#i’ve met every single one of these characters out in the real world at some point

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

My attitude toward Shakespeare for a long time was that while I accept that he was a genius, surely there have been other genius playwrights and poets across the entire history of the English language, right? Why does everyone seem to unquestioningly accept it as settled that he��s THE singular greatest writer in the English language who has ever and will ever live?

(I did not generally say this out loud because, although it didn’t sound right to me, I don’t know enough about Shakespeare, theater history, or poetry to dispute it)

So it’s with somewhat heavy reluctance that I must grudgingly admit that this play is extremely fucking good

[2hightocare]

LOVE WAGER! 01

Synopsis: Meeting a crazy stranger who cuts in line, tries to tell you love like the books doesn’t exist—it’s whatever. You won’t ever see him again… right?

Pairings: jungkook x fem!reader

Genre: college au. strangers to friends to lovers. forced proximity.

Warnings: mentions of divorce parents, Jungkook lowkey being insufferable, banter, cussing, a little bit of them being enemies, nicknames, oc being a hopeless romantic at heart, Jungkook being lowkey a cynic… them meeting each other so many times, choking!

a/n: first chapter out!! Woohoo, I’ve been keeping them close to my heart for quite some time. Ever since I listened to “in between” by Gracie Abrams.. I was inspired to write them—the song is so them coded.💌

★ masterlist!

3 years ago…

You were a hopeless romantic.

Most people called it being delusional— by people, you mean the random stranger in front of you.

The first time you met Jungkook, not only did he cut in front of you in line, but he also started shit-talking about how delusional you had to be to think romance books were even remotely comparable to real life.

The line at the cupcake shop was long. You had been wanting to try the new chocolate-covered strawberry flavor from your favorite cupcake shop in the city. The shop was always full, but today it was packed to the bone— the line almost reached outside the door. The people sitting at the cute pastel-colored tables were even leaving because the space was getting so crowded.

It was a Friday, and you had just left school. Your black backpack hung loosely over one shoulder as you stared down at your phone, trying not to die playing Subway Surfers. When your phone died, you internally groaned.

You mentally rolled your eyes before looking forward, where the line was starting to move faster. You were probably the fourth person in line, which was good since you'd only been there for around twenty minutes. You slipped your phone into the back pocket of your jeans before reaching for the zipper of your backpack—pulling out the latest book you hadn’t finished reading amidst all the assignments teachers had been bombarding you with. You thought it was dumb, considering it was your senior year in high school—why not just let you off easy?

You zipped up your backpack before slipping it on, tucking in the small hair that fell into your face when you opened your book. You moved forward as the line advanced, not bothered by the conversations from everyone around you—it was like your own brown noise, which you usually looked up on YouTube whenever you wanted to act like the main character in a movie.

Romance books were your thing. The same went for movies; you loved a good romantic story with the most cliché plot in the world—it did it for you every single time.

Your dad had tried getting you into self-help books, fiction books, or even those thriller books where you had to guess who kills who. He would back this up with actually learning something from reading a book, and you tried all those genres, you really did. You were the most specific girl there could be; if the book didn't impress you within one chapter, you closed it and moved on.

You were basically in love with the idea of love, imagining someone doing all those things you had seen in movies and read about, which filled you with hope that someone could care and love you that way. Yes, you believed in soulmates; you believed that someone, somewhere in this world, was destined to be with you, no matter the circumstances. You believed that if two people were destined for each other, they would find a way to each other, one way or another.

“Hi, baby, you still haven’t ordered? The line is so fucking long.” A strange boy, who looked around your age or maybe slightly older due to his eyebrow piercing, spoke up. He had a navy blue cap with the Yankees logo on the front, and you could see small pieces of his hair. It looked like a dark brown, but at some angles, it looked black, so you thought maybe he dyed it. He was cute, with a sharp jaw and dimples, which you immediately noticed when they showed on his left cheek as he bit his lip, waiting for you to reply.

“I’m sorry—“ you started, only to be cut off by him. “I've been meaning to show you this, babe.” He cut you off before basically shoving his phone into your face. His phone showed his notes app open with a text that read, ‘Please act like you know me so I can cut in line; it’s so long, and I have somewhere to be.’

Your brows furrowed at the pleading guy. You had no clue what his name was, but he looked like he was seriously about to lose his mind if he had to wait another minute in line. You shook your head before nodding— a smile burst on his face.

“Thank you,” he mouthed to you, to which you only shrugged before closing your book. “What flavor are you getting, lovebug?” He said, his nose scrunching in disgust at what he just said. A small laugh escaped your lips since that was the cringiest shit you had heard all day, maybe even all week if you didn’t count your dad trying to write you a poem about his love for your cat.

“I want to get the new chocolate-covered strawberry flavor. What about you?” You said, your fingers fidgeting with the pages of your closed book. His eyes dropped to your hands as you moved up in line, now second in line.

“Is that your book?” He said instead of replying to your question. “Yeah, do you read?” A spike of excitement was clear in your face and voice, only to be squashed when he opened his mouth.

“Do you actually believe anything in there is remotely realistic?” He said nonchalantly before removing his cap, letting his fluffy hair fall in his face before almost immediately collecting it back, placing his cap backward this time.

“I—“ you stutter, your mouth slightly agape, not knowing how to reply without sounding dumb. Because, yeah, you strongly believed romance books were able to happen in real life if someone loved you enough. “Well.. I mean, love happens anywhere,” you shrug, but he only nods his head in a condescending way. Not only were you helping him skip in line—he was basically criticizing your view on love.

“Well, duh, love happens, but all that cringey shit is the dumbest thing our generation normalized. Like, nobody is going to confess their love with a microphone in the middle of a dance-off,” he scoffs. You didn’t understand why he actually looked like he seriously hated the idea of making gestures for someone you loved or cared about.

“Well, obviously, I find that stupid as well, but there are other gestures to show your appreciation and love for someone.” You turn your whole body to face him. He’s not much taller than you, maybe two inches if you really wanted to know, and the cap maybe added another inch, but that didn’t matter since your eyesight was eye level with his.

“Love is embarrassing,” he says, crossing his arms in front of him. You felt the lady behind you both, her eyes bore into you both, trying to figure out why the supposed couple were fighting about love.

“How is love embarrassing?” You scoff before turning around to look in front of you, at the back of the head of the man who was ordering.

“Because love makes you do embarrassing shit all the time; that’s the easiest way I can put it for you, ribbons,” he replies with a duh tone, raising his eyebrows at you, which you see from your peripheral vision.

“Ribbons?” You turn to him, your arms crossed over your book as you glare at him. “Pink ribbon. Don’t you think you look a little too old to be wearing bows?” A grin appears on his face as he casually points to the pink ribbon tied into a bow in your hair.

“The fuck? Not only did I let you skip the line, but you’re a) talking shit about my favorite genre, and b) making fun of me wearing bows.” You turn your full body to him, which he only raises his hands in defense, as if you had a gun pointed at him.

“Damn, my bad. I thought this was a free country; you know your amendments, right?” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Yes, I fucking know my amendments,” you reply, absolutely annoyed at him bringing history into this.

“Freedom of speech,” he says before walking in front of you to the cashier. You were annoyed, maybe even angry. How dare he talk shit and say freedom of speech when you just did him a favor.

“He cut in front of me,” you point to him as you tell on him to the cashier, his jaw dropping to the floor. “Did you just tell on me? What the fuck,” he side-eyes you as you just shrugged.

“I respectfully need to ask you to go to the back of the line,” the cashier says, shooting you an apologetic look. You bite on the inside of your cheek to contain the smile that is threatening to slip out, as he sends you a mocking face, which you return, because apparently, you both were literal children. He rolled his eyes before he walked off.

2 years ago..

The second time you met Jungkook, you almost died due to choking on your coke.

You and your best-friend, Amelia, sat in a booth, munching on pizza, while you hear her ramble about the latest drama on campus.

“I can’t believe he cheated on her. I was so shocked, like I couldn’t believe he would do that after he literally gave her a promise ring—I heard it was expensive as well, bro,” Amelia said, stuffing a French fry in her mouth.

Amelia and you had been best friends since your freshman year at Preston University. She ended up in your dorm room by mistake, until security escorted her to her corresponding room. You both even had your calculus class together, which ended in both of you ripping your hair out because you truly had no clue what the professor was talking about.

“Oh my god, you’re lying!” you gasped, taking a bite of your folded pizza. “Alexandra said she didn’t care, but apparently, she was crying at the frat party we were supposed to go to yesterday,” Amelia said, pressing her lips together with wide eyes. As you were about to reply, she gasped.

“Holy shit, babes, don’t turn around, but there’s this fine-ass guy behind you,” she said. Without thinking you turned your whole body to look at the guy she was talking about.

“Or just turn your whole body, I don't care,” she added, rolling her eyes.

“Wait, who?” you asked, staring at the group of boys in front of you. They were all cute, just not your type whatsoever. “He just turned around, so you can’t see his face, but the one with the black beanie,” Amelia whispered to you as she took a sip of her Dr Pepper.

As you stared at the back of the boy who was engrossed in a conversation with his friend, a loud laugh escaped his lips before he threw his head back, letting you catch a glimpse of his face.

“Oh, fuck, his laugh is hot as fuck as well,” Amelia said behind you, chewing on her crispy fries. “Do you think he has a girlfrien—“ The words melted from your mouth as the beanie boy turned around. “Yeah, he definitely has a girlfriend,” Amelia said nonchalantly, clearly not catching how your eyes widened, as you both stare at the boy who had cut in front of you in line three years ago.

He was taller, much taller, and he was built—you could tell even from his oversized long-sleeve shirt. As much as you wanted to disagree, he was undeniably attractive. The eyebrow piercing was still there, but it somehow looked better than when you first saw it.

“Ribbons?” he said, pointing at you with a chuckle, making you flinch for absolutely no reason. Amelia looked between both of you, trying to read the room.

“Mr. anti-romantic?” You fired back, a huge smile breaking out on his face before he excused himself from his friend group and made his way to your booth. “I see you got a nickname for me... I feel honored,” he said, pressing a palm to his heart dramatically before shooting a nod at Amelia, who waved with a small smile on her face.

You just rolled your eyes. He was the most childish person you had ever met, and that says a lot since this was only the second time you'd ever spoken to him. “I wouldn’t be so honored,” you mumbled, shooting him a tight-lipped smile as he shook his head with a low chuckle.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Amelia said out of nowhere, both you and the unknown boy's heads snap to the side as a smirk makes it’s way to his mouth, while you throw daggers at Amelia with your eyes for her blunt question. “I doubt he would ever hav—“ you start, only to be rudely interrupted by none other than Mr. anti-romantic himself.

“I actually do, and I was just about to meet her here, but I saw your friend and just had to come and say hello,” he said to your best friend, all while wearing a condescending smile.

“Oof, I feel bad for her,” you shrugged, before placing the straw of your clear cup in your mouth and sipping on your coke.

“Eh, she says I’m a pretty good boyfriend, not a hopeless romantic like someone I know,” he said, watching your eyes meet his before you tilted your head in a mocking way, which he picked up immediately.

“I wonder how you even got her to say yes to you,” you bit back, your eyes maintaining contact with his, not wanting to be the first to break it. But he was too good at it; you almost felt like crumbling into a ball from how intense his stare was.

“I guess you could say there are more ways to please a woman without love letters,” he said nonchalantly. You choked on your coke as the liquid went down the wrong pipe, making you start having a coughing attack.

His and Amelia’s eyes widened as Amelia immediately swatted the man who was right beside you. His hand made contact with your arm, raising it up in the air.

“The fuck are you doing?” Amelia said aggressively, side-eyeing him, as you basically died in front of their wondering eyes. You really didn’t expect him to just talk about his sexual life so openly without a care. You would want to crawl into a hole if your boyfriend ever talked about your private moments like that to anyone.

“My mom said if you put someone’s hand up, it makes your cough go away. I don’t fucking know! I’m not a doctor,” he shot back at your best friend as he raised your arm in the air. Your cough slightly disappeared as you tapped on your chest as if that would do anything to stop it.

“Are you good?” Amelia said as she basically hovered over the table. You felt the whole dinner's eyes on you as you tried to recover from the insane coughing fit you just had. “Y-yeah, fuck,” you coughed, your arms still up in the air from his hold. “I almost for real thought you were about to die. I already imagined myself behind bars,” he said, rubbing his unoccupied hand through his face with a sigh.

“Now I’m hoping I actually died,” you said, yanking your arm away from his grasp.

“We’re leaving, Amelia. Let’s go,” you said, standing up, collecting your jacket and bag, and pushing him out of the way, standing up beside him.

He hovered over you; you almost wanted to jump up to reach his height, but you were already embarrassed enough. So instead, you fixed your denim skirt before looking up at him.

“Well, it was so not nice to see you again, and hopefully we don’t get to meet again, Mr. anti-romantic. Goodbye,” you said as you sent him a fake smile his way.

You pulled on Amelia’s hand before she could say anything and walked out of the dining room without looking back at the boy who was standing in the same place, watching the girl he almost witnessed pass away by choking on coke from him even remotely bringing up sex.

A small chuckle left past his lips as he made his way to the table where his friends were seated.

“Dude, what the fuck happened? Why was that pretty girl coughing like crazy?” Taehyung said, eyeing the door through which you had just left.

Jungkook didn’t know why his heart picked up when his best friend called you pretty. He wasn’t blind; you were beautiful. When he first met you, you both were obviously much younger. If it wasn’t for how much you had grown into your face and the braces you once had were long gone, it would’ve been your aura that gave it away. You were more outspoken, which kinda took him back but sent a sense of excitement through his body.

“No clue. Just some girl I met in my senior year... kinda taken aback I ran into her again,” Jungkook said before picking up the menu from the table, looking for what food he should order. “Maybe it’s fate, bro,” Namjoon teased, which made Jungkook drop his menu on the table.

“You guys know all that shit is bullshit, right? It was just a coincidence. I’ll probably never see her again after this,” Jungkook rolled his eyes, leaning backward onto the booth and crossing his arms in front of him defensively.

“Whatever you say, champion,” Hoseok whistled as he called the waitress.

Jungkook's brain immediately canceled out the noise as he started running through all the possible scenarios that would leave you both at the same place at the same time. His body shook from the possibility of it being fate; he hated the idea of the answer being anything besides actual proven fact. He didn’t care how cynical he might sound; he had trusted so many people in his life, including his parents, who always preached about love and honesty. But flash forward to him having to skip around each house of his parents every weekday and weekend. He hated how he believed them when they said love can get through everything. Absolutely not—divorce.

He just imagined your perfect household, two parents at the same home who still say ‘I love you’ to each other every chance they get. You get to read your books in your living room without a fight breaking out out of nowhere just because someone forgot to throw the trash out.

Love didn’t exist in his eyes. He believed in mutual respect. He doesn’t believe in the whole crazy in love charade. His girlfriend Haneul didn’t really want the whole whispering cute things in each other's ears or dancing under the moon either, and that’s why he chose her.

Plus, he wasn’t an asshole when it came to love when it came to other people. Did he want to ruin their moment and tell them they wouldn’t last? Yes—but he never does.

He saw how broken his mom was after the divorce. He thought about the idea of love and if someone came to love you, you would do anything in your power to not hurt them. It had been five years since his parents’ divorce, and everyone seemed to have moved on perfectly, while Jungkook watched how his perspective of love changed drastically over time.

He was glad that you didn’t have to go through what he had to go through, given your obvious naivety. That was entirely the only reason he shit-talked about love when he first met you, which was the most jackass move he could’ve done, especially after you let him skip the line. But after you told on him to the cashier like a little child, he was thinking of actually tackling you.

Either way, it didn’t matter for him to be worrying or thinking about you in the first place, when he didn’t even know your name. Plus, he would never see you again, that’s for sure.

Present day..

Psychology class was your number one nemesis. You literally begged the counselor to let you have another class that wasn’t psychology. Not only did he laugh, but he said it would do you good. In your mind, he basically called you crazy—maybe you did need the class after all.

As you huffed and puffed to your last class of the day, you fixed your glasses on your face and tightened the high ponytail with the white ribbon that matched the outfit Amelia helped you pick out. You pushed open the door to the class and were greeted by half-empty seats and no professor, giving you the option to choose where you sat.

You were a middle-seat row girl, unable to see far away without your glasses. You also avoided sitting too close to the front, fearing teachers would call on you.

As you took a seat in the chair, a body sat beside you without a word. You didn’t even care to look as you took out your laptop from your backpack, worrying about how this year’s professor might be. You had heard from last year’s students that the teacher might have been the devil’s spawn.

While you were finally seated, you moved your head to your left to see the body next to you engrossed in their phone. Your jaw dropped as you were met with none other than Mr. Anti-Romantic.

“What the actual fuck, are you stalking me or something?” you said, absolutely baffled by how many times you had run into him and from all the empty seats, he decided to sit next to you.

He immediately raised his head from his phone, his eyes widening as he stared at your obviously angry face. “Ribbons? What the actual fuck, I didn’t realize that was you,” he said, throwing his head back in shock.

“You had to know it was me, why else would you sit beside me?” you scoffed, crossing your arms in front of you. He looked the same as the last time you saw him, except now he had a full sleeve of tattoos on his right arm, and the eyebrow piercing was long gone.

Now that he was closer to you, you could see the small mole he had under his lip and the scar on his cheek. His hair was shorter and black, but classroom lights deceived, so maybe it was fully brown, but you didn’t dare to ask.

“Don’t think you’re special, Ribbons. I just can’t see from the back, and in the front, teachers always pick on you to talk in front of the class, and I’m trying to avoid that,” he explained, having the same process as you, but unfortunately, the other half of his brain didn’t process the idea of love.

“Are you sure you have the right class?” you bit out, hoping he had walked into the wrong class and would have to leave immediately. You seriously couldn’t even wrap your head around the fact that he was here and that he went to the same university as you—this being the first time he had seen you around campus.

“Psychology class A65,” he side-eyed you as you rolled your eyes and faced the board, trying your best to ignore his presence.

“You know you can just move to another seat, right?” he said, pointing to all the empty seats beside you. Your head slowly turned to the side to face his face as he gave you a tight-lipped smile.

“Why would I move when I was here first?” you scoffed his way as he shrugged, indicating that he couldn’t care less. “’Cause I truly don’t care, but you obviously seem affected by my presence, so Ribbons, pick your seat,” he pointed to the available seats.

You imagined the easiest way you could kill someone, but tackling him to the ground at this exact moment might bring attention to you both, so you just breathed out of your nose before giving him a fake smile and rolling your eyes.

“I’m not leaving, and for your information, I’m perfectly fine and not bothered by your presence whatsoever,” you said, trying your best to seem as calm and collected as possible.

“For your information…” he mocked beside you, trying to imitate your voice before chuckling. “I swear, Ribbons, I can see smoke coming out of your ears and nose,” he laughed.

“Stop calling me Ribbons,” you gritted your teeth, already at your limit.

“What else do you want me to call you? I don’t know your name, and you’re still wearing ribbons, I can see,” Mr. Anti-Romantic pointed to the white ribbon in your hair. You rolled your eyes before sending his calm, collected figure a scanty smile.

“Y/n,” you said, tilting your head to the side, as if asking him to tell you his name. “I like Mr. Anti-Romantic, not gonna lie,” he bit his lip, trying to contain his laughter as you were about to lose your composure at any moment.

“You aggravate me, and I don’t know why,” you mumbled, hoping he didn’t hear—but he did, loud and clear. “Jeon Jungkook,” he said, and before you could reply, the professor strode in, wearing the weirdest clothes you could imagine.

“She looks like that one crazy Victorious teacher,” he whispered softly, only for you to hear, smugly bending downward so you could hear better. A small laugh left your lips. “Sikowitz?” you whispered back as both of you stared forward at the professor, who was talking about the syllabus. “Yeah, spot the difference: hard level,” he whispered.

You looked down at your hands, trying to hide the amusement on your face.

For the rest of the class, you guys didn’t talk whatsoever, and honestly, you wouldn’t know if he tried, since you were absorbed in whatever Mrs. Calderon was saying.

“So, here’s where you start hating me, I’m giving you guys a project,” she said, leaning on her desk, making the desk creak. You could hear small groans from students around you, but not loud enough for her to hear.

“It will be a partner project, which I chose randomly, and no, I’m not changing them. I want you guys to be able to work with whomever, no matter what,” she said, a sense of dread passing through you.

“I would email each and every one of you what the project is about. It is due at the end of the quarter, so I better not hear, ‘I didn’t have time, Miss,’” Mrs. Calderon said before picking up a sheet of paper.

"Here are the partners, so after class, come and check who your partner is so you can start talking about what you both will do." With that the bell ringing, everyone stood up and rushed to the paper, including yourself. You held tightly onto your backpack strap as you waited for people to move out of the way—half of the people bitched about who they got, they couldn’t possibly be that bad.

