla and charred oak from the bourbon, which he would have savored on an exhale, were lost to excessively sugary birthday cake flavoring.

Polishing off the last of his fries, Keith slurped grease and seasoning off his fingers and wiped them off on his pants. He snatched up his own shake and took a deep pull of the thick beverage, closing his eyes to enjoy the salty sweetness of highly-processed peanut butter chunks suspended in drinkable vanilla ice cream.

The impulse to drain the whole thing as fast as possible was difficult to resist, but he knew he had to pace himself. There was a bigger game to play, a bigger challenge to conquer, and part of dominating his self-imposed dare required temperance. He had committed to getting Ellis to open up, spill a whole sack of beans. This meant that Ellis needed to start feeling the alcohol, and he needed himself to feel it less. Not to be manipulative, really, he just… Knew how his mouth could get when drunk, and he wanted to be able to actually listen to everything Ellis said. Also, he needed Ellis tipsy as fast as possible in order to start hacking away at his nonsense.

Maybe it was a little manipulative. Whatever. It was for the greater good.

Keith tactically avoided eye contact with Ellis, directing his gaze absently into a corner, or letting it aimlessly flit around the living room. He felt the brunet glancing at him, blue eyes darting up regularly from under the bill of his hat. Shut-up contest, Keith soothed to himself. He really wanted to see if Ellis would break the silence eventually, and it was infinitely easier to hold his tongue if it was to win something, even if it was just in his own head.

Ellis did not break the silence. Tension stayed in the shorter man’s shoulders the entire time Keith kept his peace, though his spine began to curve back into the cushions, half-relaxing, half-hiding.

It had been long enough for Keith to feel the beginning hum of the alcohol taking to his blood, which meant his friend was probably solidly buzzed. It was time.

“So,” Keith started, watching Ellis tilt his head up with a slight delay to eye him warily. “Yuh sm– wait, is Drew gone?” Scrambling up from his place on the couch, he rushed to peek out the blinds before Ellis could start to respond. “No. No, I woulda seen his- his car ain’t there, I woulda seen it,” he muttered, mostly to himself. He then flopped back on the couch after scooping up his shake, angling himself to mostly face Ellis while propping his feet on the coffee table, heels slamming into the wood with a painful sound, though no hint of pain touched his features. Greeted by guarded blue eyes on his return, he began again.

“So. You were smoochin’ a dude. How long’s that been a thing?”

Ellis immediately felt the will to live drain from him. It showed on his face, gaze quickly fixing itself in another direction. The reaction he’d get for his answer was impossible to know ahead of time, but it was the kind of question that haunted him in his imagined catastrophes. He was not granted long to stew in the feeling before he felt Keith’s bony ankle slam itself into his shin. In the brief flick of his eyes to glare at his friend, he saw Keith looking unmoved, returning his leg to the coffee table and crossing his ankles before a knee began rhythmically, impatiently wiggling left and right.

As his chin turned itself as far as possible, tucking into the shoulder farthest from Keith, he took a hissing inhale through his teeth. There was an opportunity for misunderstanding there, just barely. Maybe if he made Keith specify what he meant, he could find a way to weasel out of some details. “Like… In general, or… Just the one guy…?”

“Mmmmmmmboth,” was demanded of him, with no delay.

Dammit! Idiot! Stupid! Obviously he’d say that!

Ellis immediately let out a sigh, roughened in his throat by frustration, rubbing his free hand over his face harshly. He kept his eyes closed, palm pressing harshly against his cheek, the hard knuckle bones at the junction of finger and palm driving into the eye socket closest to Keith, shielding it from his view.

“Just the one guy- I dunno, ‘round October…? Maybe earlier dependin’ on how you look at it.” He could still remember sitting in the garage, grateful for the diminishing late-summer heat, as he realized he’d be getting together with Nick for lunch. Had it been one month prior, and had it not been for the cold front that ran through the day before, he’d have been drenched in sweat and completely unpresentable. “In general? High school.” 

There was an urge to tack on some kind of awkward self-defense, ‘Bout the same time most people start smoochin’ other people, maybe, despite there being no offense to stave off. He managed to hold his tongue. Don’t say more than you gotta.

