#close front rounded vowel

[fshoulders]

So I was actually taught French in classes that weren’t sticklers for accent or pronunciation. In the crucial middle years of study where we had a very good teacher who had a pretty strong Midwestern US-English accent on her French despite having studied at the Sorbonne, and that may have shaped the approach. It was mostly fine! Those of us who cared about accent could work at it and those who had tin ears for it were not shamed or penalized academically.

However, somehow this meant no one ever pointed out the difference between “ou” and “u”. Do not ask me how we never noticed that we were saying “on top of” and “below” exactly the same way, but I felt like a huge fool when I did an exchange trip to Lyon and figured it out! Especially since my parents (both of whom studied French in school) had taught us the French ‘u’ sound as children, as like…a car game. (Yes, my parents are big nerds too.) So I knew exactly how to make the sound! But I had never been told which words/spelling required it: I can only think because emphasizing that pronunciation would have been awkward for students who couldn’t learn to say it or perhaps even to hear it.

So it can go too far!

P.S. I came back from France with a specifically teenage-sounding Lyonnais accent which faded over time, and I’m very sorry I can no longer produce it on demand. My relatives in the South of France were the first to point this out to me, and they thought it was pretty funny!

I think we need to stop aiming for native level accents when it comes to language learning

[belli5]

⌗ . ᵎᵎ ⸝⸝ Southern Sass .ᐟ ೀWE⁷²

William might not understand a word when his Southern girl gets fired up, but her sass, and heart have him completely wrapped around her finger.

˚₊· ᥫ᭡ William Eklund x South!fem!reader ➜ Fluff. Note: I truly don’t know a lot about southern, so I had to dig through all that, so I hope ion get cancelled😭 masterlist

The first time William ever heard you accent, was over FaceTime, actually. One of his Sharks teammates introduced her as their cousin from “somewhere down South,” and William just blinked as she started talking.

He caught the words “hey y’all” and “bless your heart,” and then—nothing. The rest was a melodic, syrup-thick stream of vowels and dropped consonants.

He tried to keep up, nodding along like he understood, but ended the call with one thought: I have no clue what she just said… but she’s really pretty.

When you both met for the first time, you came to San Jose for a visit, wearing cowboy boots and a sunshine grin. William thought he’d be more prepared after hearing her voice once or twice. He wasn’t.

“Hey, darlin’,” she smiled, throwing her arms around him before he could even get a word out. “Ain’tcha just the cutest thing I ever did see.”

“..What?” he asked, stunned.

She giggled. “I said you’re cute.”

He nodded slowly. “That part I got.”

Sometimes Will purposely tease you, just to hear you. “Didn’t you say you were gonna fold that laundry like… yesterday?”

She narrows her eyes. “You tryna die today?”

“Maybe,” he says, grinning.

And there it is—that rush of sweet, thick, furious Southern that makes his heart race and his ears completely shut off. He has no idea what she’s yelling. He’s just staring at her like she hung the moon.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that!” she huffs.

“Can’t help it,” he says softly. “You’re beautiful when you’re mad.”

She throws a pillow at him. “Dumb Swede!”

He catches it. Still smiling.

Sometimes he’d teach you little simple thing in Swedish, just like you’d teach him something.

But when you were mad, oh boy—

It can just start with the little things, that sometimes pisses you off that William does.

For example like—

It started off as a quiet Sunday morning—sunlight streaming through their apartment windows, the faint sound of birds chirping outside, and the smell of fresh coffee in the air.

William was padding around the kitchen in sweatpants and no shirt, humming to himself as he grabbed a protein shake from the fridge. You, meanwhile, were lounging on the couch, scrolling through your phone

Everything was peaceful. Until you heard the washer door slam shut.

You paused mid scroll, slowly, you turned your head toward the hallway laundry closet, eyebrows narrowing.

“Will?” you called, suspicion already lacing your voice. “What’re you doin’, baby?”

“Laundry,” he replied casually.

Your stomach dropped. You set your phone down gently on the coffee table and stood, moving toward the closet like a woman on a mission.

“Please tell me you separated the whites,” you said as you rounded the corner.

William looked up from where he was crouched in front of the washer, proudly closing the door. “Hmm?”

You froze, eyes widening in horror. “..Did you put everything in the same load?”

“Yeah,” he answered, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “It’s just easier, no?”

You gasped so dramatically it echoed. “William Eklund, have you done gone n’ lost your everlovin’ mind?”

He blinked up at you, frozen in place. “..What?”

“You cain’t just go throwin’ all y’clothes in like it’s a possum stew!”

“..A what stew?”

“A possum stew, Will! You don’t just throw in socks, drawers, whites, reds, jeans, Lord knows what else, and hope the good Lord sorts it out! That’s how you end up with pink drawers and bleedin’ socks! This is how laundry crimes are committed!”

He tilted his head slowly, watching your hands flail as your accent thickened with every syllable. He caught about two actual words out of the five sentences you just strung together.

“I think… you’re mad,” he guessed, blinking up at you from the floor.

You threw your arms in the air. “Mad? Baby, I’m about three seconds from raisin’ all kinds of hell in this laundry room!”

He tried—really tried—not to smile. But your voice had pitched into that sharp, molasses-drenched Southern scold that he found so freaking adorable, even if he couldn’t understand a single damn word.

“I—hold on, slow down,” he said, standing up and putting his hands out in front of him like he was facing a wild animal. “What did I do wrong? It’s just clothes.”

“It’s not ‘just clothes,’! You mixed your good white t-shirts with that red hoodie, and now ain’t nothin’ safe!” you exclaimed, poking a finger into his chest for emphasis.

William looked genuinely confused, like you’d told him gravity didn’t exist anymore.

“But I’ve done it before and—”

“And it’s a miracle from heaven you haven’t ruined everything in that closet of yours!” you snapped. “What’re you gon’ do when your Sharks socks come out lookin’ like a dang strawberry milkshake, huh?”

At that, he finally broke—his lips twitching, then splitting into a full, boyish grin. “Okay, wait. Say that again.”

You blinked. “Say what again?”

“Strawberry milkshake.”

“Oh, so now you wanna be a smartass?”

“I don’t even know what you’re saying,” he laughed, taking a step closer. “I heard ‘possums’ and ‘milkshakes’ and something about my drawers.”

“That’s ‘underwear,’ not furniture, for the record,” you muttered, arms crossed.

He laughed harder. “I figured. I just—God, you’re so Southern when you’re mad.”

You glared. “You better hush before I go get my flip flop and swat the Swedish right outta you.”

He gasped. “Violence?”

“Necessary,” you sniffed, though your lip twitched.

“You’re really mad over the laundry.”

“Yes, William! You don’t mess with laundry. You separate whites, darks, and towels. You don’t mix ’em up like you’re makin’ jambalaya!”

He moved closer until he was standing toe to toe with you in the tiny laundry closet, arms still slightly raised like he was handling a very cute, very angry raccoon.

“I didn’t know,” he said softly, eyes wide and earnest. “Next time, you show me?”

You huffed.

“Please?” he added, smiling, eyes crinkling.

You let out a breath, half sigh, half laugh. “Lord, you are lucky you’re cute.”

“I really didn’t understand anything you said for the past five minutes,” he admitted, looping his arms around your waist. “But I think you’re beautiful when you’re mad.”

You squinted up at him. “Flattery won’t save those poor white t-shirts of yours..”

He leaned down, brushing his nose against yours. “It might save me.”

[abibliophobiaa]

Idea for ya: Reader and Eddie are in a competition to see if Elena's first word will be "mama" or "dada," with no success thus far. Uncle Steve comes over and picks her up, only to be greeted with an ecstatic: "TEEB!"

Elena's first word is Steve.

xoxo @munson-blurbs

a blurb from the daylight world.

dad!eddie munson x mom!reader.

——

It started around the time Elena began trying to form words. Granted, they were never full ones. Just the rounding of vowels, the formation of letters, all of which she seemed entirely enthused with.