Your heart dropped to your ass as you read your name—Jungkook squished beside you, looking for his name, only to find it where your finger was already on.

You got paired up with Jungkook. What kind of fuckery was this?

As Jungkook read "Y/n Y/ln & Jeon Jungkook," he couldn’t believe his eyes. He almost lost his mind when he realized it was you when he sat next to you, but he tried his best to act unaffected. However, this was too much of a "fuck you" sign from the universe—Jungkook didn’t think he did something so horribly to be rewarded like this.

What the fuck were the odds, and how could he scientifically prove that it’s not the universe trying to mess with him?

Taglist💌— @httpjeonlicious @thekookiedealer @somehowukook @taiwan0618 @gwsjungkookie @seokout @sealuv79 @junecat18 @joonsanswer @letjungcoook7 @skzthinker @ahgasegotarmy116recs @ivygguk (I couldn’t add some idk why😓)

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // Chapter 1 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Reader (You) Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.8k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. For years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because you feel like something halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t wash the smell of hospital out of clothes, not really. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise. 

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive? 

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After your annual interrogation with Sheriff Stilinski, you meet his son who turns out to be very handy with jumper cables and incoherent babbling.

A/N: Does this look familiar? It should lmao. I gave into the peer pressure. All the messages and requests were too powerful. Here is a reader version of my ofc season 1 fic. Obviously some things have been removed to get rid of specific names/descriptions, so you want to read the full thing you can read the og version and check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)! For the sake of not clogging tags, I'll probably just do my reader version on tumblr and the full oc lore version on ao3 from now on. xx

Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

Before your mother’s death, you would have picked fire. Every single time. 

You never liked the cold; never really had to get used to it growing up in central California—but the crux of your argument, the twisted logic behind it all, was that most burn victims died from suffocation before they felt the flames. A small mercy, really, in the face of unspeakable tragedy. 

In the end, however, statistics were just numbers, your mother didn't die from smoke inhalation, and there was no mercy in burying a parent before you were old enough to have children of your own. Nothing ever ended poetically off the page. Death was just death, and it was always ugly. Someone should really tell that to Robert Frost, you mused, biting at a raw hangnail.

The medical examiner said the actual cause of death was pulmonary edema; at least, that was his best guess based on the state of the body. He didn’t say that she felt everything, her skin peeling back into her flesh, her flesh liquefying into fuel, her joints flexing into contorted pleas until the fire incinerated her last nerve ending. He didn’t have to; you connected those dots all on your own. You’d been twelve at the time, not an imbecile. 

“I’m sorry to drag you through this all again.”

You flitted your eyes away from the flickering lightbulb above Sheriff Stilinski’s head and met his gaze; it was nauseatingly sympathetic. Your responding shrug was a small, little thing—more like a twitch in practice, “Not your fault.” 

Your yearly visits to Sheriff Stilinski’s office were solely your father’s doing, even if no one wanted to admit it to your face. Most mayors would use their political power to get their child out of a police station, not into it, but perhaps he stopped being your dad somewhere between the funeral and now. 

“If you could start—”

“From the beginning,” you smoothed your thumb in small circles over the armrest of your chair, attentively tracing patterns into the polished wood, “I know.” This was, after all, the fourth anniversary of your first interrogation. You’d become somewhat of an expert at being a useless witness. You picked at your uneven cuticles before continuing, “Mom put me to bed around 10:00—which was kind of late for a school night, honestly, but she let me stay up to finish another chapter anyway.” The right corner of your mouth twitched for a brief moment, “Nancy Drew: Password to Larkspur Lane. I told her that forcing someone to go to sleep in the middle of a mystery was specifically forbidden in Geneva Protocol II.” Your mom had been far too indulgent of your lip on most occasions, but that night she didn’t smile at your snarky aside. She let you finish the chapter because she was too tired to argue; you could tell. At the time, you saw it as a victory. Now, it kept you up at night, the drooping lines of your mother’s mouth spilling over the pages of whatever book you were trying to read.

You bit down on your tongue when a stray splinter snagged against the soft pad of your thumb, “Dad was out of town, so it was just the two of us. Mom always put me to bed when Dad was gone; said it was the only way she could get to sleep. Had to make sure my window was locked.” You paused for a long moment: everything went dark after this. Your mother kissed the top of your head, murmured, ‘Love you,’ turned out the light, and then that was it. You woke up in the hospital, and your mom was dead. 

A bead of sweat dripped onto your top lip. The air in the Beacon Hills police station was, without fail, sticky with heat and body odor—and it wasn’t just the oppressive Californian sun. Even in the winter, a person could choke on the stifling warmth. Idly, you wondered if it was a matter of interrogatory tactics or budgetary constraints. 

“And then,” Sheriff Stilinski prompted gently, though you both knew how the story went from here. You had told it to him and a dozen other officials at least a hundred times in the last four years. 

You bit down on your thumbnail and winced when your teeth snagged on the tender nail bed, “And then nothing. I opened my eyes, and a nurse said that you found me on the front lawn.” 

“You don’t remember how you got outside?” 

You shook your head, staring past the Sheriff's shoulder. Large pieces of dust floated through the air, highlighted by the slivers of light trickling through the blinds. Suddenly, you had a newfound appreciation for the lack of fans in the room. 

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his jaw, “You don’t remember saying it was an angel?”

Blinking slowly, you looked at the grim line of the Sheriff’s mouth and gripped your knees tightly, digging your fingers into fragile skin until your wrist cracked, “I should, right? I was twelve. I should remember something—that’s what everyone thinks. That’s what my dad thinks.” Your eyelids fluttered to a tight close, and your voice went so quiet you could barely be heard over the hum of the copier outside the door, “He thinks it was me. That’s why he makes you question me every year.” Copper flooded your mouth as the soft lining of your cheek split under the brunt of your teeth, “He thinks you’ll finally figure out how I did it.” 

You were scared to open your eyes as the silence stretched between the two of you. You’d danced around the subject before, hinted and spun around the heart of it, but you’d never truly discussed how it looked from the outside. Sheriff Stilinski had been kind enough to give you a few different excuses over the years: trauma, head injury, oxygen deprivation, just plain ol’ grief—but whatever caused your temporary amnesia wasn’t so conveniently explained. In fact, currently, you had no explanation at all. When you finally peeked through your lashes, clumped together with frustrated tears, you couldn’t quite figure out what expression the Sheriff was making. He leaned back in his desk chair and frowned, “I’m sure he doesn’t—”

“He does,” you cut him off. Your eyes went flinty, irises darkening to something far more ashen with the resolve of your anger. You never had any trouble reading your father’s face; the disgust was thinly-veiled between the flickers of fear. 

Sheriff Stilinksi leaned forward so that you had no choice but to look him in the eyes. They were kind—more tired than usual, but still kind. They always were. That was one thing you remembered from that day, waking up in the hospital to Sheriff Stilinski’s kind, watery blue eyes, just before the entire world fell apart. His voice was gentle, but firm, when he finally spoke, “I don’t.” 

You nodded numbly and pulled at a fraying string on the hem of your denim skirt until the thread snapped. 

“I mean it, kid. They couldn’t identify the source of the fire. They couldn’t even find an origin point; no twelve-year-old could pull that off.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, “Could anyone?”

Sheriff Stilinski’s brow furrowed, and his mouth screwed up into a crooked line, like he was chewing on his words and deciding if he should swallow them or spit them out. “I wish I had all the answers for you. I really do. Not knowing, it’s worse than any truth.”

You blinked up at him for a moment, once again taken aback by his raw sincerity, and swallowed hard. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to have the answers; he was the one who was supposed to ask the questions. There was one failure in his muggy office, and it wasn’t the Sheriff. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Not your fault.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the phone on his desk. “I have to take this, but if you remember something, or if you just need to talk—”

“My dad spends a small fortune on a psychiatrist and a behavioral therapist for that,” you stood up quickly, shouldering your bag. You forced the corners of your mouth into a small smile, tight at the edges like a sheet that had been stretched too thin, “But thank you. For everything.” 

The Sheriff’s gaze darted to a framed photo on his desk. You had seen it before, on one of your many visits to his office. It was of a boy—his son, you assumed—he looked like he was around five or six at the time. He was grinning, wide enough to show off his missing incisors, and his fingers and wrist were stained cotton-candy blue from a melting popsicle. You must’ve been that happy once, right? In the beginning, everyone was unencumbered by the weight of imminent mortality. Maybe that’s what Sheriff Stilinski was thinking, too. He looked away from the photo and gave you a small smile, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You gave a half-hearted wave before wrapping your fingers around the strap of your backpack and walking to the parking lot. 

Outside, the sky was grim, a mocking reflection of the dour expression on your face. The spite in your eyes hardened when big, fat raindrops splattered against the apples of your cheeks. For a moment, you just stood there, glaring at the rain and cursing the cosmos for their utterly unamusing sense of humor.

A jeep pulled into the parking lot, and the squealing engine startled you back into reality. The search for your car keys was, of course, a considerable endeavor. Nothing could be easy. Not here. Not today. Not ever, you thought. A bit melodramatic maybe, but the weather was certainly ripe for a bit of self-pity.

You stacked your textbooks and binders onto the hood of your sedan, haphazardly throwing your jacket on top of the pile to protect your painstakingly penned Kafka essay from the rain. By the time your fingertips brushed against the cool metal of your car keys, your hair was damp and curling at the ends. 

The momentary relief was short-lived when you pressed the unlock button five times and the accompanying beep didn’t sound, not even once. For an absurdly long minute, all you could do was rest your forehead against the driver’s side window, breathing heavily until condensation gathered next to your mouth and the drizzle speckled dots onto the sleeves of your thin cotton shirt.

“If you’re trying to charge the battery through osmosis, it’d probably be more effective to smash your head against the hood.”

You jumped, and then flinched again when your keys clattered against the ground. You caught a glimpse of the phantom speaker in the side-view mirror; bizarrely, he looked just as surprised as you felt. You turned around, trepidatiously—objects may be closer than they appear n’all—and tried to swallow your rapidly rising heart. 

“Sorry,” the boy pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down and had the decency to look contrite, “big mouth.” He rubbed a hand over his chapped lips. “It’s a real problem. It’s so big, actually, that my foot just slides right in there like…all the time,” he gestured animatedly with a flat hand, a quick sliding motion, like a fish through water.

You blinked at him, slowly, and bent down to reach for your keys, “Might wanna see someone about that. Sounds unsanitary.”

“Eh, it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” he said, eyes widening into horrified round circles the second he stopped talking. A faint flush creeped up his neck to his ears, and your heart dropped back into your chest. Slashers and ax murderers didn’t blush. Probably. You hadn’t ever met one, but it seemed like sound logic.

“Choking hazard,” you hummed, leaning back against your car. Your fingers traced a small dent in the door, the cause long forgotten, “It’s definitely still a choking hazard.”

The boy grinned before fixing his expression into something on the cusp of severity, “I’m about 95.7% sure that anything bigger than a fist is completely mouth-safe.” He held up his fist and nodded sharply, “Make that 98.3% sure.”

“98.3?” your brow arched.

“Maybe even 98.9.” 

The buzz of a lamp post hummed above your heads as you stared at each other with little smirks until the quiet made you sink your teeth into your bottom lip and big-mouth drum his fingers against his forearm. 

“So,” his sneakers squeaked against the slick asphalt as he shifted his weight, “you need a jump?”

You pursed your lips and ran your eyes over the front of your car, “I might give osmosis another shot. 30 seconds is hardly a fair trial.”

“Of course,” he hummed, “you gotta be fair.”

“We are in front of a police station.”

“Well,” he scratched his cheek, “it’s not a courthouse.”

“Technicality.” You were slightly horrified when you finally noticed that you were smiling. The sensation felt like it had escaped straight out of the uncanny valley and latched onto your face like a parasite in need of a host. It only took two weeks for muscles to atrophy; years must have completely decimated the fibers in your cheeks. “I guess I could use a jump. If your offer was an offer and not a hypothetical.” 

“Smart choice.” The boy rapped his knuckles against the hood of your car and said, “Steel’s probably pretty low on the permeability scale.”

“As opposed to a skull.”

He snorted and then nodded towards the large lump of books and papers covered by your freshly dampened jean jacket, “You should probably move your stuff. Y’know, ‘cause of the very un-permeable battery.”

“There’s that,” you sighed and started stuffing your things back into your backpack, shaking it violently until your notebook finally slid past your chemistry textbook, “and flunking English isn’t high on my list of things to do this weekend.”

His gaze flickered back and forth, rapidly cataloging every corner and crevice of your face. You tilted your head, brows pinched, and stared back at him with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. His eyes, you noticed, became a peculiar shade of brown in the yellow glow of the setting sun and the fluorescent light of the lamppost. More like honey, you realized, more like honey than irises. Something finally clicked behind them. "You,” he pointed aggressively, “you go to Beacon Hills.”

You pushed his finger away from your face with your own, “Safe bet, considering there’s exactly one option for the next 2,000 square miles.”

“You’re kind of a smartass, you know that,” he muttered. He struggled with the trunk of the jeep parked next to your car, cursing under his breath until he finally wrenched it open with an almost guttural grunt.

Your lips parted briefly, and then you grinned drolly. It was refreshing, not being treated like some fragile little creature who would buckle in the knees—or possibly set something on fire—at the slightest confrontation. “Kind of?”

“Total.” He nodded decisively before sticking his head and torso into the depths of his trunk. “Completely, entirely, and wholly a smartass.” There were various clanging sounds until he re-emerged with a pair of jumper cables, “Never noticed that in class. You don’t really…say anything.”

You bit back the snark poised on the tip of your tongue. When people looked at you, the only thing they saw was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. You were the daughter of the woman who burned to death on Cedar Street; your mom died, and you were there. It seemed like that was all you would ever be in Beacon Hills. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was better to be no one. 

High school had been your chance to slip into social obscurity—more kids, more drama, less discussion of homicide by arson—so you took it, wholeheartedly. You kept to the corners of classrooms, away from extracurriculars, and your mouth resolutely shut. 

“I try to exclusively bring the smart and leave the ass at home,” you finally replied.

The boy’s eyes drifted downwards for a moment, and his voice did a funny, squeaky thing when he said, “I should give that a go sometime.”

“10/10 would recommend. No one bugs you—and teachers never throw erasers at your face.”

“So you do remember me,” he grinned a little and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before unlatching the jeep’s hood and propping it open.

Slanting your head, you watched his profile. There were moles scattered across his cheek and neck, and his angular jaw clenched as he struggled with the knotted cords in his willowy fingers. “Vaguely,” you said faintly. It was coming back to you in pieces. That was life after twelve for you: bits and pieces. Everything was made up of the disquieting moments when you surfaced from the haze and into the present. It should’ve felt like a lungful of air, but it didn’t. It always felt like choking. 

He wiped his grease-smudged hand on his jeans and then extended it towards you, “Stiles.”

You took his hand, despite the strange formality, and shook it—mainly because of the black streaks staining his pants. “Y/N.”

His fingers twitched a few times when he connected the clamp to the coordinating battery terminal, and your eyes widened. You held your breath in your sternum until you registered that he hadn’t been electrocuted. He was just naturally tweaky, you concluded. It was either that, or he had jumped one-too-many engines in the last 24 hours…unless it was hidden option C, and he was actually tweaking. Unlikely, given he was on his way into a building teeming with cops, but far stranger things had happened in Beacon Hills.  

You sighed a little as you listened to the rain patter against the asphalt and the roof of your car, rubbing your palms over your arms until the goosebumps prickling along your biceps receded into your skin. Stiles looked back at you again, and his mouth wormed its way into a little frown. His head disappeared into his trunk, and after a moment a lumpy maroon mass hurtled towards your face. You caught it before it could smack into your nose, and you clutched at the soft material until you realized that the projectile missile was actually just a sweatshirt. 

Stiles was staring at you when you looked up from your hands. A small, unsure…something squirmed over his face, and you felt a little stupid, just standing there, hoodie limp in your arms. It happened a lot—more than it should after so many years. The invisible quicksand materialized in the strangest, most insignificant moments. You blinked, completely brainless, at simple questions, stared aimlessly into your closet until your second alarm startled you into snatching the first shirt you came across—clasped at a stranger’s hoodie until the rainwater pooled on your lashes dripped into your eyes.

Robotically, you thrust your arms through the sleeves and tugged it over your head, “Thanks.” The sweet scent of grass clung to the fabric, and there was something earthier underneath it, something like evergreen. You smiled slightly, combing your baby hairs behind your ears, “I guess I forgive you for attempting to blind me in the process.”

Stiles’s shoulders unwound as he scoffed, “That was an excellent throw. First-line material, honestly.”

You looked at him and tilted your head, eyebrows crawling towards your hairline, and Stiles sighed loudly, “Okay, so I’m not an ‘athlete’ or whatever—but I’m working on it. You’ll see—you’ll all see.”

You hummed softly, unconvinced but grateful enough to not comment further. Another bout of silence fell between you, but it wasn’t so restless this time—even after Stiles torpedoed his body through his passenger seat. He fought with his keys for a while until the correct one slid into the ignition. 

The jeep’s engine hummed pleasantly in the background as you let out a soft sigh, dropping your head back against your car window. The rain had stopped somewhere between trying to unlock your car and now, but you couldn’t quite recall when. The chill wasn’t so bad, you realized, without your foul mood casting a shadow over your head.

Stiles landed back on his feet and leaned against the jeep. You could feel his gaze on you again. A tickling sensation trailed down your spine as you fiddled with your keychain. You took a step backwards and bit your bottom lip, “I should probably try start my car…y’know, before you throw something else at my face.’”

He nodded, taking a step towards his jeep, “Solid plan. A tire iron was next.”

You slid into your car and stared at the steering wheel, forgetting to laugh at his joke. You wrapped your fingers around 10 and 2 and silently called upon every deity you’d ever heard of to end your suffering. Stiles seemed nice enough, but you seriously doubted your smalltalk capabilities were up-to ‘ride home’ standards. Perhaps, you should revisit your resounding dedication to atheism, you thought, as the engine sputtered in protest a few times and then came back to life. 

Stiles flashed two thumbs up through the window. The smile on his face was positively goofy, but his dismount from the jeep was somehow even goofier. He stumbled over his large feet a few times before regaining stability. You bit back a smile when he shot you another thumbs up, this time through the dash as he removed the jumper cables from your car’s battery.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans again; at this point, you were convinced that they were beyond saving, but Stiles didn’t seem concerned. He tapped against your window before stepping around the open door, “You should probably let it run for a while. Take the scenic route home; enjoy all the Beacon Hills hotspots open past 8:00 pm on a weeknight. I personally recommend the Rite Aid or Walmart.”

You snorted, “Maybe I’ll swing by the Preserve. I hear the woods are especially beautiful in the foreboding darkness.”

“Don’t.” Serious was an odd look on Stiles’s face. You decided that you much preferred the goofy grin. “Don’t go anywhere near the Preserve. It’s officially cordoned off—totally locked down, quarantine-zone-central. Something about flesh-eating, parasitic plant life.”

“As completely real and unobtrusive as that sounds,” you drawled, “don’t worry about it. Literally every single person in town knows about the body they found in the woods.” It was bound to happen, small town and all—and ‘woman dies in deadly animal attack’ was the most interesting thing that had happened in Beacon Hills since the intersection got a Target two years ago. “I���ve seen every installment of Friday the 13th and The Blair Witch Project. If I’m going to be murdered, I refuse to also be humiliated by a cliché C.O.D.” 

The manic expression on his face softened to a relieved smile and then again to a little smirk, “So what’s a certified fresh murder, then? Not that I doubt the depths of human depravity, but I think society killed off originality a few centuries ago.”

You thought back to a house fire with no origin, accelerant, or discernible cause. Apparently, not. “You know what they say,” you sighed, “life finds a way.”

Stiles tilted his head, “And death.”

“And death,” you agreed, staring at a small chip in your windshield. The cracks had just begun to spiderweb out from the pit. 

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, and he looked so much like the Sheriff with his face twisted around thoughtful contemplation that you couldn’t believe it had taken you this long to make the connection. The boy in the photo had grown up. How unfortunate for him. Stiles swallowed whatever it was that was lingering on his tongue and shut your door. He leaned his elbow against the window frame and cocked his hand in a stiff little wave, “Seeya at school. I’ll bring something fun for target practice—maybe grapes. You like grapes? Don’t answer that—I’ll surprise you.”

You put your car in drive once Stiles was safely a few feet from the wheels and gave him a dry smile, “The anticipation is killing me.”