Ellis may not have been able to see Keith, but there was a soft bemusement in his voice when he rasped out a, “Huh,” before launching into a more alarmed tone. “Wait– October?? That long?” There was a beat where Ellis could have confirmed, but he didn’t move a muscle. “I thought it was like, ‘round the end’a January maybe. October? Really?”

Another sigh strained out of the brunet, hand still cemented to his face. “Yeah. We, uh… Started real slow. Only saw each other once every few weeks.” Well… We saw each other a whole lot more’n that, thanks to you, he thought, but that don’t really count.

Keith hummed for a thoughtful beat. “So I guess things just picked up ‘round the turn’a the year, then, huh?”

“Mmhmm.”

It was so obviously the bare minimum that Keith rolled his eyes hard enough to roll his head, too, after he allowed a short pause to give Ellis room to say more. Taking a deep pull from his shake, Keith delivered a kick to the other man’s shin and jerked his eyebrows up pointedly. The command to drink more was implied, understood, and obeyed, though with a scowl aimed in his direction.

As he took multiple swigs, Ellis could have sworn he felt the alcohol rush straight to his head, despite the full stomach. Maybe it had simply been long enough so that the first round of drinking the spiked shake could set in.

The next thing Keith said was sudden and alarming.

 “So did’juh like ‘im?”

Ellis’ head reared back in surprise, blinking rapidly before beginning to flub out some kind of word salad in between scoffing. “Whuh- bwuh- I- ugh, I mean- yes??” Jerking his head forward and his hand upward, he fixed Keith with a thoroughly affronted, slack-jawed glare, before quickly remembering that he was far more comfortable averting his eyes.

“Well, whut was he like?” The blond said it with a slow, deliberate drawl, with the same cadence someone might use when talking to a tiresome and uncooperative animal.

Ellis huffed and fidgeted in his seat. “I ‘unno,” he managed after a hefty moment of silence. “He’s… Nice. Um… Smart.” A weak shrug lifted his shoulders briefly, and his head loosely swiveled from side to side. “... Yup.” He could feel Keith’s unimpressed raised eyebrow burning into the side of his head.

Then Keith snorted. “Damn. Y’only got two nice things to say ‘bout him? Don’t sound too impressive tuh me.”

The scowl Ellis directed at him was well on its way to being a glare, with no small amount of offense written into the harsh downward curve of his lips. He was being taunted into saying something more, and some reasonable voice in his head knew as much. Unfortunately, knowing he was being goaded did not stop it from working. “Oh, piss off, asshole. A’course there’s more’n just two things.”

“What are they, then?” Keith asked with a disrespectful head bobble.

Blue eyes harshly flicked upward before glowering at the carpet. “You’re just-,” he hissed out, “-gonna have tuh trust me. There’s… More’n just two good things about ‘im.”

Keith pitched his voice up in nasal mockery, far higher than he needed to if he actually wanted to mimic Ellis’ voice. No room was left open between sentences for Ellis to protest as Keith snippily rushed out, “‘Oh yer just gonna have tuh trust me’- what, is he good in the sack?” An aghast choking noise came from the man across the couch while he charged onward tactlessly. “Got a big dick?” Ellis looked over at Keith, horrified, a bright red flush barreling across his face.

“Keith! What the hell, man? You can’t just ask that! Why’s that the first thing you go for? I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout that with you!”

“Why not?” Keith started with a chuckle before waving a placating hand around. “I mean, I get it, brother. There’re some girls who just- man. They were nuts in bed. Was usually glad to be free of ‘em, but damn was I sad tuh see ‘em go, y’know? Felt like I was missin’ out on sumthin’ real special, sometimes.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, lips pursed as if what he just said was sagely, and did not equivocate to saying he missed getting it on nasty-style with any number of his crazy ex-girlfriends.

“Ugh- that’s improper, man!” protested Ellis, the man who once had a piss-balloon fight with the other man on the couch. “Ain’t polite tuh talk about shit like that, especially with ladies.” His jaw clenched, then, and his expression firmed. “And besides, it ain’t about that, y’asshole. I ain’t upset about losin’ hookups. If I wanted to get laid, I’d-,” I’d just hit up some bars in Savannah. 

Ellis sighed. He didn’t want to think about screwing around. Not right now. Not anymore. “That ain’t it.”