And because of it, Eddie had started a sort of competition. Your ever competitive (now) husband thought you’d make a game of what Elena’s first would be. Which led to countless dinners spent with her little feet kicking in her high chair as you both took turns cooing, “Say Mama” and “Say Dada,” in voices that seemed out of place on your thoroughly tattooed rockstar.

But for her — for her he was always unabashed, ever doting, in love beyond words would ever come close to explaining. Those first months of tour, when you’d been unable to join him, he made true to his promise to call nearly every day. Trying his hardest to never go a night without telling you he loved you, nor a day without talking to his baby girl before she laid her head down to rest at night.

Tonight, however, happened to be one of those nights. Chrissy and Steve would be arriving soon, their newest baby girl, Brie, and Melody along with them. And given that your table would be expanded to fit from seating three to seven in mere moments, Eddie worked overtime.

He presently had his fingers curled around a waving fist, his lips smacking loudly into his giggly baby’s cheek as he repeated, “Dada” over and over again into a wrinkly neck. Repetition was his game, but you were relentless too. Distracted her with her dinner, which earned a pouted argument from Eddie, as you then reminded her “Mama” was the one who fed her from quite literally your own body for the first months of her short life, and still continued to do so now even as she’d moved onto more solid foods. And if you’d thrown strawberries onto her plate in a form of bribery she wouldn’t even understand, which you knew were her favorite, then so be it.

“She was close to saying it,” Eddie argued, watching Elena struggle a bit to force a piece of macaroni into her mouth, orange already mushing against her cheek.

“Technically the doctor says she’ll talk when she talks,” you told him, moving over to the kitchen to throw some final ingredients into the salad bowl you'd started. “And then she won’t stop after that. But I know how much it means to you, what with you being away so much.”

“I just don’t want to miss anything,” he exhaled, fingers running through his curly mane, “She'll be walking soon too.”

“I know, baby.” He leaned into your hip as you slid up to his side, fingers rubbing against his shoulder. “I know it weighs on you, but everyone always says how happy of a baby Elena is. A lot of that is thanks to her dad, you know?”

The edges of his smile spread across the palm that came up to stroke along his cheek, his fingers reaching up to tangle with your free hand. “I love you, Mrs. Munson.”

“Still with the Mrs. Munson, huh?” you teased, dropping a kiss to the top of his head, slinking back to the countertop.

“Until I get over the shock of calling you my wife, yeah,” he said, a pair of arms looping around your waist from behind, your body shuddering as lips pressed to the curve of your neck. “Which, by my estimation, will be till death do us part, and all of that romantic hub-bub.”

“You are a flirt, Eddie Munson.”

“I do what I can,” he chuckled, dropping another kiss to your temple, fingers edging along the hem of your jeans to dance along delicate skin, just as the doorbell rang out. “I got it.”

Said husband disappeared down the hall in a flash, voices filtering through the front door as you lifted Elena from her high chair, using her bib to wipe her dinner from her messy cheeks. The baby on your hip immediately bounced in attention as Chrissy called her name into the living room, Brie’s carrier clutched in one hand, with Melody rushing in ahead.

And then, the room fell into silence as Elena shrieked out, “TEEB.”

Oh no.

Your eyes darted to Eddie.

Then to Chrissy.

Lastly, to Steve, who only chuckled awkwardly, a hand curled around the back of his neck.

Eddie’s face reddened. “Oh, you’ve got to be f —”

Steve clapped a hand over Eddie’s mouth.

——

“Can’t believe Steve was her first word,” Eddie grumbled, head resting against your stomach, fingers curled around your hip.

“Technically it was ‘Teeb,’” you teased, laughter making Eddie’s head shake.

“Not helping.”

“How do you think I feel? I grew her in my body and pushed her out of it a few months later. I have the stretch marks to prove it.”

“Maybe we can start charging her rent,” Eddie murmured, squeezing your hip tighter. “Start charging her now, so when she’s older she can’t leave the house until she pays it off.”

“Ed.”

“Fine, fine,” he groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “I hope Harrington realizes I’m going to make sure Brie’s first word is Eddie. Only fair.”

Your reply was another laugh.

True to his word, that next weekend when you gathered around Steve’s living room, Eddie perched in front of baby Brie, repeating Eddie over and over again (careless to the fact she was quite literally a few weeks old).

“What is he doing?” Steve asked, appearing at your side in the kitchen, peering out at the sight together.

“He’s playing the long game of revenge,” you giggled, nose wrinkling humorously as Steve tipped his head to the side.

“I see,” Steve said in understanding, snorting.

Elena didn’t learn any new words that week. Nor the next. Nor the one after it. But a month after the now dubbed ‘TEEB Travesty,’ Elena was settled on her bottom in the living room, crashing blocks together where they lay scattered around her on the floor. You sat behind her, her form tucked between the curve of your thighs, leaning in to receive a kiss when Eddie appeared.

“Dada!” Elena wailed, chuckling her block to the floor, arms elevated in front of her on the floor where she immediately began to whimper and whine for his attention.

And Eddie beamed — brighter than you’d ever seen before as he leaned down to grab her, and told his favorite girl he loved her more than anything else in this world.

——

[hyper-fixates]

Tears of Blood

König x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 3.0k

Tags/warnings: unprotected sex, light choking, mentions of murder/blood (look who we’re working with), mentions of ghostsoap (yay!), explicit language, some fluff, dry humping, friends with benefits…? (let me know if anything was missed!)

Summary: K��nig reveals a very compelling detail about himself while you prepare him for tomorrow's deployment—also inspired by this post/ask and bluegiragi’s art <3

Notes: this has been posted on AO3 for over a year and i just straight up forgot to post it here, too…oops

The barracks are eerily quiet after curfew. So quiet, in fact, that a ghost couldn’t even float around without being heard. Sometimes there is one, he’s just not of the conventional sort.

You’ve learned that Soap gladly let’s his room be haunted most nights.

König never says a word about it. If he did, he’d be a hypocrite. Especially now, as he drifts to the door of your room: after curfew.

By now, you know to leave it unlocked for him. You don’t know when it started becoming habit, but it did. A mindless gesture that makes his lips quirk under the hood when he turns the knob and feels the door give in with no resistance.

You’ve grown used to seeing his figure loom in the doorway, but sometimes your brain forgets it’s just him, and your heart instinctually stutters a beat out of fear as you see the shadows from the dim lighting hug around his broad, towering form—just as imposing and threatening even without the gear.

You’ve mentally noted that not everyone that casts their gaze, usually a fearful and watery one, upon him lives to do so again. But you are fortunate. You never let yourself forget what he’s been trained to do—what he does. He doesn’t like to indulge in it much, if at all, and his hesitance to do so makes you think it’s better if you don’t know the complicated details anyway.

KorTac has quite a different reputation than the 141. König helped make sure of that.

You finish folding the rest of your civvies, tucking them away in their small drawer, and toss a look over your shoulder to the man lingering in the doorway. “See any ghosts?” you muse, prompting König to step in and lock the door behind him.

A breathy chuckle fills the room. “Didn’t see anything, but I wish these rooms were soundproof.”

“Oh, no.” You hold a cackle, hand slapped over your mouth as you meet his amused eyes through the rough-edged holes of his hood.

“Well, that’s just Soap for you. Not even Ghost can shut him up, I guess.” You plop onto your bed with a sigh to compose yourself.

You know Soap will indulge you later.

“So, how may I be of service to the king?” You offer a playful smile as he stands at the foot of your bed. The unexpected nickname making him more interested in the flooring.

He brings a finger up to the black hood, hooking it in by his jaw and pulling to reveal a sizeable gash in the fabric. A close call with a knife if you ever saw one. “Needle and thread.”

He unhooks his finger and drags the worn material off of his head, then the plain black balaclava that hides him further under it follows. He drops both onto your clean sheets in front of him, rounding the corner of the bed and joining you.