What a scary place to be, you thought as you watched Stiles disappear in your rearview mirror. Anticipation. Hope. Life. You were chronically good at surviving; cockroached your way out of every horrible thing life squashed you with. Lately, all you could do was cling to your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin, until you were barely more than roadkill. A walking carcass was a far cry from living, but death would not stop for you, so you stopped looking for him. You kept treading water, took your pills, stopped existing—you were a lot like Schrödinger’s cat that way: too stubborn to live, too stubborn to die. You didn’t know what to do if someone unsealed the box and forced you to choose. That was the trouble with possibility; it required far too much uncertainty.

Your dad’s SUV was parked in the garage when you finally pulled into your circle driveway. It was a rare sight; your dead battery had disrupted your usual routine. You were supposed to be safely tucked away in your room after an early dinner—take-out usually, sometimes a quesadilla if you were feeling exceptionally inspired—by the time your dad got home from work. It was dysfunctional in every sense of the word, but it was the only way you could function in the same space. 

He used to stare at you from the other end of the dinner table: not eating, not speaking. The only way you knew he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. After a while, he moved dinner to his office. ‘Working dinner,’ he’d say in passing, ‘budgets are due.’ Eventually, he stopped coming home altogether. It was better that way, you thought. You loved each other better from afar, where the power of nostalgia could cloud all the present unpleasantries. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you now. You wondered, and you desperately didn’t want to find out.  

You shouldered your backpack and made sure your car lights were off twice before quietly creeping into the mudroom. You could hear the buzz of the microwave as you toed off your sneakers and tried to discern the smell emanating from the kitchen. Something with garlic and tomato. Bona Vita, probably. Your dad loved their al pomodoro. 

You tried to make yourself as small as possible as you skulked into the kitchen, shoulders hunched to your ears and grip tight around the strap of your backpack. Your dad’s back was to you; you could see the wrinkles in his collar from where he tugged at it when he was agitated. He stopped stirring his pasta once you reached the island. 

“Did…” your dad trailed off for a moment, still facing the kitchen counter, “did everything go alright with the Sheriff?” 

You shrugged even though he couldn’t see you, “I guess.”

“It’s just,” he rubbed at his jaw and looked down towards the oven, “it’s almost eight. I was wondering…worrying.”

He still wasn’t looking at you. You stared at the back of his head and sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. Look at me. Your brows pinched, and your back molars ground together. Look at me. 

“I called him. Sheriff Stilinski. He said that you didn’t speak for long.”

“Didn’t have anything new to say,” you shoved your hands into hoodie pockets, realizing belatedly that you forgot to give Stiles his sweatshirt back. Another problem for another time. 

“That’s not what I—” your dad grasped the lip of the counter and hung his head like it suddenly weighed too much for his spine, “I was wondering what happened to you.” 

“Oh,” you shifted your weight onto your other foot, “dead battery. I think it was the door light.”

Your dad nodded a little, “Do you need someone to pick up your car?”

“Got a jump from a friend.” Not a friend, not really, but you supposed it was the closest you’d come to one in the last four years. That was just a little too sad to say out loud. 

“Good.” He nodded again, “Good.” 

You nodded because it seemed like the only thing to do and slipped towards the hallway. You’d taken no less than five steps out of the kitchen when your dad said, “You could call me. Next time, you could call me.”

Maybe. Maybe you could if he would look at you.

[icaruspendragon]

someone asks me my favorite show and i have to tell them it’s supernatural, much to my chagrin.

we get to talking and they find out that i have a near encyclopedic knowledge of it. i can recite the names of the episodes in the first six seasons from memory. i didn’t even try to learn that for the worlds lamest party trick. i’ve just seen them enough that it’s floating around in my noggin. i have the dialogue for entire scenes memorized. entire episodes, even. yet again, accidentally learned from repeated watchings. i know about the actors. i’ve met the actors. i know about the cast and crew. i know timelines and theories and why this went that way. i have characters and quotes (both from the show and fanfic) tattooed on my body. one of the things i’m best know for to an audience of 370k+ online is my passion surrounding this show and its characters. this hypothetical person says “you must be a real big fan.”

and i am. i love this stupid little show that’s objectively not very good with its silly little characters that i love so much it often keeps me up at night.

and you wanna know what always surprises the hypothetical person in these hypothetical conversations that are an amalgamation of real conversations i’ve had with real people the most? it’s not how much i know about the show or what it represented to me in my adolescence or even my love for the characters.

it’s the fact that i haven’t seen the last five seasons.

that i haven’t finished the show.

i started watching in 2013 and stopped in 2015. i didn’t pick it back up again in earnest until early 2022. i’ve been rewatching since then and despite watching it literally every single day, i’ve only made it to the end of season eight in my rewatch.

there’s always some form of indignation on the other party’s behalf. and they always ask me “why? if you love it so much, why not watch all of it?”

and the answer is simple.

because i don’t want to.

i know what happens. i was online nov 5th 2020. i know how it ends. and i don’t want it to end. i don’t like the ending. so i’m not gonna make myself watch something i know is just going to make me upset.

and does that mean i’m less of a fan?

spoiler alert: the answer is “no.”

despite what other people and fans alike like to say, it doesn’t make me less of a fan. just like watching the show in its entirety doesn’t make them more of a fan.

fandom allows for flexibility of enjoyment. and that’s what i’m in fandom to do.

enjoy.

to enjoy the same thing with people who enjoy the same thing as me. to share my joy with these people.

so no. you’re not less of a fan or more of a fan for consuming media a certain way.

if you enjoy something, you’re a fan.

and if you’re a fan, there’s a place in fandom for you.

[polyamorouspunk]

Let’s Talk.

My name is Punk.

This isn’t the name I chose.

This is the name that was given to me by this community.

And for the first time this year this is the name I’ve started using in real life too.

I’m 24 years old. I turn 25 in a few weeks. I’m undecided on whether or not I want to live to see it.

In December of 2021 the person I regarded as the love of my life, my soulmate, despite being polyamorous broke up with me, dashing our plans to get married and move in together around… well, around 25.

From there I fell in with someone eccentric. Some of you knew him as Catboy. I knew him as the ex porn star, married man trying to get a divorce with a newborn kid he didn’t know was his or not that was born while we were together.

Many of you sat around and listened to me talk about how amazing he was and how much he hurt me. Many of you told me that this was an unhealthy situation for me. Many of you told me to break it off. And eventually I did. And that was with your support.

I spent the next few years lamenting being single and how much it sucked with some toxic BPD things in between like one FP I had a crush on acting like we were friends and making plans with me only to turn around and basically call me a psycho? But we’re on good terms again now so it’s fine I guess? Yeah.

Up until about a year ago when I reconnected with my gf, who I never really lost touch with. She was always there in the background, but she’s in the spotlight now.

Around this time I found my latest FP, the lead singer of a somewhat popular band. I started the year off strong. I was on top of the world. I was talking to the lead singer of this band almost every day, and it was amazing!

During this time I started feeling myself a little more. I gained a confidence I think I had lost. If you’ve seen literally any pictures of me over this year you probably know what I mean. And I liked the attention I was getting on here.

Around this time I made it out to my first local show. I have a reputation on here, after all, and it was unheard of for a punk blog like me to not even be active in his own scene! But I always had an excuse. I was tired. I had work. Chronic pain day. It was always something.

This is where we introduce our first of two characters in the life of Punk this year, a girl I dubbed ⚡️ on here.

When I first saw ⚡️ I was enraptured.

I have screenshots of the messages I sent Key that night talking about how enthralled with her I was and how I had watched her all night. I even have messages from Key from when I went back to the venue to see if I could find her and winded up taking home a Green Day patch and pin instead. Three guesses as to where those wound up if you follow Key’s blog at all.

But nothing happened and instead I connected with someone on here. And that was going well until it wasn’t going well anymore. And I cussed them out and took a week of this blog. That’s about when things started to go downhill.

Frustrated at everything I turned to dating apps and that’s where I met 🔮. If you’ve been following this story at all you might know that when I first met up with 🔮 I thought that she was ⚡️. I stand by my right to say this was an easy mistake to make. Ignore the 7 year age gap.

Upon realizing that 🔮 was not in fact ⚡️, my response, of course, as the fucking polyamorous punk was wow! TWO punk girls? What a deal! (Yeah fucking right).

I went on one date with 🔮 and then she invited me to my first house show (party) at her boyfriend’s venue (house). There I smoked weed for the first time. I had always wanted to treat smoking weed my first time like losing my virginity. Someone holding my hand through it and checking in on me. That did not happen. I went home without saying goodbye and from there things devolved. 🔮 told me that she didn’t want to see me outside of the scene, and that she needed space. So, utterly devastated I’d had my heart broken less than a month after the fucking last time I spiraled badly. Started self harming. Considering killing myself a lot. I’m sure you know. You were probably there for it.

It was during this period I ended up finding ⚡️ again. And so I told her that I had a crush on her and that I wanted help fixing things with 🔮 because I wasn’t over her. And then she ghosted me. Because why not I guess lmao. And honestly? I had an air of wanting to ruin things with her too anyway. Because what was the fucking point.

And then one fateful day in July the week after I came home from one of my numerous trips back to CT to keep myself as sane as fucking possible and heal the emotional damage I was constantly being dealt from my BPD and feelings of rejection by going to spend time with people who actually fucking loved and cared about me I attended a movie night at the venue where all of this started in the first place knowing full well there was a good chance I was going to run into one of them. And I did.

And so ⚡️ and I sat together. And we talked. And it was. Electric. It seems funny I chose ⚡️ represent her.

There was a spark and an energy between us I couldn’t deny. And yet, it wasn’t going anywhere.

So I had let it go. Because what was the point of chasing ghosts.

I let it go until one night in August after- wait for it- another trip back to CT I sat around her living room with all her friends and she was the only person I knew until 🔮 showed up. And everyone got drunk and I realized while I had spent months hurting myself, considering killing myself, wondering if I needed to commit myself because of all the fucking emotional PAIN I was in, that these girls were going around to clubs looking for dates and hookups. And I realized how fucking traumatizing the past few months had been for me. I know that probably seems obvious but I mean it when I say I really didn’t realize until I was standing in my kitchen talking to Kai (fangsup-cobrastyle) about how fucked up I was. I mean that well and truly.

And I realized that how is someone supposed to realize how I feel if I didn’t tell them. So I did. I wrote a letter to get the thoughts and feelings out of my head and I addressed it to ⚡️ and disclosed I had no idea if I would even give it to her or not. But I did. And she read it.

And she sat me down and told me she had no idea the extent of how much I was hurting, and that she felt like 🔮 had done the same to her. Which surprised me. I mean, they were best friends. But yeah, I guess if one of them was infatuated with the other and that one was just dragging them along… no wonder they seemed so close.

I looked down at my lap and out at the gas station across the street and asked her if I was crazy in saying that I saw the way she looked at me, the way she acted around me… she said I wasn’t, but she wasn’t in a place for a relationship. I got it. I understood. And I came back with telling her that if she didn’t want to be my girlfriend then I didn’t want that either- but I didn’t not want to be with her either.

She told me that she had shit to sort out. She was a poor broke college student that had lost her job and was trying to make rent on the lease in her punk house. So I threw her some money. I didn’t expect anything back. I just wanted to help. And I told her fine if she wasn’t my girlfriend then she could at least be my sugar baby.

So we’re. Seeing each other. Now. I guess. Or at least I thought we were until like. Last night. Oh boy last night.

Girl went missing over the weekend and had the worst weekend of her life. I had no idea she was missing. She had stood me up and while I was half expecting it, by the time it had been a few days I had slide back into splitting on her, right up until she told me she had to go for a few days. So I said that was fine and I just wanted her to be safe.

*looks into the camera like I’m on the office*

Chat she was not safe. Like at all. In fact she was decidedly UNsafe, and I had no idea because I was like clearly the girl needs space I’ll give her some space. So yeah. Went missing. Had an ordeal. Got back Sunday or yesterday.

Even before I had learned all this I had wanted to ask if I could come over so we could talk more about things between us, and she told me she would think about it depending on how she felt after the show last night. Well. She decided to get a ride from 🔮 instead because 🔮 had things to get from her house. And if you know someone with BPD you know that they do not react well when they target of their affection quite literally chooses someone who is basically competition over them. So yeah. Spiraled hard last night. Cried about it a lot both on here and irl to someone from the scene. Someone who kept it real with me as someone who also has BPD.

Someone else reached out to me from the scene and I ended up telling them what happened too.

So where does that leave me now.

Well.

I had wanted so badly to come home to you all and tell you that I was finally… happy. That I had another relationship in the works. With an amazing girl. And that’s not not true.

I kept it on the downlow because we didn’t agree to anything official, and it didn’t feel fair to announce a relationship that didn’t exist yet.

So now where that leaves me is having sent her a message last night telling her that what she did really hurt my feelings, having a mutual friend offer to tell her to get in touch with me while I guess I just sit back and wait and see where I go from here.

I had been keeping this on the downlow irl too for a variety of reasons. One, and I cannot exaggerate enough, this girl is THE fucking queen bee of the scene. She has the ultimate clout. And I’m not sure I want to be advertising that within the scene itself. Second, I worried that if people saw how much I was being distressed over my situationship with her it might lead to them resenting her, and I didn’t want that. What I want is for us to have a cute if ultimately doomed-to-fail relationship that’s fun while it lasts. And that’s why I’m also intentionally leaving a lot of things out. Because I don’t want that to happen here. I want to make it very clear: no one caused me to choose the actions I did with self harm and self sabotage. Just because my feelings over these people are what led me to take those action does NOT mean that they are in any way responsible. It is VERY important for me as a person with BPD to stress this. My actions and my feelings are my own responsibility. No one “caused” me to spiral and self harm. They are not bad people. I do not blame them. Someone fucking me over romantically is not a justification to blame them for my own SH actions. And I want people to realize that if anyone tries to blame them for their own self harm. You are never responsible or liable for someone else’s actions. If someone tries to blame that shit on you you need to tread VERY carefully.

Do I have fucking adorable pictures of my sugar baby on my phone? Yes. Would I love to post them on here some day and tease her about them? Yes. She is still my cute little uwu crusty punk roadkill drowned rat motherfucker and in my own BPD way I still love and am in love with her. I mean it when I say I do not want my own negative feelings towards any of this to reflect badly on her and that my end goal is to still be a cute toxic yuri couple.

So yeah that’s. That’s what’s been up, honestly. And it feels good to get it off my fucking chest finally, even if it’s not how I wanted it to go. And I’ll keep everyone updated.

The last few months have been very hard for me. The support I’ve gotten here has kept me going when I’m not sure I could have kept going otherwise. If you’ve ever wondered if you’ve made a difference in someone’s lives I want you to read this and know unequivocally that the answer is yes and I am proof.

I love you all. Stay safe. Please do not fucking go missing and almost die.

-Punk

ps. playlist for this post (bc y not)

Bonus tracks:

[mrs-snape5984]

“How can you miss someone, you've never met? 'Cause I need you now, but I don't know you yet…”

“But can you find me soon because I'm in my head? Yeah, I need you now, but I don't know you yet…” (“IDK You Yet” by Alexander 23)

Being devoted to a fictional character for about 21 years can be challenging from time to time. Sure, it’s called “having a comfort character” for reasons, and I can’t deny, that my long lasting love for Severus Snape has given me the much needed comfort and consolation all over those years. He was by my side, whenever I felt the urge to escape from my traumatic reality…and fuck…there was way too much in my life, which made me flee to Severus. Don’t worry, I won’t mention all these experiences in this text (I’ve already done this in one of my other pathetically whiny posts).

But there’s another issue, that comes with the adoration for a fictional character…something torturous, heart-wrenching and devastatingly painful: It’s the piteous longing for someone, who will never be mine in real life….a goddamn feeling, which is eating me alive! Of course, I’m still coping with my current situation of being doomed to a life in darkness (fuck you, ME/CFS!!!!!) by writing my own ridiculously self-inserting fan fictions about Sevy and Jules…only for myself…solely to soothe my troubled heart. Furthermore, the many artists of Snapedom might know me as someone, who’s requesting immensely personal artworks for my blog…always using them to emphasise my journal entries here.

But there are times, when this isn’t enough anymore! I’m surrounded by Severus in my dark room… one could say, that I’m living in my private Snape-and-Wizarding-World-in-general-Museum. 😅 Everything here feels like my very own comfort blanket, which I’m pulling tighter around my trembling body to create a sensation of warmth and safety. And yet… yeah… and yet, I’m fucking lonely! Lying in darkness and solitude all day makes this cruel longing for Severus become agonising and almost unbearable. I’m bawling my eyes out for someone, who will never be able to hear my heart crying out for him. And to be honest: In my age, this is a sentiment, which I’m absolutely ashamed of!

For the past 21 years, I’ve known this miserable emotion only in this exact context. But now, something happened, which made the confines of my heart and the walls, I’ve built around myself, shatter into pieces…leaving me vulnerable and emotionally churned up like never before. Becoming close and trusting friends with someone, who’s living so far away from me - separated by the ocean - turns out to be blessing and curse at once.

Suddenly, I feel confronted by the same emotions, which my pining for Severus provokes in my heart…a yearning for a deeper connection - regardless of the relationship’s nature between us friends. And just like in the song, which I’ve mentioned above this text, I’m asking myself: “How can you miss someone, you’ve never met?”

Fortunately, I’m able to reach out to my friend in these occasions. I don’t have to weep over my fan fictions or my art collection…no, I can just grab my phone and annoy the fuck out of my beloved confidant. And I think, this is beautiful! 🥹

For this heartwarming piece of art, I’ve commissioned my friend @alinearthp once again. I asked her to draw Severus and my undeniably self-inserted OC Jules as young adults…going out to grab some butter beer in “The Three Broomsticks”. Whenever my longing for Severus becomes too strong, I’m trying to imagine him doing something casual like that with me…and now I’m doing the same with my long-distance-friend. For this reason, I’d like to dedicate this loving post to him. @preciousthelmadonna, you’re in my heart and in my thoughts every single day, since I got to meet you on tumblr. Despite those 6095 kilometres, which separate us from each other, it seems as if you’re right beside me, whenever we’re talking about everything and nothing at once. I’m beyond grateful for our connection, my love. Thank you for being you.

Oh, and @alinearthp, you made me smile with this cute drawing of Sevy and Jules! Thank you for your understanding of my ideas and for each of your lovely and kind messages! Feel hugged, my dear!

🖤Severus & Julia����

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

[antikate]

I genuinely think romance is a deeply underrated genre that is sneered upon because of its associations with femininity; I think it’s utopian and hopeful and worthwhile and I crave good romance stories. At the same time I hate most romance novels that I try to read.

I had Covid this week and for a few days was too sick to even look at a book or screen so I downloaded a bunch of audiobooks from the library and I gave up on every single one of them:

1. Notorious by Minerva Spencer. I noped out of this a few pages in when one character was described as delectable and luscious and another character’s eyes were described as orbs. The book also comes with a whole heaping of misogyny and Islamophobia apparently.

2. Georgie All Along by Kate Clayborn. The first ??? 20 ??? Or so pages of this book consist of the heroine back in her home town and going into a deli to order a coffee and not having enough money to pay for it because she left her wallet in the car. 20 pages!!! It’s humiliating and is literally like being stuck in the head of the most neurotic person you’ve ever met. Page after page of this woman ruminating about what a loser she is. Exhausting! And I say this as someone who can ruminate at the Olympic level.

3. Pretty Pretty Boys by Gregory Ashe. This one is an m/m series about two cops who fall in love and I had hopes that it might be solid but the characterization was basically “whatever the author felt like writing”. Also the cops act like cops as in they’re abusive to random people and spend a lot of time being horrible, which I don’t really need in a romance.

4. Not Your Average Hot Guy, Gwenda Bond. Idk this was just. A bit? Boring? Also everyone was just a bit too self consciously sassy. The heroine runs an escape room but one of her props turns out to be actually a demonic book. I think one of my issues with this book and so many other romance novels is that banter is a real skill and most people can’t write it. But everyone, regretfully, tries.

5. Liar City, Allie Therin. There’s this one audiobook narrator who has such a snotty voice that I just cannot. This book might have been great but the instant I started listening I knew it was that dude. Maybe I’ll try it as an actual book.

6. The Blacksmith Queen by GA Aiken. This is one of the worst books I’ve ever tried to read. Truly. The heroine is a blacksmith and the hero is a centaur, which I thought sounded fun (also I was wondering how they’d have sex because I’m like that) but it was … puerile? Astonishingly stupid?

7.Capture the Crown, Jennifer Estep. This is also an absolutely idiotic book. The hero has amethyst eyes and the heroine has some other gem coloured eyes and someone else has sapphire eyes and if you took a shot every time it someone’s eye colour was described as a jewel tone you’d be hospitalised for alcohol poisoning by about page four.

8. A taste of gold and iron, Alex Rowland. This is decently written - as in the prose is solid - but the plot is half baked, the characters are tedious, and the world building is intriguing but paper thin. I’d say it’s a much better book than most here, but I still couldn’t bring myself to finish.