“So whut is it?” Keith tried to deliver the question in a bored, non-confrontational way, but some irritation definitely strained the tone a little, and he found his nails digging into the knitted ridges of upholstery fabric. The dragging of feet, the constant delaying of saying anything meaningful… It was rapidly wearing on his already-lacking patience, and the sluggish way Ellis sighed and just plopped his head into his hand and sat there, motionless, was not helping Keith stay chill. Shut-up contest shut-up contest shut-up contest, c’mon, Keith, you can beat him…

“I don’t know what more you want from me, man,” Ellis groaned, trying to keep his mind disciplined to avoid blurting anything embarrassingly girly. “He was nice,” he took me on dates. “I-I liked him a lot, ‘n’...” He took me on dates ‘n’ hugged me and- “We got along…” and he’d get so cute ‘n’ laugh ‘n’–

The tension that had been building in his chest and throat finally snapped.

“He took me on dates!” It exploded out of him, toward the wall across from the couch, and cracked his voice with its force. He clapped his hand to his mouth, eyebrows wrenched together in agony. A trembling entered his hands while the pressure came to a head behind the crack formed in his dam, trying to find further release. The hand dragged upward to press at his eyes, then cradle his forehead, before clapping down on his capped head. His fortifications failed.

“Brother, he took me on dates. Dates.” A slightly airy quality had entered his strained voice, before he abruptly turned to lock eyes with Keith, bearing a distressed look and an outstretched hand, palm to the sky. “I ain’t never had that before, man! I mean- shit, like… Proper, go out’n’ have dinner… I-I mean, I’ve gone on dates before, right, but not like…” His wide eyes lost focus, staring out into some distant point past Keith’s knees. Jaw loose, he took in urgent breaths through his mouth. His breathing was elevated - not quick, but heavy. Deep.

Though Ellis’ eyes had a light glaze, they were vaguely flitting around, like he was trying to track dozens of thoughts dancing around in his vision. Keith felt himself straighten, slightly.

Shut-up contest, I’m winning.

For a strained minute, muscles flexed in Ellis’ jaw. Once or twice, it looked like he was about to say something, ribcage expanding and mouth parting with a brisk, purposeful inhale before something made it snap shut again.

Then he closed his eyes and dropped his head as if in defeat, shaking it loosely on his neck.

He had seemingly embraced the falter for good, resigning himself to silence once more. 

The taller man’s patience snapped, violently, the “contest” forgotten in a heartbeat.

“Oh Lord in fuckin’ Heaven, man!,” Keith barked, self-imposed silence completely abandoned under the force of his temper. “Fine! I’ll start. You remember -” he abruptly flicked his eyes up to the ceiling and bent an arm at the elbow to let his free hand follow in a hasty apology. “- uh, pardon me -” his pause lasted another moment, just long enough to fix a pointed, exasperated look toward the sky and flick his wrist, pointing an open-palmed gesture at Ellis. When he returned his attention to the other man, he was greeted with a weak, pouty scowl. Whatever.

“You remember Maria? Like, three years back?” He didn't wait for confirmation. “First date, took her to some shitty girly movie, don't remember what it was. Well, the popcorn was like, fifteen bucks fer a large,” it wasn’t, in reality, but that didn’t influence his memory’s recollection of the price, “and I’d pay for her to have one, ‘cause duh, ya gotta, it’s a date. But I didn’t wanna spend like fifty bucks on a first fuckin’ date, so-” his friend wasn’t looking at him directly, but the off-angle side-eye Keith was receiving was attentive enough.

“I decided I was gonna take some outta the machine again when they weren’t lookin’, ‘n’ bring it back tuh the theatre ‘afore the movie could start. Obviously. But the thing is, they been gettin’ wise on me by then, y’know, so they had, like, popcorn guards the moment I walked in.”

“Now, I wasn’t gonna let popcorn guards get the best’uh me, so I climbed up through the ceilin’ panels all heist-y style, like a badass.” Keith briefly bit his lower lip and made a malformed devil horns sign with his right hand, thumb pulling down the middle finger while his remaining index and ring fingers strained upward. “But I been stuck in enough popcorn machines tuh know them shits got hands, and it looked like I’d just kinda… Fall in from above, so I figured, hey, why not go fer like, a slice’uh pizza instead, right?” He waved his hand around vaguely. “Or maybe a Twix or somethin’. Ain’t like I cared -  I just wanted food.”

