#like its not even that i lack the vocabulary to express myself i just lack the ability to translate my thoughts to speech | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blondepomwrites · 16 days ago

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Squash Girl (second draft)

One of the first stories I remember asking my mother to tell over and over again was the story of how I spoke my first words.

Most parents try to elicit their children into parroting ma-ma or da-da. I’m sure my mother did, too, but twelve-month-old me had other plans. After all our meals, she would tell me that we were “all done” in a cheery, sing-song voice, and that meant that we would put the food away and move on to doing other things. One day, in a well-intentioned effort to expand my growing palate, she offered me spoonfuls of mashed sweet potato. Squash, she called it.

She managed two hard-fought airplanes in the hangar and one little-engine-that-could before her normally happy, avaricious eater looked her in the eye and spat out through locked lips: “All done.”

It was my favorite story as a kid because, of course, I was the star—the protagonist, the heroine, the Eve that beguiled Satan and refused the Forbidden Fruit. But more than that, it was my favorite because it was the first Truth I would carve into Baby’s First Stone Tablets:

and on the twelfth month, Cassandra tasted the squash, and the squash was Bad. And so She separated the squash from the rest and said, ‘All done,’ and the squash was no more.

As the years went on, still inundated my conviction, I’d patted myself on the back for my steadfast refusal of all things vaguely squash-ish. And it was this rock, this pillar of Truth that I began to build myself around.

I am Cassandra. I am a Girl. I do not like Squash.

Who Are You? was a question I looked forward to answering at the beginning of every school year. My answer varied only as my vocabulary blossomed, but that which was carved in stone at the base of the budding blooms remained unchanged except to state the obvious: I am Cassandra. I am a Girl. I am Strong and Strong-Willed. I do not like Squash.

Even so, I got the distinct sense from my peers that there was something about me that belied my conviction. Was I not girl enough? Sure, I played sports and liked to express that with my boxy t-shirts and grass-stained shorts, but that was just what they called being a tomboy, which was still a girl.

Was I too strong? Where most girls looked like the lean, stringy flowers their mothers doted them as, I grew in like a mushroom on a log: taller, thicker, and notably less fragrant. A bunch of flowers put together is called a bouquet, and it’s something people find so pleasing that they go out of their way to buy it for people they love. When has anyone ever tied a troop of mushrooms together and gifted them to an admiré?

Did they not believe me when I insisted I didn’t like squash? All the other girls whispered and giggled their curiosities about other vegetables, and squash was never one of them. See, I knew the rules. Why didn’t they see that?

I took this lack of understanding as a personal affront, and then as a challenge. What did I need to change to show that I was just like everyone else? I looked for a muse and found the most popular girl in school. I beheld her on a pedestal in the light, bore myself in marble before her--pen in one hand and chisel in the other--and began to look for the negative space that set us apart.

Her name was Kelly Pannos, and she was everything I could never be.

The first time I met Kelly, I knew I’d spend the rest of my life comparing myself to her. It was nearly impossible not to: we were the two sides of the same coin—only millimeters apart, only able to see the other by looking over the shoulder. She lit the sky by day and I could only make a pinprick in the fabric of the night in her absence. Though while the sun would feel honored to call itself Kelly, I was not even lucky enough to fall in her orbit, much less bask in the afterglow of her sky.

She was Kelly Pannos, and I was her Icarus.

In third grade, I didn’t have the words or emotional capacity to understand how a sapling must feel the first time its leaves taste sunlight, how a windmill braces its first gust, how icy cold the tips of your fingers feel on the other side of a looking glass. Or to understand what that even meant.

In third grade, she was just Kelly Pannos. She excelled in every sport she tried, and she tried them all. She never struggled in her studies, except for where it was socially appropriate. She was popular for all the reasons that I was not.

And in seventh grade, she grew into a graceful form and beauty uniquely her own, owed to the round eyes and soft features of her obaasan and the lean muscle that carried the prowess of Hera, Artemis, and Athena.

And she was the apple of every boy’s eye.

At that age, I thought boys a pestilence. I enjoyed playing in the mud as much as the next tomboy, but boy-boys got so unnecessarily dirty. They wrecked anything you tried to cultivate, and ate everything in their path without discrimination. Sure, some made pretty keening noises and looked iridescent in the sunlight, but take one wrong step on a dirt mound and that little ruby-colored cutie will summon the whole kingdom and make your life a burning, stinging, itchy hell.

So, what would I do when a bug crawled through the garden?

Squash It.

That seemed to be where our biggest difference laid. Surely, that had to be it, and it was easy enough, in theory. I had just misunderstood it my whole life: Don’t squash bugs, but offer them squash instead. I didn’t even like it, anyway.

So I made changes that made it clear as day that I didn’t mind bugs in the garden. I planted welcome signs instead of seeds. Aerated for earthworms instead of grass. Made room for Jesus between the vines of string beans and strawberries. Kept my wandering eyes from roaming the gardens of others. The gardens we grew were for the bugs, after all.

Kelly and I continued to walk the same path as we went through school. We played many of the same sports, and took many of the same classes. Even so, it seemed as though our same path led us down mirroring, meandering trails—both blazed, but only one attracted the horde: hers.

We both graduated valedictorian, along with the other students in the top ten percent of our high school class. And as we both moved to attend colleges over eight hundred miles away from home and only one hundred miles away from each other, I felt I finally had a chance to blossom in my own light.