Not everything I’d read lately has been terrible so here’s some romance or romance adjacent books I have actually enjoyed:

1. The Heart Principle by Helen Hoang: This book is not going to change your life but it does what sets out to do with a slight if entertaining love story.

2. The Secret Lives of County Gentlemen, KJ Charles: I think Charles is one of the best and smartest historical romance writers I’ve ever read. Her books are everything I want out of romance: the characters are interesting, idiosyncratic, and sympathetic; the details feel right; the stories work; and the sex scenes are both hot and do important plot and character work. Her books are swoony and emotional and feel very real while still being romantic. (The audio narrator of this let it down a little because he took a lot of odd pauses but I’m being super nitpicky.)

3. A Far Wilder Magic, Allison Saft: This is a sweet YA novel set in an interesting fantasy world - I really enjoyed the prickly heroine and her dog.

4. In Memoriam, Alice Winn: This beautiful, heart-rending novel is not exactly a romance - it’s set during WW1 and has very explicit and realistic scenes set in the trenches. The trauma and suffering of the war are achingly portrayed. But it is a love story between two young soldiers, even if it’s not necessarily one with an easy or simple ending. Highly recommend with the caveat that Winn does not shy away from the brutality and senselessness of WW1.

5. Thornhedge, by T Kingfisher: This is a brief but resonant Sleeping Beauty retelling. Not exactly a romance but also not unromantic. My only complaint is that I wanted more. I’m a big T Kingfisher fan, and I adore her practical, earthy characters (like Toadling).

6. We Could Be So Good, Cat Sebastian: I’m here for everything Sebastian writes. Her books are low stakes but still compelling, her characters are likeable and complex, I actually enjoy her banter, and she has a knack for capturing historical details and moments. Her conflicts never feel fake and the resolutions are always earned.

[wolfiemcwolferson]

I loved your fantasy piarles and it’s probably my favorite fantasy au ever! The whole universe and magic was so cool and such big brained energy! I have to ask is there any more background or snippets you could give of the other characters? I’m so intrigued about Maxiel (Max was probably my favorite side character and loved the way you described him) and Carlando (Did they end up together forever and what is their life like?!?). LEWIS I have so many questions about and Seb and his sad farm!!!!!! (Is there Sewis?!). Now that I’m thinking about it Kimi and his pack!!! GEORGE AND ALEX (rich billionaire immortal boys just trying to live normal everyday lives) Ahhhhhhh I’ve read it three times already and I just keep thinking about it over and over.

Anon!!!

Let me tell you some things about this world because I built such a little world in my head as I was writing this fic.

Max was the first character that I conceptualized for this fic. I was writing this fic at the same time I was writing the Carlando piece of Blue Neighbourhood and I didn't know if I was going to write this as a Piarles story or a Carlando story. (It was meant to be a Piarles story though.) I knew who Max was going to be.

Obviously in this world, all immortal creatures are born and Max's father (who is powerful, but not as powerful as he'd like to be) had children with a very powerful witch essentially to...get the strongest children. Evil, vile man. Much like Jos IRL. Anyway, Max is raised in isolation with his father chasing some kind of something, he's never really sure, but he knows it's like A Big Deal.

He meets Charles at one of the only summits he's allowed to go to and they become friends and it's the first peak at a real life and then he somehow convinces his father to let him go away to study and that's how he meets Daniel. Charles absolutely encourages that and they fall in love.

Jos finds out about it and freaks out and starts to hunt them with some of his shady people and they bond with the help of Max's mom (who he hasn't seen in a long time).

When Jos discovers them, he is beside himself and that's when he goes after Max's sister, but the bonding really took it out of Daniel and Max so they can't go after him, so Charles does. And that's where the life debt comes from with Max.

Daniel really just spends the next hundred years showing Max the world before they buy a place in New York.

Now, Carlando.

They do end up together. Something that I didn't mention in the epilogue that is just pure HC is that Charles and Pierre and Co. work out the ritual to not just make vampires, but also werewolves. (And they make it happen without nearly ending in death all around.) ((And this is also what Jos was chasing - The Big Thing.))

I mentioned Carlos was studying native animals when he met Lando and Carlos would really rather be a werewolf. He's 35 when Lando turns him and then Lando takes him to see every single mountain range in the world and listens to his endless lectures.

Lando and Carlos eventually settle down outside of Serra de Tramuntana in Spain because the entire island is actually wolves - which they discover while they're visiting.

It turns into kind of a preternatural getaway resort type of town within the century and Lando finds the family he's been looking since his birth packs death.

Lewis and Seb and Kimi:

"They're the old generation". In that, they're all much older than the others and they were the ones who "broke tradition" and kind of paved the way for the younger crowd to have the lives they do.

In my brain: Seb and Lewis come and go out of each others lives because Lewis likes to travel in his plane and rubs elbows and do what he wants and Seb is happy to have his farm and give a place to preternatural creatures who need a place to recover. They're happy. It works for them.

Kimi continues to run Seattle with his rogue pack and he loves being out of the preternatural world - but he's always begging the kids to stop dragging trouble into his land.

George and Alex:

They really just want to live their lives. George is a doctor and he loves being a doctor and Alex runs through all kinds of occupations - he owns a diner, he's a teacher for a little while - at a human school.

But then you know, Charles and Pierre take in the witchling child (but then there's a werewolf cub and they even foster a selkie for a little bit while Seb finds a family of selkies to take them in, but they end up with two witchlings, a werewolf, and a vampire for keeps) and when it's time to send her off to do some formal education, they're shocked to find that...the school that Max and Charles attended together has...It's not good.

Charles calls Alex and is all, "We can't send her there, think of all the children that are being deprived of vital schooling, it's so sad Alex, won't you think of the children. Anyway, Lewis already bought us some land in the wilderness of Canada and we have all of the permits and approval from the council already, so..."

And thats how George and Alex end up as Headmaster's of The Hamilton School for Preternatural Creatures. (There might be half a fic floating around in my brain about that, but don't push it. Ok. I can't take that on right now. *crosses fingers behind my back*)

[worldofroma]

June 2nd 2023, Friday - 2:53pm

I love to lie. I absolutely love it. Something about lying to people on the internet is one of the best things you could ever do. Because I find so many things to be boring, timewasting, or plain stupid, I find myself to have almost too much free time. With that time, I either read, write, find ways to further enhance my appearance, or message embarrassingly thirsty men on the internet using a fake persona besides my own pictures. I’m currently using the lie that I have a house in Ontario, but I’m constantly moving and travelling due to the fact that my father is a hitman. And the real shocking part of it is that they actually believe it. They believe that my mother died during child birth, that I’ve smuggled guns and drugs accross borders for my dad, and I’ve never atteneded real school. And I think I know why I enjoy it so much. I’m a writer, I write all about different things and problems in the world and create each and every character as if they were my own children. I hate some of them, I love some of them, and I wish I was some of them. With the amount of internet I have access to and the wide variety of people I can chat with, this gives me the opportunity to create more characters but within the real world as I act out as them. They have their own names, own backstories, own likes and dislikes, but look exactly like me. I think this may be a sign of how unhealthy my obsession with being someone besides myself is quickly growing. I’ve already been thinking nonstop about when I’m able to go to university and be whoever I want to be as I’ll be far from home with people I’ve never met before, but if I truly do that it may get out of hand. I’ve realized lately that I do everything I can to be someone else. I’m constantly comparing myself to people I see online, specifically pinterest, and even fictional characters I read about or see on tv. It’s getting to the point where I force myself to have a certain personality to fit the criteria of a character I like. Sometimes when I think about it too much, I recognize how sick and sad that sounds but I actually don’t mind it too much. I can be whoever I want whenever I want besides at home which is probably why I despise being home so much unless I’m alone in my room. I fully blame this on Barbie for telling me I can be anything.

I also just want to say that after reading over one of my past entries (don’t expect me to give an exact referral to which one because I didn’t even check myself) about how I never seem to cry and when I feel it coming on I just avoid it, but thats not entirely true. I watched the movie Beautiful Boy for the 30th time and remembered how sad that movie is. Every single time I see it, I sob. I think I find it so sad because although I’m not specifically struggling with drugs, I am suffering deep down with anything and everything and I don’t have someone who cares about it as much as the father cares about his son in that movie. Something about the scene of them in the airport and the father is telling his son about how the summer away from him will be short and theres nothing to worry about and when they tell each other “everything” as another way of saying “I love you” makes me cry like I never have before. It’s not even a sad scene, but it breaks me down every time. I’ve probably wrote this down in here somewhere already, but it really does affect someone to have an emotionally unavailable mother and a physically unavailable father. Especially when that father and all of his relatives claim that he loves my brother and I more than anything as if he didn’t fail to show up to court for custody over us several times. If you love us so much, why did you never put in the effort to see us or take care of us or demonstrate this “love” for us?

[quotes121sworld]

Love Island SPOILERS: Tyrique tells Ella he's "scared" about his feelings for her and wants to be tested

Ruchee GurungSURNAME: Ruchee GurungAGE: 24OUT OF: sutton PROFESSION: beauticianWHY ENTER THE VILLA? I am single and looking for love and this is the perfect opportunity for me to find someone. I'm a relationship girl but so far it hasn't worked out for me. WHY SHARE ME? I'm really caring, when I'm with someone I'm only there for them. Also, I'm very loyal and love doing nice things for the people I care about. My love language is gift giving, so I'm a true giver when it comes to relationships

Tyrique HydeSURNAME: Tyrique HydeAGE: 24OUT OF: EssexPROFESSION: footballer WHAT DO YOU BRING TO THE VILLA? I bring vibes, confidence, good energy and honesty. I won't sit idle, if I have an opinion I will voice it. I'm also not afraid to do what I want claim to fame? Toby Aromolaran is one of my best friends, we grew up together and were in the same class at school

Molly MarshSURNAME: Molly MarshAGE: 24OUT OF: Yorkshire PROFESSION: actress WHY LOVE ICELAND AND WHY NOW? I think it's the ideal timing and the perfect way to find someone. I don't go to parties and I don't use dating apps. I'm actually quite old fashioned, so there's no better way to get to know someone than to go to a villa in the sun with the potential "mate". There.

Catherine AgbayeSURNAME: Catherine AgbayeAGE: 22OUT OF: Dublin PROFESSION: Commercial real estate agentHOW WOULD FAMILY AND FRIENDS DESCRIBE YOU? Someone who is fun and has a loving character. You know I have so much love to give. I'm always smiling, I'm always happy, I'm always laughing. You will always see me with a smile on my face.

Mehdi EdnoSURNAME: Mehdi EdnoAGE: 26OUT OF: Bordeaux/LondonPROFESSION: Communication Manager/Model ARE YOU READY TO FIND THE ONE? Yes. I've been busy with work and pursuing my Masters for the past few years, but now I've got the busy schedule behind me and I'm ready to find love. TOP THREE THINGS TO GET FROM A PARTNER? Appearance is important, but not everything. I'm looking for a good sense of humor and someone who is outgoing and adventurous.SURNAME: Ella Thomas

Ella ThomasAGE: 23OUT OF: Glasgow PROFESSION: Model What's your claim to fame? I've been in a music video for Headie One and Burna Burna Boy and was once an extra on World War Z. I was 12 when I shot it and I met Brad Pitt, which was cool.WHY SHOULD ANYONE DATE YOU? I'm the whole package, I know what I want in life and I have a big heart.

Mitchell TaylorSURNAME: Mitchell TaylorAGE: 26OUT OF: Sheffield PROFESSION: gas engineer WHY SHOULD ANYONE DATE YOU? I enjoy being a gentleman. I'll shower you with flowers, I'll take you on dates, I'll fill your nightstand drawer with your favorite candy and chocolate. I was single, had fun and now I want to settle down. WHY ARE YOU NOT IN ANY RELATIONSHIP? I'm just very picky. I need to find the girl I want to marry and have children with. I'm almost 27, I don't want to play on the field anymore, I want to find the right thing.

Jess HardingSURNAME: Jess HardingAGE: 22OUT OF: LondonPROFESSION: Aesthetics PractitionerWHY ARE YOU NOT IN ANY RELATIONSHIP? Because every boy gets on my nerves right now. I feel like it's destiny because I'm saving myself for Mr. Right at the mansion!WHAT MAKES YOU SICK? If a guy does stunts to make money, he's an idiot. They are all showing off their designer clothes because most of the time they are probably fake anyway! Another case is when a boy runs to the train and the train leaves without him. There are also lunch boxes - just go to Tesco and get a meal deal!

André FurtadoSURNAME: André FurtadoAGE: 21OUT OF: Dudley PROFESSION: Graduate in economics and entrepreneur for clothing brandsWHAT DO YOU BRING TO THE VILLA? I am charming, good looks and have some language lessons. I will teach the other islanders Portuguese, Spanish and a little Creole. I think I have every piece of the pie. do you fall in love fast I'd say I'm falling too fast to be honest. When I look at beautiful ladies, I fall in love before I greet them. I'm already planning the wedding.

Zachariah NobleSURNAME: Zachariah NobleAGE: 25OUT OF: South East LondonPROFESSION: Personal trainer and basketball playerWHAT DO YOU BRING TO THE VILLA? I'm a very laid back guy and I'm always 100% myself. I'm fairly easy going and never have trouble making friends. I like taking care of people.WHAT MAKES YOU SICK? I have two and they are both really dumb; Bad handwriting - I have terrible handwriting so they must have better handwriting than me and twerking, I really don't like twerking!

Whitney Adebayo SURNAME: Whitney AdebayoAGE: 25OUT OF: LondonPROFESSION: entrepreneurWHAT DO YOU BRING TO THE VILLA? Good vibes, I can be really silly and funny but I can also be deep. It depends on the person and the situation, but I'm a very adaptable person, I know how to read the space.do you fall in love fast Real love, no. I can fall in love, but I don't fall in love easily. My big thing is trust. I have to trust you completely before I can give you my heart. I don't give you my heart for free, you have to earn it.

Sammy RootSURNAME: Sammy RootAGE: 22OUT OF: kentPROFESSION: project managerWHAT DO YOU BRING TO THE VILLA? I'll be the energy in the villa, a lot of guys have pretty faces and nice bodies which I have but I also have the bubbly personality, I'm a bit of a fireworkerHOW WOULD FRIENDS/FAMILY DESCRIBE YOU? Fun, bubbly and nice to be here. I'm a little cheeky too

Charlotte SumnerSURNAME: Charlotte SumnerAGE: 30OUT OF: BournemouthPROFESSION: dental assistantWHAT DO YOU BRING TO THE VILLA? I will bring fun! I'm very sincere, I'm a girl, I give good advice, but sometimes I have to follow the advice I give my girls.WHAT GIVES YOU THE ICK? When men dress up and dressed up as toast or old woman.

LeahTaylorSURNAME: LeahTaylorAGE: 27OUT OF: ManchesterPROFESSION: Business Owner (Social Media Marketing)do you fall in love fast It's difficult because I would have said I'm a slow burner, but I think it's because I've been rather closed off in the past. Honestly I'm such a hopeless romantic and now that I know what I want I can't wait to be in love again.DO YOU HAVE CLAIM TO FAME? When I was a dancer, I actually danced at the EMAs and danced for Rita Ora and Camila Cabello. Maura Higgins is one of my best friends and we watched her best plays together one night and couldn't stop laughing, she's hilarious. Read the full article

[lslanw]

I feel like there’s two separate arguments:  (some spoilers for every single season of critical role)

1. the fiction of resurrection within the world of Critical Role

As someone who’s worked in the American Healthcare system, I’ve met a higher than average number of people who have had their chests opened up and their hearts and livers swapped out for one that was previously someone else’s. I have a friend who has been living with HIV for 20 years when that was previously a death sentence. Hell, things like insulin and penicillin would have looked magical not that long ago. There’s a ready analogy around for there being near miraculous cures, and people coming back from being medically dead. People do still fill out Do Not Resuscitate orders. People die on the table from routine procedures. 

Critical role’s real particular about making sure you have the real material costs for spells. Are there enough diamonds for the whole class? Can everyone afford them? Are we looking at a situation, much like the American health care system, were some people get it and most don’t? Some people don’t have to worry about death because their family own a residuum factory, and for other people the fact that a relatively low level cleric COULD do it doesn’t matter, because they’re never going to be able to afford it. It seems like that’s kind of the situation they’re painting. 2. The narrative role of death within a fantasy adventure story/game.

All fictional death is ultimately optional.

People have a real different tolerance for this sort of thing. There are a load of people who want their entertainment to have a very high degree of safety- and while it’s not for me I actually don’t want to knock that. I’m pretty far on the other side of this spectrum, where if there doesn’t feel like there’s a real chance of failure, success feels weightless. You’re never going to satisfy everybody. They’re mutually exclusive positions. Critical Role has always made resurrection a little harder than rules as written, and has only drifted more toward the difficult side as it’s moved on.

For what it’s worth I think Molly’s permadeath was one of the best decisions the critical role cast ever made, and not far behind that was Vox Machina not being able to get back Vax in the end, even though they were powerful enough to kill an actual god. Ultimately, Liam let go of Vax for his own reasons when he felt it was narratively time, because Liam loves the heightened emotions of a good tragedy. Talesin was ready to let Percy go to Hell. He had a cleric who could have brought back Molly but he chose not to. I’m fully convinced if Ashton had died in that fight, he would have been willing to let that be the end for that character too, because that’s the kind of player he is, and Matt knows it. That’s why enemies keep shooting him in the head when he’s already on the ground.

Critical Role is in an interesting place because it’s not just a show, it’s an collaborative improv show. There’s absolutely an audience, and people are aware of it, but the engine of the show is the buy-in of all the performers at the table. They’ve got to be having fun and doing the things that make them happy, or this four+ hour a week gig is gonna really fucking drag, and that energy’s going to seep into things. Matt has said if people don’t want their characters to die, he will figure out SOME way to keep it from happening, and I think late stage Vax and recent Lauda events support that. But I also think if you’d gone to Talesin and been like “listen, buddy, you have to bring Molly back; market research show’s he’s a major hook for a bunch of people who are going to quit the show if you don’t,” can you imagine the energy he would bring after that? (frankly, I think Molly’s permadeth probably owes a lot to people trying to bully Tal into bringing him back on Social Media). And I think it would be the same if you asked Marisha to give up Laudna just because Bell’s Hell’s spells slots didn’t support getting her back. It’d be like watching Sam have to do several consecutive straight add reads. Keeping the performer’s buy in and energy is important for the show. Which is I guess just a fancier version of the “it’s their game” argument in a lot of ways, though I feel like the nuance is important. It’s less about who has the right to make decisions about a show, the creators or the consumers, and how that space is negotiated- and more about just what’s objectively best for the show (people who are allowed to play in the way that keeps the energy up). You have a balance of different personalities contributing to a thing, and it’s vital to make sure everyone is having fun doing it, or it’s going to show. So I guess that’s my ramble.

This post is way longer than I intended it to be, and for that I apologize, but: really, as far as the discourse is concerned, whether Laudna is resurrected or remains dead (and what people's interests and preferences about that are) has become totally irrelevant. It has become apparent to me that real point of contention in the discourse is: "Is it wrong to believe or suggest that permanent death can and does still happen, even to player characters, when there exists magic that can raise the dead?"

It is fascinating that some people assert that "resurrection magic exists in D&D and Exandria" naturally means "resurrection magic means that the inherent nature of death in Exandria is not permanent". It's a sentiment I've seen in multiple semi-popular posts. I've seen another post go as far as "if there is the ability to fix death, then all death is unnecessary tragedy, and it is wrong to not fix it as soon as possible". There's even some going "it's wrong to suggest that permanent death can happen to the heroes, and permanent death should never be allowed to happen to them". At least one person that I've seen believes that acknowledging that death can be permanent in Exandria suggests an unhealthy hang-up about death that needs professional help.

The existence of such magic does not actually logically lead to these. Frankly, I think some with such strong and negative emotional responses to the concept that permanent death can still occur in a world with resurrection magic need to examine why they get so, so angry when it is stated that resurrection magic does not necessarily automatically eliminate sudden, unnatural, young death. Why is it so infuriating to see other people acknowledge that permanent death canonically can and does still exist alongside this magic? (Don't come telling me about it. This is mostly rhetorical and, if one does decide to reflect, that is a private reflection I, a stranger, don't need to be involved in.)

There's a curious sentiment as well that "well, it's fantasy", asserting that the genre itself means that death does not need to ever happen. (Genuinely, I am personally hard-pressed to name a fantasy work that does not, in some way, involve permanent death, particularly fantasy written for adults.) This argument also ignores that CritRole has never been a fantasy that treats death as inherently temporary. CritRole has in fact made it possible for otherwise generally auto-succeed rituals to fail, and the lore of the world actively cautions that resurrection magic is rare, risky, and likely to fail. Every time, margin for failure increases. Performing the highest resurrection magics is held as one of the world's oldest heresies. So, that appeal to genre does not apply: Exandria considers it risky, even unwise, to mess with death.