“Ain’t really sure what happened next. I remember goin’ fer the hotdogs ‘n’ burgers, and the next thing I know I’m in the popcorn anyway with an armful’uh shit, tryna out-ninja like, five dudes to get back in the rafters.” He karate-chopped the air dramatically in demonstration, making goofy little fighting noises, and was rewarded with a crooked, alcohol-flushed grin barely cracking around a milkshake straw. Keith felt his own expression perk up in response. It felt good.

“Turns out gettin’ in the corn was a good thing, ‘cause they couldn’t hold ontuh my legs as I got myself back up. Too much butter,” he slowly drawled with an arrogant smile, like emulating a greased-up hog was something to be proud of. “So I made my way back to the room where she was sittin’ and dropped her some snacks like a B-2.” Keith curled his lips back as a flattened hand pierced its way forward about an inch or two, like an aircraft, before suddenly being brought to press against his breast with an accompanying courteous dip of the chin.

“‘Cause I’m a gentleman.”

Ellis’ initial snort turned into a giggle.

“Ended up watchin’ the whole movie upside-down from the ceilin’, ‘cause I didn’t want ‘em tuh interrupt my date by comin’ in and tryin’tuh haul me off, ‘r whatever. Again.” The dismissive hand he’d begun to idly bounce around halted. “Well. Not the whole movie. Kinda passed out in the middle, I think. May have fallen from the ceiling, I dunno. Don’t remember. Aaanyway, musta been a good enough date, ‘cause it got me a couple months with her.” The story was abruptly wrapped up with a graceless shrug and the gentle sound of knuckles dragging on worn fabric.

And then he snapped a chipper, expectant smile toward Ellis.

Ellis’ expression fell. Keith’s did not.

“Yer turn!”

[soundcrusher]

Hi! 🩹🗑💎 for an OC of your choosing, please

Okay, considering you’re the only one who sent an ask (and I got my laptop back), I’m gonna give you a two for one deal.

People familiar with my Transformers OCs will recognize Flinch, and the newer ones will, hopefully, have a vague awareness of my FF7 OC Valerian.

(If someone else wants to send me an ask, here is the ask game.)

Flinch! MA BOY! (Going with the Unicron Trilogy -mainly Armada- here)

🩹 - Someone who was a source of trauma

Fucking Unicron.

Like, seriously, not only did that fucker possess him, but he also left him mentally scared enough, that Flinch lost some of his happy-go-lucky demeanour. Growing more paranoid and scared as the story progressed, until he refused to recharge all together.

Adding to that, Flinch also secluded himself from his family by shutting himself into his room or staying out for longer than usual.

He did get better, yes, and regained some of his happy-go-lucky personality, but by the time Cybertron rolls around, my boy’s having the worst of times again.  

🗑️ - "It's complicated"

His dad.

Flinch has a very complicated relationship with his dad. Not because Primus is the god of all Cybertronians, and all that jazz, but rather because he has been absent for most of Flinch’s live and he doesn’t know how to deal with that. Like, it’s great that he gets to know something about his actual parents, but why does it have to be mech that’s not only God, but also the planet they live on?

Primus sure enough causes Flinch some kind of existential crisis.

💎 - Chosen family (including warband)

The Minicon pair that adopted Flinch, when they stumbled upon him, and all the other Minicons they found on their way through the galaxy.

They might be all broken from the war they were forced to fight in, and try to hide their more evil deeds from the sunshine that’s Flinch, but damn it all, if they aren’t a good family.

Also, It’s pretty much a fact that @tachyon-omlette's Eda didn’t have a choice, when Flinch decided that he was prime Dad-Material. Eda might not see it, but Flinch wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world/galaxy. (If the topic of custody would ever come up, Flinch would choose Eda over Primus any time.)

Valerian! BABY BOY BABY!

🩹 - Someone who was a source of trauma

I want to say the scientist who made him, but IV was a bigger source of trauma than them.

I went more into detail in that story I wrote, but IV’s presumed death at the hands of some unknown foe/the facility staff left Valerian traumatized to a point, where he even avoided the single though of dreaming about the outside world.