Dark red hair flops over his forehead and hangs in thick, wavy strands. It hasn’t quite reached his shoulders yet, but it’s long enough to have a mind of its own. It’s a colour you don’t come across too often; maybe comparable to a chestnut, or old leaves in autumn before they disappear under a blanket of snow.

“Jeez, you ever gonna cut this?” You turn to face him and run a hand up the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in the dense locks and lightly scratching his scalp on the way down.

Soft blue eyes glance to you, still outlined in black from earlier. “Probably not. Can’t find the time.” His accent gently rounds out the vowels as he leans into your touch.

“Let me braid it for you, then. To hold it back. I know you deploy again tomorrow.” You tuck a strand behind his ear, following with a fleeting kiss right above his cheekbone. A faint blush creeps over his temples and the barely-there freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks.

“I promise it won’t be the worst thing ever,” you gently plead. “You can mend your hood in peace while I do it?”

You’ve definitely done worse together. But worse always seems to be easier.

“Okay.”

Usually these nights don’t go like this.

3 days ago

“Oh, that’s good—right there. Yeah. Yeah,” you nearly sob. König holds you against him, left arm reaching across your chest and hand comfortably gripping your throat as you try to roll your hips back against him harder.

His other hand is between your thighs—on your clit—which are dangling over his own to keep you spread. You’re trapped there; under his arms and over his legs as he jerks his hips up to meet your disjointed riding on the rickety office chair.

An empty briefing room. Not really smart, but Soap passed on that it was “out of service” until next week, not knowing that you’d end up in there sat on König’s cock later that afternoon.

The fabric of König’s hood rubs uncomfortably against your cheek, making you drop your head back onto his shoulder to escape it.

A breathy moan rushes past his lips as you arch your back. “No, no. You’re staying right here.” He tightens and corrects the grip he has across your chest, sliding his gloved fingers up under your jaw to keep you locked in place.

His cock slides itself in and out of you with little resistance, which would usually be slightly embarrassing if it was anyone else inside you, but the way he’s been massaging your clit with such attentiveness and grinding his hips into yours makes you forget anything you could be worried about.

The only thing you can think of right now is how good this orgasm is going to be.

Your hands snake themselves up his arm that’s pinned to your front to grip his wrist, holding on for dear life as his small thrusts become rougher. “You get much, much wetter when you’re close,” he observes. His index finger holds a steady rhythm on your clit as it works counterclockwise over you. “Fuck, I can hear it…can you?”

A whine bubbles in your throat. The zipper of his cargo pants bites against your ass on every downstroke, and you can feel how wet you’ve made the front of his pants. That’s what he gets for only caring enough to pull his cock out while he ripped your cargos off entirely.

“I—fuck. Yes, I’m close, yes,” you choke out, daring to cast your gaze upon where your bodies are connected.

You’re swollen and slick and you can hear it, too. The quick, sharp slaps of his hips against your ass does little to hide the hungry squelching of your cunt. You’ve probably dripped all down his balls at this point. He’s always happier with a big mess in the end anyway.

“Cum when you’ve had enough, Schatzi,” he chirps in your ear, breathless and lost in the wet, suffocating warmth of you—all his doing, of course. The result of far too many minutes spent with his thick cock gently sliding between your folds and nudging itself over your throbbing clit, just to be annoying, before he moved you both to the chair.

You drag in a heavy breath, focusing on the stretch of his cock deep inside your walls as the chair creaks with every desperate drop onto him.

Schatzi. “W-what does that mean?”

You’ve naturally picked up a few German words and phrases here and there from time spent with him, but this one was new. A term of endearment? A degrading nickname? Either could be possible in this moment. The sound and pronunciation couldn’t be more ambiguous to you.

“König?” It came out as a whisper, quickly silenced by the release of your orgasm throughout your body as he forces you down to the base of his cock.

—

You haven’t brought it up since. Neither has he.

Even now it sits in the back of your mind as you divide his hair down the middle into two parts. You remain on your bed, he sits on the floor between your knees with a needle and black thread in hand that he retrieved from the bedside table (stashed there specifically for him).

He lays the hood over his left arm and begins to stitch it quietly as you wind three generous strands of his hair between your fingers at the front of his scalp, pulling taught at the root. You carefully thread more hair in from the sides to have it lay perfectly against the top of his skull when finished. You’ll do a matching one on the right side.

“Let me know if it hurts at all,” you warn as you begin tugging more hair into place.

“Ha, I’ve faced adversaries far worse than your little hands,” he laughs, adjusting the hood in his hand as he pokes the needle in again.

The long vermillion markings under the eye sockets stare back at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, I don’t doubt that.”

It’s hard to not be curious about all of the parts that make up “König”. The mask is one of them.

“Why the tears?” you ask confidently while you establish the first braid.

“Hm?” He quirks his head to follow your voice, pausing the followthrough with the thread as you give an accidental yank to his hair.

“Your mask…under the eyes. Why tears?” You figured it was either something symbolic or just his personal taste. Everyone’s got a gimmick.

It seems like every aspect of his existence is a test of one’s curiosity, and you may have just failed.

He focuses his attention back on the stitch he was occupied with. “Fear tactic.” Oh.

Short and sweet. Simple and straightforward. It makes sense—

“I make them with the blood of my targets.” Oh.

Your fingers lose their rhythm for a moment, caught off-guard by the admission. Not so much surprised by the fact that he would do something like that, but rather that he confessed such a thing…to you.

“So you do that…presently?” How could you resist following up about that? It’s the perfect snare. This is the most you’ve gotten from him in weeks.

A beat of measured silence, yet it’s not uncomfortable. He likes to think about what to say, how to say it, before speaking his thoughts spontaneously.

“Only if I believe it’s truly deserved,” he explains. His tone doesn’t reveal if he’s displeased with the topic of work. “The blood actually doesn’t hold up against the black on its own, so Horangi suggested using bleach underneath so it will show better. If needed.” He runs a finger over a washed-out tear track. “Less maintenance with the chemical.”

It’s…it’s morbid, obviously, but you’re not sure if you expected anything less from someone in this line of work. And, of course, leave it to Horangi to feed the fantasy. They are nearly inseparable, besides the times that König’s with you.

Sometimes it’s hard to imagine him as murderous or malevolent—König, who has the most gentle, innocent blue eyes that have offered nothing but kindness to you, even in moments of fierce, consuming pleasure. König, who you’ve never seen, or heard, raise his voice at anyone in anger. König, who despises small talk because he can’t stand the awkwardness.

König, who enjoys the vibrant red sunsets on base and thunderstorms. König, who prefers blueberries over strawberries. König, who is obsessed with entomology books.

But there’s still another part of him that can take out entire platoons of enemies and have no more than a rip in his beloved hood afterwards.

The man under the facade of a callsign and reputation is someone who you may never truly meet, no matter how much he reveals. It feels like you’ve only met half of him despite knowing as much as you do about him, and that fact has settled as an ache in your chest.

“I see…I know it’s not really my place to ask about that stuff, but it’s hard to not wonder about you sometimes.” You’ve reached the end of the first braid, leaving the tail to sit at the crown of his head amongst the uneven layers he has going on.

You tie it off with a small black elastic. It’s a little messy considering the awkward length of his hair, but it looks like it’s meant to be there.

“It’s fine. I’m a big boy, I think I can handle it.” He gives a comforting laugh, amused at your timidness.

In every facet, he’s right. You can’t help but nod your head in agreement with a small smile, despite the fact that he can’t see your expression. “Well, I can’t disagree with you there.”

You begin the start of the second, and final, braid, grabbing the three strands at the front and twisting them into place as he speaks again. “I know it was my size that drew you to me in the first place,” he states confidently, shoulders shaking in amusement at the tease.

Your mouth gapes in feigned offence. “Wow, okay. Is that a crime?”

“No, not in my eyes. Look, look,” he brushes past the sarcasm, holding and stretching the now intact hood out in front of him to see the effectiveness of his handiwork. The seam is near invisible in the sea of black fabric (a ratty t-shirt).