Rhetorical question, what IS it about the sentiment of "permanent death CAN still happen in a world where resurrection magic exists" that makes some so genuinely angry that they start to believe that this statement and similar are wrong, sick, twisted, and fucked up to say. (All actual adjectives I've seen.) Some are behaving as if acknowledging that permanent death still exists in a world with resurrection magic is sacrilegious. Again, rhetorical question: WHY does the statement that resurrection magic does not make impossible permanent death instill such fury?

At this point, it is wholly irrelevant to the discourse whether Laudna remains dead or is brought back—that is entirely outside of my current personal concern here. What has been illustrated is that some are just SO incapable of handling even the theoretical idea that she MIGHT remain dead, simply because they believe that the existence of (emphatically: canonically rare and risky) resurrection magic inherently means that it is morally wrong to acknowledge player characters can permanently die. Their logic is that the existence of the magic alone automatically means that death should not be and is not allowed, thus, they interpret any acknowledgment that permanent death (canonically) can and may still happen as verboten. One is not allowed to suggest that permanent death still exists simply because resurrection magic also exists, the logic apparently being that the mere existence of such magic forbids any player character from dying permanently.

That belief that "resurrection magic === it is wrong to believe that permanent death is still possible for a protagonist" is a much more fascinating thing and much more central to the discourse than Laudna's ultimate fate—and much more concerning.

[twopoppies]

Hi!! What are your personal favourite fics ever ? And could u do a list of your fav deleted fics? I think I really just need new fics to read Haha Xx

Oh, I love that question. Okay, I already have a list of Favorite Fics, but here are my fave deleted ones:

Into The Blue by Zarah5 (E, 117K) honestly, I love all of this author’s fics, but I think this is my favorite of theirs. Louis as a flirty scuba instructor? Newly single Harry who just wants a fling? Boys living on other sides of the world who only have a few weeks together? Heartbreak. Hot af smut. OT5 friendship. Please….give me all that shit.

Pull Me Under by zarah5 (E, 140K) One of the very first fics I read when I came into this fandom…and I’ve read it multiple times since. Zarah’s fics hold up every time. This one has it all, great pacing, ot5 friendship, banter, super sexy smut, etc etc. Plus, Louis being super jealous of Harry’s best friend.

to hell with romancing by bottomlinsons (E, 8K) This is worth reading for Harry’s internal monologue alone. This is just a funny fic that morphs into a sweet and really sexy one.

Dream Awake by protagonist_m (M, 31K) beautifully written, this one pulled me in and I got lost in the story so deeply. It’s one of those fics that really deserved a wider audience.

pretty in pink by hereforlou (E, 6K) I love this author’s writing and they give suck a realistic portrait of an established relationship in this one: Harry is whiny and needy. Louis is indulgent and loving. The whole thing is very sexy.

into joy i’m sailing by hereforlou (E, 5K) This fic is so tender and soft and sexy. The whole idea behind the fic was just something that felt very real and so fully realized.

This is cheating, but I honestly love so many of hereforlou’s fics, so here are all the ones I have.

feel the chemicals burn in my bloodstream by togetherwecouldbealright (M, 123K) I read this one so, so long ago that all I remember is that I loved it, that there’s some really romantic and sweet moments, and that my notes from way back when only say, “OMG this one is so good! And I’ve barely gotten to the smut!” HAHAHAHA!

Good Enough to Eat by objectlesson (E, 7K) This author always does such a good job with depicting young, queer love and the way their characters experience the overwhelm of realizing they’re not straight, realizing the’ve met their Person, pining, and giving in. I love a lot of their fics, but I think this is my favorite of them. However, I highly recommend looking through all of them.

as he that sleeps here swims by Acavall (M, 23K) This was one of the very first fics I read in the fandom way back in 2013. It’s sweet and charming and a little melancholy (happy ending of course). Harry’s a ghost, there’s a little magic involved, and there’s a sweet 8K epilogue, as well.

In Vogue by otpforever (M, 121K) This one is just….so much. The intensity of the characters, the crazy hot smut (oh god, the window scene), the FASHION, the angst (I had to take a walk around the block after reading it), the epic love story between two men who could rule the world if they could just figure their shit out. Loved it.

like a boomerang by youwill (M, 48K) Very loosely based on the movie Groundhog’s Day (essentially just the concept of reliving a day over and over), this fic is delightful and charming and really worth a read.

Take Care Down By The Water by shyserious (M, 37K) Not quite mermaids, but oh my goodness I loved this fic. Magical realism, mythical creatures, dreamy/moody atmosphere, beautiful writing.

Where Your Heart Is by tvshow_addict (E, 154K) One of my all-time favorite fics and an absolute must read IMO. Chock full of hurt/comfort (both emotionally and physically), this fic is so moving and so beautiful and will take you on an emotional roller coaster ride from start to finish.

The Road Less Travelled by freetheankles E, 98K) Also known as “the lumberjack fic”, this fic is an instant classic. The author makes widowed Louis’ pain and depression so real and so moving. The characters are three-dimensional and complex and the well written sexual tension is finally relieved with super hot smut.

You Always Make Me Smile by champagneboyband (E, 60K, WIP) Yes, it’s a WIP. I’m listing it because the hope that someday it will be updated gives me the will to live. But also because even as a WIP this fic has everything I love. The characters are multi-faceted, the sexual chemistry is off the charts, the background story is complex enough to give the story numerous possibilities for angst and everything else. WHY MUST IT REMAIN A WIP???

something so precious about this by champagneboyband (E, 4K) this is just endearing and awkward and so well written. I love how much you get a sense of their connection and their inexperience and how much they care for each other in just a few thousand words.

I have lots more that I haven’t read, but of the ones I have, these are my faves. You can also check my DELETED FICS tag for more or search my blog for an author’s name. If someone has asked for their fics, it will be tagged.

[moemoemammon]

I just found ur blog and read thru some of ur stuff and im in love !! Ur writing is nice to read, and always gives a nice picture of the situation

If its aight, could u do some headcannons for the demon bros Finding out mc goes real hard on housekeeping ? Im talking fast and good cleaning, does chores without problems, propably even cleans after them (totally doesnt mother them in anyway), all without complaint, mc just cares

Housekeeper MC!

(Feat. GN!MC and the Demon Bros)

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

The fact that he didn't have to shove a mop and bucket into your hands like the evil stepmother has him like 👀👀

Out of every person he's met, you and Barb are the only ones that actually enjoy cleaning? And now he's wondering if you've been influenced by him in some way because got damn are those floors sparkling-

Ever since you've arrived, the house has been immaculate. But as much as he enjoys that, he worries that you aren't leaving enough chores for his brothers to do.

They're gonna be lazy at this rate, especially if you keep cleaning up after them like that. He's planning to sit you down and have a good talk about how you should rest a bit, and- D...did you polish his desk????

"MC... as grateful as I am to you, I thought I asked you to rest? You don't have to clean every little thing in this house. You're here as our guest, and more, so I won't have you behaving like a maid. But if you're that interested in keeping your hands busy, you may feel free to maintain my desktop. It looks as good as new, thanks to you."

Mammon

Oh, so you're one of THOSE types, huh? The goody goodies that like to make everything clean and sparkly, huh?? Well don't expect him to help ya!

Was an asshole at first. Made messes to see if you'd clean them, tried to dump his chores on you, etc. But now that you've stolen his heart? Yeah, he wants you to sit down.

You're messing up your hands with all that time spent scrubbing crevices and dusting ugly old paintings, when you could be spending time with him!

Tch, that's it! If it's chores that're keeping you from looking his way, he'll just finish them before you can do anything! Checkmate!

"You're always scrubbin' somethin'! Let my brothers take care of the messes, while YOU sit down and watch this movie with me! Ain't no point in watchin' it by myself, so I ain't takin' no for an answer!" "Huh?? Waddya mean 'when was the last time I vacuumed'??"

Levi

Oi oi oi...! What do you think you're doing with that feather duster?! You don't think you've got the right to approach his figures with it, do you?! WRONG!

But you quickly discover how ticklish Levi is, and he squirms out of your way while watching in horror as you... delicately handle every figure? And dust them from top to bottom, without so much as an accessory out of place..?

Wait... are you seriously okay with picking up all that trash?? S-some of it's sticky from all the junk food, and- Gah! Don't go messing around in his closet!!!

Yeahhh Levi doesn't let you clean his room lmao. It's way too stimulating to watch you carefully touch every surface in his room... I-it's like you're heaven everything with your presence, and...

"S-so yeah! The only things you're allowed to clean are the figures and the outside of Henry's tank! Nothing else, got it?! Anything more and I seriously won't be able to handle it...I won't even be able to sit still in my own room......." 👉👈

Satan

Satan found it funny how willing you were to take up every little chore there was to be done in the house and he's got to admit, reading is much more enjoyable in a tidy environment.

But what he REALLY wants to know is how you managed to dust off every single book in the house, his room included, without him?? Knowing?? And you've done every shelf as well, cleaned out the cobwebs behind it, and even repaired that little tear in the upholstery of his favorite arm chair????

Has also deduced that you're probably the maid character in the books that knows everything. Actually, you're a lot like Barbatos. What secrets are you hiding human 🔫

Just kidding. But yeah, when you insist on dusting his room, he follows you around the room and watches you. You know, just in case you fall or something falls on you! No other reason.

"As much as I like having you here all to myself, it makes me feel bad watching you do that by yourself. Why don't you we clean together? We'll get it done twice as fast, and when we're finished, I'd like to read a book to you. You remind me of a certain character from a murder mystery novel I've started."

Asmo

Eeehhh?!?!? You've seriously managed to organize both his endless skin care product collection, and his ENTIRE wardrobe?!? You're amazing...!

And you don't stop there. You were more than happy to clean his tub for him and everything, and you know how hard it is to get oil off the side of a tub, right? You're a lifesaver!

Asmo casually pawns off his chores too you. Oh, he just did his nails! Can you do the dishes? Ah, he just bought this outfit. Can you take out the trash? He's about to go out with his friends to a party, so be a dear and take care of the common bathroom for him?

Lucifer scolds the shit out of him every time he catches him doing that. You're welcome. But don't think Asmo won't repay you! He'll give you so much love, you'll be drowning in it! Figuratively or literally, depending on your preferences-

"Fufufu... if you wanted my attention, you should've just told me! You didn't have to go tidying up my shoe collection, but I'm happy you did~! If you keep spoiling me like this, I might not be able to keep my hands off of you! Unless... that's what you wanted?"

Beel

Things tend to get pretty messy with Beel around, with the trail of crumbs he always leaves in his wake, and how he manages to get every surface he touches sticky. But you must be a miracle worker...

You're like a living roomba, and his ravenous appetite is no match against your cleaning skills! You seem to predict when the food bits will fall, and it's thanks to you that he can eat without a care in the world!

It's actually kind of scary, though. He'll drop a bite of his sandwich and move down to retrieve it to eat, and... it's gone. Poof. Into the ether of the garbage can...

You can still rest once in a while though, you know? Beel offers to help you with the cleaning, and he's more than happy to let you climb up his shoulders to reach those high places. It makes him happy to know he can lend a hand.

"MC, I already cleaned over here so you don't have to do it. I cleaned there, too. That means you don't have anything else to do, so why don't you have a lunch break with me? It's not good to work so hard all the time."

Belphie

Belphie's one for the more observant brothers, so your clean freak habits didn't go unnoticed. He didn't know if you were obsessed with cleaning, or if you genuinely enjoyed it, but at least you were doing it without a fuss?

And man did you do a good job. Everywhere you cleaned was left with the lingering smell of vanilla and lavender, and... you know, the smell is making him sleepy.

Every pillow his head touches seems especially fluffy, too! When he found out you made a regular habit of washing and fluffing them, and they smell amazing... He feels like he's laying on a cloud...

He won't admit it genuinely, but he really does love what you're doing with the place. It makes him feel a little fuzzy inside when he finds his pillow on his bed, freshly laundered and soft to the touch. He clings to it extra tight those nights.

"You know if you keep this up, I might prefer the pillows to your lap. Ah, but don't worry, I don't really mean it. There's no way a pillow could replace you, no matter how good it smells. I think."

[tartglias]

General relationship headcanons with genshin boys

“Since it's open, what about general headcanons for the boys? ;0 like what's it like to be with them for a headstart :D”

i was originally going to make six characters, then five, but then i accidentally deleted th draft and had to start all over again. i already feel bad for posting late so i’m sorry it’s just four and not five :( i’ll probably make a part 2 of these soon!!

characters: diluc, kaeya, scaramouche and xiao

Diluc

The beginning of the relationship was slow, painfully slow. So slow that a certain bard and the one and only Cavalry Captain had to step up, since neither of you would make the first step. Both of you were too scared of rejection, so you decided to swallow your feelings and “face” reality.

A few pick up lines over here, a jealousy scene over there, and the result was a very angry and flustered Diluc taking your hand and leading you upstairs for some privacy. It was then and there when he confessed his feelings for you, a sigh of relief leaving him when you reciprocated.

Both of you are private people, so you decided that keeping the relationship away from the public eye would be the best option. Sure, affection was reduced to an extent but that doesn’t mean that the relationship lacks love!

Affection in public meant exchanging soft glances and shy smiles from across the room, interlocking of pinkies and stealing kisses when nobody was looking. Very rarely, when he was feeling wild and desperate, he would drag you to somewhere secluded and push you (gently) to the nearest wall, caging you in between his arms as you wrapped your hands around his waist. Then, he kissed you slow and passionately.

Behind closed doors, the story was different. There wasn’t a single moment in which his hands weren’t touching your skin, or your hands weren’t playing with his hair as you kissed him passionately to compensate for the lost time. A kiss here, a kiss there. Again and again. A kiss for every hour you couldn’t spend together.

You found out about Diluc’s nightly activities rather quickly. It happened on a night in which he came back home slightly injured and breathless. When you questioned him, he simply said that some treasure hoarders ambushed him, but you knew he was lying. You could tell. Diluc soon realized there was no point in lying to you, so he told you his identity as the Darknight Hero.

Overall, your relationship may have started in a messy way, Diluc sometimes wishes he could have confessed in a different and more appropiate way. Your relationship may also be quiet, but quiet doesn’t mean that it lacks love. You both spend late nights and mornings in each others arms whispering sweet nothings. And your relationship may be scary at times, you often feared that he wont come back home one day. But you also know he always does, and you trust him every moment of the day. And he feels the same way. He doesn’t trust people easily, he rarely lets people in. But you are different, you make him feel different. He trusts you more than anything in the world.

Kaeya

It was no secret that Kaeya was a flirt. A few compliments over here, a charming smile over there and that was basically the formula to have most people in Mondstadt wrapped around his finger. Most people... except you. With a shy smile and an evident blush on your cheeks you were always fast to dismiss it and laugh it off. “You shouldn’t go saying those things” you used to say.

It started with a desire to make you swoon, it was like a goal for him. But eventually, he caught feelings and you were the one who made him swoon. So one day, he had enough. He wanted to confess and tell you how he actually feels.

And so he did, yet somehow you still thought it was a joke. “Kaeya you can’t say those things as a joke... someone will actually fall for it” you said, looking down at your feet as your heart started beating faster and faster by second. “I’m not joking, y/n. That’s how I truly and deeply feel about you” he said, taking your hand and placing it on his chest so you could feel how fast his heart was beating as well.

The closest word to describe your relationship with Kaeya would be that it was like an adventure, interesting and fun. You’re bored? He would take you to explore interesting (and safe) places he encountered while on his commissions. You’re sad? Nothing like him dragging you to the very top of the Cathedral and hugging you close to him as you both watch the sunset wouldn’t solve.

Kaeya’s kisses can be either quick or desperate and hungry, yet passionate. The first case usually happened whenever you two were in public, though he doesn’t have a problem with PDA. If it were up to him, he would spend every second of the day kissing you. But you’re both busy people so most times one of you is in a hurry. The second case happens when either one of you come home after a long day. It starts slow, maybe a few pecks here and there, but soon enough he picks up the pace. One hand around your waist, keeping you close to his body, and his other hand on your face, deepening the kiss. It always leaves you breathless, and he takes those few seconds you take to catch air to kiss your jaw and neck. He loves you and your body, he could spend a lifetime worshipping it.

Insecurity was somewhat a problem in the relationship, from both sides. On his side, he sometimes worried that you would get tired of him and slip away, just like most people in his life. And on your side, you feared that he would find someone who was braver, prettier and more skilled than you. But at the end of the day, even if there were times in which you argued over this problem, you both would always come home to each other. Nights would be spent in each other’s arms, constantly reassuring each other that you’re both here to stay.

Overall, dating Kaeya isn’t easy. You knew this the moment you both confessed. But it is worth it, no one makes you feel like he does, no one makes you swoon and laugh like him. And no one, and I mean, not a single person in Teyvat, could make Kaeya happier.

Scaramouche

Scaramouche was angry, to say the least. How dare you, a fellow Fatui Harbinger who he had to see almost daily, make his heart beat fast and legs shake? Why was he feeling like this? So stupid?

He thought your confession was part of a game, a dare. He saw you laughing with Childe a few moments before, and not that he would ever admit it, in fact he would rather lose his Vision and die than admit it, but he was a little bit jealous of the scene. He wanted to make you laugh like that, he wanted to make you blush and he wanted to have your heart. The moment you confessed, he was angry. He was sure it was a dare and Childe’s plan to make fun of him, but he quickly regretted it once he saw your sad face. “No, leave” he had said. Your shy smile dropped instantly and you slowly nodded, turning around and starting to walk away. His mouth opened before he could actually stop and think of what to do. “Do you mean it?” he asked. “Do you actually like me? It’s not a dare?” “Why would it be a dare? Scaramouche, I’ve liked you for a while now, everyone knows but you” you said, facing him once again only to find him trying to hide away the strong blush on his face. “Then... I think I like you too” he said, not daring to look at you.

Scaramouche was a harsh and jealous lover, he wanted you for himself. Fights were normal in your relationship, words without real meaning would be thrown at each other all the time. Yet, neither of you walked away. Neither of you verbally apologized for the harsh words either, but instead, you would let your actions apologize for you. Normal fights would be due to his jealousy, you spending a little too much time with Childe or other Harbingers for his liking. Yes, he knows you love him and yes, he knows that he is better than everyone else there. But he also knows he’s not the most liked person among the Fatui, and often worried that you would soon agree with people who said that. After taking a deep breath of air, you would drag him to bed and hold him close to you. His arms around your waist as he snuggled closer to you and buried his face on your neck. You hold him for a few hours while whispering soft promises of love and endless praise, reassuring him that you are not going anywhere anytime soon. “Don’t worry, you’ll have to put up with me for a long, long while” you whispered as you kissed his forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way” he whispered back.

Contrary to popular belief and also to his personality, his kisses are soft and unsure. He doesn’t have a lot of experience in this area, so his kisses tend to be short yet soft. Mostly in private as well, since he would rather die than let his underlings see this side of him. He would wrap his arms around your waist, probably as he makes a teasing comment about how desperate you are or how much you probably missed him, and then kissed your lips. He is fascinated by the way your lips feel against his, he gets drunk by the feeling.

Overall, your relationship with Scaramouche is wild, to say the least. One moment you’re yelling at each other, ready to fight and the next one you’re holding him close as he whispered protection promises and kissed your neck. But despite all the problems you both encountered, you’re always there for each other. You rely on him and he relies on you, and that’s enough.

Xiao

“What’s this?” He asked you as you slowly pulled away from him. “A kiss” “Disgusting. Do it again” He said, pulling you back to him with one hand as the other rested on your waist. You smiled through the kiss, and he felt like all his pain and karma vanished. After a while, you pulled away. “Again” he said, chasing your lips before crashing them with his in another soft yet desperate kiss. You giggled and pulled away. “I need to breathe” you said, chuckling at sight of his lips pouting. “Why”

The first time you met, he saved you from treasure hoarders. But before you could thank him, he disappeared. You didn’t know who your savior was, so you tried your best to remember the mask that was on his face. You didn’t see him again, until you found yourself in Wantshu Inn after a long day of commissions far away from your home in Liyue Harbor. You needed rest, but the clear night and stars were calling for you, and before you noticed you were at the top floor of the inn. That’s where you saw him, and for reasons he doesn’t understand, he didn’t leave. He remained sat on the floor, looking at the sky as his legs were hanging from the edge. “Isn’t it pretty? I barely see stars as clear as these back home” you said to the stranger from a close yet appropriate distance. He didn’t reply, he didn’t look at you, but he knew who you were. He remembered you from the time he saved you. Next thing you noticed was the mask that was on the floor next to him. Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped. “You’re... the one who saved me” you said, shock flooding your face. He rolled his eyes in response, can’t he be left alone? “I never got to thank you so... thank you” you simply said, a soft expression replacing your shocked one.