We left in the fall with our arms full of seeds to sow. Some of our own choosing, but so many others placed on us by well-meaning family and public school tax-payers. They sent us off with gleaming smiles like scythes, waiting to reap what their pennies had sown.

So eager was I to see those seeds bear fruit that I planted them in the first patch of soil I landed on. With the sun shining so brightly in my eyes, I missed creeping chill in the air and mistook the red and yellows in the trees for sunspots.

I forgot that we only call autumn and winter the seasons of giving because we are so centered on ourselves. I forgot that, to the earth, they are the seasons of taking.

It takes, and it takes back. It takes sun’s warmth from our skin, and it takes the light from our days; it takes back the life it let lent above the surface, and it takes back the colors to remind us how naked and white our bones are.

She who gathers in the summer is a daughter who acts wisely, But she who seeds in harvest is a daughter who acts shamefully.

It was in the darkness of a fourteen hour night that I was given a chance to prove the strength of my conviction.

The patch of soil I’d claimed in the fall became a cemetery in the winter--a garden of stone and bones, too fargone for even the flies--and I was the ghost that haunted it.

It was then that a visitor crossed into my stomping grounds. I watched her--face freckled from the summer sun, healthy dimples from a full harvest--examining the headstones, a silent prayer falling from her painted lips.

She saw me digging for worms in the dusty soil. She approached and extended a hand, filled with a bouquet of blooming gold stars tied together with a string.

I consulted the stones that had stood with me through the seasons, and they showed me what I could not see.

And so I chased the serpent from my garden.

Where fall strips us into humility, spring is the forgiveness we do not deserve.

I went to the fields with my arms empty, and watched as those around me stained their hands and knees in rich, brown soil. Within minutes I could see their fields buzzing with renewed life.

My stones had always weathered the seasons and stayed with me, but I knew that planting pebbles was a fruitless endeavor. So I scanned the dust and scooped up the first bug I could find. “What do you seek? What can I grow to sate you?” I asked in plea. “Speak and I will grow it.”

Have you ever seen an insect smile? Where we have teeth, they have mandibles--two pinching, clenching, venomous scythes.

Summer is the season of growing, and during each summer sojourn I could see those in my troop of hometown friends doing just that.

After what seemed like a decimating winter, their gardens came back more vibrant and alive than I’d ever seen. They’d brought in the bees and put in a home where they unabashedly reaped what they’d sown, serving zucchini bread, warm soup du cucurbita moschata, and the cutest little pumpkin pies for dessert. No half-hearted welcoming signs, no half chewed leaves, the vines of their tomatoes were allowed to share space with one another—no room for even a garden gnome, let alone Jesus himself—and love, so much brave love, for their own gardens and the gardens of others.

And here I was, a scarecrow in a sunhat, knee deep in a feast for aphids.

Seasons passed, and graduation came both too quickly and never soon enough. As I walked down the aisle to receive my diploma, they called me by a name I did not call myself. I shook their hands anyway and took what I’d earned: the proof that I’d survived the third book of Ecclesiastes for twenty-two years.

Somewhere along the way, too, I’d heard it through the grapevine that Kelly had put together a marvelous, enchanting little fairy garden in her Atlanta apartment she shared with her girlfriend.

Sometimes the harvest you yield is different than the seeds you sow.

I still tell people I don’t like squash, the vegetable. And to some extent, it’s true—though I’m loath to write off a slice of pumpkin pie or some crispy, crunchy zucchini fries. Similarly, my stance on seeing the beauty in others or the occasional bug in the garden is no longer squash, the verb. Since growing in our own light and taking our own paths, it makes me wonder, wandering the tracks barely visible through the underbrush, about the one I encountered back in the fourteen hour night in the dark—the darkness of a nightclub, of inebriation, of binding inner truths and blinding social constructs, take your pick.

Back in the dark, when a girl with hair as vibrant as a jack-o-lantern on Halloween came up to me, wearing a bracelet of gold stars tied on a string. She didn’t say much—not much you can say over the bass of a rave. And, not that I was looking at her lips, but I could read them enough to hear her say, “You’re cute. Come dance with me,” as she put out her hand towards mine.

Even then, I knew buried deep down that I didn’t dislike squash, but did I like it enough to take her hand? Drunk as I was and dark as it was, I knew I didn’t dislike the thought of letting her whisk me away. But after years and years of squash, the verb I lived and the vegetable I proclaimed to disdain, even my drunk self knew what was written in stone.

But stone can crumble, tastes can change, people can surprise you. The memory of her freckled face, dimpled cheeks, and her short slender hand outstretched, reaching for mine—

I may never know what could have grown from her hands, but I know now that nothing worth keeping grows from rooted stones, planted pebbles, or buried memories.

I sat in the ruins of my garden. I’d consulted the stones and they would not hear me, deaf from repeating their verses ad infinitum. I’d consulted the bugs, and they built me up only to feast on my muscle, snip my sinew, and suck the marrow from my bones.

I went to the house of stained glass. Lilies, palm, holly, and water greeted me. I climbed the steps to the one who stood before the light. With the sun in my eyes, the keeper of this greenhouse had worn black with a white halo around his neck.

They’d told me to be blinded by the light is to embrace the light. But after twenty-two years, I knew there was a time to refrain from embracing.