It’s definitely better than the last one he did a few weeks ago. “Damn, that’s pretty fucking impressive. I’m almost done, hold on.” You hurry to tie off the hair, gently holding the sides of his head to see how even they came out. “Looks good, from up here at least. Come sit, let me see the front.” You pat one of his shoulders, freeing him from the cage of your legs and scooting further onto your bed.

“Danke. My spine didn’t love that, though,” he says with a theatric exhale.

He folds the hood in his lap, setting it on the bedside table with the needle and roll of thread. He all but tumbles back onto the soft sheets, groaning as he stretches his neck and shoulders out and lays comfortably on his back, long legs hanging over the side of the mattress.

His eyes flutter shut from the homely feeling of being in—or on—your bed. “Mm, I think I’ll stay here tonight.”

You acknowledge his thought with a small hum as you lean over his restful form to quickly assess his hair, dragging your fingertips along each side lightly. The shaggy hair will always suit him. It frames his cheekbones and jaw perfectly.

König opens his eyes at your touch. “So how does it look, doc? Will I survive deployment now?”

Another smile from you with a slight roll of your eyes. “I think it’ll do the job. Now go clean the black off your eyes if you’re staying. I don’t want it all over my pillows again.”

—

Soap saw the braids in König’s hair the next day before they deployed. An accident or purposefully, you’re not sure yet.

And now, two days later, he still won’t shut the fuck up about it.

“Would ye do that for me?” he asks, playfully quirking a thick brow.

“Probably not, no.”

An arm shoots out accusingly at you in disbelief. “That’s my point! I—”

“Wouldn’t be able to anyway with that fucking landing strip you call a mohawk.” You poorly stifle a laugh with a tight-lipped smirk.

“Away n’ bile yer heid, I’m just trying to help!” He rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to stave off his laughter too. It’s hard to be in his presence and not be overcome with a state of lively energy.

You’re in Soap’s—and sometimes Ghost’s—room, for no real reason other than company while König is at a (delayed) briefing.

Soap’s sitting on his—and sometimes Ghost’s—bed hounding you about the complex being that is König just because he can. You move about the room, finding things to tidy and organize to busy your mind.

“Have ye gone to town on each other yet?”

“Dude!?” You rip a pillow from under him and whack his head. Hard. His infectious cackling now muffled through the thick pillow.

“You’re insufferable. How the fuck does Ghost put up with you?” You try to suppress your giggling as you drop the pillow and join him on the bed in defeat.

A mischievous grin lines his lips at the question. “Well, he t—”

“No! No. Nope. I don’t need to know. It was rhetorical.” You hold up a hand to silence him, bringing it to cover his mouth. His day-old scruff pricks your palm as he tries to talk through your hand.

“Whatever you say next better be insightful or profound or else I’m gonna suffocate you with your own pillow.”

Soap, in fact, didn’t have anything insightful or profound to say about the situation.

— 

König wanders into your room again that night, and he’s filled with a gluttonous desire to consume you in any way that he can. 

It’s the least he can do for you. It’s the most you can do for him.

You rut against his clothed cock, straddling his hips tightly while your hands keep a death-grip on his hair. Once again, you find yourself on your bed with him under you, the clock on the bedside table glaring the angry red 12:56am.

His large hands have found their home on your ass, encouraging your pussy—still covered by your underwear—to rock harder over his length, which is still trapped in his briefs. 

He breaks away from your mouth when you give a rather forceful roll over him, a surprised gasp slipping through his now rosy lips. His grip on your ass slides down to your quivering thighs, rubbing over them soothingly as you work.

A harmony of softs whines and rough groans dance around the room as your pliant bodies move together. “This is somehow better than sex,” König mumbles, mostly to himself. “I don’t want to admit it, but I can cum like this if you don’t stop,” he adds with an overwhelmed huff. “Fuck, I will cum like this if you don’t stop,” he moans.

You let him, and he holds you tight as if you were something other than casual.

[bisnes-socks]

i decided to actually monologue about finnish vowel harmony (while avoiding my real responsibilities) inspired by this post by @seokoilua so anyone wanting to learn the difference between "khaarija" and "käärijä", here goes!

disclaimer i am not a linguist or a voice teacher. just a nerd trying my best.

so that post is a great example bc you can see jere say the word "käärijä" in a very relaxed manner. the second clip is even better than the first, because he keeps his intonation very naturally finnish.

listen to his voice and look at the shape of his mouth. the Ä vowel is not a very "relaxed" vowel. that's because it is a front vowel.

finnish vowels are divided into front vowels, back vowels and neutral vowels. front vowels are: Ä, Ö and Y. back vowels are: A, O and U. neutral vowels are: E and I.

notice how front vowels kind of have like an equivalent in the back vowels. Ä and A, Ö and O, U and Y? it might feel natural to think they are similar sounds, different flavours! but no! they are not!

back vowels are called back vowels, because the sounds you produce should resonate further back in your head and even deep in your throat. they are very relaxed vowels: your jaw is relaxed and there is little to no tension. The A vowel is about as relaxed as you can get. U and O of course demand some tension in the lips and a bit in the jaw, so you can form the necessary shape with your mouth, but your jaw should still be preeeetty relaxed and your lips are forming round shapes more than anything.

now look at jere saying käärijä again. "käärijä" is not forming round shapes in the lips. front vowels bring more tension to the lips, the mouth opens to the sides much more.

front vowels are called front vowels because the voice should resonate much more to the front of your face and mouth. think almost nasal (but emphasis on the almost nasal. i'm saying this because it's a common way to understand making your voice resonate in the front of your face. you don't need to go fully nasal for front vowels.)

so, if we want to talk about what bojan does "wrong": you can't see his mouth shapes very well in the first clip, but i've noticed, in multiple videos, that he tries to say "käärijä" by opening his mouth bigger but taking his jaw down and forming round-ish lip shapes. he is mimicking an A vowel but trying to make it Ä by adding some sort of twang. he gets close when he mimics jere's voice and accent, but have you ever noticed that his jere imitation is more nasal than jere actually is? bojan seems to be trying to pull the vowels he knows naturally into a nasal placement, because i'm sure he can hear that jere's placement is different - he just hasn't grasped the nuance.

and this here is why generally speaking, in finnish, front vowels and back vowels don't go together. it's käärijä and not käärija, because it couldn't be käärija. käärija would be very difficult to say to a finnish person, because to jump from a long ÄÄ to a short A would mean having to adjust your vocal placement really quite radically. (the exceptions to the rule are compound words and loan words, for reasons. sorry to tell you this.)

so bojan's solution is some sort of a half way placement that he makes more nasal depending on how funny he wants to sound, i guess lmao. HOWEVER i think he has improved and sometimes gets very close, but in the Ruisrock clip a finnish person can definitely hear that his Ä vowels are just a tad off. that's because they are a bit too round and a bit too "in the mouth" - like an A with an accent, not a clean Ä. (btw "in the mouth" is a very neutral vowel placement, used for E and I in finnish.)

final thing: i know some of these things can be hard to hear and hard to see, because finnish is not a super expressive language vocally. it's quite... low key and monotone even. but if you want to learn the differences in vowels, i might suggest doing them exaggerated first to find the placement and then toning them down to make them flow easier.

and anyone with actual proper expertise on the matter, feel free to jump in!

[frostbitebakery]

Anything from Who Ordered The Resurrection Special please?

DO I! :D

“The war is over. What now?”

Ryloth’s mountains rise on the horizon with the setting sun.

Obi-Wan rubs at the corner of his eye, leans back on his other hand. The grass is tickling against his skin. Kashyyk’s vegetation has always been so soft and lush; it’s a balm that almost, almost makes him smile. “I’m afraid we’re not out of tasks to do yet, my friend.” Perhaps his tone is too sarcastic, too downtrodden. But the exhaustion is clamoring up his every nerve and muscle and strand of thought.

“You’re right,” his Commander agrees softly, small chuckle rounding the vowels, echoes of it flowing back from the cliffs. Geonosis is not a good resting place. “Even death can’t keep you away from work.”