You started dropping by Wangshu Inn a bit more often, whenever your time and commissions allowed you too. And every time you brought different kinds of foods to offer to Xiao, no one ever telling you that his favorite was Almond Tofu. He found it annoying at first, but soon enough got used to it. The day you brought Almond Tofu though, he almost smiled. Almost. His expressions as he ate the offering didn’t go unnoticed by you, and quickly learnt that it was his favorite.

After a while he started looking forward to your visits, but if someone ever asked him about it, he would just say it wasn’t because of you, it was for the almond tofu offering. You started spending more time with him, even though he barely opened his mouth and you did all the talking. He found you amusing, truly. Something about you, made him feel funny inside. And that scared him.

Your relationship started with a kiss. “Again” he would say. “Again” he would repeat whenever you broke away to breathe. This was new to him, and he knew it was wrong since he is who he is and could harm you at any second, but he was addicted. He was addicted to your kisses, to your touches. He got drunk by the feeling you gave him, not wanting to ever let go. “Let go, let go of them. You’ll only harm them” he kept repeating to himself in his mind, but his body moved by itself, pulling you closer to him. He was addicted, and he knew it was bad.

There weren’t many arguments in your relationship, maybe a few over you taking dangerous commissions, but other than that it was full of affection. Affection used to be a strange concept for Xiao, who once was determined that it’s better for everyone if he stayed away. But then you appeared, and no one ever made him feel the way you did. He started yearning for your touches and he looked forward to you coming back to him so he could kiss you. You were better than any medicine Zonghli could ever give him, you made his pain ease. And as you were wrapped in his arms watching the stars at the top floor of the Inn, he made a promise. A promise of protection and love, he would never let anyone or anything harm you, and even if you die of old age he would still love you for centuries to come, and he will find you again in your next life.

Overall, your relationship with Xiao started slowly, but soon grew more and more with each passing day. He trusts you almost as much as he trusts Rex Lapis, and he would always watch you closely whenever you go out on a commissions. How did you get so lucky?

[lingthusiasm]

Transcript Episode 72: What If Linguistics - Absurd hypothetical questions with Randall Munroe of xkcd

This is a transcript for Lingthusiasm episode ‘What If Linguistics - Absurd hypothetical questions with Randall Munroe of xkcd’. It’s been lightly edited for readability. Listen to the episode here or wherever you get your podcasts. Links to studies mentioned and further reading can be found on the episode show notes page.

[Music]

Gretchen: Welcome to Lingthusiasm, a podcast that’s enthusiastic about linguistics! I’m Gretchen McCulloch.

Lauren: I’m Lauren Gawne. Today, we’re getting enthusiastic about absurd, hypothetical linguistics questions. But first, our most recent bonus episode was a chat about the design of IPA charts and how the International Phonetic Alphabet is arranged.

Gretchen: We talked to Lingthusiasm’s resident artist, Lucy Maddox, about designing a different take on the IPA chart that is gonna be available for you on posters and lens cleaning cloths and various other items.

Lauren: Those lens cleaning cloths are a special offer for our patrons, so head to patreon.com/lingthusiasm by October 5th to participate in that special offer.

[Music]

Lauren: Gretchen, I’ve been reading What If? 2 by Randall Munroe, who does xkcd, and I’m delighted there are a couple of linguistics-related chapters in that book.

Gretchen: There’s this fun one about how long it would take to read all of the laws, which it seems like a massive task.

Lauren: Including a fun digression as to whether a Poké Ball is an egg.

Gretchen: This very much reminds me of the is-a-hotdog-a-sandwich type question.

Lauren: Hmm, legal minds will debate, I’m sure. If only there was more linguistics content in that book, though.

Gretchen: Well, you know, Lauren, as it happens, I have Randall Munroe right here. He has some linguistics questions to ask us as if we were starring characters in What If? 2.

Lauren: Amazing. Welcome, Randall!

Randall: Hi! Thanks so much for having me on. I know I’ve met you, Gretchen, in the outside world, but it’s really exciting to meet you here for real inside this podcast.

Gretchen: Welcome to Lingthusiasm headquarters, as it were.

Lauren: We are delighted to answer your hypothetical linguistics questions.

Randall: There’re a lot of things that’ve confused me about language. English has some weird features. I was wondering, if I’m in a government hearing after this where they’re questioning me, and if they ask me, "Are you now or have you ever been a guest on Lingthusiasm?”–

Gretchen: To which you would have to answer, “Yes,” at this point.

Randall: Right. But my question is why the awkward repetition? Like, why does English make us specify whether the thing happened now or in the past? Why can’t they just say, “Are you/were you a guest on Lingthusiasm”?

Gretchen: I mean, there’re definitely some languages that do things like this. In Chinese, for example, you don’t have to specify the time in a statement. You can say the time, but you don’t have to say it, which is one of the parameters on which language varies, but the specific legal question also has stuff going on in it.

Lauren: It’s partly because legalese is a technical variety of English, but it doesn’t always just use technical vocabulary that makes it seem opaque. It also uses everyday words in a way that have really technical and specific meanings. Some of that is because legalese is about this process of building laws on top of each other and historically layering them. So, a word that has a really common meaning in general develops this really specific meaning in the legal context.

Gretchen: I also think it’s because lawyers have this very pedantic approach to language and looking at every single comma and potential for ambiguity. Because in realistic language we tolerate a lot of ambiguity, and we figure it out from context. But the whole thing with laws and trying to get it exactly on your side is not really allowing space for context and trying to pin everything down really precisely.

Randall: Well, I was thinking about it. If I wanted to create that ambiguity – like, if I wanted to ask, “Are you in Nova Scotia now, or have you been there in the past?” – how would I do that? I couldn’t figure it out.

Gretchen: I think in ordinary English you might just ask one version of the question – “Have you ever been to Nova Scotia?” “Have you ever been on Lingthusiasm?” And then someone would just answer that with a “Yes, in fact, I am there right now.”

Lauren: We’re trying to be helpful to each other in conversation in a way that law doesn’t necessarily start from the same premise of being helpful. It’s starting from the premise of being complete.

Gretchen: And starting from the premise of being, actually, kind of antagonistic.

Lauren: Deliberately unhelpful.

Gretchen: It’s like an adversarial approach to language rather than the cooperative approach we normally have.

Randall: That makes sense – making it clear from context that you are asking about both the past and present even if you’re only specifically referring to one of them.

Gretchen: Yeah. Because if I say like, “Have you ever been interested in linguistics?” “Yes, I still am.” Like, it’s still sort of true, but in this legal sense you might be like, “No, it’s not that I was before, it’s that I am now.” It’s just sort of trying to catch people out in being incredibly pedantic.

Randall: If you wanted to add a way in English to make that explicitly ambiguous – like if I wanted a way to say, “You something something Lingthusiasm guest” – is there a natural structure that you would add if you were in charge of revising English?

Gretchen: Well, I mean, one option you could do – so English technically has only two tenses, past and non-past. Because you can say something like, “Tomorrow I go to the airport, and I fly to this place.” So, you can use what’s often called the “present” to refer to future events. If non-past is the more versatile English tense, you could just make a special rule that’s like, you don’t change it. I think probably the most realistic English way would be to try to add an auxiliary. So, the future in English is often formed with “will” or “gonna.” You could have a new one of those. Like, “Are you sort of Lingthusiasm guest?”

Randall: Or like, “You ever a Lingthusiasm guest?” Yeah.

Gretchen: Yeah. You could maybe use “ever” into – like dropping the verb would help. Entirely. Or making some new version of “would” or “sort of” or something.

Lauren: Just a new, tense-less version of English.

Gretchen: Just delete all the tenses in general.

Lauren: I feel like that would keep the lawyers even busier.

Randall: I’m curious about the sounds of English. I know there’re some sounds that are merging together, like the distinction between “caught” and “cot” in some dialects. Are there any sounds or phonemes that are currently in the process of coming into English or disappearing from it entirely?

Lauren: There’s one that is disappearing and becoming a ghost before our very ears, which has millennia of history, which is what is known as the “wine/whine” merger.

Gretchen: The /waɪn-hwaɪn/ merger.

Lauren: That W-H /w/ that is pronounced by some older speakers or speakers of very fancy registers like RP as /hw/ – so /hwɪt͡ʃ/, “Having a bit of /hwaɪn/ over my /waɪn/.”

Gretchen: As you can hear from both me and Lauren, we both have the merger.

Lauren: We have absolutely merged these. They are indistinct for us. /wɪt͡ʃ/ and /hwɪt͡ʃ/ is a very forced distinction I have to make. But for maybe, like, grandparent to great-grandparent generations at the moment, you do find it for some speakers which is a form of a sound that goes all the way back to Proto-Indo-European.

Randall: Wow. It made it all this time, and now, we’re the ones killing it off.

Lauren: We’re killing it off right now.

Randall: Wow!

Gretchen: It’s kind of neat because in Proto-Indo-European, there was a /kw/ sound – a sort of K-W – which in modern Romance languages has become Q-U but still pronounced /kw/ or /k/. This is like in “quando” or “quoi” or some of these words you might know from French or Spanish or Italian. All these words that have K in it became H in the Germanic set of words. You get things like “cornu-,” as in “cornucopia,” became “horn,” as in “horn of plenty.” There’s all these words that have a K sound – which is sometimes written with a C, sometimes with a Q – and those all became H. This is why we have all these words that begin with W-H – “Who, what, where, when, why” and the exceptional “how.” Those are the same as the /kw/ words in those other languages because that K became an H. Then the H and the W swapped positions at some point because people decided they liked it better. Then, not quite the H stopped getting pronounced, but the H influenced the pronunciation of the W becoming /hw/ rather than – I don’t even know how you’d do it. Now, it’s just sort of merged back with that W that we have – /w/.

Lauren: It’s so widespread that the W-H set of question words in English are all /k/ words even in languages like Hindi and Nepali, which are over in the Indo-Aryan side of that language family. You get “kina”, “ko,” “kahile.”

Randall: Oh, so it’s really old.

Gretchen: That’s why that H is there even though most people don’t pronounce it. I think you’re more likely to get sounds enter one variety of English, or disappear from one variety of English, and then that change spreads for a long time, and it takes a while to get to all of them.

Lauren: You still occasionally find “wine” and “whine” as distinct, or more often, you find it distinct in Scotland, a lot of Ireland, and apparently older speakers in New Zealand have been slower than Australians and Canadians and Brits in dropping this.

Randall: That makes sense. I know a few people who have that distinction, too, but like you said, it does tend to be older people. Although, I always find it funny. I always answered those dialect quizzes saying that I pronounced C-O-T and C-A-U-G-H-T the same. Then I was describing this merger to someone, and they said, “No, you don’t. Say it in a sentence.” I said it out loud, and I realised I am inside me. I didn’t hear how it sounded from the outside.

Gretchen: Okay. Say the words.

Randall: Like, “I /kɑt/ him sleeping on the /kat/.” “I /kɑt/ him sleeping on the /kat/.”

Gretchen: Oh, you absolutely say those differently.

Lauren: They are very different.

Gretchen: I would say, “I /kat/ him sleeping on the /kat/.”

Randall: I was born in that pocket of Pennsylvania where, when I looked on those dialect maps, that area is one of the unmerged areas.

Gretchen: And all of these sorts of splits – like dropped “for whom” or added “for whom.” Indian English has a bunch of retroflex sounds. All their Ts and Ds are produced with the tongue curled back onto the tip of the mouth. That’s entered one variety of English, but it seems probably unlikely it will spread to all of the other varieties, but who knows.

Lauren: One can hope. Because I would love to be able to distinguish between a retroflex and a non-retroflex. Too late for the plasticity of my phonemic inventory, but for future Englishes, it could be exciting.

Gretchen: They’re cool sounds.

Randall: Can you practice the sound enough that you can convincingly convey it to other people who then learn it from you? And then it becomes natural for them?

Lauren: Deliberately raise a family of people who have these distinctions.

Gretchen: I mean, I’ve always thought it would be cool to come up with some sort of, I dunno, conlang or something you could teach a kid or some sort of array of here’s, like, three languages you could teach a kid that would give them the maximal number of phonemic distinctions based on those languages. Because Germanic languages actually have tons of vowels cross-linguistically. A lot of languages have five vowels or three vowels or maybe seven, and English has fourteen-ish, depending on the dialect. German, I think Norwegian, Dutch, also, all the Germanic languages have tons of vowels. It would be like, okay, you wanna include one Germanic language for the vowels, and then you want a language that has tons of consonants like maybe Ubykh.

Lauren: Something around the Caucasus, for sure.

Gretchen: Something around the Caucasus for consonants. And then maybe a language with lots of tones – like Cantonese has more tones than Mandarin, so maybe give them Cantonese so they get tone. Then you have this nice array of this will make it easier for you to learn any other language because you’ve got most of the major sound distinctions.

Lauren: It’s also really good because you also have a really good spread of a language that’s isolating and doesn’t have a lot of morphology through to one with middling – English is very underwhelmingly average – and then those Caucasian languages do tend to have really good morphology, so it would be typologically satisfying on multiple fronts.

Gretchen: Yeah. So, raise your kid to be Cantonese-Ubykh-English trilingual, and they’ll be all set for their future language learning.

Lauren: [Laughs] I think we’ve said everything un-useful to say about that question.

Gretchen: [Laughs]

Randall: Say we’re playing a game. I’m gonna pick a random North American English speaker and ask them a spoken or written usage question. Like, “How would you say this?” “How do you pronounce this?” “How do you write this?” Now, you get to pick someone else to ask them same question to without knowing what it’s gonna be. If your person gives the same answer as my person, then you win. Now, who would you pick if you wanted the best chance of matching a random person? Would you pick, like, a news anchor, a kid, or a nondescript middle-aged person, or like a writer or something?

Lauren: I think I have an answer. Gretchen, who would you pick?

Gretchen: I think this is really complicated because I wanna know what’s the spoken or written usage question that you’re asking them because I think it would depend what are the parameters this varies on. Because if it’s an age-based usage question that I’m asking, then I wanna pick based on age, but if maybe it’s geography that’s more relevant or urban status – I think you’d probably want somebody in a mid-sized city because language change tends to happen faster in urban centres and slower in rural areas. You wanna split the difference. But not one of the mid-sized cities that has distinctive stuff going on. Like, Pittsburgh has got a whole bunch of stuff that’s been documented for it. So, yeah, I’m like, what are you gonna do for gender? I guess you sort of want somebody who’s around the middle for a lot of statistics, sort of middling in age – not too old, not too young – middling in terms of city. I dunno. Lauren, do you have a more specific answer?

Lauren: Oh, yeah, I’d pick a lexicographer. [Laughter]

Randall: And you’d tell them what the game is?

Lauren: Well, I think because of all of the people who have to think about and understand language usage, I always find lexicographers have a really solid appreciation for what is in the mind of the average language user. They’d be the first group of people that come to mind for me. I guess we want someone who’s at the intersection of being a lexicographer and all of those demographic details that Gretchen was suggesting.

Gretchen: I mean, I think that’s probably Kory Stamper, right, because she’s one of the youngest lexicographers. But “young” for lexicographer is like, I dunno, probably 40s. I think she lives in a mid-size American city.

Lauren: Okay, our answer is Kory Stamper. Done.

Gretchen: There we go.

Randall: Nice. You know, Gretchen, I realised as you were answering that, there was a project in a Midwestern newspaper ran a contest to try to find the most average person in the country. They did exactly the procedure you’re describing where they picked a city that was the most mid-size that was in the middle on a whole bunch of variables, and then they had the town vote on who the most representative average person in the town was. They picked this one guy. He owned a hat store, I think. Then they were like, “We found America’s average man.” Then they took him around to show him a bunch of stuff and get the average man’s opinion on this and that.

Gretchen: Sort of proto-Joe-the-plumber experience.

Lauren: It must be really good to track down the most average person because they must be a wealth of marketing insights.

Gretchen: Well, I was also trying to answer the question for gender because you can sort of pick an average age, you can pick an average location, but for gender, I do actually think that there might be benefits in choosing a non-binary person, not necessarily because non-binary is the average of men and women, but there was a really interesting study by Chantal Gratton on how non-binary people talk in different types of circumstances and how they can adopt features that are associated with multiple genders from that axis. I think, again, if we’re looking for versatility, which is a reason for picking a lexicographer.

Lauren: If you’re a non-binary person working in lexicography –

Gretchen: We wanna hear from you.

Lauren: We’ve got a great game to play.

Gretchen: [Laughs]

Randall: So, if I say, “It’s 3:00 p.m. and hot out,” what is “it” in that sentence? Because the more I think about it, the more it hurts my head.

Gretchen: That’s a fun question because this “it” is doing something that’s, as you may have noticed, semantically meaningless. That’s not the same thing as “I ate it,” where “it” refers to maybe some cake, maybe an apple, a physical object that you can point to. The “it” in “It’s 3:00 p.m.,” “It’s hot,” “It’s raining” is just there because English really hates it when sentences don’t have a subject – like a real, physical subject that’s there that you’ve said even if it doesn’t mean anything. English is not okay with that.

Lauren: There’s lots of languages that will happily say something that would translate into English literally as “Is 3:00 p.m. Is hot.” Or “Is 3:00 p.m. and hot.” And therefore, there’s no “it” there. Because it’s not there for its meaning, it’s just there to fill this spot in a sentence, it doesn’t matter that it is filling the role for being 3:00 p.m. and hot. “It” is just there to tick a box. In fact, this is so odd in English and such a quirk of English that it has a name which is “dummy it.”

Randall: So, wait. You could attach that “it” both to the “3:00 p.m.” and to another verb. I could say, “It’s 3:00 p.m. and was eaten.”

Gretchen: I don’t think you can. [Laughter] Do you think that’s grammatical?

Randall: What just got eaten?

Gretchen: “It’s 3:00 p.m. and eaten” is like a Lewis Carroll story or something.

Lauren: The “it” being eaten is suddenly meaningful, and so it can’t coordinate as an empty dummy it and a meaningful-subject it.

Gretchen: I think that’s actually a nice test because you can say, “It’s 3:00 p.m. and hot and raining,” and all of those are doing the same “it.” But when you start combining them – I mean, I guess if you say, “It’s hot and eaten,” now you’re just referring to a specific item and not the general state of affairs. Some people think the “it” in “It’s hot” or “It’s raining” refers to the weather or the sky. But we don’t generally go around saying, “The sky is raining.”

Randall: Well, now I’m gonna start.

Gretchen: I mean, you can change things.

Lauren: “It’s raining” is an interesting construction across languages because a lot of languages require you to say something like, “Rain is raining” or “Water is raining.” They don’t have that dummy construction. They’ve solved it in a different way.

Gretchen: I should say this is the dummy as in a dressmaker’s dummy or like a mannequin in a store window. It’s just propping up the clothes. You can think of this “it” as propping up the rest of the sentence.

Lauren: I also like to think of it as because English is so stressed about not having a subject, like a distressed baby, it needs a pacifier, and that’s why you give it a dummy.

Randall: Then I think “It’s 3:00 p.m. and eaten” is gonna stress out English just a little too much.

Gretchen: Yeah. If you want another piece of technical vocabulary, this construction like, “It’s 3:00 p.m. and eaten,” is known as zeugma. This is something like, “She put out the light and the cat.”

Randall: Oh, I like that.

Lauren: You like it, but the lawyers would be having a meltdown.

Gretchen: Let’s see if there are any other fun examples. “You held your breath and the door for me.” “I took the podium and my second trophy of the evening.” “The boy swallowed milk and kisses.” You can use it for multiple functions. But I think normally when zeugma works, it’s – I mean, you can do it in the abstract like “Put out the light and the cat” because one’s a figurative use and one’s a physical use. But I think, yeah, “It’s 3:00 p.m. and eaten” I have trouble with. It’s definitely deliberately playful. I don’t even know if it’s even ungrammatical. It’s deliberately playful.

Lauren: “What’s afternoon tea?” “It’s 3:00 p.m. and eaten.”

Randall: Yeah, it seems like there’s an omitted “at,” like, “It’s at 3:00 p.m. and ready.”

Lauren: It’s because “ready” is definitely more of an adjective, whereas “eaten” is a more nominalised-but-still-verb.

Gretchen: Yeah, I think “It’s at 3:00 p.m.” – that can refer to, like, the event is at 3:00 p.m. That’s changing it into a literal “it” again.

Randall: Well, and the reason I couldn’t say, “It’s 3:00 p.m., and I’m eating it,” is then you’re like, “It’s a different ‘it’.”