With my dirt-covered hand blocking out the light, the white halo looked like a shackle around his neck, one that multiplied all down his black garb. Antennae like horns rose from his head and a second pair of arms grew from his torso, gesturing his along with the lecture slipping out from between his mandibles.

I ran.

I ran until I reached my own claim of land. The sun overhead said spring, but I plunged my hands in the dirt and finally understood how it yearned for the season of taking.

I ripped up the roots that clutched at the weight of twenty-two years of stones, bugs, and bones. I took the dead roots, I took back the soil they’d sapped, and I purged it all, but the one thing I could not rid myself of was the way the man in the glass greenhouse looked down at me with his dark eyes--two, four, six, until they numbered into oblivion--and tutted:

Let she who is without sin cast the first stone.

And so I did.

I cast them out. I cast them all out: one by one, stone by stone.

I am Cassandra. I am a Girl. I am Strong and Strong-Willed. I do not like Squash.

And then I wrote their words in the dirt, planting their meaning into soil to germinate or not. Let what can grow take root, and what cannot, be left to rot. That is what we leave for the bugs.

#posting here mainly as a failsafe #I nearly lost the entire second draft so. now it's going everywhere lmao #but if anyone wants to actually read it I guess the tags would be uhhhhh #fiction #bisexuality #trans #lgbtqia+#religious trauma #(the author is not trans but a trans reading is completely valid.)#squash girl

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runninriot · 1 year ago

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged by the wonderful @wormdebut to do this, so let's go

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

29 (when exactly did that happen?!)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

303.103

3. What fandoms do you write for?

only Stranger Things atm

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Cravin'

2. Ain't No Sin To Be Glad You're Alive

3. Ain't It Good To Know (That You've Got A Friend)

4. You Make Me Feel Like I’m High And Driving

5. You & I (And My Dirty Mind)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Oh God, yes! comments always make me lose my mind. Like, someone actually taking the time to tell me what they liked about my writing?? holy shit, that's something i can't get over

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i don't think there is one with an angsty ending tbh

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i've never not ended on a happy note but probably my personal favourite is the ending of Where The Sun Still Shines

8. Do you get hate on fics?

haven't so far. all my experiences have been nothing but lovely and i'm so very grateful for that

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

do i? yeah, i do. i never thought i'd be comfortable or even enjoying writing smut until it just happened. Eddie and Steve are my dirty little playthings and i love them being nasty 😏

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

actually, my very first steddie fic Real Love Is Forever is a Stanger Things x The Crow crossover that started as a prompt on tt by the wonderful Jessi Lee - but other than that, no

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i'm aware of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No but i thought about maybe doing a German translation myself, just for fun.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I haven't but i find it fascinating how two people can create beautiful art together (Brooke and Az, i'm looking at you with heart eyes)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Steddie always and forever

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Weight Of The World is still missing its third and final chapter and not having finished that one drives me nuts but i just can't seem to be able to pick up on it

16. What are your writing strengths?

I am the most chaotic writer. i jump back and forth between scenes like a maniac. when inspiration hits, i'll just dive right in without ever thinking about plot lines or mapping out the 'greater picture' beforehand and yet, i always manage to bring it all together in the end (at least i hope so).

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

repetitions and the overuse of certain expressions. english isn't my first language and sometimes the lack of vocabulary for things i want to describe and write about is just frustrating. (thank fuck for OneLook Thesaurus but still)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

as a reader, I love it. Especially if it's little things in a language i understand. Maybe I'll let Eddie be fluent in German or have Steve whip out some very limited French or Portuguese in the future 😆

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Stranger Things/Steddie (anything that might've existed before Feb23 is between me and the moon)

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I love them all, they're my perfectly imperfect little brain babies. i guess if i had to choose, it would be We Are The Lifeless Stars

ooooh, i enjoyed that very much! Thank You Wormy 🖤🖤🖤

i never know who to tag but i'll give it a go

@novemberthorne @thorniest-rose @morningberriesao3 @steddiecameraroll @aringofsalt @museumgiftshoperaser

if you've already been tagged or just don't want to do it - feel free to ignore 😇

#20 questions #fic writing #steddie edition

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the-perfect-wagnerite-returns · 1 year ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/dostoyevsky-official/728638892415336448/its-so-crazy-how-men-think-about-the-roman?source=share

For the "thinking about Rome" post, this is one of the bigger posts about how this cutesy trend gets seen as harmful somehow.

I think women misunderstand why men think about the Roman Empire.

For myself, I'm inclined to believe that men are more tuned in to the internal degradation of modern life than women, even if they lack a nuanced enough vocabulary to express it. Of everything we know about the Roman Empire, there is nothing more clear and apparent than that it collapsed. It may be that men are thinking less about the fact of the empire itself and more about the conditions and constitutions of its peoples as it fell.

Or I could be totally wrong and it really is just that the Romans were cool and dudes like cool things

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writers4all · 1 year ago

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Hey, so I saw your post about chatgpt and I was wondering, Can someone who has an expressive language delay and receptive language delay use chatgpt to help. I have those two language impairments plus autism (the kind of autism that gives me aphantasia and makes me struggle with writing) so is it okay that I am using chatgpt to help me write? I use it in a guide kind of way where I send in my writing then ask it to refine it and tell me what I did wrong. I also ask it things like 'how do I fix my imagination when I have none' and "how do I write dialoge/pacing/show and tell" is that fine? I would ask an actual human but the questions I have are so weird that they always get sick of me and they judge and condescend me so I prefer an ai like chatgpt who really helps. I write myself for the most part and chat gpt has helped me improve but I still lack so much clarity in my writing and so I struggle. Also I can't read other things sometimes so I have to send in that to help it explain it to me cuz its just really hard for my brain to understand.