After all, IV dreamed of what was behind the walls they knew, and when he was taken outside, he never returned. And despite Valerian’s memories of his brother being good ones, him never coming back made them bitter. To a point, where he can’t even fall asleep without holding something to ground him.

🗑️ - "It's complicated"

I am tempted to say, “Everyone he meets”.

Valerian spent too much time isolated from humans that weren’t facility staff/scientist, so, meeting people who aren’t out to harm him is a little weird, dare I say scary in some strange way.

Like, he knows that they aren’t going to hurt him, as long as he doesn’t give them a reason to, but at the same time, kindness is rare. Especially in grown-ups that glare at you, whenever you try to carefully walk around them, or yell at you for getting into their way.

He will get better over time, especially when he finds people who care about him, but strangers will always make him feel complicated.

Another person would be his father/the person he calls “DNA-Donor”. Valerian is still young and has spend most of his freedom traveling with a robot cat, before living with his creator. So, meeting the man who’s DNA was used to create him awakens many complicated feelings. Especially in the “Do I call him dad, or not? He never really showed any signs of caring for me…” side of things. It’s definitely something he and Vincent have to work on. But hey! Valerian’s around 14 when they meet, so, they have the rest of their lives to do so!

💎 - Chosen family (including warband)

The Cait Sith that found Valerian in his cell/room, and Reeve. No fighting over that.

Cait was the first person/robot, who wasn’t IV, that ever showed compassion towards Valerian, and the boy grew attached. I mean, why else would he follow the cat over all of Gaia like a lost chocobo-chick? That’s both his emotional support robo-cat and his caretaker.

Reeve came later, when both showed up on his doorsteps. Drenched by rain and muddied from a tumble down a cliff. They haven’t left ever since.

[yamayuandadu]

regarding the sogdians and foxes. do you know if the sogdians themselves practiced a fox cult of some kind? also an unrelated question but i was wondering. was Taoism practiced westwards in the sogdian heartland?

I am not aware of that. I don't really think there was much in the way of animal cults in Sogdia in general. While many deities were associated with specifica animals and in fact in art some can only be identified by their animal attribute (a mount, a throne with animal decorations, or an accessory), foxes aren't among them. Comparative evidence from other contemporary or slightly more recent sources pertaining to other Iranian peoples doesn't really hint at anything similar to the Chinese fox cults either. In Zoroastrian tradition some favorable description can be found but this reflects the fact Avesta considers the fox a type of dog and by extension presents it as one of the animals created to counter malign influence (source), there's no fox yazata or anything of that sort. Al-Biruni might be describing depictions of the simurg as "flying foxes" (ﺧﺮﺳﺎنخﺮ, hurasan-xvarra) but that's an isolated example. The only information about Sogdian or at least Sogdian-adjacent perception of the matter of foxes in Cult of the Fox is that we at the very least know An Lushan and his contemporary Geshu Han were aware of the derogatory implications. Doubtlessly there were more foregners who had opinions on that since there's a fair share of evidence the fox comparisons were employed casually in everyday speech, but so far I failed to find any first hand accounts. Individual Chinese stories might portray foreigners as well versed in fox affairs - for example in Shen Jiji's Tale of Miss Ren a foreign food vendor living next to the eponymous character is well aware she is a fox and doesn't really seem to be bothered - but there are ultimately just literary fiction. I do think it would be interesting to wonder how the matter was seen by "naturalized citizens" so to speak - whether they saw a mirror of own struggles in fox tales, whether they took part in domestic fox cults in areas where they were prevalent etc. - but I don't think there's any material evidence which would make it possible to explore that.

As for the second question, I am not aware of Taoism spreading that far westwards. It also doesn't come up in any publications I read which deal with religions present in Sogdia - and most of these do highlight plurality. An indigenous set of beliefs (whether it can be considered a form of Zoroastrianism or merely something vaguely related remains a matter of debate), Buddhism, (Nestorian) Christianity and Manichaeism are all well attested. I read a few surveys of Sogdian theophoric names too, and no Taoist figures come up (while Buddha and Jesus are comparably well attested as local variants of Mithra and Nanaya). For the most part I'm only aware of Taoism spreading in some capacity to Vietnam, Korea and Japan in the first millennium - in other words, eastwards, not westwards. However, there is some evidence of Xuanzang being provided with Sanskrit translations of Taoist classics before embarking on his journey to India (see Daoism in the Tang (618-907) in the Brill Daoism Handbook), so it does seem fair to say attempts must have been made.