Gretchen: Yeah, each of them has its own subject, so that’s fine.

Randall: Yeah, and it’s like, “Oh, you didn’t say what he’s eating, but he’s eating it,” you know.

Gretchen: Yeah.

Randall: So, as I understand it, you can use the International Phonetic Alphabet to transcribe all the sounds that people use in language.

Lauren: Mm-hmm.

Randall: How you do you write a cough in IPA? I was looking through the chart, and I couldn’t figure out, is there a symbol that would go with that sound?

Lauren: A general, full-throated cough is not something that is specifically a speech sound in any human language, so there’s not a –

Gretchen: That we know of yet.

Lauren: That we know of yet or that someone has not created to raise their child to attempt to turn it into normal phonology. So, we don’t have a specific symbol for a cough in the standard International Phonetic Alphabet as set forward by the International Phonetic Association.

Gretchen: However, you have now unlocked – congratulations – the extended IPA.

Randall: I’ve never heard of the extended IPA.

Gretchen: I don’t think we’ve ever talked about it on an episode.

Lauren: Oh, how excellent!

Gretchen: This is yet more IPA for your fun and enjoyment.

Lauren: Also, for useful technical reasons.

Gretchen: Also, useful technical reasons.

Randall: Are you allowed to tell everyone about this? Or is this a secret held among linguists?

Gretchen: The classic IPA is devised for linguists to talk about sounds that are in the regular speech repertoire of spoken languages. The extended IPA is generally used by speech pathologists to transcribe other sounds that people sometimes make when they’re learning to or producing speech differently from how the typical user of their language does it.

Lauren: Speech pathology covers a really wide range. It could be anything from working with children who have lisps and stutters through to helping people post-stroke or with aphasia regain the ability to speak.

Gretchen: Some sounds – the one that’s really memorable for me is that they have gnashing of teeth in extIPA and also smacking lips and other types of whistled version of S, which I’m not gonna demonstrate because a.) I don’t think I can, and b.) it might be kind of painful if you’re on headphones. There’s also some sounds in extIPA that are, I think, very difficult to pronounce unless you have a cleft palate because they’re bringing the air through the palate in your mouth where most people don’t have a hole there or through your nose and mouth at the same time, if you have a cleft palate. That’s where I would look if I was looking for coughing because it seems like the kind of thing they might have done.

Randall: Okay. Do they have a whole new set of symbols, or is it mostly the Latin letters turned upside-down and stuff?

Lauren: There’s a lot of Latin letters turned upside-down or back-to-front. Or sometimes they’ll use something from the IPA with some additional diacritics and decoration.

Gretchen: Yeah, it’s a lot of diacritics. Like, things above and below the original letters. Unfortunately, it’s very unglamourous having hyped up the extIPA. There’s a whole section for unidentified or indeterminate sounds, which are a bunch of symbols in a circle. So, if you’re not sure what consonant is said, you can write C in a circle, which is kind of neat. But cough is written as – do you wanna get a pencil and write this down?

Randall: Okay.

Gretchen: Open bracket, open bracket, “cough,” close bracket, close bracket. [Laughter]

Randall: All right. I guess we’ve already got a way to write that.

Gretchen: I wish there was some sort of more interesting symbol. But there is this whole thing. They use music notation for loud speech and soft speech. They have “forte” and “pianissimo” and these sorts of things.

Lauren: This is outside of the extIPA, but if you want a linguist-approved convention for writing laughter in a conversation analysis, they use the @ sign.

Gretchen: Oh, that’s true.

Lauren: I do have a handful of friends who will text me with “@@@” instead of “lol.”

Gretchen: Amazing.

Lauren: It’s handy.

Randall: That reminds me of a comics problem which is, as far as I know, there’s no good written onomatopoeia or sound effect for the sound of applause. So, if you wanna show applause offscreen – off-panel in a comic – if there was an explosion, you would write, “boom,” you know.

Gretchen: Or “bang” or something.

Randall: There’re sounds for splashing – like “psh.” But there’s nothing for the sound of applauding. I don’t even know how to suggest it. Usually what cartoonists do is cheat, and they’ll write, “woo,” to imply people cheering.

Lauren: As someone who studies language and gesture, I don’t think that’s cheating. I think that’s cooping the multimodality of human expression to advantage in a graphic novel format.

Randall: The other thing you’ll sometimes see is people will just write, “clap clap clap clap.” So, it’s not cheating. It’s, you know, one of the many ways you can use language. But I feel like it would be so helpful if there were some way to write that sound. Since you’re both linguists, can you make one? [Gretchen laughs] How would you represent that? Like, okay, if “@@@” is laughing?

Lauren: Representing a sound as a conventionalised spoken form is onomatopoeia. Some languages do this kind of thing far more frequently and more conventionally than English does. We might want to take a look at a language that does that. I think Japanese is one of those languages that has a lot of ideophones and onomatopoeia.

Gretchen: Japanese does this a ton. The Japanese ideophone, onomatopoeia, for clapping is “pachi pachi.”

Randall: “Pachi pachi.” That seems about right.

Gretchen: Yeah, it seems about right. But the fun thing is also that “pachi” can also refer to the number eight in Japanese, which is more commonly “hachi,” but it can also be “pachi.” If you’re texting or you’re on social media, and you wanna indicate applause or clapping, you can also write a bunch of eights. At least Japanese speakers will know what you mean by that. I mean, I guess there’s also the emoji these days. People do that as well.

Lauren: The emoji does have those little action lines. But to get those action lines into English, we just made a big deal about Japanese having this onomatopoeic form, but I think “clap” is also a form of onomatopoeia. We just don’t look at it that way.

Randall: Huh, “clap.”

Gretchen: Oh, no, wait. So, the etymology of “clap.”

Randall: I’ve never been on tenterhooks waiting for an Etymonline definition.

Gretchen: Yeah. So, the Etymonline entry for “clap” has “a common Germanic echoic verb,” which is also found in Old Frisian, Old High German, Old Saxon “klapunga,” and it – yeah, “unknown origin, probably onomatopoeic.”

Lauren: I think the obvious thing to do is to put “clap clap clap,” footnote, down the bottom of the comic, because good comics should have footnotes, you just link to the Etymonline entry. Everyone’s happy. [Laughter]

Randall: Yes, oh man.

Gretchen: The answer was inside you all along.

Randall: It’s like you start saying “clap” so fast that you stumble over the sounds, and there you’ve got it.

Gretchen: From a physical, articulatory perspective, you’re sort of doing a teeny-tiny clap with your tongue, inside your mouth, against the rest of your mouth.

Randall: Yeah. I mean, because, well, the /k/ is the clapping at the back, and then the /p/ is the front, and the /l/ is the labiodental –

Gretchen: It’s a lateral.

Lauren: Your whole mouth is clapping.

Randall: Yeah.

Gretchen: Three or four different parts of your tongue are all doing little taps against the roof of your mouth.

Randall: Your whole mouth is applauding. That is so cool. Okay. Thank you for that.

Gretchen: You’re very welcome.

Randall: This might be almost a question for a singer, but you mentioned these sounds that are outside the speech register. What’s up with the piercing sound of a horror movie scream? Is that falsetto? Is that a normal speech sound but louder? Or is that your throat doing something weird?

Gretchen: There’s a great paper about screaming, which is brilliantly titled, “Human Screams Occupy a Privileged Niche in the Communication Soundscape,” which I think begins to answer your question. It suggests that screams are universal and acoustically unique so that they’ll alert us to danger and ensure, and I quote, “biological and ultimately social efficiency.” I guess the hope being that, like, if someone’s screaming, even if you don’t speak their language, you can still tell this is a human distress signal. We normally write a scream from an onomatopoeia perspective as “Aaahhhhhh!” with a lot of As and maybe Hs because /a/ is the most open of the vowels. The Jaw is just fully dropped. It’s the least restricted. If you tried to scream something like, “Eeeeeee!”, you’d have to have your mouth be a lot more closed.

Randall: Yeah, you never write I-I-I-I-I.

Lauren: I guess that’s why the /i/ in “shriek” is trying to – because it’s closed, but it also then tends to correlate with perceptually higher-pitched things. That’s trying to give you that perception of it being really high-pitched, which /a/ doesn’t necessarily do.

Lauren: Yes. Because some comics will do A-I-E-E-E-E-E, like “Aieeeee!”

Lauren: Trying to get the best of both.

Gretchen: Yeah. Trying to give the high-pitched-ness of it. The other thing about this paper is that it says that screams are “acoustically well segregated from other communication signals,” as in, they’re higher-pitched than other communication signals, and that this is also partly to avoid false alarms. Because, like, imagine if a third of your words just had the scream bit in them, and then you’d kind of be like the “boy who cries wolf” of like, “Oh, well, if you’re screaming all the time, nothing’s ever urgent.”

Randall: You know what. There are a few animals that make sounds that I think are in that scream register because people get freaked out by them. I think foxes and then elk do a weird noise.

Gretchen: There’s some animals that make sounds like crying babies, which I dunno if that’s also in the same range, but the scream cluster is in 30-150 Hz. So, animals – probably some of them are in that range, and you could measure that. And that there’s also a perceptual attribute called “roughness” that screams tend to have. I really don’t wanna demonstrate a scream and really freak people out listening to the podcast, but if you think about your latest horror movie scream style, it’s got this sort of back-and-forth modulation, that sort of roughness.

Randall: I’m curious – it was interesting to realise that I learned from you about how emojis, a lot of them represent gestures, and how some of them are things we have words for, but some of them aren’t. What are some gestures that people do without realising this is a type of communication or without having a word for it?

Lauren: I’m gonna tell you the answer. But once I do, you will never unsee this. I just have to prepare you for that fact. There is something that everyone who gestures does all the time. It has a specific technical name. That is the repetition in a gesture to indicate duration or emphasis. This kind of repetition is known as a “beat” gesture. You will absolutely see it in the most clearest manifestation if you watch a politician give a speech because they love to use them to give a sense of coherence to what they’re saying. It’s this magic thing. If you’re giving a speech, here’s a pro tip. You can use beat gestures. If you continue to use the same repetition on your stressed syllables – I’m doing it now, but you can’t see it.

Gretchen: Lauren, I feel like you’re really emphasising the beat gestures in a very auditory way.

Lauren: I’m emphasising the beat gestures auditorily. But if you continue to do this gesture repetition, you can actually give the sense that everything you’re saying alongside those gestures is the same topic or it’s coherent even though it may not actually be so.

Randall: Huh. So, this is like when you’re shaking your hand up and down as you talk, and the up and down motion goes with the syllables, and then suddenly, when you do that, I have this urge to vote for you.

Gretchen: Vote for Lauren. She can’t be beat.

Lauren: [Laughs] There’s my slogan. So, you can combine it with a thumbs up if you wanna be like, “That was a really great job,” or a pointing gesture. It combines with other gestures. That’s part of why you see it everywhere. But sometimes, a person’s hands won’t be indicating, like, a pointing gesture, or they won’t be giving any information about the size or the shape of something. They’re just doing this repetition. The analogy in emoji is that we use a lot of repetition in our emoji to do the same kind of emphasis or duration – so a string of clapping hands to show applause in emoji or a string of hearts to say, “I really love that idea.”

Randall: Is it true that if you make someone hold their hands still when they’re talking, they’re less coherent or have a harder time forming sentences? I feel like I heard that somewhere.

Lauren: The general suggestion is yes. I think we’ve talked about it before, and I’ve said that’s the case. I’ve been returning to this literature and will probably revisit it in an episode, but it turns out that there is a lot of variation in what people mean when they say that they’ve stopped people from gesturing. And so, there’s a lot of variation in just how much it really does change how people speak. Possibly, sometimes it’s just because they come up with these really fantastically bizarre experiments.

Gretchen: There’s some where they tie them down so they can’t gesture, right. Maybe being tied down is a bit distracting.

Lauren: Oh, yeah, there are some fascinating study designs.

Randall: I mean, any time you have to have anyone do anything in an MRI, their circumstances are not gonna be natural. Well, what you really need to do is just raise someone in, like, have all the furniture in their house to be shaped like an MRI.

Gretchen: And then they’d be totally comfortable with it.

Randall: So, they go to sleep, and it’s in an MRI. And their couch where they watch TV is an MRI.

Lauren: Adding it to my long list of study design ideas that are terrible. A lot in this area are fascinatingly bad.

Randall: So, a lot of the time, I’ll read fiction or watch a movie where there’s a fictional language. If I come across a sample of a language, and I’m trying to figure out, “Is this a real, natural human language, or is it something that was created by a language enthusiast to seem real,” if you were hired as detectives to try to figure it out, what do you look for? What would be the hallmarks of an invented language?

Gretchen: This sounds like a great linguist job.

Randall: What would be the hallmarks that give away, you know, it’s someone who’s trying to make it seem like a natural language. If you were trying to figure out if you’re looking at a real language or one by someone who’s trying to fool you, what would you look for?

Lauren: I would go straight to trying to find the irregularities. If there are no irregularities, that’s an immediate sign that you have something that is too neat to have been slowly evolved collectively as a communal agreement by a collection of speakers.

Gretchen: Especially if there’re some people who do this and some people that do that. Because one of the things with artificial languages is they’ll tend to make one language. But as we were talking about with “wine” and “whine,” or trying to find the averagest English speaker, everyone’s slightly different with the language. If you don’t have any of that representation of “Different people are doing this slightly differently, and we don’t fully know exactly how all of this stuff works, but here’s a bunch of ways that it could be” –

Lauren: I think I would go, probably, straight to the pronoun system or how they do copulas – so in English “is, are, be, am” are all copula verbs, but they’re all a bit of a hot mess because, over time, we’ve created this really unbalanced paradigm. Or we’ve taken two different verbs and turned them into the past and the present of the current one. Or with pronouns – we just borrowed “they” from one of the Scandinavian languages, and you can’t actually find a robust explanation for where “she” came from in the English paradigm. “I” and “me” are incredibly ill-balanced. If you have a completely neat, like, “I have all these pronouns, and they’re perfectly clear which one is ‘me’ and which one is ‘you’ and which one’s single and which one’s plural,” I’m like, ugh, that is suspiciously regular. And language is very good at being irregular in these high-use areas.

Gretchen: It’s like a house that no one lives in because it’s suspiciously tidy. I think also the high-use areas, like in a house that you live in, tend to have more irregularity going on. I think it’s the difference between a stair rail or something that’s been polished by generations of people walking by it and having their hand on it. Some areas will be smoother than others. It’s hard to get that patina of use without lots of people doing it.

Lauren: I find the best way to do that when I’m constructing languages for fictional worlds is just to bring a degree of absentmindedness to my work. I might just generate the pronoun paradigm twice, and then take the bits I like of both of them, but then randomly forget sometime and use another form so there’s one completely irregular one in there.

Randall: That makes sense. Now and then I see people complain about like, “Oh, this show is unrealistic because the characters pronounce this one character’s name two different ways.” Like in Star Wars, some of them say /han/ Solo and some of them say /hæn/ Solo. “That’s because they haven’t prepared well enough.”

Lauren: It’s just two different parts of the galaxy.

Randall: Yeah.

Gretchen: As somebody named Lauren /gan/ – or as you say it –

Lauren: Lauren /gɑn/.

Gretchen: Yes. People never pronounce real people’s names differently depending on their accent.

Lauren: People would never have a /gɑn/gan/ merger. That would be completely unrealistic for my co-host to use the incorrect vowel in pronouncing my name.

Gretchen: Because I don’t have your /gɑn/ vowel.

Lauren: So, yeah, that kind of irregularity. I do have to say, sometimes there is implausible irregularity. In Game of Thrones, I found it comedically implausible that every single member of Arya Stark’s family would pronounce her first name differently. But I can totally believe there is an entire galaxy where there are two different ways to pronounce /hɑn/ or /hæn/.

Randall: So, it’s like the difference between there being, oh, a couple of different accents – some people say this name this way, some people say /hɑn/, some people say /hæn/ – versus, like, these people have clearly not met Arya because they all say it differently.

Lauren: Her own family members don’t seem to know.

Gretchen: And the reasons are often motivated in some sort of factor. If you have characters – okay, people who are in this group do this; people who are in that group do this – but like, why do these characters who all grew up together in the same environment, why do they talk so differently if they all grew up together? Maybe there’s some sort of other reason, right? But what sort of factors are influencing how people are talking differently or like, “Oh, we just happened to hire a bunch of actors from different places. Whatever.” Sometimes, you get a show that does that sort of accent neutral casting or accent indifferent casting, but if you wanna create within-world story reasons for people – you know, “Oh, we’re gonna give all the good guys British accents.”

Lauren: Yeah, a bit of randomness and whimsy definitely helps bring a language to life.

Randall: That’s a really clever thing to look for. It’s nice to know that you could just be a little bit less fastidious and actually make it seem more real. Let’s just suppose, optimistically, that this podcast recording survives for 50 or 100 years. I always think it’s funny. We’re sitting here recording this at a specific time and place, but it’s gonna be listened to in the future. And we don’t actually know how far in the future. People will listen when it’s posted, but then it’ll sit around. I thought it would be fun, keeping in mind those people 50 or 100 years in the future that if we try to make guesses about features of English that seem unusual to us but will seem like normal usage to the listeners in 2072 or 2122, we could make our guesses about what we think usage is gonna look like. And then, in 100 years, the listeners can grade us on who got closest to correct. It’s like a contest. We wouldn’t get our scores for 100 years.

Gretchen: Please, if you’re listening to this in 100 years, you know, maybe human life expectancy will have gone up, and we’ll still be around.

Randall: Be sure to post this episode on the “intergalactic hollow-sphere.”

Gretchen: Share it with your friends via your brain implant. Okay.

Randall: Don’t forget to like, subscribe, and merge the podcast with your consciousness at the “galactic core.” [Laughter]

Gretchen: I actually have a suggestion that might even work on a shorter timeframe. We might be around in, say, 20 years or 30 years to hear the answers to some of these, which would be kind of exciting. One of the fastest changing areas of language is that there’s a new word for “cool” about every decade or so – sometimes less. I was writing another article where I had to project the future of English, and I thought, you know, if we go back, and we look at a list of words for “cool,” do they have any sort of features in common so we could predict what the new, cool word for “cool” might be? Some words for “cool” that may not be cool anymore, things like, “sick,” “hot,” “lit,” “rad,” “sweet,” “tight,” “nice,” “neat.” There’s also another subset like –

Randall: “Keen.”

Gretchen: “Keen,” “nifty,” “groovy.” Apart from “nifty” and “groovy,” which both have this /i/ sound at the end, all of these other words are very consonant-vowel-consonant from a pronunciation perspective. Sometimes with an extra consonant at the beginning or end. Sometimes, there’s two. Like, “sick,” “lit,” “rad,” “sweet,” “nice,” “neat,” they’ve all got these bookended consonants on either side. If we can come up with some other words that are monosyllables with consonants on either side, maybe one of these words will eventually turn into the word for “cool.” This would be the first time that I’ve ever been cool in my life. We can come up with some of them. I think the current word that “the kids” are using these days is “based,” which is the opposite of “cringe.” It’s like “based in fact,” sometimes used meta-ironically. Attributed to the rapper Lil B. I’m getting this from Urban Dictionary because, again, I don’t think we’re particularly cool here. I came up with some additional candidates. If you wish to contribute any, you also can, of words that have the right phonetic form that could turn into a word for “cool” maybe. But maybe there are more. They don’t have to mean something that sounds good, right. Because “sick” or something doesn’t sound good.

Lauren: Okay, what have you got?

Gretchen: So, “sop” seems like it’s got potential. “Numb.” I dunno, I just feel like “numb” could mean “cool.” “Left.” I dunno, maybe it’s kind of “out from left field” or sort of bizarre. As a left-handed person, I kind of like this one.

Lauren: I was gonna say, I feel like this is your left-handed affirmation coming through here.

Gretchen: Thank you. “Sunk.” I dunno, “sunk” could mean “cool.” These have got some good acoustics to them.

Randall: Oh, getting a new meaning for, like, the sunk cost fallacy becomes the sunk cost positive thing.

Gretchen: Yeah. Like, “Wow! That’s so sunk, man. I can’t believe it.”

Lauren: I have a very long bow to draw here. I don’t think I’m gonna win with this. But I would like to propose “whale,” as in the ocean-going mammal, because there are some people who still pronounce that as /hwɛɪl/, and then I’ll have a really obvious token to check if we fully reduce the wine/whine merger.

Gretchen: “/hwaʊ/ that’s so /hwɛɪl/ of you!”

Lauren: I just wanna make sure we have a lot of tokens for something that has a W-H pronunciation for some people to make sure that we’ve definitely closed that merger. Or it’s been de-merged.

Gretchen: Hmm. I mean, some people are using the Beowulf “hwaet” ironically now.

Lauren: Oh, yeah, maybe we could get that going.

