#and his struggle with human idioms

[uglynicc]

Making my gaming dreams of romancing Lorik Qui'in a (sorta) reality

[vagabond-umlaut]

l'heure bleue

Ferocious, fearsome, infallible. The King Of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna, has never fought a war he hasn't won.

But, does that mean he'll taste success in this battle of beliefs, raging against no one but his Queen, as well?

▸ trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; sooo much of tooth-rotting! domestic fluff between sukuna & reader; sukuna is so exhausted, still so fond of his dear wife; said wife is not too soft towards her husband [she has valid reasons, dw]; talks on death; indirect talk on periods & pregnancy; 0% ANGST IN THIS– ONLY FLUFFY HUMOR; spoiler alert— would-be-dad!sukuna x would-be-mom!reader

▸ belongs to the series 'mine? yes, mine.' but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

▸ i don't own the characters, the image or the divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"I'm dying. Very soon."

While not the deep kiss you've always welcomed him with, into your chambers, every night of your married life— Sukuna reckons, he will take this many many times over the tense hush you've been offering him these days.

Shrugging his heavy cloak off his shoulders, the King of Curses walks over to where you're on the bed and frowns, fingers moving to thread through your unkempt hair, then run down the side of your face. Your eyes flutter close for a beat– undoubtedly, from the gentle caress, he surmises– before they grow wide open, blinking with tears of fear.

Rubbing the pad of his thumb over your wobbling lower lip, your lover sighs, knowing full well where this conversation might be going– still, as always, he decides to humor your concerns with an ask of his own.

"Did my Queen visit the royal physician, along with Uraume today?"

"No," you shake your head meekly, "I did not visit the physician. I was resting in our room the entire day."

"If you weren't feeling well, you could have asked her to visit you here, right?" your husband queries, sitting down beside you and pulling you into his lap. Snuggling into him with a soft hum, you send a miserable look his way— eliciting something eerily similar to the emotions, your husband knows, no curse like him should ever be able to feel.

Yet here he is, feeling every one of those, with his wife in his grasp.

You shake your head a second time; however, with greater force than before. "No. I knew I would be dying soon but I did not want to hear it from her. I wanted you to tell me that awful news, my king. I love you, I wanted you to say it. To confirm it."

You love him, so he must confirm your imminent death!?!?— Stunned by your odd words of reasoning, Sukuna gapes at you, dumbfounded; before he shakes himself free of the shock, discerning you to be three words, or even less, away from dissolving into your pathetic wails.

He smooths the top of your head with a palm, whilst another palm of his squeezes your hip, hoping the action will bring you some comfort. You place a small palm over the latter, voice growing shaky when you say, "Won't you confirm the terrible news, my lord?"

"No," Sukuna's quick to deny you in an instant, "Because I firmly don't believe you're anywhere close to dying. You're as healthy as a horse— or whatever idiotic creature, you humans use in your idiotic idioms."

A facsimile of a smile threatens to erupt onto your lips— it is vanished before the next second— with you crumbling into a mess of tears and snot, face pressed into his chest, whilst your fingers dig into his back.

Sukuna stifles a weary sigh, before wrapping his arms gingerly round your midsection, taking extra care not to jostle you or anything. "You aren't dying anytime soon, my Queen," he struggles to coo, but ends up grumbling, "I won't let you ever leave my side– you stupid woman. You're stuck with me forever– don't I always tell you that, my Queen?"

"You do, Sukuna," you mumble, with a weak nod of your head, "But I do feel so close to dying every moment of the day— so weak and so dizzy and so nauseous– even you've become so careful with me, my king!" you exclaim, red-rimmed swollen eyes glaring accusingly into every ruby eye of his.

Filling him with an addicting thrilling delight he has never felt before.

"You've always been so rough with me— Now, when you're being so gentle with me, out of nowhere, tell me: must the implication of you thinking me to be fragile, along with those awful symptoms– not be worrisome? Must I not think, you consider me to be near my death– hence, this newfound wariness? Hence, you, and even Uraume, who has always been so free to speak their mind before me– the both of you walking on stupid fucking eggshells around me– tell me, 'Kuna!"

A silence punctuates your outburst, filled only by the sounds of your noisy breathing– the latter replacing the sounds of your crying.— An odd yet not unpleasant, emotion taking over the shape of his mouth and curving it upwards, Sukuna drags a finger down your backbone, relishing in the way you shiver, then relax with a sigh under his touch.

Letting your temper to ebb away for another good minute, your lover inquires, keeping his tone void of anything except curiosity, "When is the last time you used your pain-relieving bath salts, pet?"

Your eyes blinking slowly, Sukuna watches them travel to the cabinet where you keep them stored in stacks, before returning to him, quite puzzled. And fatigued.

Adorably small yawns escaping, you murmur.

"I only use them when it's that time of month, which was..." Your eyes flutter open and close, painfully slowly, yet again— before they widen, becoming not unlike the full moon in the sky tonight.

You gasp, shaky fingers poking your belly before reaching a rest on it.

Covering them with his much larger ones, your lover hums, "Happy?"

"Not at all," you shake your head, reaching your other hand to trail the many tattoos on your husband's face, before stopping at the apple of his cheek.

Sukuna swears time ceases to exist in the momentary pause you take— restored only by the blinding beam you offer next, followed by your sweet voice uttering those words, he knows he'll remember for all the millennia he will live.

"I'm very, very happy— you dummy prehistoric curse."

▸ masterlist

[teeth-cable]

I need more people to talk about how just like the POC designs, the writing is terrible at clueing the audience what race and ethnicity the characters are.

Beside stereotypes, the racial coding in the writing is little to non-existence. The characters don’t have mannerisms from their cultures, speak in slangs or idioms relating to their group from their time periods, or make cultural references.

Without having to rely on outside sources (Livestreams, looking up VAs, leaked audition sheets, etc), the only characters I would successfully guess would be Vicky, Val, and Velvette, and even then, it doesn’t mean the racial coding is good.

Vicky is the only one from this list whose racial coding isn’t atrocious. I can tell she’s Latino because she curses in Spanish, but that’s it. This is admittedly nick-picky , but I wish when cursing she would have used Salvadoreño specific slang and curse phases to signal she’s Salvadoreña.

Val, I can tell is Latino too, because of his accent and him cursing in Spanish, but it’s egregious. The accent fluctuates so much, it’s strong, then weak, then strong again. Not sure if the VA was struggling or if this was an intentional direction given to him, though the fact, I and other people were confused, at the direction, speaks for itself. Another issue with his accent is how it’s sexualized, contributing to the Latin Lover stereotype of his character.

Velvette, I won’t sugarcoat it. I wouldn’t even guess she was supposed to be black though the writing or the majority of her designs until the finale. The finale, the last episode of the season and the only time she has textured hair with her screen time being around two minutes and sixteen seconds in total.

Visual designs isn’t where race coding ends. This is important to remember because it ignores the good coded characters (King Dice from Cuphead, Darwin from TAWG, the Funk trolls from Dreamwork’s Trolls) and how Viv failed and could have done the racial coding better.

For Viv, she has to rely on other coding methods too because there are characters who aren’t humanoid enough, or even humanoid at all, for visual coding to work. There really isn’t anything I can say to explain why the race coding sucks beside Viv doesn’t care about representing POCs.

I wanted to create this post to highlight how Viv fails at coding in every aspect. The fandoms and critics shouldn’t praised her for giving Velvette textured hair or darkening Sera’s skin from her leaked audition sheet. We need to stop praising creators, especially white ones, for doing less than the bare minimum (The bare minimum being making POC characters look POC) when creating POC characters, or worse, justify it. I’ve seen people tried to justify the terrible POC designs by using one of Carmilla’s daughters as an example, as if one decent POC design in a sea of ashy and euro-centric or erased features for the majority of the POC cast suddenly invalidates the criticisms.

I’m also getting tired of the fandom making posts questioning why people have and still draw the POC characters as white, as well as people harassing artists for accidental whitewashing. I’m hate the whitewashing too but in this case, it’s different because this is Viv’s own fault due to her poor racial coding. Not every fan will have the same intense knowledge you do or even should, to know what a character’s race or ethnicity is, that’s Viv’s responsibilities as the creator.

Mind you, these were the human designs we had before the show aired. Alastor being mixed creole and Niffty being Japanese yet they look white as hell here.

[amarynthian-chronicles]

Extended Contract Chapter 1

Fae Prince Sun, Fae Prince Moon, Fae King Eclipse x Witch Reader

(You are a witch that fell for the oldest trick in the book by giving your name to the mischievous Fae princes of the Celestial Court. Such an inconvenience on what was supposed to be a typical office night. You are honestly not having it. They, however, do seem quite happy about having you. You decide to make a deal with the Fae King to regain your freedom. The only thing that is functional in the whole situation is your phone signal in the Fae Kingdom.)