The possible attempts at westward transfer of Taoism were seemingly generally tied to interactions between this religion and Buddhism. This is highlighted in particular by the rise of a popular legend according to which Laozi was also the source of many other teachings because he was identical with the historical Buddha (or vice versa; see here for full context).

[littlestsnicket]

Questions 7, 26, 45, and 50. 28 made me giggle.

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

as a fic writer i somewhat avoid doing world building… the world is there in the source material. but for my longer witcher fics, i did have to work out how i thought magic works in that world, and even though very little of it ended up on the page, i am quite pleased with what is in my head and how it let me feel more comfortable writing ciri and yen doing magic. (that’s probably what makes it good world building in my opinion, that it’s not really on the page.)

other things are more like, how do i jam my headcanons about how this world works into the story, which i think is fundamentally different than world building (like when ciri&jaskier talk about being queer in the post season 2 fic).

26. already answered this one (writing fic that’s only dialogue sounds like fun!)

45. What’s something you’ve improved on since you started writing fic?

i think the biggest thing is the ability to write longer works? the fact that i’ve written two thinks over 10k now is still absolutely shocking to me.

i think i’ve also gotten a lot better at figuring out why a story isn’t working. i used to just wander away from things and not find my way back to them, or chop the bits that were working into drabbles instead of figuring out the whole story. that’s also, on reflection, a big part of being able to write longer stories.

but also a lot of both of these things is less real improvement in my writing and more having a beta reader (you) and how the way i engage with fandom has changed a bit over time/across fandoms.

50. Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!

the thing i want to get better at (which i think i’ve vaguely talked about in my sprint retro notes), is learning how to create inspiration rather than waiting around for it. it’s an interesting self-awareness exercise. like if i go for a long walk or do the dishes while listening to music instead of a podcast, usually my brain does things. what else makes my brain do things and how do i guide the brain-doing-things in the direction of the thing i want to be working on?

did that make any sense?

(bonus 28, lol, yes. you read my fic before i post it, either when it’s almost done or when i need validation that i put words on the page so you get to see my disaster drafts :D and you get to deal with how i didn’t write the two pivotal scenes for the ciri&jaskier fic until very late in my out of order writing process and i had to keep trying to explain what the fic was actually about to you because based on what was on the page it seemed like it was about something else—in so much as that fic is actually about anything.)

[lightbringer-morningstar]

Guidelines and Rules

I'm not really one for rules so I'm gonna call them guidelines for interaction.

This blog is mostly active via mobile for the time being.

On This blog I am highly selective and mutuals only for threads.

Selective follow. I prefer a dashboard that is current and relevant to partners who interact with my muse, so please don't take it personal if unfollowing occurs at some point due to lack of interaction. Follow status always has the ability to change if interactions occur through inbox.

Content. Things here will be 18+/25+ meaning content may at any given moment include topics that are not suitable for minors, such as but not limited to violence, gore, cannibalism, blood, death, alcohol use, drug use, and other mature-related themes. Anyone familiar with the source material: Hazbin Hotel &&Helluva Boss would be well aware of the correlations. Expect nsfw. By following this blog you agree to acknowledging possible explicit content and explicit themes that may or may not be tagged. I will do my best to tag accordingly but if something doesn't appear excessive in my perspective there is the possibility it will not get a tag. Apologies in advanced for any possible triggering content but please consider yourself warned and please request tags if needed. I shouldn't need to state this but blogs posting content such as racism, bigotry, discrimination, hate of any kind, lgbt+ phobia or hate, incest, noncon ect. will be instantly unfollowed for my own wellbeing and mental health.

Frequent posts of ooc drama or callout culture related involvement will lead to immediate unfollow or Block. Also any posts, comments or replies expressing derogatory commenting towards others or noticeable passive aggressive behavior will lead to unfollow or Block. Vague blogging will not be tolerated, be mature and talk things out or learn to block and move on, respectfully.