It sounds too serious for a joke. “What do you mean?” he asks and turns his head towards—

Goda shakes him by the singed shawl, breath burning and fire. “The one who should have been didn’t care and now everyone is paying the price.” The hole in his gut sizzles, melts, and Obi-Wan frantically pulls at the bandages. “Stop them before—“

“Goda, please, hold on, yes?” They’re alone but they shouldn’t be. It had been carnage the last time. Goda pushing Obi-Wan into a fighter with his last breath, voice cold and droid-like when it wasn’t drenched in despair.

Goda’s glove smells like death as it brushes against Obi-Wan’s cheek. “We weren’t ever meant to be, were we?”

“Who—? Commander—“

“Your men.”

Obi-Wan wakes up.

Day 2

Wolffe hauls the backpack higher up on his shoulder, pulls the cap deeper into his face. “Sinker owes me. I’ll rig up the IV once I’m back.”

“I’m sure Nurse Rosa appreciates the nickname.”

Wolffe holds up his hands. “She’s the one who came up with it.” He slaps Cody’s shoulder before turning to the front door. “I’ll get something to eat, too,” he says, stepping through the door and into the faint morning light.

Cody leans against the door, closing it with his weight, and lets himself sigh deep and even.

Their plan is to put an IV into the zombie for electrolytes until his organs can handle digestion. Wolffe gets some supplies from the hospital since going there is still out of the question even though the zombie has drastically healed since the first moment he appeared. It’s not leathery skin stretched over bones and gnarled limbs anymore. He had almost looked fresh faced when Cody had helped him into a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. Very fresh faced. It’s easy now to imagine what he’ll look like once he’s fully alive again.

Cody’s cheeks turn warm and that’s enough of that.

Maybe Cody’s family is in a unique position when it comes to… the stranger side of life, and as a firefighter he’s certainly seen enough shit one can’t explain that easily. But he’d rather not make tinfoil hats in a padded room while the zombie is whisked off to be sliced and diced.

“Hel…lo…”

Perfect timing. Cody looks up to his unalive guest standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom, looking lost in Cody’s borrowed clothes. “Oh, hey, you’re up!”

“…there.”

Cody blinks. “Where what?”

.

Cody has to think about that one for a minute. Which might give Obi-Wan the wrong impression about his family and Cody’s relationship to them but he’s not exactly thinking about them day and night anymore. Not now that they’re all adults with their own lives.

“My siblings mean everything to me,” Cody lands on, tipping a finger against the red MFD mug. “They didn’t have it easy growing up but they worked hard and,” he huffs out a laugh. He isn’t cynical usually but working hard to achieve dreams and success hasn’t been cutting it since before he was born. “Our father had some helpful connections so they could at least get a foot in the door.”

Cody refuses to publicly acknowledge the reality behind those connections for his siblings’ sake. He dug deep to uncover the truth behind Bly suddenly getting the scholarship of a lifetime, the top notch medical school of the country personally inviting Wolffe into their program.

Fox had fucked off to the Navy following his dream of reenacting the beach football scene in Top Gun. So it was up to Cody to ensure their father’s shady business wouldn’t bite them in the ass in the long run. Ponds had already paid the highest price for that. Boba—

“Boba is the oldest,” Cody starts, smile tugging at his mouth despite everything. He’s currently in jail for murdering my second oldest brother, Cody chooses not to say.

Obi-Wan tilts his head in interest but Cody moves right along.

“You met Wolffe,” he continues, grinning at Obi-Wan’s sigh. “Yeah, he has that effect on people.”

:

“I’m not here to hold people’s hands, Dr Koone,” Wolffe says reasonably.

The medical superintendent looks down at his hand being held by Wolffe and raises a bushy eyebrow around the breathing mask contraption covering most of his face.

“This means nothing.” Wolffe about had a heart attack when he got the news of the gas leak explosion rendering his mentor comatose. “It’s not my fault you like to live in a medical drama.”

Dr Koone pats his hand.

Wolffe sighs. “I’ll have Boost fluff your pillows. He’ll sneak in your ER novels.”

:

“I actually am not sure what Bly does,” Cody says slowly. “She got a bunch of doctorates hanging in her garage and her favorite hobby is making slime.”

:

Bly punches the end call button on the touchscreen with a growl. “No one lets me do anything around here!”

Cody blows on the spoonful of sauce before taking a careful sip. “They’re not going to fund you your own CERN, Bly.” A bit more oregano should do the trick.

“The things I could do with it!”

The alarm is about to go off and Cody stops it before the first beep. “Drain the spaghetti, please.”

Bly takes the huge pot over to the sink, hitting the cold water. “They act like I’m one inevitable lab accident away from becoming Doofenschmirtz.”

“They aren’t wrong.”

Bly whirls around, hands over her heart. “That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me, Codes.”

“I love you no matter what doesn’t count at all, does it?”

His sister scoffs out a laugh and waves him away. “I already knew that, idiot.”

Cody shakes his head and announces to the station that lunch is ready.

:

“After Fox’s stint in the Navy and fulfilling that dream, he went on to the next one,” Cody explains and pauses.

:

“Please give a warm welcome to our special guest tonight,” the club host says into the mic. “His unapologetic attitude towards life and its wonders has firmly established his name in the poetry community worldwide.”

Cody is about to clap when he notices everyone around him snapping their fingers.

“I swear, all your lives are made purely out of 90s tropes,” he murmurs to Bly.

“You would know, old man.”

Fox slinks onto the stage in a tight fitting black turtleneck and board shorts, and grabs the mic. “Pain.” He stomps onto the floor once. “Spite.”

The crowd goes wild.

[mehilaiselokuva]

this feels like a dumb question to ask but... what are the differences (pronunciation-wise) between Y and Ö? sometimes it feels like i can't tell them apart...

Hi! Not a dumb question at all!

the Y is a /y/ sound and Ö the /ø/ sound. You can search these IPAs up to hear them pronounced.

Y is a close front rounded vowel, so you pronounce it with your mouth open like :o and the action is happening near your lips.

Ö is a close mid-front rounded vowel. This means that while the mouth position stays the same, the action happens approximately at the center of your mouth.

When pronouncing "yö" you essentially do the same sound but move the "action" back as you begin to pronounce ö. (if you don't notice this, you aren't pronouncing them distinctly enough!)

In some dialects of English, this ö sound is the vowel in the word "bird" and the y sound the vowel in "few"

Hope this helps!

[majorshatterandhare]

Okay, accent/pronunciation post.

In Hereward the Wake, Tim pronounces “duty” with a /j/ (yod) which creates a pronunciation something like /ˈdjuː.ti/ in the IPA or “dyoo-tee” in English phonetic spelling. From what I can tell, this is one of two common pronunciations in English accents, the other being /ˈdʒuː.ti/ in the IPA or “djoo-tee” in English phonetic spelling. This second pronunciation features coalescence of the d and yod to create a dj sound. This can be contrasted by Rachel’s pronunciation of “duty” in Alice, which features yod dropping, and can be written as /ˈduː.ti/ in the IPA or “doo-tee” in English phonetic spelling. Although Tim is doing a very odd accent in Hereward, it doesn’t really matter in this case. In Riddle of the Sphinx he pronounces “introduced” with a coalescence of the d and yod (/ˌɪn. trə ˈdʒuːst/ or “in-truh-djoost”) and regardless of whether it is coalesced or not, as long as it’s not *dropped* it works for our purposes.

Okay, now we get into why this is funny to me. The yod-close back rounded vowel pair (/ju/ or “yoo”) comes to English from French. The French close front rounded vowel sound (/y/, I have no idea how I’d write this in English phonetic spelling, but make the inside of your mouth like you’re gonna say “ee” and your lips like your gonna say “oo” and that’s how you make it) came into English and was separated into /i/ and /u/ (or “ee” and “oo”) but then the /i/ was replaced with yod. This was not only applied to words that came from French, but also some pre-existing English words as well (and is now applied to foreign words once they’ve been in English long enough, like “Cuba”).