Warnings: kidnapping, suggestive themes, gore and the usual Fae tomfoolery

“May I have your name?“

“Of course, it is Y/N.“

“Your precious contribution is very much appreciated.“

It is not every day that one seals their own fate because of a simple misunderstanding of idioms and literal meanings, but there you were, bound to the realm of the Fae Folk and belonging to the royal twins of the Celestial Court. Mondays were known to be unlucky days, but this was just ridiculous.

You weren't really in the mood for getting abducted, thank you very much.

There were so many assignments and drafts due next week and you feared Vanessa's wrath far more than you feared the dark magic of enamoured Fae.

Furthermore, you had the misfortune of being stuck with those mischievous miscreants in the middle of the witching hour. The law firm building was empty, the cranky doorman had left hours ago and the janitor had the habit of never arriving before six in the morning. You could scream, but that would not do much good. The cameras did not pick up sound and technology could not record the presence of the Fae, so the only thing you would accomplish is create evidence of your own insanity.

“Excuse me, I really must protest.“

You were in the process of trying to escape the grip of the regal solar-themed Fae. He seemed rather amused, since you weren't really successful, but he almost seemed to be playfully encouraging you to keep trying. Prince Sun had always been a very supportive person, even if he was the one causing the problem in the first place.

“Go on, beautiful, nobody is stopping you. I think that every once in a while everybody needs to raise objections and such. It is healthy.“

His lunar twin grinned, red eyes glowing with roguish mirth.

“I wholeheartedly agree with you, brother. We fully encourage sincerity and dialogue.“

You told them that you wanted to make an appeal. They happily informed you that such a thing was not possible and that you officially belonged to them. You were certainly not touched by their infectious enthusiasm. After all, being gifted with a human's True Name was an experience akin to a cat falling into a whole box full of catnip for them.

“You will play with us forever."

“The Celestial Court is a wondrous place.“

“Word games galore.“

“But beware, for danger lurks in each syllable, my love.“

“Blades caress the consonants and glide along the vowels.“

“Running is futile, but at least it is a very healthy activity. It is always important to get some cardio for the day.“

By all logic, you should be feeling some form of despair and terror, but you were mostly suffering from a horrible case of injured pride. You had fallen for the oldest trick since the dawn of magic. You were an absolute idiot. True, you were running on two cups of coffee, you had not slept properly in a week and your blood sugar levels were more tragic than Shakespeare's “Hamlet“. In your defense, working for William Afton, attorney at law, was no walk in the bloody park. Especially when you had Vanessa as your immediate taskmaster.

You had grown tired of struggling, giving yourself a few moments of respite. Prince Sun was holding you bridal style, his blue gaze soft, showing a type of adoration one would give to a hidden treasure, a joy one experiences when holding a droplet of water in a desert.

Prince Moon had a personality that was diametrically opposite to that of his brother. Hunger reigned in his eyes. Your essence was intoxicating, calling for him, enticing him. You dared not even imagine what his claws could do to you, nor what he could accomplish with his razor-sharp teeth.

Rowan charms could no longer save you, nor could silver. Leaves of holly had no more power, either. You couldn't bribe the royal twins with cream either, since apparently you were the new dessert in the grand scheme of things.

Moon reached out with his claws, searching for your delicate hand. He traced his claw along the sensitive flesh of your inner wrist with all the fervour and ardour of a lover, inspecting the soft skin. Upon giving your name to them, two different markings had manifested on each inner wrist respectively. A crescent moon on the right one and the mark of the sun on the left one.

“Gentlemen, there has obviously been a bit of a miscommunication.“

“Yes, those tend to be very practical in our line of work.“

“I don't have time for this, do you have any idea how many assignments I have due next week?“

“Actually, we do. I must voice our disapproval of you overworking yourself in general. Following orders of such unworthy scoundrels.“

“Well, I am not really in the mood for changing one group of masters for another. I wish to be taken to the Fae King.“

“You will meet him later anyway, he is a bit busy now.“

“No, no, not in that way. I wish to make my complaint.“

“Haven't we closed that topic already?“

“I demand my freedom back. You two said that King Eclipse could grant it to me if I convince him to. Although, I see now that this statement does not exclude you two being capable of the same thing and most likely you are just using the wording to trick me to stop asking you.“

“Can you blame us?“

“Yes. I blame you. And I judge you.“

In spite of it all, you had to admit the celestial princes were quite handsome and their appearance would normally be breathtaking, if you weren't meeting them under such circumstances.

In a resting position, their large wings almost appeared like regal capes. Complementary colours reigned in their respective palettes. Deep royal blues of Prince Moon's wings were speckled with tiny stars, while the rich golden hues of Prince Sun's had swirls of blue interwoven in their texture. In a way, the twins were perfectly symmetrical when it came to the design of their wings. Their attire was similar to that of jesters, but far more elaborate and indicative of their status. Silk and velvet were present, bejeweled buttons, finely tailored doublets.

Both of them were eager, lovestruck and needy. To a degree you almost felt like a lamp attracting a pair of silly mothlings. Which was fitting, considering they too had wings and all.

As Moon was still caressing you along your inner forearm, Sun could not resist nuzzling your hair. You could have sworn that you heard both of them purr. A part of you wondered how on earth did such a scene appear on the cameras, were you simply just floating around and talking to yourself? You internally apologized in advance to any poor security worker that would have to go through the recordings later.

Sun's voice brought you back from your silly reveries, his cheek resting on your head.

“As soft as silk.“

You had been somewhat aware that a pair of Fae had been hunting you for the past several weeks, but it was impossible to decipher their identity. Their glamour and shielding spells had been extremely powerful, their cunning unparalleled and their tricks endless. In many ways, they had been testing you, the purity of your heart and the strength of your soul. They would come to you, disguised either as lost little animals in need of help, or as injured humans in need of assistance. You would always help, no questions asked and always ignoring the warning tingle of enemy magic. Your mind had completely warped to the logic of the normal world and you no longer asked yourself the questions a witch would.

You did not suspect the odd new coworkers that had appeared out of nowhere either, nor did you seem to wonder where they had come from. You had simply accepted that you probably just never noticed them before and that they had always been there. A few pleasantries here, a few kind words there, and that had been all. Of course, all up till tonight when the name trick finally came to rip the veil of denial off.

You huffed, unphased by Sun's compliments regarding your hair.

“Were you the one that has been making those silly fairy-locks I kept waking up with? Those are impossible to untangle!“

“Technically you are not supposed to do that, elsewise you bring misfortune upon yourself. The poor keyboard on your laptop suffered a premature death because of that.“

“I really liked that laptop.“

“I know.“

“It was brand new.“

“May it rest in peace.“

You looked over at the little digital clock on a nearby desk. The witching hour was almost over and the power of the Fae would slightly weaken after four in the morning. If you somehow escaped them, maybe you could distract them enough till the desired hour strikes. Your magical weapons may at least have a fair chance afterwards.

You gasped as Moon leaned closer to you, his hand caressing your cheek, sliding down to your neck, distracting you with pleasurable sensations and making your spine tingle.

“What is going on in that pretty little head of yours, wishing star?“

“Nothing much, honestly.“

Both of them spread their giant wings, showing all of their glory, then draped them over you in what one may interpret as a soothing and protective gesture, but given the circumstances, it was also a demonstration of entrapment.

Impish jesters, forever grinning, forever teasing.

It was one thing to be bound and made to serve an ordinary fairy. It was a completely different thing to be serving the royal twins of the Celestial Court. They were dangerous, powerful, their stature surpassed even the tallest of humans, their urges were never satisfied and their desires never at rest. Not to mention that they were the most competent tricksters of the Fae kingdom.

Fairies were incapable of lying. Therefore, they had to resort to literal meanings and multiple interpretations, distortions, tricks. You could imply one thing that was perfectly accepted and understood in human society, but they would purposefully give it an obscure meaning that was still not a falsehood.

Your predicament was ironic in many ways. Embarassing even. To be precise, you came from a long line of magical practitioners that had been known over the centuries as the Cunning Folk. Various terms existed for such people, but in the modern times the closest definition would be light witches. It was an adequate name that differentiated them from warlocks or dark witches.

You, dear Y/N, had done your best in life to keep the madness of magic at bay. Yes, you knew how to ward yourself from curious spirits, you always had your trusted rolled up newspaper at the ready to hit the local boogeyman on the head when he was living rent-free under your bed, and pretty much every imp on the block knew to avoid you if they wanted to keep all their limbs attached.

Fae Folk, however, were a different story. Long ago, it had been a custom for the Fae to connect to members of the Cunning Folk in order to form a soul bond. A familiar and their witch, in a way. It had always been a connection stronger than any spell and a love more intense than any passionate marriage.

All of that had changed when the realm of the Fae had been afflicted by a darkness far more potent than any light spell could heal. The Hopes and Dreams of children had become scarce and all that was once joyful and innocent had become corrupted and ruined. The Fae King had become cruel and wicked, his once cheerful and loving demeanour had transformed into that of a deranged villain. He did have an odd shift of behaviour on certain birthdays, though, and this would usually take everyone aback for a solid twenty-four hours.