Interactions. Some muses here are rude and some are flat out dangerous. If they are approached with lack of caution I will not sit by and be accused of God-modding/Meta-gaming. Please do not prod/provoke or instigate muses into action unless ready for the repercussion. I do not god-mod or meta-game (unless it comes up in crack-posts/jokes on dashboard) and I also don't accept it from others during threads. This has happened to me before, and I'd rather avoid it. I'm always willing to chat about/discuss actions that occurred if outcomes are upsetting or uncomfortable in hindsight so there's always the possibility for a do-over, just ask.

Uncomfortable situations. Sometimes uncomfortable dialogue or actions may occur between muses, should this happen please reach out and express the discomfort and we can quickly agree to amend it/change it. Maybe a muse gets too mean or aggressive during chatter or they use possible flirtatious advancements when that sort of attention is unwanted. Talk to me and it won't happen again. Just gotta let me know if something isn't being enjoyed and it will immediately stop.

Replies will be done when I have time, should any need to be dropped a courtesy discussion attempt will be made as notification. Activity will be sporadic, but my aim is to be online often. This is a hobby, and I do it to de-stress. If you at any time find yourself not wanting to drop an interaction, reach out and let me know. Should the opposite be true, and you find you want to drop any threads then same would apply. Asking about certain threads or interactions to get an idea of whether they are being continued or dropped is perfectly acceptable but please do not repeatedly ask/spam or hound me, that could result in an unfollow from me.

Any Anon hate will be promptly discarded and will result in an automatic block. This includes Policing anons. Do not go on anon to police what I post on my blog. Please consider unfollowing. Egotistical Anons who decide to abuse the anonymous function on my blog run the risk of being blocked on sight. I will not apologize or explain my posts or my opinions to anons who disagree with me or those who seek to be some sort of authority on what I choose to post on my blog simply because they disagree with me or my point of view or believe I should be "educated" by their standards. Do not impose yourself onto me. Please unfollow if it gets to that point. I would never intentionally offend or insult anyone, but I do reserve the right to formulate my own opinions and to thereby express them as such should I feel the need. I understand that doing so could possibly result in unintentional offense or misunderstandings and so should anyone deciding to follow this blog after reading the guidelines/rules outlined within this post. If you find this unacceptable, please consider either unfollowing or not following to begin with.

Friendly, neutral, or curious Anons are always welcomed.

Manipulation between muns ooc. Do not do it. If I find out it's your intention or you have actively persisted in certain behavioral patterns I will block without warning or explanation. Let's be transparent, direct and mature about things, please. Open and Direct Communication works best.

Writing. Micro, One-liners, Para, Multi-para and Novella are all welcome. I will be honest, I prefer shorter rather than longer when things have not been plotted. I will be putting my best effort forward but I will not be struggling to match length and hopefully writing partners will not either. Please don't ever feel pressured to write more than motivation will allow, it's completely understandable. I'm the flexible type when in comes to rp here.

Shipping. Please don't force it on my muses. Please don't write on behalf of my muses during replies. This is a cooperative endeavor, and consent should be at the forefront of interactions. I ship for chemistry, please be respectful if it just isn't there between muses. Multiship and multiverse. Love it, can't get enough of it but I do ship and write for chemistry. I'm not likely to autoship. The only exceptions will be the ones I agree on during plotting discussion ooc with other muns. Will not be shipping with minors.

Portrayal. Please don't press personal headcanons onto my muses. Don't press on about inferred or implied assumptions from canon material, don't use knowledge derived from source material to tell me through your muses about my muses, it may seem like a fun idea, but it ends up feeling redundant. Especially if we've just begun interactions. [Example: "Oh hey, don't you LOVE ducks???, you're so in LOVE with ducks, I bet you've got some under your bed! Right?

Multi-verse. Multi-ship. All ships will be treated as though occurring in separate universes unless discussed between writers/muns and/or stated otherwise.

Blocking, &&Unfollowing. If I, at any given point sense that my guidelines or personal boundaries are ignored too many times, I will unfollow and/or block with no warnings or explanations. Please respect my decisions and do not choose to harass me, thereafter, thank you.

Cross-over enthusiast. Open to writing with characters from various outside fandoms.

OC friendly. I am always open to writing with ocs provided it isn't only done with intention to ship. I enjoy interactions with some ocs but I do not prioritize ocs over canon. I prefer for there to be some believable explanation behind how the ocs are fluidly integrated into the universe and for them to be fully aware of their place within it prior to beginning interactions as well as awareness of my muse's status and the overall "established world/verse/reality rules". If not please ask.