Please help, I don't want to do the wrong thing but if my brain can't understand some writing then I kinda have to use a tool to help... Also audio books didn't help

Hello, anon!

That's an excellent question! I genuinely see nothing wrong with people using it due to impairments, disabilities, disorders, and whatnot. Let's take Stephen Hawking for example. He basically used an AI in order to speak. And let's not forget that the GPS is basically an AI that gives us map locations and the best routes to get from Point A to Point B. We also have voice-to-text as well and various programs that allow us to speak words into our documents and turn it into works of art.

Something else I recommend is going to your local bookstore or thrift shop to see if there are any textbooks or writing guides on how to improve your own writing. In fact, I plan on making posts in the future talking about various textbooks and writing guides that I own along with going into detail about my thoughts and opinions on them. They're rather neat. Now if, for whatever given reason, you're not able to afford said books I would just write down the Book Title + Author and then go to Library Genesis's website to see if you can download it for free.

AIs are great in practice and to genuinely help people. Heck, I don't even mind people using it to get some ideas for their fanfics or to have it give randomized prompts. It's just that I'm not too keen on the whole "I want ChatGPT to write out a 50,000 word fanfic or story for me so I can upload it, publish it, and claim it as my own originality." fiasco. Stating that you had an AI write the whole thing is one thing. But if you used the AI to help you get into the right direction because you genuinely need help? That's okay! There's absolutely nothing wrong with that, I promise. Why? Because we all need help. Not only that but socializing is hard.

I also want to say that I'm genuinely sorry that people find your questions annoying. As someone who struggles with properly wording and phrasing thing properly, myself, I feel your pain. One of the reasons for this is because vocabulary and definitions have never been my strong suit — it's always been spelling, ironically enough. I always feel like I'm going to confuse and/or annoy people with my questions because I'm a genuinely curious person who loves learning new things but am unable to properly phrase anything. So I can 100% sympathize and empathize with you on that!

There's also nothing wrong with audio books not helping. It's not for everyone. Some people do better reading in silence. Some people do better reading aloud. Some people do better reading with music. I'm sure you get the point by now. And the same is equally true for white noise and ASMRs. I often think people forget that it's never a "One Size Fits All" kind of scenario. The same can be said about clothes, medicine, makeup, programs, video games, languages and the whole nine yards. We're not made out of clay and made to be exactly the same. We're all uniquely different. Besides ... it's like one of my best friends says, "I don't want to be normal. Normal is a cycle on the washing machine."

With that being said, I definitely recommend you doing whatever helps you and makes you most comfortable. I can guarantee that there's no judgement coming from my end and the most I would ask is "Why?" Simple as that.

#anonymous #artificial intelligence #ai #ai chatbot #ai chatgpt #chatgpt #dall e ai #grammarly #notion #cleverbot #disabilities #disorders #impairments

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ifhehadbeenwithmeblog · 11 months ago

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Pages 68-135

Gaining more of an insight to Finny and Sylvie’s relationship, it is evident that Autumn holds resentment toward the fact that the boy she felt like she was destined for was with someone she perceived as less deserving of Finny’s affection; despite the fact that Autumn was in a committed relationship with someone else. Through these contradicting feelings, I concluded that Autumn is one who struggles with her identity, even though she wears a tiara every day to symbolize her newfound independence upon entering high school. Having feelings for Finny is something that heals her inner child and seems to hold onto the past, whereas Jamie represents the part of her who is growing up, moving on, and caters to the more mature aspect of her oneself as she begins a new chapter in her life. I came to this conclusion from my own awakenings as I got older. In circumstances like these, it must be acknowledged that our world moves on quicker than we do, and rather than holding onto pieces of the past, it’s better to get to know the new version of yourself and its needs. There are times where I felt sympathy for Jamie, his lack of perspicaciousness is perceptible through Autumn’s behavior patterns and concerns about Finny and his relationship. Autumn and Sylvie’s resentment is mutual since Sylvie dislikes Autumn because of her “past” with Finny, and I firmly believe that adding this uncomfortable relationship to the plot added the tension that had me flipping pages. Though how clear it is that Autumn dislikes Sylvie only because of Finny, she’ll always be in denial that she has feelings for him. I relate to this dilemma in the sense that I refuse to allow myself to accept something into my life that doesn’t belong to me anymore even if it’s what I want, the same way Autumn is.