Now, when did the yod-close back rounded vowel pair enter English? Well, when was English heavily influenced by French? That’s right, when the Normans took over. And who fought the Normans? Hereward!

This lead me to the idea of an Anglish translation of Hereward the Wake. Has anyone done that yet?

[Note: information on the yod-close back rounded vowel pair came from this video by Dr. Geoff Lindsey; IPA representations were taken from the online Cambridge Dictionary and Wikictionary and adjusted where necessary (such as making “introduce” into “introduced”). Also I’m not actually positive that Tim doesn’t coalesce the d and yod in “duty”, it sounds kinda like both to me, but either way it comes from the French which is the important part for this post.]

[ukfrislandembassy]

Another way that 'phoneme inventories' mislead conlangers: seemingly systematic palatalisation contasts.

So you're looking at the consonant system of e.g. Russian, and you think to yourself, 'Man, that's a lot of contrasts, and most consonants come in a palatalised/unpalatalised opposition, I want to make a language like that'.

So you go about thinking how you're going to create this systematic contrast, and you think 'well, I want to generate it from vowels as per usual for language, but I also want to have a vowel inventory afterwards.' In most instances I've seen (and tried myself), this ends up with a symmetrical set of front-rounded vowels which palatalise preceding consonants and then retract, complemented by a set of back-unrounded vowels that front.

Here's the thing though. That particular kind of sound change is barely attested. It is seemingly attested in Nenets, but after that the trail runs dry. The category error here seems to be the assumption that 'X is a phoneme, therefore we need some way of historically deriving the fact that it must be able to stand by itself as a phoneme, right?'

But that's where the category error is, because actually the palatalised consonants in a language like Russian generally aren't evenly distributed across their various contexts.

Let's start with a simple example. Standard Japanese doesn't have *che, *she or *je, because those vowels didn't trigger palatalisation in the Japanese varieties from which the standard derives, and furthermore palatal consonants before vowels other than *i are mostly found in loanwords from Chinese. Thus we can observe that palatal consonants in Japanese have a different distribution to non-palatalised consonants when it comes to which vowels they can precede.

A similar point can be made about palatalisation in Slavic, because it's again skewed by which vowel follows. The only reason that Russian even has palatal consonants before /o/ is because of a funky Russian-only rule which backs and rounds *e before hard (coda) consonants (in stressed syllables only!). For most other Slavic languages a syllable of the *sho type is rare to non-existant. And even in those languages where it does occur, it's not like these kinds of syllables are equally as common as palatal consonants before front vowels (where non-palatalised consonats are almost non-existant). The only context in Russian where palatalised and non-palatalised consonants are on even close to an even footing is word-finally, and only because Russian actually bothers to preserve contrastive palatalisation there (unlike many other Slavic languages).

[handsofred]

Only Yesterday.

His head is throbbing, a pounding spreading through it in time with his heart. It’s racing against his chest, and he can feel the pulse of it in his throat. A nervous little pattering that is irritating at any other point in time.

‘’…all that was done…’’

He can see the mouth of the man across from him moving but his words weren’t sinking in, hadn’t been sinking in from the first moment he had entered the room, and had been told to sit down in the voice he knew was normally reserved for the family of victims, reserved for when there was bad news.

He knew that voice because he had been a person to use it on others too, he knew the dread that came with the words, the soft-spoken vowels curling around tongue and cheek. 

‘’…time off of course…’’

‘’…Their funeral…’’

His heart is still pounding its drum against his chest, numb fingers clenching around the hard wood of the chairs, blunt nails trying to claw grooves in to the wood. But there’s a new feeling slowly creeping through, the pain that was starting to grip his heart. With each pounding beat it stutters too, ripping it in to smaller pieces. He wonders how he is still alive when his breathing feels like it’s pooling in the base of his throat. 

He can’t breathe.

‘’…flight booked on…’’

‘’…We’re sorry for…’’

‘’…Agent Stilinski-…’’

He knows that it is shock that is filling him, layering over the dread and hurt. It was a hurt like no other, being shot had never hurt this much before and he couldn’t make himself let go of the chair, his eyes blank and just staring across at his director until the other man moved, getting up from behind his desk and rounding it to crouch in front of him. 

So, This is just a snippet from a fic that I have had ideas for, Stiles, Jackson and Lydia have a threesome and a child is borne from it. They all decide not to get a test done to find out who fathered her, something they all chose and decided to raise her together. Stiles joins the FBI and Jackson and Lydia end up moving to Beacon Hill's to move closer to Jackson's father (Peter) While it means not being close to Stiles anymore, he is accepting of it as Jackson is the main daddy to their little girl and he knows how important it is for Jackson to be close to family. End game though, is going to be Peter/Stiles/Chris.

[parakaryote]

While I’m on the topic of Datéyshal, here’s the vowel chart. (The consonant chart is here.) I noticed there’s a tendency towards not rounding front vowels and rounding back vowels, ha.

[Image description: A screenshot of the IPA vowel chart from Wikipedia with a bunch of the symbols erased. The ones present are:

Close: Front unrounded, central rounded, and back rounded.

Near-close: Near-front unrounded and near-back rounded.

Close-mid: Front unrounded and back rounded.

Mid: Central.

Open-mid: Front unrounded, front rounded, and back rounded.

Near-open: Front unrounded.

Open: Front unrounded, back unrounded, and back rounded.

End ID.]

[monoceros-vulpes]

Sounds

Vowels i/y - i - close front unrounded vowel e - e̞ - mid front unrounded vowel u - ø̞ - mid front rounded vowel a/o - ɒ OR ɑ - open back rounded vowel OR open back unrounded vowel *

Consonants m - m - voiced bilabial nasal n - n - voiced alveolar nasal p/b - p - voiceless bilabial plosive t/d - t - voiceless alveolar plosive — t/d/z - z - voiced alveolar sibilant fricative. Only found in Zephyr dialects. k - k - voiceless velar plosive s - s - voiceless alveolar sibilant dz/j - ɕ - voiceless alveolo-palatal fricative ph/f/v - ɸ - voiceless bilabial non-sibilant fricative th - θ - voiceless dental non-sibilant fricative (may be removed) r/l - ɾ - voiced alveolar tap

Denotation h/x - χ - voiceless uvular fricative ˦ - mid-high tone ** ˨ - mid-low tone **

* these ARE separate sounds that are denoted by tone in the language when relevant, but i haven't standardised the anglicisation and both are common default pronunciations in the most popular accents. right now they're just whatever i think looks nicer or is more intuitive. ** these are used primarily as punctuation (e.g. similarly to an !) within the language, but they also serve to differentiate above. lol.

Alphabet

Grammar Up to down, left to right. Object-Subject-Verb (standard, emphasis on Object) Subject-Object-Verb-Suffix (passive, emphasis on Subject, Suffix to denote SOV) Object-Adjective(-Suffix) (compound word form)

Punctuation to be added

Dictionary to be added

Notes - like 90% of the decision for which letter to use in a word is because of. whatever looks better. nothing is standardised, it makes sense to ME and that's what matters. - "h" or "x" is technically a voiceless uvular fricative but there's like a 90% chance for any given occurrence, i will pronounce it like a voiceless glottal fricative. because i fucking hate uvular fricatives i don't care that i'm pronouncing it wrong

Example: to be added

[bonefall]

hey so i uh. i saw the lack of an official ipa chart, and got carried away and made my own

notes:

no dental consonants or rounded vowels/semivowels, consistent with what you've said about the phonology

i've seen ⟨ss⟩ described on here both as [ç] and as the welsh ll [ɬ], so i put both in

not sure about the identification of ⟨'⟩ as [ʔ], but i put it in anyway

tumblr's search system is broken enough that i'm relying exclusively on memory for id'ing ⟨ch⟩ as [x]; i haven't put in any entries for ⟨ff⟩ or ⟨aa⟩ at all for similar reasons

the [e~ɛ] in the entry for ⟨e⟩ means it can be pronounced anywhere from [e] (close-mid front unrounded) to [ɛ] (open-mid front unrounded)

i did not include phonemes only found in loanwords like the ⟨j⟩ in ⟨jyg⟩

This is SUPER helpful, thank you for this, let me see if I can help more;

Yep, no dental consonants. I try to model the words by keeping my mouth stiff, limited range of motion like a cat.