Mains, &&Affliates. I don't mind adding associated or affiliated rpers/blogs if we've known each other awhile and have been writing together regularly and communicating ooc frequently, and for a long time. If we have a shared formed continuity, it's fine. I'm not likely to take on mains or any 'status' such as married due to being multiverse and multiship. Each relationship is in it's own separate universe unless discussed between writers/muns. Now, I will be transparent here, when I see these things on other blogs: "mains" or "married to" I will be less likely to initiate any interactions as I take it that those blogs prefer to default to their "mains" or "spouses" as priority, so I prefer to either be tagged directly or prompted via inbox in those situations, thanks for understanding.

Duplicate friendly. This means I am interested in writing with duplicates as though they are multiverse variants or clones of some sort, plotted or not. Usually in cases of multimuse blogs. But I will unfollow or block if duplicates of single-muse blogs never interact.

Gaphics and icons. The majority are made and edited by me. Please do not use them without permission. Thank you. Any that are not made by me will be credited if needed.

I'm here to have fun. I'll basically be doing my best to enjoy myself and bypass any drama.

[wigglesforonce]

thank u for the tag keeb @vroombeams <3

Who is your favorite driver? Toss up between George and Oscar, depending on the day, vibes, and how many posts from Mark or Rosie i have recently read

Do you have other favorite drivers? i am known to enjoy logan-posting, and i always cheer for yuki points!! ill also say alex and lewis are up there

Who is your least favorite driver? obvious question to anyone who asks me. verstappen #1 (im enough of a hater to not realise that mv00 was meant as an insult as his championship, and not just what ppl would write to avoid using his name), and i am a respectful hater for norris, i keep it to myself and a specific whatsapp chat w someone

Do you pull for drivers or do you like teams as well? i am more of a fan of drivers than teams, but i do appreciate the legacies and histories of the constructors on the grid, as well as the camradery of everyone on track! love watching teams celebrate wins/points etc together

If you like teams, what team do you pull for? i am a fan of the more historical side of f1, so i am nostalgic for williams (even tho i wasnt even watching and/or alive lmao), but i will say if i buy official team merch it'll probably be merc stuff

How long have you been into F1? i've always been vaguely aware of it, but i first rly learnt abt it mid 2021, and then the first race i watched live was COTA 2021 (rip why did i miss half the best season ever for like 0 reason)

What got you into F1? if we're being hyperspecific, the trailer for DTS that had grosjean's crash from Bahrain 2020 - i decided to watch Telly during a holiday in like. march, and was scrolling netflix and saw a massive explosion and went 'oh SICK', and accidentally watched all of that season of DTS in one day. i then spent the next like 2 months just watching youtube videos abt f1 and went 'no i cant be obsessed w cars going around in circles' and voila. we're here

Do you enjoy Fanfic/RPF? as with the way i enjoy any piece of media, i read fanfiction before actually consuming the source material, so to answer the question: yes (i've stopped reading it much nowadays, just a few stories ive been long time subbed to cough jeddah george cough)

How do you view new fans? love to chat w them, and figure out how much they know! (in a fun 'omg ur into my fav topic' kind of way, not a 'list every race winner since 1950' kind of way). i was a new fan rather recently, so i remind myself of that whenever i eyeroll at a bad take on twitter.

If you could take over as team principal for any team, who would it be and why? redbull and sabotage the Hell out of the team. also earn some nice cash at the same time.

Are your friends and family into F1 as well? it took me a year and a half of being into f1 to find out that not only did my mum used to watch f1 in the 80s/90s, that my grandfather used to watch f1 WITH her but my UNCLE on the OTHER side of the FAMILY has a SIGNED AUTOGRAPH from SENNA that was sent off like a week before he DIED. i thought i was ALONE in my enjoyment GENUINELY.

i also got many of my friends into f1, and have made new friends both irl and online through shared love of it, so u know. Skillz.

Are you open to talking to other fans/making friends? uh ALWAYS. as i just said, i have made many a friend this way, and its just fun to talk abt the sport w other ppl, esp when they have different opinions to u!!

anyways looong post and i shall tag (w/ no pressure): @toilethamster @russilton @ininininininstayoutstayout @georgierre @gayorphandepression :D