In light of all that, the Cunning Folk had gone into hiding and refused any new bonds with the Fae. This was unacceptable, since the Fae had depended immensely on the sweet nectar that human souls could provide, especially when that soul happened to be a magical one. Consequently, over the centuries the Fae had to resort to various tricks, from luring humans into their fairy circles, kidnapping them and taking them to their kingdom, tricking them with various word games and always having them fall in traps when they least expected it. Certain Fae were less malevolent and were simply in dire need and want of being parents to a child, so they would take human babies to raise them as their own, leaving changelings in their place.

And despite all your efforts, you still managed to become a captive. Go figure.

Prince Sun, ruler of the waking dreams, bringer of hope, and Prince Moon, protector of sleeping children and vanquisher of nightmares. All of those titles did sound pretty cute, but both of them were still impish fiends that loved to play pranks on adults. Oh, well, your time was running out, so you had to think of something fast. Or at least try to reach the little dagger with Runes that you had all nicely hidden and tucked away in a secret pocket of your trousers. You never knew when you would need to stab something supernatural. Or open an envelope.

You concocted a little plan and hoped for the best.

Trickery was not limited to the Fae and you lowkey felt proud of your cunning ways as you pulled Moon into a deep kiss, much to his initial shock. He began to eagerly reciprocate, the sweet haze of lust conspiring against him, your softness and loveliness engulfing his mind. Desire was a natural solvent to rational thought and you had no problems with using that against him. Sun, on the other hand, was both shocked, and slightly jealous, but he did know that something was off.

His suspicions were only confirmed when, in the span of several seconds, you pulled out a silver dagger with enough Runic carvings to obliterate a whole magical army, casually stabbed Moon's heart as if the very gesture was the most normal thing in the world, used Sun's surprise to wriggle out of his grasp and you ran away down the corridors like a feral kitten. Well, at least you were productive.

As you ran, your phone began to ring, conveniently giving up your location in the process, but oh well. It was Vanny, so of course you had to pick up.

“Y/N, where is that briefing paper that you were supposed to email me literally yesterday?“

“I'm in a bit of a situation, Vanessa.“

“What is it now?“

“Well, apparently I am getting married.“

“Congratulations, I still want that briefing.“

“I will call you back, alright?“

Meanwhile, Prince Moon was having a bit of an existential crisis. He stood there, shocked, dagger protruding from his heart.

Oh, yes, it hurt. It burned, stinged, all of the unpleasant things that one may imagine. However, it was nothing compared to how it could have been. The newly forged bond made him immune to most of your deadly spells and Runes, so at worst he would feel temporary pain and then it would cease.

In a way, his desire and respect for you only increased. A Fae always respected good examples of trickery.

Sun could not stop himself from wheezing, very much entertained with the situation.

“You really walked into that one, Moon.“

“Shut up.“

He would still make you pay for that little insult, nonetheless. The corridors had morphed into the same scenery over and over, the windows were suddenly sealed shut, the nearby doors leading to a dead end or into a void of eternal nothingness. You could no longer trust your senses, for mad whispers kept disrupting reality. Only a few more minutes, you hoped for only a few more minutes till the witching hour ends.

You were honestly an idiot for trusting your own luck.

Moon's voice echoed throughout the corridors, ominous and demonic. A bit spicy, as well.

“You should have saved that fire for the wedding night, wishing star.“

“Goodness gracious.“

It became rather obvious that Vanessa would not be getting that briefing paper anytime soon, nor would our good old William Afton be getting his early morning coffee next week, either. Or any week, for that matter. It was a tragedy beyond description, may he rest in pieces.

You had to stop to catch your breath, panting, perfectly aware of the fact that you were mostly screwed. Well, a part of your mind tried to add some rational remarks and told you that living with the Fae couldn't be that bad and at least you would hopefully be getting some really cute royal garments or something. When in doubt, at least material things never disappointed you.

Ghostly hands rose from the ground, grasping at your ankles, your calves, your thighs. You fell forwards unceremoniously and you would have experienced quite a hit to the ground had the hands not grasped you, shielding you from the hard floor.

“What a perfect way to spend my night, being manhandled seventy percent of the time.“

Wrestling them was useless, but at least there was more dignity in that than just doing nothing and thinking about the meaning of life till your captors arrived.

Prince Sun appeared first, somewhat sympathetic, but also visibly tired from all the shenanigans. He let you have your little moment of heroism, though.

“Take your time, darling one.“

“Oh, sod off.“

Prince Moon arrived soon after, eyes glowing a dangerous shade of crimson, the dagger still embedded in his chest. He pulled the blade out, his gaze following the path of the rivulets of blood, almost enchanted by the pattern they were making as they glided along the expertly made Runic symbols.

“Love the craftsmanship on this one. It would have been a poetic death. Stricken by a wishing star, tearing my heart asunder, red pearls the only gifts I have to offer.“

Sun went over to you, partially teasing, partially serious.

“Someone is a bit violent. Are you alright, darling one? Do you wish to talk about some unresolved issues?“

“You two are literally stealing me away.“

“It's not that bad. We shall be loving and caring consorts to you. After all, our bond is basically an engagement.“

“This is the shoddiest proposal ever. How is this even supposed to work, each of you gets their own day of the week?“

“We'll share equally.“

“Excuse me, I am not a meal.“

“Really? You do seem rather delicious.“

“This isn't fair. Do you have any idea how homesick humans can get in the realm of the Fae?“

“We have many spells designed to bedazzle the mind and encourage you to forget the mortal world. And everyone is nice in their own way once you get to know them.“

“You two had no other member of the Cunning Folk to bother and you just had to stumble upon me?“

The dark spell was lifted and you found yourself free. Well, not for long, since the twins were at your side once more. Sun kissed your hand like a true gentleman, his wings making the faintest flutter of joy.

“We searched for a heart of gold and dreams of hope.“

“And you decided to look in a law firm?“

“Bright light contrasts best against a shadowy background.“

“Can I see the terms and conditions of my service?“

“Oh? Good idea! You can read all of that on our way to the palace! It will be so much fun to explain it to you. Of course, the letters are inverted, so you will need a mirror just to read it.“

He conjured a seemingly reasonable rolled-up piece of paper, before letting it unfold. It reached the ground in a comical fashion and kept on going till the end of the corridor.

“Sun, that list is longer than the border of Ancient Rome.“

“Indeed! I had it shortened to make it easier for you.“

“Dear god.“

“I also must say that I wrote it myself. I do my fair share of corporate business and contracts with humans are my specialty, but I do prefer to engage in theater. I may have given a certain playwright a few tips on writing his special little Midsummer work.“

“Old Will? For real?“

“Wonderful chap to have a pint with at the pub. I am certain he would have had an aneurysm had he lived to see what his reputation had become nowadays. A cheerful knave being the main topic for school and homework? Scandalous. He was a most charming actor and a talented wizard of words. Had many a verbal battle with him, and I never managed to snag his soul. I fully respect him for that.“

“Good to know. Regardless, I still wish to talk to your brother about this whole affair. It is my right, considering the fact that I am not a normal human and I do have certain perks. I am certain that King Eclipse will have more respect for old customs than you two.“

Sun and Moon gave each other a look, before giggling at you, as if charmed by how silly your request was.

“King Eclipse? Darling one, do beware.“

“The knave stole the moonlight fair.“

“Neither fools nor traitors breathe for long in his lair.“

“Be our guest, challenge him, if you dare.“

You raised an eyebrow at their improvised little poetic endeavour, tilting your head, curious.

“Did you two just come up with that?“

“Well, we did think of incorporating a iambic pentameter somewhere in there, but we simply decided to free verse it.“

Needless to say that the whole charade continued even after they had conjured a portal to their world, taking you with them. You were playing a dangerous game, but realistically you had nothing to lose. Well, except your dignity and maybe your life, but nothing lasts forever anyway, so might as well.

Your case was one type of extreme. On the other end of the city, two members of the Fae species were in the process of “adopting“ a few bundles of joy. The bear Fae and the wolf Fae were aware that two children were very unhappy in their orphanage and oftentimes they would hear the little girl, Cassie, vocalize her wish to be taken away by magical creatures. The boy, Gregory, had nothing against any of that, as long as there was proper acommodation involved. He hated the hard old bed he had in the orphanage and the food was positively awful.

Of course, there had to be an equivalent exchange, so the two Fae had to bring some friends along. One of them was not too thrilled.

“Why are we doing this? I don't want to stay in the human world.“

“You only need to stay till the next full Moon, Bonnie, and then you will be free of the obligation. Monty will keep you company.“

“Monty is insane.“

“Don't be rude.“

“He pushed me off the stairs, Roxy.“

“Happens.“

Montgomery was far too busy exploring the wonders of a music player to really care where he was, honestly. A few broken orphanage windows and one angry half-blind nun later, the wolf Fae and the bear Fae had become proud new adoptive parents. Bonnie and Monty would have to serve as changeling replacements for a bit, but that is what happens when you lose fairy chess. You owe favours.