Gretchen: Bring some of this stuff back.

Randall: Or, hey, this can be my opening. If America has finished merging “caught” and “cot,” then we could bring back “caught” to mean “cool.”

Gretchen: Oh, yeah, “That’s so cot of you.”

Randall: No, no, no, you got to unmerge it.

Gretchen: “That’s so /kɑt/ of you.”

Randall: You know, the weird thing is when you’re describing this, you’re using the word “cool” a lot. It strikes me that that word has hung on for a weirdly long time and means the same thing. There’re all these other synonyms that come and go, but that one – like, when I read old newspapers going back at least five or six decades – has basically the same connotation.

Gretchen: It’s interesting that “cool” retains its meaning as the meta-term for this category, whereas if I say something’s “groovy” now, I’m implying it’s dated. I’m not saying it’s still cool. I mean, like, I dunno if there’re gonna be more temperature words. I think that mine has been pretty much exhausted. I mean, unless you’re gonna start saying something’s “warm.” Like, “cool,” “chill,” “hot.”

Randall: “Tepid, man.”

Gretchen: I think that’s the wrong phonetic profile.

Lauren: Actually, “luke” fits. And it’s now only in the context of “lukewarm.”

Gretchen: Yeah, “That’s so luke.”

Lauren: Sorry Lukes out there.

Randall: I mean, if you’re going for the phonetic profile, I think “damp” fits.

Gretchen: “That’s so damp, man.”

Randall: No, wait, no, because, I mean, that’s very similar to “dank.”

Gretchen: That’s very similar to “dank,” yeah. “Dank” is already there.

Lauren: The things people can semantically shift when they set their minds to it are truly astounding.

Gretchen: You really can’t predict what’s gonna be in cool, but they do seem to have some sort of phonetic signature. If any of these words that we’ve mentioned turn into a word for “cool,” I definitely didn’t see “based” coming, so who knows.

Lauren: That would be very “whale.”

Gretchen: We get bragging rights. That would be very “whale.”

Randall: That was real “tepid” of you. Well, to put my stake in the ground, my prediction – when I was a little kid, you could tell if someone learned from reading because they would pronounce certain words ways that – like they’d say /dɛbɹɪs/ instead of /dɛbɹi/ because they hadn’t heard someone say it. They had read it. I feel like we’re conducting so much written communication now, I wonder if more of those will just become alternate, accepted pronunciations. So, like /dɛbɹɪs/, /fəkɛɪd/ instead of “façade.”

Gretchen: If you were me when I was a kid saying /sɛntɹɪfjʊgl̩/ instead of /sɛntɹɪfɪkl̩/.

Randall: Exactly. “Grand /fɪnal/.”

Gretchen: There’s one that’s already there which is “forte.”

Randall: Oh, yeah, I only just learned that I’ve been saying that one wrong.

Lauren: What would be a “non-forte” pronunciation of “forte”?

Gretchen: /foɹt/, I think, right, because it’s originally Italian. In Italian, it’s both spelled “forte” and pronounced “forte,” but a lot of people write it with an accent mark as if it was French, like “café” – or “resumé,” which gets written with the accent mark. You can understand why you’d wanna do this because the E there isn’t silent, but it’s not actually originally a French word.

Randall: Yes.

Gretchen: Yeah, I like that we had this pronunciation argument. This makes me feel much cooler than coming up with for words for “cool.”

Randall: Mispronunciation is my “forté.”

Lauren: I guess if you’re listening to this in 100 years from when it was released, email/contact @lingthusiasm to let us know which of us is closest. [Laughter]

[Music]

Lauren: For more Lingthusiasm and links to all the things mentioned in this episode, go to lingthusiasm.com. You can listen to us on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify, SoundCloud, YouTube, or wherever else you get your podcasts. You can follow @lingthusiasm on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr. You can get tree structure scarves, “Not Judging Your Grammar” notebooks, and kiki-bouba mugs, and other Lingthusiasm merch at lingthusiasm.com/merch. I tweet and blog as Superlinguo.

Gretchen: I can be found as @GretchenAMcC on Twitter, my blog is AllThingsLinguistic.com, and my book about internet language is called Because Internet. You can follow our guest, Randall Munroe, @xkcd on various social media sites. His new book is called What If? 2. Have you listened to all the Lingthusiasm episodes, and you wish there were more? You can get access to an extra Lingthusiasm episode to listen to every month plus our entire archive of bonus episodes to listen to right now at patreon.com/lingthusiasm or follow the links from our website. Have you gotten really into linguistics, and you wish you had more people to talk to about it? Patrons can also get access to our Discord chatroom to talk with other linguistics fans. Plus, all patrons help keep the show ad-free. Recent bonus topics include a chat about the design of the IPA chat and what it’s like to be in an MRI machine. Can’t afford to pledge? That’s okay, too. We also really appreciate it if you can recommend Lingthusiasm to anyone in your life who’s curious about language.

Gretchen: Lingthusiasm is created and produced by Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne. Our Senior Producer is Claire Gawne, our Editorial Producer is Sarah Dopierala, our Production Assistant is Martha Tsutsui-Billins, and our Production Manager is Liz McCullough. Our music is “Ancient City” by The Triangles.

Randall: Stay lingthusiastic!

[Music]

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Damaging secrecy [Ben Barnes x Reader] - Challenge

Title: Damaging secrecy Pairing: Ben Barnes x Female!Reader Word count: 3.6k Published: 23 August 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: [x] Your relationship with Ben was everything you could wish for and more. Even the tiniest of attention you received from him was filled with love. But his fear of losing you often clouded his judgement and he didn’t even realise the damage his overprotective nature caused in your relationship, his career creating a gap between the two of you. Challenge: [x] [x] This is my entry to @sunrisefairy's writing challenge, using the below prompts;

#1. “What am I in your life? Because as of lately I feel as though I’ve been nothing to you.” #2. “We’re in public.” , “I don’t care.”

Ben Barnes and Characters Masterlist  | Masterlists

Real People Masterlist

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Ben and you were from two different worlds. He was a famous actor, adored by many, meanwhile you were just an average girl living an average life, working on making your dreams come true. When you met Ben in a simple coffee shop, people completely ignored his presence, as though they didn't even know who he was. Of course, it was a possibility as he had stated that he was usually not recognised when out and about. So, you followed in their steps, not wanting to bother him.

As you woke up that day, you thought it was to be just like every other day. Grab a cup of coffee, work for half a day and get home, throwing yourself on your fluffy duvet. But as it turned out, that day changed your whole life, and it was all thanks to that sweet barista girl who didn't place the lid on your takeaway cup properly. If she had paid attention, you wouldn't have spilled your drink on Ben and you wouldn't have experienced not only how sweet of a person he was, but how easy it was to admire him as an actor, and fall hopelessly in love with him as a regular person.

After 2 years, you couldn't have asked for a better man. There wasn't anyone better for you after all. He treated you like a queen, as though you deserved the whole wide world, and he was ready to give it to you. He had been sweet and kind, funny and playful, passionate, and full of love. There wasn't a single thing you didn't like about him.

At least, that's what you have been telling yourself for the past couple of months. You loved him dearly, you couldn't imagine life without him. Whatever you planned, he was in it, whether it be in the near future or part of a long-term plan. But it often occurred to you that he might not imagine his future with you. He never voiced it of course, but there was one thing that always left an invisible barrier between the two of you. A gap that you couldn't cross with a bridge, a wall that you couldn't climb with a ladder.

That significant barrier you found between the two of you was part of his life, his passion, his love, and you couldn't even think of standing in his way, making him choose between you and his career. Of course, you knew he was doing it for you, he was scared to lose you, scared to throw you to the wolves, but his worry, his overprotective behaviour was the wall you found yourself unable to break. So, you just pushed your worries aside, however painful, and heart-breaking it was to watch the love of your life creating an even bigger gap between the two of you, slowly swallowing your relationship, breaking every simple foundation your shared life was built on. You just sealed your lips and let him destroy your relationship, knowing it was inevitable for the two of you to part at some point, your pleading words ignored for what seemed to be forever.

With silent steps you headed to the bedroom where Ben was adjusting his tuxedo, running his hands through the material, removing every trace of the soft creasing that ran across the clothing. His usually messy locks now sat across his head in a neat fashion, shining like soft silk under the dim light of the bedroom. His top buttons were left undone as he fixed the hem of his shirt, tucking it into his trousers. You leaned against the doorframe as you watched him getting ready, wondering about how long it will take for the two of you to finally walk past each other without realising the damage your relationship had to endure. You knew it was to come, you had anticipated it months ago, but each word that left your lips seemed to have found deaf ears. Ben loved you, it wasn't a question. He was stupidly in love with you and would have given you anything. But he couldn't see the destruction his protectiveness caused between you.

Pushing yourself off the doorframe, you walked up to him with a tender smile and stood between the mirror and him, pulling the necktie you have been holding onto around his neck. "I've been looking for this," he huffed with a playful grin. "You little thief," he chuckled as he leaned down to you and cupped your face, peppering your lips with sweet, but tiny featherlight kisses

"Stop it," you giggled as you tried to push him away, however he had different ideas. He grabbed your hands and wrapped them around his neck whilst his arms sneaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as he deepened the kiss.

"Do you still want me to stop?" His breath tickled your mouth before he captured your lips again, not leaving you time to even consider a possible reply. Ben tightened his arms around you and gently turned you around to lower you on the soft mattress of your shared bed, not even leaving an inch between the two of you as he laid down on you, keeping most of his weight on his arm beside you. The proximity made you feel like you were melting into his body, unable to comprehend where his body ended and where yours began.

However, you had to stop him regardless of how difficult it was. Ben was to attend a gala, and he had to leave sooner than later. "Ben," you whispered against his lips, but he seemed to enjoy occupying yours more than to leave them any time soon. "Ben," you breathed his name weakly, but you didn't have the power to push him away as his lips wandered down your jaw and settled in the crook of your neck. "You need to go," you tried once again, but he didn't seem to share your need to part. "You will be late," your attempt to reason with him seemed fruitless, he continued devouring you without a care for anything beside you. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you pushed him farther away from you until your eyes finally met.

"Why are you trying to make me leave you?" He asked with a mischievous grin across his face. "If I'm not mistaken and I'm not, you were enjoying yourself just as much as I was. Why did we have to stop then?" His tone was like a childish whine, making you giggle.

"Because you have a gala to attend to, mister and you will be late," you chuckled as you tried to push him off you, but he didn't budge.

"I don't want to leave you," he scoffed with a grimace as he buried his face in your neck.

"Well," you started, knowing what you were about to say could possibly start an argument, "if you took me with you, you wouldn't have to leave me," you finished, expecting a frustrated reaction from him and within seconds he removed his face from the curve of your neck and met your gaze with an irritated scoff.

"We have talked about it," he said as he pushed himself off you and rolled to your side, his eyes studying the plain white ceiling.

"We have and we always seem to end up arguing about it. Exactly because we don't agree, don't you think? One of us will have to give in at some point," you smiled softly, not wanting to make a scene.

"Believe me, I would be the happiest person if you could come with me, if I could finally scream to the world how much I love you. But I'm scared. I'm afraid if we go public, it will ruin us, it will chase you away," a heavy, lung expanding sigh left his lips as he ran his fingers through his neatly done hair. "You know I like to keep things private. I don't want all the reporters and paparazzis digging into our lives. And that's what would happen. They would try to take pictures wherever we went, they would dig up all the information about you that they could find. They would make our lives miserable, and I can't risk losing you. I love you too much to lose you," his tone was weak and desperate. Everything about him screamed how much he loved you and you felt guilty for arguing with him, but it hurt you to keep hiding.

"Ben," you whispered his name as you sat up and so did he, his eyes attached to every tiny movement of yours. "You know I love you, right?" You asked and he nodded reassuringly. "I would never want to lose you. I would never want to hurt you, hurt us. But you must understand that we can't keep hiding our relationship forever," you let out a heavy sigh as you turned away from his gaze and nervously fidgeted with your fingers in your lap. "You keep saying that you don't want to lose me. Well, nor do I want to lose you. But you must see the pressure it puts on us, the strain it has on our relationship. We will lose each other if we keep going on like this," you shook your head more to yourself, but Ben reached for your face and cupped your cheeks, gently turning you towards him to meet your eyes.

"What are you saying?" He asked in a pained tone, his voice slightly shaking.

"What am I in your life, Ben?" You asked as you turned away from him, his hands falling to his side, a stunned gasp leaving his lungs. "Because as of lately I'm struggling to understand what we are. We love each other. I can't possibly doubt that. I see the way you look at me, the way you touch me and kiss me, the way you speak to me. I've never felt more loved in my life. But we can't go on dates, we can't go on holidays, I can't hold your hand or kiss your lips when we are out. I can't even go near you when we are in public. We are confined to your house like it's a comfortable prison," a bitter chuckle left your lungs. "I feel as though I've been nothing to you outside of this prison and I can't keep living my life within a 200 square meter confinement."

"I— I didn't," Ben tried to interrupt you, but you had to let your thoughts out before they suffocated you, so you cut him off.

"You are trying to protect me from your world, and I couldn't be more grateful for how considerate you are, but can't you see that it creates a gap between us? I understood that you wanted to wait with the announcement of our relationship. I understood that you were afraid of our relationship being destroyed by all the attention. But we can't keep doing this forever," You sighed as you finally turned towards Ben, his eyes wide open, stunned by your words, his lips parted in surprise, a pained expression spread across his face. But you couldn't stop. You always let him win, let him ignore how his protectiveness affected your relationship. It was time to make him understand the damage he was making. "I agreed with you at the beginning because I knew we needed to see if we were compatible, if we were going to last to make sure that it wasn't just a fling. However, after two years I expected our relationship to be stable, to be ready for a future that we can plan together."

"But it is," he said in a desperate tone, swallowing nervously as he began processing the weight of your words.

"But is it?" You sighed heavily as tears welled in your eyes, attempting to slide down your cheeks, but you forced them back, not wanting to seem weak. "I love you, Ben. More than I've ever loved anyone. But I can't wait for you forever to feel confident enough to finally make an announcement. We can't hide forever, you must understand. Frankly, if you don't feel ready to do so after two years, then I don't see a reason to be together," you couldn't keep your tears at bay any longer, they escaped without your consent, but you couldn't care. It hurt you to think about having a life without Ben in it. "It breaks my heart to say this, but if you are not confident enough in the strength of our relationship, if you are not sure about the future we could possibly have, if you don't have complete trust in me then I don't think it's good for us to be together. All the secrecy— it just damages our relationship," you said as your voice shook and you sniffled, trying to get rid of the tears soaking your cheeks.

"How did we end up here?" Ben spoke up with an incredulous look as he shot up from the bed, a deep frown spread across his brows. "I just told you that I didn't want to lose you and within minutes we are talking about a potential break up?" He asked as he turned to you with a gobsmacked expression, eyes filled with pain. He averted his gaze from you as he walked up and down the room as though he was thinking about something. He was so lost in his thoughts he couldn't even hear you calling him.

"Ben? Can you please talk to me?" You pleaded with him, but he didn't seem to be able to hear you. Or just didn't want to. You couldn't possibly tell what was going on in his head.

"Dress up," he stated as he headed towards the bathroom to redo his hair once again.

"Excuse me?" You asked with a surprised expression, eyes wide as you followed him into the bathroom, needing an explanation.

"You are coming with me!" He stated in a stern tone.

"What?" You scoffed with a single chuckle, before you realised the serious expression he wore. "Are you for real?" You asked with a questioningly raised brow.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" He retorted and stepped closer to you, standing right in front of you, leaving only a tiny gap between your bodies. "I will not lose you. If you want to leave me, if you fall out of love with me, if you decide you don't want to be with me, however heart-breaking it is, I can accept that. But I will not lose you for something so trivial. We will make that announcement today," he stated firmly as he leaned down to you and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, awakening thousands of butterflies in the pit of your stomach. You needed a good second or two to finally find your voice.

"Ben, as much as I would love that, don't you think it's a bit rushed? You shouldn't make such hasty decisions," you tried to reason with him, but he just shook his head.

"Do you love me?" He asked and although you frowned with a confused expression, you nodded. "And I love you, so what's the matter? You said I would have to be confident enough in the strength of our relationship, that I would have to be sure about the future with you, that I should have complete trust in you. Well, I do. I have confidence in us, in our relationship, in our feelings, in our future and especially in you. So, I'd have to argue with you. It's not rushed. Am I still afraid it could destroy us? Yes. But it isn't based on our relationship because I have never believed in anything as strongly as I believe in us. My fear comes from losing you. And I surely won't let it happen over this. So, we are going," by the time he finished his monologue, a sweet smile spread across his face that you couldn't stop yourself from mirroring.

"I– erm, okay, let's go," you chuckled as you stuttered through the words and quickly headed to dress up and do your hair and make-up. In other circumstances you would have been angry for not having enough time to prepare yourself, but your excitement overpowered your frustration and so you readied yourself with a wide grin across your face, stealing glances at Ben every once in a while to make sure you weren't dreaming.

Within half an hour you were ready to leave the house and headed down to the car Ben rented, with the driver seated at the front. Ben's large hand engulfed yours as he interlocked your fingers and kept it in his grasp for the whole journey. His warm touch started off the tiny butterflies in the pit of your stomach over and over again, making you feel both giddy and nervous about what was to come. But Ben's strong hold around your hand provided you with a certain comfort, a silent reassurance.

As you arrived at the event and Ben stepped out of the car, you saw the rapid flashes of cameras and a sudden fear took over your excitement. You felt as though you didn't think things through, and froze both physically and mentally as you sat at the backseat still holding onto Ben's hand. He gave you a questioning look, before he crouched down in front of you, right beside the opened door of the vehicle.

"It's alright," he smiled up at you. "We can do this together," he squeezed your hand, reassuring you that he was right beside you and would not let go of you. You nodded in a reply, but didn't make a move. It took you a few seconds, maybe even minutes to gather all your courage and chase away your fear but you were still anxious and your attempted breathing techniques seemed useless in your situation. Your chest tightened and your mouth felt like it was filled with sand, but as you lifted your head to look at Ben, he wore a tender smile, one that made all your worries banish. Finally you heaved a heavy sigh and stepped out of the car, closing the door behind you. Within seconds cameras flashed in your direction and thousands of questions were directed at Ben as he held onto your hand. You lost complete focus of what was happening, you were simply following Ben's movements and listened to his soothing voice as he talked to the reporters, each bombarding him with questions you couldn't even comprehend. "Are you alright?" He asked as he placed his unoccupied hand on your cheek, gently stroking your skin.

"Yeah," you whispered in a hushed tone, unsure if he could even hear you with all the noise.

"Let's go in," he smiled softly and gently nudged you towards the entrance. Reporters were still shouting his name as you stepped inside the building, but he just offered them an apologetic look and led you forward, not wanting to overwhelm you. By the time you walked past the reception, he pulled you towards a secluded corridor that possibly led to a kitchen, the scent of delicious meals filling your nostrils.

"What are we doing here?" You asked under the dim light, your eyes scanning the place, watching as guests walked inside the venue at the end of the corridor where you came from.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," he said as he cupped your face, gently stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. "It must have been overwhelming," he added and though you wanted to deny it at first, you decided to be honest and nodded in a reply. "You don't have to act strong. If you are tired, if you feel like it's too much, just tell me. It took me a while to get used to it and it doesn't happen from one moment to another," he reassured you, earning another nod from you.

"I'm okay, Ben. I promise," you offered him a sweet smile as you lifted your hand and caressed his cheek. "I'm not going to lie, it was scary, but I'm alright now."

"Good," he said and stepped closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "I have a couple of ideas on how to ease your worries though," he added with a mischievous smile and a playful twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh really. What would they be?" You raised a questioning brow as a wide grin appeared across your face, mirroring his excitement.

"Well, for starters, this–," he planted a tender kiss on your forehead, making you giggle, "and this–," before he went and placed a kiss on your cheek, "also this–," he left another kiss on your nose "but the most important one is this–," he pressed his lips against yours, your arms involuntarily sneaking around his neck as you returned the gesture, his warm embrace, the feel of his lips making you forget about your situation. But it was only momentary. Your mind quickly rid itself off Ben's addictive presence and started off an alarm in your head.

"Ben," you breathed his name against his lips, trying to contain your own desires. "We're in public," you tried to reason with him, but he didn't seem to mind.

"I don't care," he hushed you and pressed his lips against yours, basking in the intimate moment you finally shared in a public place. Sure, it was fairly hidden and no one passed by the two of you, but at last you had the opportunity to hold his hand regardless of the prying eyes. You were able to kiss his lips whenever the craving felt too unbearable. You could go on holidays and arrange dinner dates and the like. Finally, you could spend as much time with Ben as you wanted without hiding how madly in love you were with him.

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