This section of the book gave me more of an understanding of the contradicting worlds Autumn claimed her and Finny were in. Autumn is one who thrives off of validation and a social circle of ‘misfits.’ Her friend group of seven are together every day, whom she turns to for comfort and spontaneous adventures like sledding down steep hills and getting drunk for fun when her parents are out of town. A situation that clarified my claim about her need of validation was her bold tendency to sit in her teacher’s desk before class started and just read his books, sometimes going as far as looking through his drawers. Being the ‘teacher’s pet’ gave her the authority to act in such a flamboyant manner, leaving me to believe this is a type of attention she’s longed to receive from her parents or Jamie, or even Finny. However, I will wholeheartedly admit her and Jamie’s relationship is almost too good to be true, their teenage love is the kind I’d only read in books (literally!) or see in a movie. Despite the fact that they’re only sixteen in this chapter, he gifts her roses and insists she is going to be his wife and the mother of his kids, reassuring her of his love and claims that he would never leave her. Autumn feels immense and unconditional love for Jamie, but Finny is always sitting in the back of her mind. She knows she has it all when it comes to Jamie but is aware of the fact that Finny unintentionally keeps her from enjoying him. Reading these lines absolutely pierced me: “I want to pull Finny out of my mind like a splinter so that I can adore Jamie the way he deserves to be adored. And even more than that, because I am a selfish, bad creature, I want to feel that adoration. I want to be free of this guilt.” In this case, I felt as if her method of self deprecation in order to express her guilt is damaging her mindset and doesn’t bring her closer to Jamie like how she wants to.

Vocabulary

Pleasantries: an inconsequential remark made as part of a polite conversation; a mild joke.

Sordid: involving ignoble actions and motives; arousing moral distaste and contempt.

Adonis: A Greek god of fertility and vegetation.

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fromalicetobella · 1 year ago

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Feeling big very

To Bella

I'm new to learning the language of love so I find I lack the vocabulary to express myself beyond a foggy mirage of a sentence between few words of little wisdom and certainly no sentimental value

Which is why I was going to make a caterpillar in its cocoon sort of bursting at the seams metaphor but now that feels worn out

But really that's what it is it's wings suppressed by bondage it's love mummified meant to explode

And then I would go on about the mummification process, losing sight of the initial butterfly propaganda entirely.

The mummification process is quite gruesome though, you lose more of your initial organs than you would with todays embalmment. Like, all of them actually.

Maybe I don't know what I meant or what I meant to start but I think I'm saying

Something along the lines of your love is changing me. metamorphosis

It's like all my atoms that carry your love inside tiny fragile highly explosive live bombs waiting to off inside my skin

now my south is north and my east is west it's new here, I like it but I think I've lost my way or my footing sometimes, I've never been here before I don't know the way to go, that's overwhelming sometimes.

You're good at catching me I hope you don't mind

Everytime I hope you don't mind one of the tiny bombs go off and I'm changed forever

and everytime you smile or look at me with your brown eyes the pair of your eyes that are just for me and everytime you say you love me

When the tiny bomb goes off in the tiny cell it gets much too big! Every cell now has to learn the world all over again with new eyes and fingers and a new mouth and a new clit that's never felt gust a wind or even seen the glance of love that birthed it in the first.

Like a love that is so strong it is rebirth and I must start each day anew a little shaky and afraid of the world taking away my beautiful and womb like comforts

But for you I am brave and I will not be afraid and I will be the butterfly

I love you

MMM

#Spotify

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littlx-songbxrd · 3 years ago

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Writting tips

Non-english speakers

So, being the go to english speaker to correct everyones essays has given me a unique perspective into little quirks and slight mistakes people who are learning english make along the way and I thought it'd be a fun thing to put out there because more often than not these same quirks can be used for non native emglish speaker characters. My experience mostly comes from spanish thought I do want to leave that said.

Lack of use of contractions

The number one thing that I always see everyone confuses both verbally and written is contractions. Theyre almost non-existent in the vocabulary of people who do not have a comfortable hang on the language. They'll never use it in fear they will mix the words incorrectly. If a character can fairly well have a handle in an english conversation but you will want to convey that its not their native tongue, changing contractions might be a good way to do it! Its not gramatically incorrect, but it does give the feeling to the character of otherness since most english speakers I've encountered have integrated the use of contractions very deeply into their vocabulary.

Ex. When presented with things like

"I'm having a great time" Laura smiled, turning her gaze towards Raul and Juan who were exchanging confidences in the courner of the room "I've been watching them pretend they're not into eachother all night, its quite hilarious"

You can consider changing it to

"I am having a great time" Laura smiled, turning her gaze towards Raul and Juan who were exchanging confidences in the courner of the room "I have been watching them pretend they are not into eachother all night, it is quite hilarious"

Wrong us of preposition

This is something I see very often, and I'll even admit preposition usage is by far one of the things I struggle with the most. It's confusing, usually when in doubt i end up going for what sounds the best and pray its right because I have no idea. It can be simple things like "Theres a sock at the floor" or "I found the book from the table"

Slight things that generall you cam desipher, but nevertheless you know theres a better usage of prepositions for what they want to express.

Structure of adjetive in sentence

Well this I'm not sure if it aplies to everyone, but it's one of the things I find myself correcting the most in essays. To make it easier to understand heres an exagerated example. "The blue house" changed to "The house of blue". They can play around with this in a million ways ranging from changing "The joyful cat" to "The cat who was joyful" to "enjoyable movie" to "Movie that was enjoyable"

In spanish it mostly comes from the fact oir adjective structure goes "El gato gozoso" meaning the word comes before the adjective, so im trying to retain that structure those mistakes are known to happen

Those are just some mistakes I've noticed that might help! If you all want more lmk

#i was correcting a friends final essay for english class and began to overthink some casual mistakes i have noticed over the year as #✨designated english speaker friend ✨#and went OMG THIS CAN HELP FOR WRITTING #so jajaj YEAH #this was fun to make i love analizing languages #writting tips #writting #zia rambles

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guardianofrivendell · 4 years ago

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Oh Deer (request)

Legolas x reader

Requested: Yes! @lotr-th-nin-meleth asked “Hey! Could I get a Legolas x Reader where the reader is caring for an injured baby deer she found in the forest and she's usually really gruff and cold and keeps to herself? So Legolas gets all soft watching her be soft and she asks him for help or something you can choose and he's just all flustered and it's cute. Thank you xxx”

A/N: I switched it up a bit, hope you don’t mind! I also skipped the ‘old’ Westron Legolas usually speaks, to make it easier for me. Because I can do that.