By the time Roxy and Freddy had returned home, Gregory had partially woken up, while Cassie was all snuggled in the soft pillows of her new bed. They boy looked around his new house, nonchalant and trying to read what was happening from the clues given.

“Have I been kidnapped?“

“Some may call it that.“

“By fairies? Like, a changeling type of situation?“

“Yes, but I assure you we are using all of the safety protocols that are necessary.“

“Well, I'll be damned.“

“We do wish to make the best effort and become your new family, Gregory. For you and Cassie.“

“Is that food over there? Cupcakes?“

“Oh, indeed, with buttercream and cherries.“

Gregory observed the treats for a good few moments, thought a bit, weighed all his options and of course made the best possible decision for himself in that type of situation. Fairy food was usually a forbidden thing, but he was already stolen anyway.

“I am a simple lad, I see free food and I cannot complain.“

AO3

[miriamladyvoid]

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Worldbuilding and fanfic writing

As I work on my drafts for my future Lies of P fics, something I would like to achieve in my writing is to get a good handle on the social and cultural context in which the game is set in the city of Krat: Belle époque (1871-1914), not only to make the setting feel more real, but also to show how the context affects, influences and conditions the behaviour of the characters in their world. Since it is a fictional alternate world that obviously collects elements of that time and different places in old Europe (in addition to the fantasy elements and steampunk aesthetics), I always had a little doubt about how much the environment culturally and socially influences the condition of the people. Obviously, the game developers pay a lot of attention to the details and setting of the city in terms of fashion, architecture, technology, music, etc. But I still have more doubts, especially about how the city was socially and culturally before and after the disasters we already know happened.

1.-Is there a single idiom or slang in the language? 2.-Were social labels very strict or were creative liberties taken to make them less rigid in Krat? 3.-How pronounced was the social structure and inequalities? 4.-Are there political tensions? 5.-Is there strong censorship and cultural control? 6.-Were there social movements and struggles, especially with the industrialisation of puppetry? 7.-Are there myths and legends that use elements of European folklore? 8.-How strong or cautious were the scientific and medical ethics? (cough, cough, Geppetto, Simon) 9.-Will there be a future equivalent to the First World War? 10.-Will there be conflicts between the traditional and the future modernity? 11.-How will modernisation progress in Krat when the frenzy is over? (I have the basic idea that the game obviously starts in 1871, but when the city slowly resurfaces, it will progress until the early 1900s).

I don't know, it's these issues that always come up when I'm trying to write and, well, they tend to give me a bit of a headache about how to incorporate them. It would be interesting to know more about them, especially how they affect Pinocchio, given that he is someone who has not been raised or conditioned by these social norms, and how his social maladjustment would cause him to step out of the norm. Not to mention the issue of not knowing whether P ends up being a real human or some weird human/puppet mish-mash. I think it would only add to Pinocchio's existential crises, but now add a social inadequacy and a VERY likely rejection of his person and what he represents (poor guy can't catch a break).

It would be interesting to read this topic in more fanfics (especially in lop x reader scenarios) (and how the reader or an OC helps P with these topics, perhaps creating debates and social criticism) I know many like to write more about action or expand the lore of the game, but I've always been someone who has had a fondness for everyday stories and how they develop and condition individuals. Especially with the character of Pinocchio, the way he builds his individuality and humanity, and the existentialism of his condition, already influenced by his environment.

˚₊‧ Just P Learning about the complexity and beauty of the turbulent human condition and its social implications. ‧₊˚

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[swaps55]

Mezzo - 08 - Never the Dark

Pairing: mshenko | Rating: M Tags: Canon-typical violence, trauma, dealing with your problems poorly, body autonomy struggles   Summary: The twists and turns of ME2, through the eyes of everyone but Commander Shepard. Chapter Summary: Mashed potato trauma + thermal clip disagreements + Korlus = boom. AKA, just shake Garrus really hard until all of his trauma falls out.  

Chapter 8: Never the Dark | Read on Ao3

24 November, 2185, Eagle Nebula, Imir System, SSV Normandy

Erash. Monteague. Mierin. Grundan Krul. Melenis. Ripper. Sensat. Vortash. Butler. Weaver.

Ten names Garrus kept on rotation in his head with his eye pressed to the scope on Omega. They stayed on repeat throughout his incarceration in the medbay. Even now, with Omega behind them and Dr. Chakwas’ blessing to move about the rest of the ship, those ten names are so loud he doesn’t even hear the human mess sergeant ask him a question as Garrus takes a dinner tray from him.

“I’m sorry. Repeat that?”

The human grins. It’s so much like Weaver’s. Garrus focuses on a grease stain on the counter.

“Just have to tell me how you like it. Never fixed turian grub before.”

The thought of looking at Weaver’s smile for one second longer than he has to overrides Garrus’ urge to ask what a grub is. So he just nods, wincing as his good mandible flicks in acknowledgement, and takes his tray into the sea of unfamiliar faces dining in the mess.

Unfamiliar except for one. Joker waves him over, from the same seat he used to sit in on the real Normandy. The one that went down while Garrus was safe and sound on the Citadel, catching up on paperwork.

Several heads swivel and stare as Garrus makes his way to the table where Joker sits alone, pushing a white congealed mass around his plate with a fork. He lifts a glob up and scrutinizes it carefully while Garrus tries to cram his legs under a table designed for humans, not turians. One thing about the Normandy he didn’t miss. The makeshift ‘civilian’ clothes Dr. Chakwas had somehow managed to procure for him don’t exactly fit, either, which only makes him more conspicuous in a sea of humans. Unfortunate that while being dragged half-dead out of that warehouse he hadn’t thought to grab an extra tunic. 

“You know we never had these on the first Normandy?” Joker muses.

“Had what?”

“Mashed potatoes.”

A clump slips off the fork and splats on the plate.

“They look…vile.”

Joker sticks the fork in his mouth and chews thoughtfully, then makes a face. “Only Gardner could make potatoes taste vile.” He eyes Garrus. “So. How’ve you been.”

Garrus rubs a talon over the tasteful bandage Dr. Chakwas had applied to his face to cover the reconstructed mandible. “Quit my job. Formed a squad. Took on three Omega merc bands at once and got everyone killed. Had half my face blown off.”

Joker’s eyebrow vanishes under the brim of his cap. “You know, last time I saw you, you knew how to dodge.”

“Rusty.”

Joker snorts. “Got a cool nickname, at least.”

“Well, you know. Make glass out of sand and all.”

“Glass out of sand. Why do all turian idioms have to do with sand?”

“All the ones about dying have to do with water.”

Read from the beginning | Read the rest on Ao3 | The Mezzo Playlist

[lansplaining]

I can try and explain why Su She's "character-revealing betrayal" actions are worse in CQL than MDZS when you consider it in terms of impact and cultural subtext. In terms of impact, in MDZS he tries to hand over Mianmian in the Xuanwu cave; it endangers one person and even then that is foiled so no real harm is done. In CQL, he endangers far more people with this betrayal; everyone in the cave becomes at risk or actually hurt, and it invalidates the sacrifices of his sect brothers who has chosen to stay silent (I'll come back to this in a bit). 

In both scenes, the moment establishes Su She as 贪生怕死 (literally: greedy for life, afraid of death). "Afraid of death" may sound reasonable, but it is very much a derogatory idiom. There is a saying by Han Dynasty historian Sima Qian from 2000 years ago, "人固有一死, 或重于泰山， 或轻于鸿毛". (Roughly: All humans will face death, some (deaths) may matter more than the weight of Mount Tai, some mean less than a feather.) The quote is made extra-famous after after being alluded to by Chairman Mao to praise the service and sacrifice of a war hero. A meaningful sacrificial death is a fairly global concept, but it is extremely amped up in modern Chinese culture, with roots in tradition and bolstered by government propaganda that praise heroic sacrifices, especially those made for the revolution, the CPC, the modern Chinese state, etc -- this is the banner the censors are working under.

Going back to Su She in the Cloud Recess scene in CQL: he doesn't have a headband and isn't protected like the other core disciples, which can be an argument for possibly not owing the Lans such loyalty. But comparison with the other "peripheral disciples" who has chosen defiance and sacrifice suggests the Lans deserves or has earned this level of loyalty from their disciples. Su She not only betrayed his sect, but also ruined the legacies of the true heroes. Next to the bodies of his sect brothers who has chosen deaths that can mean more than mountains, his cowardly betrayal makes feathers out of all their sacrifices. 

Su She struggling to decide and trying to lie initially is probably meant to show that his fear of death is very human, which also explains the Lans sparing his life after this betrayal. However, failing to overcome the fear of death when most of his sect brothers did means he is not cut out to be a hero (the "xia" in "xianxia", or a "junzi" like "hanguang-jun"). This is the same kind of logic that deems what JGY does for self-preservation is considered morally-deficient rather than morally-neural (or acceptable) -- like this really is the wrong genre and walk of life if staying alive means a lot to you.