Ss is the Welsh ɬ, can confirm, I explicitly modeled the ss off Welsh lessons I am taking. If I ever described it differently that's a goof on my part

I've been using ' as a sort of soft stop AND as something to separate dipthongs, which is a bad habit I need to break. Hrra'a for Breeze is a stop that mimics a wind stopping and picking up again, but I was also using it in a case like, Snakestripe (Sis'seek), to make the phonology clear. I'll start using hyphens (-) for making names clear. Apostrophe (') is a pause.

CH is rolled on the roof of the mouth, like Welsh "Diolch." Ff is an arbitrary softer, longer f and Aa is just "A" held longer.

That's fine for E, I think I've been inconsistent with it to be fair. I mean for it to be pronounced as the first E in Elephant. "Eh." It's never silent. "Swole" is "Sw-oh-leh"

Good call; J is Townmew exclusive. "Jyg" has phonemes found only in Townmew. (If you're curious, it's similar to the Tch in Tchochke, like the Ch of Chirp. In English I would write Jyg as Tchig and it rhymes with Pig.)

I love this chart, absolutely will be keeping it on hand, thank you!!

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

Behind the Mask part four

part one.

The lights in the room were low, allowing your eyes to open without much pain. Looking around you recognized the room, his room. 

"Y/n? You're awake?" Anakin asked from across the room, he placed helmet on its stand, though part of the face had been smashed away. 

"What happened?" You ask, attempting to sit up. Anakin rushed across the room to help you. 

"Whoa slow down." He helped you and propped a pillow behind your back. You look around yourself. 

"I'm real, I promise I'm real, y/n." He says with a soft smile. You supposed it must all be real, none of the inquisitors had seen his face. 

"I was looking for you." He said. 

"I know." 

"You did very well hiding from me. They picked you up on Tatooine. Hmm clever, I should have known you'd go there." Anakin laughed. 

"What happened?" You asked, looking at the broken mask. 

"I saw Obi-Wan. We fought." 

"Is he-?" 

"No, I couldn't. Even wounded, he was too strong." Anakin turned and rested his arms on his knees. You move closer to him, putting your hand on his shoulder. 

"It's okay. You don't need to hurt him." He turns to you, eyes full of sorrow. 

"I am so sorry, they didn't know who you were. I should have been there, to protect you." 

"It's okay. Life happens how it's supposed to, I think. I know things now that I never could have if I had stayed with you." you admit it more to yourself than to him. Anakin stood, moving slowly to a locker. You couldn't see exactly what was inside until he came back to you. Your suit and mask still folded as you'd left them. He held out his hand to you the carved heart in his palm. 

"You left this. I didn't know you still had it." He said, crouching in front of you. 

Your mind went back to the day he gave it to you. 

The sun beat down on you though it gave you no comfort. 

"Y/n? I'm glad I found you." Anakin peaked round the Piller. 

"I didn't want to be found." You sighed. 

"Then you shouldn't feel so hard." He laughed. "What is this about?" 

"You had a dream again last night. I heard you, I know what it means." You wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to shield your feelings. 

"If I am the chosen one, I need my son." Anakin whispered. You nod. 

"I know, and I have no right to tell you otherwise." You turn away from him, but he pulls you back, hands on your shoulders he leans back to look into your eyes. 

"Command me and I'll turn my back on it all. We can walk away, find a corner of the universe just for us and forget it all." The words cut through you. A dream you wished you could have for yourself. Still, you shake your head. 

"No, the dreams would plague you forever. You have a destiny. I won't stand in the way of that." 

Anakin smiled, a sad smile. 

"I knew you'd say that. I made you this. A promise that I will come back to you. You have my heart with you always." He let the pendant drop from his fingers. 

"It's beautiful Ani." You smile and he slips it around your neck. He pulls you close to him, your hands resting on his chest. 

"I dream of you too. I see your face as your…No one will ever hurt you. No matter what happens, I love you, y/n. Do you believe me?" 

You nod and he kisses you, one hand pressing against the back of your neck. This kiss was intoxicating, your first with him and the final cut of your ties to the Jedi. A broken vowel you could never take back. 

"I remember," 

"I went too far, didn't I? With all this? You can tell me the truth." 

"Anakin, you broke many hearts that day, killed so many people since. Our friends, our family and I let you. I let you kill me." You curl into yourself. 

"Command me and I'll turn my back on it all. We can walk away, find a corner of the universe just for us and forget it all." He repeated his words from so many years before. You sit for a moment, hoping and urging yourself to agree. The two of you could disappear and come back when the time was right. When his son was old enough. Perhaps you could take him with you, and Obi-Wan. All of you could be at peace for a while. 

"My son is alive?" His words break your thoughts and your heart races. 

"What?" 

"You were thinking about my son. He's alive?" Anakin had stood. 

"You listened to my mind?" 

"Were you going to tell me?" Anakin's eyes grew darker. 

"Anakin." Your heart races, and your muscles began to freeze as fear crept over your body. The memory of him using the force to choke you moved your hand to your neck. His eyes met yours and he saw the fear. Dropping shoulders he sighed.

"You'll never feel safe with me." He dropped to his knees, the pendant swinging in his hand. "I have ruined everything haven't I? Chasing a dream." 

When you said nothing, he looked up at you, still backed against the wall on the bed. 

"I want it, what you saw, us together with my son and Obi-Wan. Tell me how we do it. Please." He begged you. 

"You'd have to die. The Emperor will have to think you're dead." You said the words without moving your body. 

"Will you trust me again? If I do this? You're the only thing that kept me going. All I wanted was to find you. Y/n what do I -?" 

"Turn your back on the sith. Never use the dark side again, for anything." You blink, waiting for his anger to bubble over. Instead he simply nods his head. 

"Okay. So let's work out a plan." You slide slowly to the side of the bed. 

—--- 

A hologram showed the Emperor Anakin holding your body against his both of you clad in your suits and masks. As he calls out in his despair a hooded figure steps forward plunging a metal blade through his back. A hologram that freed you both from his grasp. 

You stood beside Anakin as you waited for Obi-Wan to come out of his cave.

"How do I know I can trust them?" He asked the force Ghost of his old Master. 

"Just as I knew he was the chosen one, believe in the force." 

With a sideways grin Obi-Wan stepped out into the Tatooine suns. Anakin lowered his head, too ashamed to meet his old master’s eyes. “Is it done? The Emperor thinks you are dead?”  Obi-Wan asks. “Both of us, yes, but I don’t know how long he will believe it.” You answer, walking over to him and hugging the older man. “Did you do it, is she safe?” You ask him. “Yes. Anakin-” “I’m sorry. You don’t have to believe me or trust me but I am truly sorry master.” Anakin spoke quickly, tripping over his words. Obi-Wan waved his hand and shook his head. 

“No, no there is no need for this. Trust will return with time. Now, we should talk about your plan.” He beckoned you both inside, where you saw the force ghost waiting. “You said Master Yoda is on Dagobah, if you’re willing I think we should take Luke and travel there. We can train the boy and then when the time is right, he and Anakin can make his vision true.”  You say hoping your confident tone was hiding your nerves. Anakin stayed quiet and still by the door, his eyes still trained on the ground. Obi-Wan nods, his hand covering his lips. 

“Yes, we may have some resistance from the uncle. He has grown attached to the boy.” “Anakin is his father, Owen will understand if we all go.” Qui-gon spoke. 