Warnings: one soft curse word, mentions of blood, Legolas in love (yes, that needs its own warning)

“You are remarkably quiet today,” Legolas said to you after almost half an hour of silence. You didn’t say anything back, eyes scanning the forest around you. Legolas shook his head. There was just no way to distract you, always focused on the task you’d been given.

You were part of the Guard of Mirkwood. From the very beginning you had proven to be an exceptionally good fighter. Every mission you were sent on turned out succesful and with no casualties, so it didn’t take long for you to be allowed to go on even more dangerous missions. Even though you had an impressive record, being an Elleth made it extra hard. It didn’t matter how skilled you were and that you’d showed more than once that you were tougher than most of the other guards, they still belittled you for being female. So when you were on duty, you put on a facade: stern expression, cold stare and not a sound unless you were spoken to.

Despite your gruff facade, the Prince of Mirkwood had taken a liking to you. Not that you noticed; after all, you were too busy proving your worth. Legolas made sure he was assigned to your group on patrols or vice versa - not that he didn’t have a choice, being Prince and all - and always suggested your name when there was a two-person job. All very subtle of course.

Today had been no different. There had been a sighting of a few Orcs wandering the forest, not that far from the palace. Thranduil instructed him to send a few guards to go and solve the problem. Those ‘few guards’ turned into Legolas and you.

And now you were making your way through the forest, hunting some Orcs, with Legolas by your side who was desperately trying to make conversation.

“You are allowed to speak, Y/N. It’s only me.” “Yes, only you... Don’t you think it’s rather strange our King sent only two guards? How many Orcs were seen again?” “Enough to handle ourselves, do not worry.” You scoffed. “I’m not worried, you know damn well that I could take them on my ow-” A sound in the distance made you cut off your sentence. Legolas heard it too, and you signaled him to climb the trees.

You both jumped from one tree to another with ease, until you reached a small clearance. There you could see about a dozen Orcs, most of them taking a rest, a few trying to make a fire to keep the spiders away. You signaled to Legolas to stay put, while you made your way to the other side of the clearance.

He rolled his eyes at that. Shouldn’t it be him telling you what to do? But he listened anyway and waited for your signal. In his mind he was already planning how to attack the pack, thinking he could easily kill 4 or 5 Orcs from where he was hiding before making his way down the tree. This was almost too easy.

A screech in the distance made the Orcs jump up and 3 of them disappeared in the woods, running past the tree you were hiding in. It seemed like the pack hadn’t been complete. You waved to Legolas, signaling you would go after them. Before he could protest, you were gone. Why did you always have to prove yourself? He had no visuals anymore, but he could hear how your feet touched the ground. Your fight had begun.

In one swift movement he took his bow and notched an arrow, and shot the Orc closest to him. Before he let himself drop down, he killed two more. He smirked to the six remaining Orcs and switched his bow for his two blades. “Let us begin,” he muttered.

It was over in less than ten minutes. They didn’t even put up a real fight, Legolas thought. Probably too exhausted from wandering through the forest for so long. He looked around but couldn’t see any sign of you, not even with his Elven eyes. Suppressing the slight rush of panic he felt, he began to look for you. You were tough. There was no way you couldn’t handle a handful of exhausted Orcs by yourself, he kept repeating in an attempt to reassure himself.

He ran through the forest, fighting the urge to call out your name. The last thing he wanted was to alert anything else of his presence. “Legolas!” He halted immediately, frantically looking around him in an attempt to locate you. This was not a good sign, he thought. You knew how dangerous it was to draw attention to you this deep in the forest. It could only mean one thing... “LEGOLAS!” He tried to ignore the despair in your voice, and ran as fast as he could in the direction of your scream. After a few agonizing minutes he found you hunched over on your knees. “Y/N?”

When you turned around, his heart stopped. Your hands were covered in blood. Red, not black, he realized. He fell to his knees at your side, his eyes searching your body for injuries. “Where are you hurt?” Your tunic was no longer a lighter green, but stained with a dark red. He tried to remain calm for your sake, on the inside he was definitely freaking out. You didn’t answer him, and burst into tears instead. “You’re going to be okay,” he said, more to himself than to you. “Everything is going to be okay.” He put an arm under your knees and around your waist and lifted you up with the utmost care, but you stopped him. “Y/N, I have to get you back home. Just... please, let me take care of you.” “It’s not mine,” you said in between sobs, pointing to your drenched clothes. “What happened?” Legolas asked, completely lost by now. He sat down on his knees with you still in his arms. If he wasn’t feeling so helpless at the moment, he would enjoy holding you this close. It felt nice. “I-...” You tried to take a long breath to calm down so you could tell him what was going on, but it only made it worse. Legolas rubbed your back softly until you found your voice again, relieved it seemed to help a little. “I-... I didn’t mean to hurt him!”