I think this is a "path of least resistance" to understanding the censor-friendly story the writers want to tell, accounting for cultural and genre conventions.  I'm not saying the logic is perfect, but it is coherent in its mid-budget-xianxia-web-drama kind of way. 

This is very interesting, thank you!

[deadboyswalking]

5 Quick Tips For Writing Child Characters

1. Really, really pay attention to the age of the child you're writing. I've read a lot of fics where a 7 or 8 year old is written like a 3 year old. By age 4-5, children can speak their native language fluently and are pretty easy for others to understand. They may struggle with higher-level unfamiliar words, idioms/metaphors, and complex questions (especially if they're hypothetical), but they will not baby-talk unless they have a language disability. Most children can bathe and dress themselves alone by age 5-6 (though they may need some supervision/instruction for hygenic reasons before age 8 or so). Research and use references for normal human growth so you understand how big an average kid of a certain age would be.

2. Children's lives are context-based and their perception of what is normal/expected is learned from their home environment. It is perfectly normal for a child of any age to feel scared or unsure in an unfamiliar environment, and they'll look to trusted adults for reassurance. If there are no trusted adults around, many kids will have a strong emotional reaction at the sudden reminder that they are a small person alone in a very big and strange world. Unless they grew up being encouraged to participate in adult conversation, many children are very shy about speaking to adults, especially ones that they don't know very well. Like other people, children have opinions, questions, and thoughts. Their culture and home life will determine how comfortable they feel expressing those things. Unfortunately, this is also why many abused children think that what they're experiencing is normal and acceptable. A young boy might know that he's scared of his father, but until he is told otherwise, he'll probably assume everyone's father is scary and that's just how life is.

3. Children usually have a lot of curiosity about the adult world, but their perception of it and imitation of adult behavior/speech is often hilarious. Again, it's that lack of context. If you don't believe me, listen to a 5 year old have a pretend phone conversation. It's clear that they're mimicking their caregivers with the phone phrases they use, but they have no idea what those phrases actually mean. I have Movie Quote Parents, so I know that I was saying all types of things as a kid without even realizing I was referencing something.

4. With that being said, don't fall into the "From The Mouths Of Babes/Children Say The Darndest Things" trap. Children are not inherently truthful (though they're not exactly good liars) and as stated, often totally misunderstand things because of their lack of context. The Precocious Honest Wisdom Of An Innocent Little Angel is, in my opinion, very annoying, overly sentimental, and inaccurate. This is my "please stop having cutesy child characters tell two oblivious adults they're in love with each other" plea to the universe.

5. Speaking of "childhood innocence" as a concept, I don't think it exists. "Childhood innocence" is truthfully "childhood ignorance." For most people, it slowly wears away as you grow up and learn more about the world. Children also have a capacity for cruelty, just like adults, and their mimicry of adult behaviors/opinions/speech (without critical thinking skills) can be just as hurtful to other kids. There's a much darker side to losing childhood ignorance as well. Even leaving out how much kids lie and how deliberately mean they can be, many children go through or are exposed to horrific things at a young age. A child who has had to grow up fast due to trauma or lifestyle or simple necessity won't exactly have that rosy, idealized picture of childhood innocence.

This was a long post! 😅 I hope you find it helpful.

[kyiratodoroki]

An MHA AU where things go (a lot) more in the villains' favor, even if things start out a little rough for the 19-year-old Blue Flame. 😏 Dabi is living on the streets and struggling through the day-to-day need to survive, but things may soon take a turn that no one in Japan saw coming.

A title is in the works...

Edit: A title has been chosen...

🌒🌟🌘Transilience🌒🌟🌘

an abrupt change or variation

CW: Language - lots of bad language 😂 - violence in the future - things will probably get dark - I rarely write anything that isn't dark in some way

🌒🌟🌘

"This fucking sucks."

That's what Dabi thought as he hoisted himself over the windowsill and dropped to the ground. He swore under his breath as the full moon slipped from behind the clouds and flooded the alley with light as if determined to expose him. He hastened his pace, slipping into the shadow of the building next door as a siren erupted in the distance.

This had been his life for the last two - no, maybe it was three - years. He lost track somewhere between then and now. His primary focus revolved around survival. Food. Shelter. He spent most of his days figuring out how to keep himself alive and out of trouble. It was all in the hope that one day he'd be able to crumble the foundation of society and shatter the illusion of perfection the masses had been brainwashed into believing about the heroes they idolized.

Propaganda spewed by the Hero Public Safety Commission put the heroes on a pedestal, made it seem like the title came with a guarantee of virtue and honor, like somehow those who wore it were incapable of being assholes with the same flaws every other human being possessed. Lying. Cheating. Narcissism. Betrayal. Being a hero didn't make someone a good person, but being a hero did make most people look the other way when the "hero" did something *unheroic*.

That needed to change. One way or another, he was going to make sure it did, but it was a goal he couldn't fulfill from the inside of a prison cell.

Dabi dodged in and out of alleyways, cut through three empty lots, and scaled a chainlink fence. The sirens eventually died down, taking the edge off his nerves. When he felt confident no one was following, he doubled back and headed for the condemned piece-of-shit he'd been calling home since the beginning of summer. It sat on the outskirts of one of the worst neighborhoods in the city, which lowered the risk of being discovered by a random hero. They never came around the area unless it was unavoidable.

Thirty minutes later, he got "home" - for lack of a better word. The back door hung askew. It had a broken hinge and a large crack in the wood that had already extended a few inches since he'd found the place. Every window was boarded up except for the narrow one over the kitchen sink and one in the upstairs bathroom, which didn't close the whole way and had no screen. There was at least one hole in most of the floors, and the staircase had a busted step he had to remember to avoid. At least the roof kept everything dry when it rained. For now.

He pried the door open and stepped into the kitchen, scanning the tiny space for any sign of intruders. It was dark, save for the muted light filtering through the grime-caked window, so he probably wouldn't see shit unless someone was standing right in front of him. He sighed and tossed his bag on the counter before lighting a nearby candle with a fingertip. It didn't increase his visibility much, but it wouldn't draw attention either.

The wear and tear of life on the streets gnawed at the edges of his resolve. He'd never abandon his dream, but damn, the day-to-day left him feeling frayed. The phrase "ready to fall apart at the seams" came to mind, but in his case, the idiom was far too literal for comfort.

Dabi pushed down his exhaustion and frustration and tried to focus on the weeks to come. Winter was on the horizon, and his current residence left a lot to be desired even in the best weather. The cold wasn't an issue, but he didn't know exactly how sturdy the roof was. For all he knew, it might cave in under the first heavy snow.

"Late night?"

He didn't bother to turn towards the voice, pulling out three bowls and a few bottles of water. "The fuck do you want?"

"No need to get hostile. Do I need a reason to visit my buddy?"

Dabi barked out a laugh as he grabbed a plastic fork from the nearby box of silverware. "Buddy? That's a good one."

"Dabi -"

"Fuck you, bird. I'm nothing but your self-appointed charity project." He popped the lid off one of the bowls and threw it into a nearby garbage can - not like there was water to wash it - then stabbed the fork into something resembling rice and beef. Hopefully, the dark spots were seasoning and not mold this time. People needed to clean out their damn refrigerators more often. "Besides, I don't think all your little hero friends would approve of you hanging out here."

Dabi shoved a forkful of the leftovers into his mouth and scowled as he chewed. It wasn't moldy, but it tasted like shit. The rice was undercooked, and he suspected those dark spots were bits of burnt... something. It was impossible to tell. He swallowed anyhow and took another bite. He hadn't eaten since the previous day.

The silence went on for so long that Dabi finally turned around, half expecting to find himself alone, but Hawks was still standing in the kitchen doorway. Shadows obscured most of his face, making his expression hard to read, but Dabi swore he looked hurt. The light shifted, and then the hero was grinning.

*Gotta be my imagination.*

"Hey, I'm not the type to worry about what other people think." Hawks shrugged. His feathers rustled. He moved further into the room and gestured towards the table. "I brought some stuff."

Dabi choked down another mouthful of food and glanced at the table sitting next to a refrigerator with a missing freezer door. When he left, the surface was cluttered with bottles and cans and an overflowing ashtray. All of it had been cleared away and replaced with a case of water; a few cloth bags, which he assumed contained food; and a pillow and blanket.

He glared at the items, his grip on the bowl tightening. The hero had a lot of nerve showing up out of nowhere with his damn pity gifts. He was probably proud of himself for helping out the "less fortunate" or some shit; as if this one small act somehow made the world a better place.

It didn't change anything.

His eyes narrowed when he noticed a box tucked in between two of the bags. Even in the dim light, the bright white logo on its side was visible. Hinode Donuts The high-end pastry shop was located on the far side of Musutafu, and he'd only been there once It pissed him off even though his mouth watered at the sight.

During the previous winter, he'd taken up residence in a nice little house in Minami Ward to escape the bite of a particularly nasty cold snap that had settled over the city. The owners were on vacation, so he helped himself to a warm bed and a pantry filled with instant ramen amd chips.