“The quicker we do this the better. I have a ship ready for us. A friend of ours will be taking us, Luke is just over the hill.” Obi-Wan showed the way across the sand dunes to the water farm. Anakin’s heart raced when he saw his son, a perfect copy of himself. He could almost believe he was a clone from a distance. “Your feelings still betray you, Anakin.” Obi-Wan said, feeling his old padawan’s nerves. “I have never met him, I do not know how to act.” He admitted. “I do not know how to act at all, at the moment.” “It will come.” Obi-Wan reassures him. “Come.” the three of you and Qui-gon walked down to the farm house, where Owen came out, wiping his hands on a cloth. “What are you doing here Ben?” “It is time the boy met his father.” Obi-Wan announced. Owen gawked. “You’re joking? The only reason he is here was to keep him hidden from him and now you want me to just let him waltz in?” “It is complicated, Owen, but it is time. Bring him to me.” Reluctantly the farmer called out to the ten year old. “Hello Ben.” He said cheerily. “Luke, I have someone I want you to meet.” He looks over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, then back to the Jedi. “He is my father?” Obi-Wan nods. Luke comes over to you and Anakin. “Hello.” He says. Anakin nervously crouches down in front of him. “Hello Luke. I am sorry it took me so long to meet you.” he tried to cover his own nerves. “It happens, I suppose.” Luke smiled. “Hello, Luke. Do you remember me?” You say. “Yeah, I gave you directions to Maritha’s.” He laughs. “We have a question for you. A choice. Your father is a force user, and you two have a powerful connection to the force.” you explain. “Like Ben?” The child looks over his shoulder briefly. “Yes, thats right. We are travelling to a different world. If you’d like to, you can come with us and we will teach you how to use the force.” Luke’s eyes focus on Anakin. 

“Will you be going?” He asks. Anakin nods. “Then yeah I’d like to come.” “You’ll be leaving everything here behind, your friends, your school, your aunt and I.” Owen explained. Luke thought for a moment. “I understand.” “Okay, go grab whatever you want to take with you. We have to leave now.” Obi-Wan calls over to him. Luke runs back into the house. You watch as Anakin walks quietly over to the line of graves, kneeling in front of one. “I failed you mother, in more ways than I count. I am sorry.” Stepping up behind him you put a hand on his shoulder and he rests his face onto it as a tear falls down his face. “I don’t know if I can do this.” He says softly. “Anakin you are capable of many things. Put your heart into it and you will succeed.” You say. He looks up at you with big blue eyes. “Will you help me?” he looked so young as he pleaded with you. You nod and press a kiss to the side of his head. When Luke was ready he came out of the house with a pack slung over one shoulder. Obi-Wan watched, heart in his throat. Seeing a scene for a second time. Your new team of Force users climbed into an old brown speeder and flew swiftly through the city to a small mechanics. A ship waiting inside. The person standing at the dock forced Anakin to face yet another mistake. Her arms crossed over her chest, she cocked her head to one side. 

“Skyguy?”

“Ahsoka” Your hand found his, stopping the shake. “It’s good to see, Master,” She smiled down at him. Ahsoka bent down to Luke holding out her hand. “Hi, I was your dad’s Padawan. You’re going to learn so much from him.” She ruffled his hair and led him onto the ship, you dragged Anakin with you following Obi-Wan up the ramp. That evening felt different, all of you sat around the table eating dinner and talking over old times, even Anakin began to relax beside you.  

“Do you think the two of you hid anything? We saw it every time you looked at each other.” Ahsoka laughed at you and Anakin. “We were young!” You argued back through your own laughter. A sting of pain in your chest caught you off guard, reminding you of the torture. “Perhaps we should all turn in, it has been a long day.” Obi-Wan said, his eyes narrowed in on you. The others agreed and Ahsoka showed Luke and Obi-Wan to rooms on the opposite side of the ship to yours and Anakin’s. You were surprised by him having a separate space to you. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me.” He said shyly. “I, I don’t know for sure, but I think it would feel wrong to not be beside you.” you poorly explain. He nods and follows you into your room. He lays stiffly beside you, looking into your eyes. “I’m sorry.” He whispers. “You don’t have to keep apologising, Ani.” you reach up and push a strand of his hair away from his face. “I just, I have failed so many people. Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Luke, you. I have failed you in so many ways. From the moment I met you, all those years ago in sabre training, not a day has gone by when I haven’t thought of you. And now I'm with you again, I'm In agony. The closer I get to you, the worse it gets. The thought of not being with you - I can’t breath. I’m haunted by what I’ve done to you. What I have caused to happen to you. You are in my very soul, tormenting me…what can I do to make it better? I will do anything you ask.” His words stung you, brought tears to your eyes. “Ani, all you have to do is be yourself. Do not let anyone cloud your judgement or sway you.” “Can I…Can I kiss you?” he whispered, still unsure of himself. “If you don't, I'm getting out of this bed.” You smile. Anakin’s tongue quickly darted out to wet his lips before he moved his head close to yours. Your eyes fluttered shut as he gently pressed his lips to yours. A much softer kiss than he had given you in a long time. It felt like your first kiss all over again. 

Part five

[paizau]

one of the things i like the most when conlanging is the satisfaction of a good full table. thats why when i set up to make Ngįouxt i made one of my goals to have as many vowels as i can reasonably evolve as i can. now after like 2 years of tinkering i present my current, meaty system of 39 vocalic phonemes:

the system is built on 4 binary features - [+/-front], [+/-round], [+/-open] and [+/-mid]. in addition to that there is a nasality distinction [+/-nasal], and one of length [+/-long]. at the highest devision exists the distinction between oral and nasal vowels, the former of which distinguishes 4 heights (all combinations of [+/-open] and [+/-mid]) while the nasal vowels only distinguish 3, with no near-close vowels. in addition, the oral vowels have shirt long pairs for all qualities, while only non-mid nasal vowels have a length distinction.

the 28 oral vowels invclude:

1. 10 short long monophthong pairs of the following qualities: /i e ɛ æ ɯ ʌ ɑ u o ɔ/

2. 8 falling diphthongs, 5 ending in a palatal off-glide /ɛi̯ ʌi̯ ɔi̯ æi̯ ɑi̯/, and 3 endinɡ in a labial /ʌu̯ ɔu̯ ɑu̯/

the 11 nasal vowels include:

1. 6 vowel qualities, 3 short only /ɛ̃ ʌ̃ ɔ̃/, and 3 with short lonɡ pairs /ĩ ũ ɑ̃/.

2. 2 nasal diphthongs, 1 with a front off-glide /ɑ̃ĩ̯/ and one with a labial /ɑ̃ũ̯/.

vowel hiatus is also very common, with words like /mʌ̃.i/ "bowl" and /xʌ̃.os/ "sunrise"

all in all im very satisfied with the vowel system i have here, and because its so big i can keep tinkering with it and seeing what more can i make and just label the results as dialects lol

[katzenklavierr]

My secret to limited lip sync animation (e.g. for sprites for VNs / RPGs / etc) is similar to the anime "flap" method or like how a mupper talks, but I prefer to use four shapes instead of just an open/closed state. I call them: [m] [a] [i] [u]

[m] = closed lips; mouth not open at all

[a] = very open mouth, a little bit of top teeth showing (low vowel shape)

[i] = close mouth with a lot of teeth showing (high front unrounded vowel shape). Kind of like a grin without being upturned, unless the character is smiling.

[u] = small rounded shape, teeth may or may not be showing (high back rounded vowel shape). Can also be thought of as [o] but I prefer thinking of the most peripheral shape.

Right there you've covered your entire triangle of vowel articulation + a closed mouth state for when the character isn't talking and when they're making a bilabial consonant. Other consonants aren't typically visible externally, so just changing the mouth shape each frame is often enough to give the impression that there is internal articulation.

I've found a pattern like [m a i a u m a i a u...] tends to look pretty natural.

Adding more shapes tends to bog down the speed of the animation and can, ironically, start to make it look less natural by creating some segments which animate more smoothly than others.

This strategy is inspired mostly by 2D Ace Attorney sprites, which typically have [m a u] or [m i u] (depending on the sprite's expression). Some anime with limited mouth animation also includes an [u] shape in the mix.