Legolas looked at you questioningly. Him? He scanned your surroundings but couldn’t see anyone. You got up from his lap and took a few steps away from him, motioning him to follow you. He had to keep himself from taking your hand. You took another ten steps and crouched down. Legolas heard you sniffling again. What he saw in front of your feet, was probably the last thing he expected to see. A small deer, probably still a baby, lay on the ground. A large gap in his side, clearly your work.

“Oh,” he sighed, finally understanding why you were so upset. The deer had definitely been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A laugh escaped his throat. You narrowed your eyes at him. Was he really laughing at you? When he saw you were annoyed at him, he shook his head.

“Y/N you really are curious. Slaying Orcs, killing off spiders, you don’t bat an eye. Doesn’t affect you in the slightest. But an injured deer got you all upset?” You felt the blood rise in your cheeks. Was it your fault you just really loved the forest animals? Someone had to take care of them, so why not you? You noticed him staring at you, a certain emotion in his eyes you could not seem to read. “What?” you asked him. “You’re cute... I mean-,” Legolas corrected himself too late. “It’s cute, the deer... is cute.”

You didn’t say anything back and Legolas cursed himself. “You know what, let’s take it with us to the palace. I’m sure our Healers could do something for him,” he suggested. He wasn’t entirely sure they could do that, but if it would make you feel better... “Are you sure we can do that?” “Of course we can, I’m the Prince.” He winked at you, and lifted the deer into his arms. You rolled your eyes at his cockiness. He was nothing like his father.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely. “Anything for you...”

A/N: Aaaaaah, I’m so bad at endings 🙈 I wanted something smart or funny, maybe I’ll change it later on if I can think of something. Sorry!

A/N part 2: It’s at times like these that I curse myself for not being a native English speaker. So sorry that my writing feels a little forced sometimes, but that’s mostly because of my lack of English vocabulary or because I can’t think of another way to say things and Google Translate can only do so much. So why not write in my own language you ask? Well... I don’t think there are a lot of Flemish (or Dutch) speaking Tumblr users waiting for Flemish lotr fics :)

#lord of the rings #lotr #legolas imagine #legolas #legolas x reader #legolas x y/n #legolas request #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr imagine #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings x reader #lotr x reader #guardianofrivendell #legolas greenleaf

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fablecore · 2 years ago

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Feel free to ignore this, it Will Be Long, Probably.

I've been faffing around with this message for the past week or so but my brain won't let me rest until I word-vomit my adoration for your work and mind-mechanics at you.

I had to have re-read MNP about three or four times in said past week, and am currently on the probably fifth one, but who really knows at this point. I may have a slight problem.

The point I'm trying to make is that the pineapple witch has worked her magic on me as she has on so many others. Every re-read seems to pull me deeper. Even though I know exactly what will happen at this point, I still laugh at every mean quip, still gasp at every tense moment, still read through blurry eyes at Several Chapters That Shan't Be Named.

I honestly lack the vocabulary and word-sense to express myself properly, but I'll try anyway, because if nothing else your writing deserves to be sung its praises.

Your story made me honestly and critically consider the world with open eyes.

I find a lot of myself in Sophie. A little too much. A little too weird. A little bit sheltered, maybe naive. Blindfolded and ear-muffed would be a decent metaphor. It's been hard, growing out of that, but I've been trying. And reading your work has helped a lot.

Your writing, for lack of better wording, sparks. It's life, and joy, and familial banter, and struggle with all its ugly faces, and yes it's angry and vicious and unforgiving too. It slaps you with a novel view of the world and you either agree and move on or are forced to contemplate why exactly it rubs you the wrong way.

The care with which you crafted the story is evident in every word and comma and period. Several foreshadowed moments had me gripping my head and moaning in pain because I Knew what was coming, but I had to keep reading to find out how it impacts the world you built. The characters are lived in, and the dialogue flows so naturally it feels as if you're right in the middle of the bantering and arguing.

Which brings me to my next point: roomboom. I want to put them in my mouth and never let go.

They seem made for each other, and yeah they probably are, but you ruined all other Law ships for me. And to be honest all other OP crews too beside the Hearts. I love all the idiots to bits and pieces.

But back to roomboom. They're a particular flavour of weird devotion I didn't know I was looking for in my ships and will now never find again. I will be eternally forced to re-read MNP for a glimpse of what true love is. I hope you're happy.

The candid way they treat each other, the way they fit like puzzle pieces with their weirdo interests and weirdo personalities, the way they're their own people with Several Issues, but somehow seem to work out still despite their differences. The deep respect they have for each other and the people in their lives. The way they went from (I hate you and wanna beat you up why won't you die) to (I love you and wanna beat you up please let me die with you) is just... unbearable.

Their journey has been a long and winding one, amd still has some mole-hills ahead, but they've given me hope that for every weirdo out there, even a frizzy-haired, burnt-to-hell, panic farting alchemist-witch, there is an even weirder person waiting for them.

TLDR; I want to put the entirety of your writing into my mouth and swallow it, and also would it be alright to make a personal use bookbind of MNP because I need it in my hands.