One of the neighbors must have noticed his presence because the winged rookie showed up in the middle of the night about three days after he got there. Maybe Dabi should have been grateful it was the bird that answered the call. Hawks somehow figured out the nature of the situation and stayed cool even though Dabi attempted to instigate a fight. The hero offered to help him find a job and a place to stay. He wasn't stupid enough to fall for the bullshit kindness routine, but he did grudgingly allow Hawks to buy him a large coffee and half a dozen doughnuts before blowing off his warning to stay out of trouble in the future.

For the remainder of the season, Dabi stayed at a questionable hotel, earning his room and a few spare bucks by running errands he knew would make the bird regret letting him go. It's not like he had a choice, and he was used to the dirty work by that point. Morals didn't equal survival in the streets, and if he was anything, Dabi was a survivor.

"Why the hell do you keep showing up here?"

"I just can't resist the hospitality."

Dabi rolled his eyes as he tossed the bowl in the garbage, unable to stomach any more of the mystery leftovers. The bird was an idiot, putting them both at risk. Dabi meant it when he said the hero's friends wouldn't approve. If one of them caught on and followed him, Dabi knew he'd be royally fucked. A few of the jobs he'd done recently had gotten more attention than he liked. Hawks had to be aware of the situation, but here he was with that stupid cover-boy smile and his damn doughnuts.

"Look, Dabi, I know you think I'm -"

A loud bang from upstairs stopped him short. His eyes widened, and Dabi growled, his left hand bursting into flames. The flickering blue light sent an array of shadows twisting up the walls and across the ceiling as the crackle of fire filled the sudden silence.

This turn of events wasn't a complete surprise. Heroes weren't trustworthy. Some part of him - very deep inside - had begun to think maybe Hawks was different from the rest. He'd almost been willing to consider the possibility this hero had a genuine intention to help rather than try to trap him or fuel his own ego. Dabi ignored the pang of disappointment and focused on the sense of relief that came with the fact that he never let his guard drop completely.

"Should've cooked you when I first had the chance."

Hawks threw his hands up in surrender, shaking his head. "Whoa, wait! I don't have a clue what that was. I swear, I came alone."

"Not buying it, hero."

A crash erupted from the livingroom, followed by a series of thuds accented with curses that echoed through the house. The second intruder wasn't doing anything to hide their presence, and Dabi questioned whether the bird might be telling the truth after all. If he wasn't, his choice for backup sucked.

"After you." Dabi grinned, gesturing towards the doorway with the flames still dancing on his fingertips, eager for action. There's no way he was getting caught between the two.

Hawks hesitated before passing through the archway. Dabi followed, every muscle tensed in anticipation. The livingroom was darker than the kitchen. All the windows were covered in boards and newspaper, which allowed him to move around well enough during the day but made getting around damn near impossible once the sun set. He'd memorized the landscape of the space. Broken furniture littered the floor, and there was a two-foot hole near the massive bookcase that blocked the front door. He spent most of his time in the master bedroom on the second floor where he kept a small lamp and a futon and could move around a little more freely.

"Heeey, Dabi, did you know there's a step missing... Wait! What are you doing here?"

Dabi groaned when he recognized the voice and stepped around Hawks to confirm his suspicion. Sure enough, a black-clad figure at the bottom of the staircase was climbing to his feet as he rubbed his head. A mask hid his face, but his confusion was apparent as he stared at the winged hero.

"How the hell do you people keep finding me? You'd think I was advertising my fucking location on the internet!"

Dabi turned on a heel and extinguished his flame as he went back to the kitchen, leaving the other two in darkness.

[gatheringbones]

[“America taught Hitler that need blurred into desire, and that desire arose from comparison. Germans were not only animals seeking nourishment to survive, and not only a society yearning for security in an unpredictable British global economy. Families observed other families: around the corner, but also, thanks to modern media, around the world. Ideas of how life should be lived escaped measures such as survival, security, and even comfort as standards of living became comparative, and as comparisons became international. “Through modern technology and the communication it enables,” wrote Hitler, “international relations between peoples have become so effortless and intimate that Europeans—often without realizing it—take the circumstances of American life as the benchmark for their own lives.”

Globalization led Hitler to the American dream. Behind every imaginary German racial warrior stood an imaginary German woman who wanted ever more. In American idiom, this notion that the standard of living was relative, based upon the perceived success of others, was called “keeping up with the Joneses.”

In his more strident moments, Hitler urged Germans to be more like ants and finches, thinking only of survival and reproduction. Yet his own scarcely hidden fear was a very human one, perhaps even a very male one: the German housewife. It was she who raised the bar of the natural struggle ever higher.

Before the First World War, when Hitler was a young man, German colonial rhetoric had played on the double meaning of the word Wirtschaft: both a household and an economy. German women had been instructed to equate comfort and empire. And since comfort was always relative, the political justification for colonies was inexhaustible. If the German housewife’s point of reference was Mrs. Jones rather than Frau Jonas, then Germans needed an empire comparable to the American one. German men would have to struggle and die at some distant frontier, redeeming their race and the planet, while women supported their men, embodying the merciless logic of endless desire for ever more prosperous homes.

The inevitable presence of America in German minds was the final reason why, for Hitler, science could not solve the problem of sustenance. Even if inventions did improve agricultural productivity, Germany could not keep pace with America on the strength of this alone. Technology could be taken for granted on both sides; the quantity of arable land was the variable. Germany therefore needed as much land as the Americans and as much technology. Hitler proclaimed that permanent struggle for land was nature’s wish, but he also understood that a human desire for increasing relative comfort could also generate perpetual motion.”]

timothy snyder, from black earth: the holocaust as history and warning

[sronti]

"From populist politicians to holistic wellness influencers, anyone interested in power is able to weaponise thought-terminating cliches to dismiss followers’ dissent or rationalise flawed arguments. In his book Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism, Lifton wrote that these semantic stop signs compress “the most far-reaching and complex of human problems … into brief, highly selective, definitive-sounding phrases, easily memorized and easily expressed. They become the start and finish of any ideological analysis.”

Such zingy stock phrases are enjoying something of a golden age in the digital era, propagated by way of aesthetically pleasing quotegrams and viral social media posts. During Covid lockdowns, dogmatic maxims such as “Reality is subjective”, “Don’t let yourself be ruled by fear” and “Truth is a construct” exploded among online conspiracy theorists.

Thought-terminating cliches exist, of course, in every language. In China, some government officials are known to exploit the phrase “Mei banfa”, meaning “No solution”, or “There’s nothing to be done” to justify inaction. The saying “Shouganai”, a linguistic shrug of resignation similar to “It is what it is”, is similarly weaponised in Japan. The Polish idiom “Co wolno wojewodzie, to nie tobie, smrodzie” roughly means “People in positions of power can get away with anything” (hence, don’t bother putting up a fight). According to Walter Scheirer, author of A History of Fake Things on the Internet, thought-terminating cliches commonly carry a defeatist flavour. It’s hard work, involving psychological friction, to figure out the best way to think about complex subjects such as climate policy or geopolitics. Any licence to give up the struggle is going to be appealing."

Példáim magyarul:

-ez egy következmények nélküli ország (mennyivel jobb ez a lengyelnél)

-a pénz beszél, a kutya ugat

-és, drágább lesz ettől a kenyér?

-ha balról is és jobbról is támadják, valamit csak jól csinál

Biztos van még egy csomó ilyen, össze kéne hozni egy gyűjtést.

[atzfilm]

hey bee!! i finished reading project omen yesterday night and have come two years late to the party to pick your brains for lore and give you a somewhat hysterical review because my gOSH it was incredible (i also read the kraken and ch_i san and your writing is so chefs kiss UGH)

firstly i'm literally in awe that you produced over 40k of AWESOMENESS the whole thing was so good shdfuhhaidu like the feels and the details and yunho and gi being matching koi and yeosang highkey seducing people and HWA best believe i was crying at that bit

every single bit of the worldbuilding and the characters u gave the atz members you ate sO HARD

you actually ripped my heart in two because. the best friends to lovers and then joong's angsty confession of how he's afraid and him falling to his knees in front of reader?? reader seeing the same anguish in his eyes when he saw hwa again?? I WEPT

also wooyoung's wings are literally amazing. him cradling her with them almost unconsciously when they come out and them coming out when he came I WAS SCREECHING OMG

and the thing about how joong doesn't understand human idioms, he's literally so cute, like the bit where reader is like 'only god knows' and he's like 'yes i do know, anyways - '

ERM AND JOONG'S DOUBLE DICK I UH UM (it was perfect. the way he's like a reptile so he has a reptile dick. perfect. delicious. also his biting reflex when he comes. even more perfect. plus him being cold blooded too.)

ok so time for me to pursue the lore: i'm assuming gonggi is jongho because he's mentioned to be the youngest, so what is he god over - i know gonggi is that game with the rock things, is it something related to that?

does san exist in this universe?

also, i know they have their human forms but joong is mentioned to have green hair and woo to have orange, can they change the appearance of their human form's hair to be natural colours or is it just like that?

FINALLY, THE CLIFFHANGER AT THE END??? bro i'm going to cry thank you so much for blessing tumblr with your writing brb i'm going to think about this for the next 9-10 working years

hiii!! no worries about coming two years late, it took me a few weeks to answer your ask so we’re even asdbfjasdnf. first!! thank you sosososo much for enjoying project omen and my other stories! it makes me happy that it’s still being read even after all of this time <3.

AHHH the part with hwa, i think i actually teared up a bit writing that part ;; i get emotional thinking about it AND THANK YOU!! it’s crazy because i did not expect to write So Much of it.. let alone 40k i’m not sure i’ll ever be able to do that again omg

THANK YOUUUU

best friends to lovers is one of my favorite tropes ;; i love it soso much and i’m a sucker for the angst and the struggling feelings UGHHH i love it so BAD

PLEASE!!! that’s one of my favorite things about his character, i love him being very clueless when it comes to idioms that the reader mentions </3

little to say about this point SADJNKFASNDF if you read any of my other fics it’s definitely a trademark !!

gonggi is jongho!! his “power” or ruling is air!

honestly and i know people may hate me,, san does exist but i truly forgot to mention him in the fic … I KNOW. i reread it later on and i was like no way did i forget to add san in here… DKFMS

they can change their appearance! i don’t quite remember and it’s been a while since i read it myself, but i’m pretty sure it only changes when they go back to their true form? since wooyoung hasn’t changed in a while, his hair is brown in the beginning but slowly goes back to orange once he lets his “true” form out.

THANK YOUU!! i’m so happy you enjoyed it as much as you did :<

[kotonoba]

ISYT (Jushiro/Fem!Reader) Ch. 41

My bad for not posting last week; a lot has happened.

--------------------------------------------------------

Numbness swallowed you as you rested; a familiar aroma washed over you when you were lying comfortably on the futon; it set you to ease from the sight you witnessed as you struggled to live. The fear subsided as you heard voices sound beside you; a gentle grasp on your numbed hand gave you a sense of ease to rest as much as needed. 

After some time, you weren’t sure how much time had passed, but as you peeked, one eye opened, met by a sharp glare from the harsh sunlight that caused you to shut your eyes quickly. It took a bit of adjusting before your eyes were focused on your worried husband, who was nodding off, but his grip was still very tight on your hands. You muffled an airy chuckle that woke him up. He never struck you as a light sleeper, but perhaps the worry made him one. 

“Y-you’re awake. How are you feeling, love?” Jushiro stuttered, blinking away his tiredness before squeezing your hand, “You slept for two days straight; I was worried you wouldn’t wake up.” 

There’s a hint of playfulness in his voice but mostly worry. You smiled and nodded, "could have slept better without this sharp pain," you winced as you slowly sat up, and your Prince Charming immediately came to assist. "What happened?" You questioned. 

As Jushiro unraveled everything, you weren't as surprised as he thought you would have been with the betrayal and everything, "you don't seem surprised. Why is that?"

"I've been wary of Aizen for a while. He's a very suspicious individual for me. Not to mention…" you trailed off, thinking your husband caught on. But he didn't, and he was waiting for you to continue. You laughed a little. Your coping mechanism was to make jokes out of your pain anyway, "I was placed on my deathbed by him not long ago." 

But it didn't get as good as you had thought because Jushiro's eyes showed regret over anything else.

"Hey-" you reached out to cup his cheeks so he'd focus on you rather than his regrets, "it wasn't your fault. I flew too close to the sun and got burned in the process. I should have known when to back away." You smiled, doing your best to comfort him. 

"Are you referring to Aizen as the sun?" Jushiro’s eyes narrowed as he pulled you onto his lap for a tighter and warmer embrace. 

"No, I-"

You were cut off by a foreign voice, "no, she's referring to Icarus' story; I didn't take for a soul to know such an old story taught in history classes," Jushiro turned, facing the voice with you bundled up in blankets. 

Before you could respond, your lover beat you to it, "ah, Kurosaki-kun, thank you for the clarification. But what's the story about?" Sometimes, you forget that your husband enjoys stories as much as you did when you studied in the human world. 

"If she knew the idiom, I'm sure she can explain," it seems that this orange-haired boy was trying to escape the work of explaining. "And… she is?" 

<i>He came here without knowing? Strange kid.</i>

"Oh, yes, I forgot to introduce, she-" Jushiro's curiosity faded only to be replaced by affection as he met your eyes, "-is the love of my life. She's my wife; we've been married for a few hundred years." 

There was a long silence, a look on his face that you didn't like. Everyone was judging Jushiro because he was so sickly. No one expected him to get married. They don't say it, but you can see it in your monotonous world. Maybe Jushiro saw the furrow of your brow. You glanced at your lover, and he gave you a sad smile and shook his head. For now, you'll let it go next time you see him. You weren't going to let him go so quickly. 

Probably just to one-up the orange-haired Shinigami, you moved against Jushiro’s wishes to hold yourself against his body to turn towards him and straddle him a bit—a light wince as a sharp pain pierced into your healing wound. Worry flooded Jushiro’s calm reiatsu, but you ignored it, pulling him into a quick kiss on the lips before settling back into his embrace. 

Maybe that one-upped him just fine because he froze for a second before shaking his head to go back to why he came looking for your husband the first time. 

“Ah, yes, I was wondering, have you seen Rukia, Ukitake-san?” 

You eyed your husband, who zoned out briefly before playing it cool, “no, have you checked with her brother?”  

“You’re right, thanks!” And he rushes off like nothing happened.

“Interesting kid, yeah?” You felt your lover kiss you on your head a little. You wondered for a second, if Kaien was alive, and he was so close to the two of you like so, would he act like that too? 

“Yeah, I thought so too when I took a glimpse at him,” you hummed a little. 

“But that’s all in the past; I’m glad you’re safe.”

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I'll definitely post again tomorrow since it's Halloween. And I've written that chapter for a solid two weeks anyway. I've also been writing a modern AU for Jushiro/Fem!Reader, so I've been slightly hyperfixated on that WIP too.

Cloudy's AO3

[letsrearise]

Season 1 retrospective part III:Keito's missed potential.

Keito is the ReArise character I find most underwhelming to talk about with regards his season-one material. While the first season is overall formulaic and goofy— not something that's exactly tightly written nor super serious for the most part, it does offer plenty of highlights for the other Tamers. It's not like there wasn't material that could be compelling for him, but his writing is definitely the one that suffered the most in season one. So I mostly set to talk about what ideas I'd have liked to see developed for him and what exactly doesn't click for me about what we do get.

Inconsistent start

His introduction in act 5 is likely the most fun one out of the introductory acts. The comedic effect to Elecmon chasing him through the mall brings to mind Adventure's Jou, but he's quickly set apart by his level-headed curiosity putting him in hot water with the Spiral of the act. There is a funny contrast here: he's both wary and a worrywart, but also a serenely curious guy. He's like a mix of Koushiro's desk-man role, Jiangliang's serenity and Jou's anxiety packaged into an unassuming, mellow young man.

During the first library incident, he refuses to participate in Michi's antics—and the Tamers' activities by extension— because he's busy with his college papers. The idea of a Tamer whose human-world responsibilities and priorities clash with his new-found role as a Tamer is a compelling one. Elecmon's frustration over Keito's decision to stay behind and their boredom over the lull that is waiting for Keito to be done are good setup for the friction in their relationship and Keito's struggle to accept his role as Tamer. Except that's not where we end up going, for worse.

Despite the fact he's put off by the idea of willingly putting oneself in harms way when Michi wants to test out training to evolve Plotmon, and passing on investigating the ghost rumors in favor of keeping his little sister out of the nonsense (hello, human-world responsibilities and protective-older-brother trope), it's not necessarily a conflict that gets the spotlight for his adult evolution act. His curiosity and want to research Spirals and Digimon never clash with his reservation over the dangers they represent, despite the later showing up in his perfect evolution act and the Eiji sidestory of season 2. In fact, he helps out to save Truffle in act 10 just fine. Similarly, by the start of act 11,he already has the resolve to bite the bullet and fight Spirals in order to prevent other people from getting caught up in the middle like he did in act 5, his prior complete reluctance to get involved notwithstanding.

Instead of getting to see how he gets to that point, we get… a rather childish fight between him and Elecmon in act 11. Mind you, an immature outburst of emotion can be an appealing way to drive the conflict brewing to the forefront; if Elecmon's tantrum served to illustrate their growing frustration and disillusionment in the Tamer they were initially so excited to finally meet in person, that would be one thing. ReArise's setting about Tamers first meeting their partners through their phones until the digimon eventually realize into the human world is an unique and relatively underutilized aspect. The concept of the process of becoming partners being a lot more mundane and taking a lot of adjustment is unseen and appealing. However, the fight we get doesn't underline any of that. Elecmon misunderstands an idiom and zaps Keito, while also acting like a toddler because he's jealous of Keito talking well of Herismon. It comes across as jarring to suddenly have Elecmon act so childishly. Sure, they have been like a little kid stuck in the mall with their parent more than once, but you'd think their differences would lie in the clash of their personalities and priorities.

It's worth mentioning that this isn't the only time ReArise employs a childish fight in an adult-evo act, with the resident comedy duo that are Michi and Plotmon also having a quite goofy, bratty fight in theirs. However, they work out a lot better because it serves to showcase they're close enough to be utterly immature with each other, taking teasing too far and knowing all about each other's embarrassing points and weaknesses. They're two peas in a pod, and they serve as an ideal of partnership Herismon desires for themself. Watching Keito and Elecmon bridge their differences isn't nearly as satisfying because their fight doesn't address their clashing personalities nor the actual causes that could be causing dissatisfaction between them. Keito's act of bravery with him finally putting himself in the spot and shielding Elecmon from danger rings hollow when he was already at a point where he's fine with helping deal with the Spirals. Still, Leomon's debut playing out like a reference to Oz' cowardly lion is good in theory, especially when Leomon is all about being a noble, brave hero.

Foregone conclusion

Generally speaking, the perfect evolution acts (plus Takumi's ultimate material) serve to give a bit more depth to the Tamers characterizations and themes. It's vital set up for their season-two writing, so I found myself really digging that stretch on rewatch. Not so much Keito's though, as he once again gets rather underwhelming material. We've been here and done that countless times before in this franchise: the overprotective older brother needs to learn to trust the little sibling (more often than not, little sister). ReArise doesn't break the formula, but rather punches it up to goofy levels. It's more of a parody of the trope than a serious exploration of the Tamada siblings' dynamic. Nozomi is comically unaware of the danger she is in, but it's clear from the beginning there's no dramatic tension to derive here because her playmate and new bestie is Pumpmon, who's more than enough to protect her. Rather, the one causing trouble is Keito. His berating causes her to throw a tantrum, and we engage in a silly Coyote and roadrunner chase with the two of them, until Keito decides to chill and trust his sister. The conclusion is foregone from the setup itself, but that doesn't mean we couldn't have had some interest here. Keito being so much older, at least a decade, than Nozomi driving their rift could lend some novelty to this well-worn trope. Having to get out of his head and extend respect and trust to those he can't possibly understand could tie in well with him overcoming his own wariness of digimon and blossoming into the enthusiastic bridge between worlds he wants to become in season two. Ultimately, it's more missed potential.

It's a shame season one didn't outline his arc better, given his Tamer responsibilities end up being about helping those around you and getting to have a hand in building the kind of world you wanna live in, even when it clashes with other priorities. It's such a perfect theme for a character that has just become a "young adult", though, admittedly, that's the sort of coming-of-age arc that fits season two's sensibilities and deftness much better.

[thefilmsnob]

Marcel the Shell with Shoes On: **** out of 5

There’s a scene in Marcel the Shell with Shoes On in which Marcel, an anthropomorphic shell voiced by Jenny Slate with a childlike rasp, speaks with a human while his grandmother, Connie (Isabella Rossellini), observes in the background (just go with it). As the conversation continues, we see a laptop off to the side, not the focus but still visible. On its screen, the letter ‘Z’ gradually populates several pages of a word processor. That’s because Connie—bless her heart—is standing on the computer’s ‘Z’ key. It’s this kind of unnecessary but entirely welcome detail that underscores the film’s abundant charm and creativity.

The movie’s framework lends itself to this kind of ingenuity. In his feature debut, writer-director Dean Fleischer Camp has made a film that’s mostly live-action but features several stop-motion animated creations, namely the aforementioned Marcel, an inch-tall talking seashell with a googly eye in his hollow and a pair of snazzy orange and white sneakers. Camp and co-writers Slate and Nick Paley, the former of whom helped Camp write the animated shorts upon which this feature is based, set the film mostly in an Airbnb where they take full advantage of this space and the ways in which tiny non-humans would interact it. Tennis balls are used as conveyances. Wine corks and their wire cages are used as tiny chairs. Bread is used as a mattress…a breadroom if you will. It’s pure whimsy.

A documentarian named Dean, played by Camp, discovers Marcel and company after moving into the house following a divorce. Naturally, he’s fascinated with the little guy; aside from his physiology, Marcel is an intelligent, nurturing and resourceful individual. Assuming he’s as young as he seems, one might call him precocious. He’s also a bit of a paradox, seemingly timid yet prone to disarming bluntness. He’s naïve and lacks knowledge of the outside world, yet he employs idioms and pop culture references. It makes little sense, but it’s undeniably amusing.

It also explains why Dean starts documenting his new friend’s every-day life, one consisting of mostly gathering resources around the house to improve the lives of him and his grandma who’s so warm and wise but struggling with worsening dementia. Much of what Dean captures involves the garden she tends to and the insects she’s befriended. It’s all so quaint yet with a level of realism that makes it hard to accept these characters aren’t human. That realism also informs the conversations between Dean and Marcel that are drolly nonchalant, as if we were watching college friends work on a screenplay, an effect reminiscent of Cinéma Vérité.

In a case of art imitating life, the footage that Dean uploads to YouTube becomes incredibly popular, a real phenomenon that led to this feature-length adaptation, which in turn led to the footage being uploaded—well you get the idea. It’s very meta. Sadly, our little shell doesn’t quite know how to navigate his abrupt surge in popularity and, to complicate matters, his family isn’t around to share the experience. We learn about an entire community of shells who once lived in the house which included family members, but after the previous owners had a falling-out, one of them accidentally packed up the shells while moving. So, instead of letting fame consume him, he utilizes it to spread word of his missing loved ones.

The word spreads, but Marcel’s fans care more about getting pictures in front of the new star’s home than actually helping him; the increased attention is not only unconducive to Marcel’s plight, but it proves detrimental to Connie’s health. The movie still maintains a light tone, but there’s no question it has more to say about issues beyond talking shells, particularly the value of social media and celebrity. The film doesn’t progress how you might expect, though, as the filmmakers treat its themes with a level of complexity and nuance uncommon in the type of story that would feature a staple of coastal décor as its protagonist.

You can thank the writing and directing for that but also Slate’s excellent voice work. It’s a surprising turn for the actress who’s prone to playing exaggerated characters, yet despite portraying a cartoon in this case, the performance is as grounded as the film itself. She’s especially effective in a quietly powerful sequence in which Dean drives around Los Angeles with Marcel on the car’s dashboard, astonished at how massive the world outside his home truly is and, sadly, how much harder that will make it to find his family.

It doesn’t hurt to have a veteran like Rossellini as a scene partner, one who’s equally dedicated to her unorthodox role, a kind of professionalism that helps the performers find the humanity beneath the characters’ literally hard exteriors. It must be challenging for someone like Camp, playing the main human character, to interact with things that are essentially nonexistent, yet the three actors pull off this magic trick flawlessly.

It took considerable discipline to refrain from using the word ‘charming’ in nearly every sentence of this review, but recycling adjectives is rarely a sign of good writing. Nevertheless, I can’t think of a better word to describe Marcel the Shell with Shoes On. Early in the story we learn that Marcel and Connie share a mutual love of the long-running TV news magazine 60 Minutes as well as one of its presenters, the 81-year-old Lesley Stahl. It takes a truly beautiful—some might say twisted—mind to think of a detail like that. We should be elated they exist.

[st-satia]

I have been thinking about nations and languages and this is something I think makes sense:

Nations don't need to learn languages that are native to their land or that are the official or defacto language, it is their native language after all. What can change is a dead or extinct language. After the last speaker dies maybe they can retain it but they may mostly forget it or only retain basic vocabulary if they don't use it, just like how we can forget a language we learned if we don't practice it. Maybe Antonio has forgot Romandalusi and wouldn't be able to hold a conversation nowdays, but if he sees a text, he could understand it with no problem and practice it enough to remember more (but in the way a human would, not with nation-magic-shenanigans).

In a similar vein, languages change over time, slowly but surely yet not at the same pace geographically, but since it's an “unpatched” version of the same idiom with a sintaxis that they spoke on a daily basis at the time, I don't see them struggling like we do now with centuries old texts, even some archaism may split every now and then, specially in older nations.

But what happens with non-native languages that are widely spoken due to large immigration? I am a bit torn on this, but I side that at first, when the immigrant community is not so prominent yet or it is recent, a nation won’t be automatically fluent, they will have to lear the old-fashioned way. But as time goes on, they can get certain level of automatic fluency depending on the numbers of said community. Possibly Alfred didn’t spoke any Polish or Cantonese at the middle of the XIX century but that changed by the turn of the century. Yet, since over time some communities become assimilated and further generations are less likely to speak the language their ancestors did in the old country, maybe his fluency on Polish faded a bit, and his Cantonese was slightly replaced by Mandarin.

Nevertheless, Nations are an interesting hypothetical species to ramble on.