(I'm deep in Cherry Bomb Alchemy atm, love how they already married and divorced like 5 times, peak roomboom energy, keep up the good work)

thank you so much, oh my goodness. my heart is so full ❣️ "for every weirdo out there, there is an even weirder person waiting for them" made me laugh. it's so true.

the thing about growing up is it never ends. it often takes a strong electric shock to get the ball rolling, and i'm happy mnp could be that for you. books were also my first step into the world beyond me. it's a really special feeling. for as long as we live, let's cherish it 😎 👍

please bookbind mnp! and please take photos! seeing it would mean everything to me, i think i would cry 😭🤍💗

i appreciate this message so much. i'm a slow writer, but i will keep trying my best. and i hope the world perceives you as wonderfully as you have perceived me. have a great day 💐💐💐

#letters #宝 #sophiefic

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song-of-oots · 3 years ago

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Fuchsia Groan: my (un)exceptional fave

A while ago a friend of mine was asking for people to name their favourite examples of strong female characters, and my mind immediately leapt to Gormenghast’s Fuchsia Groan because it always does whenever the words “favourite” and “female character” come up in the same sentence. In fact scratch that, if I had to pick only one character to be my official favourite (female or otherwise) it would probably be Fuchsia. There are not sufficient words in the English language to accurately describe how much I love this character.

The issue was that I’m not sure Fuchsia Groan can accurately be described as “strong”, and until my friend asked the question, it hadn’t even occurred to me to analyse her in those terms…

Actually this isn’t completely true; Mervyn Peake does describe Fuchsia as strong in terms of her physical strength on multiple occasions. But in terms of her mental strength things are less clear cut. She’s certainly not a total pushover, and anyone would probably find it tough-going to cope with the neglect, tragedy and misuse she suffers through. In fact, this is something Mervyn Peake mentions himself – whilst also pointing out that Fuchsia is not the most resilient of people:

“There were many causes [to her depression], any one of which might have been alone sufficient to undermine the will of tougher natures than Fuchsia’s.”

Anyway, this has gotten me thinking about Fuchsia’s other traits and my reasons for loving her, going through a typical sort of list of reasons people often give for holding up a character as someone to admire:

So, is Fuchsia particularly talented?

No.

Is she clever, witty?

She’s definitely not completely stupid, and her insights occasionally take other characters by surprise, but she’s not really that smart either.

Does she have any significant achievements? Overcome great adversity?

Not really, no.

Is she kind?

Yes. Fuchsia is a very loving person and sometimes displays an incredible sensitivity and compassion for others. But… she can also be self-absorbed, highly strung, and does occasionally lash out at other people (especially in her younger years).

So why do I love Fuchsia so much?

Well, I’ll start be reiterating that I don’t really have the vocabulary to adequately put it into words, but I will try to get the gist across. So:

“What Fuchsia wanted from a picture was something unexpected. It was as though she enjoyed the artist telling her something quite fresh and new. Something she had never thought of before.”

This statement summarises not only Fuchsia but also the way I feel about her (and for that matter the Gormenghast novels in general). Fuchsia is something I’ve never really seen before. On the surface, she fits the model of the somewhat spoiled but neglected princess, and yet at the same time she cannot be so neatly pigeon-holed. It’s not just that her situation and the themes of the story make things more complex (though that is a factor); Fuchsia herself is so unique and vividly detailed that she manages to be more than her archetype. She feels like a real person and, like all real people, she is not so easy to label.

Fuchsia is also delightfully strange in a way that feels very authentic to her and the setting in general (which is particularly refreshing because it can all too often feel as though female characters are only allowed to be strange in a kooky, sexy way - yet Fuchsia defies this trend).

She’s a Lady, but she’s not ladylike. She’s messy. She slouches, mooches, stomps and stands in awkward positions. Her drawing technique is “vicious” and “uncompromising”. She chews grass. She removes her shoes “without untying the laces by treading on the heels and then working her foot loose”. She’s multi-faceted and psychologically complex. Intense and self-absorbed, sometimes irrational and ruled by her emotions more than is wise, but also capable of insight and good sense that takes others by surprise. She is extremely loving and affectionate, and yet so tragically lonely. Simultaneously very feminine and also not. Her character development from immature teenager to adult woman is both subtle and believable. She has integrity and decency – she doesn’t need to be super clever or articulate to know how to care for others or stand up for herself.

Fuchsia is honest. She knows her own flaws, but you never catch her trying to put on airs or make herself out to be anything other than what she is. She always expresses her feelings honestly.

She’s not sexualised at all. I don’t mean by this that she has no sexuality – though that’s something Peake only vaguely touches on – but I don’t really feel like I’m looking at a character who was written to pander to the male gaze (though her creator is male, I get the vibe he views her more as a beloved daughter than a sexual object).

Finally, I find her highly relatable. I am different to Fuchsia in many ways, but we do have several things in common that I have never seen so vividly expressed in any other character. This was incredibly important to me when I was a teenager struggling through the worst period of depression I ever experienced – because she was someone who I could relate to and love in a way I was incapable of loving myself. Her ability to be herself meant a lot to me as someone struggling with my own identity and sense of inadequacy. It didn’t cure my depression, but it helped me survive it.

What am I trying to say with all this?

I love Fuchsia on multiple levels. I love her as a person and also as a character and a remarkable piece of writing. I mention some of the mundane details Peake uses to flesh out her character firstly because I enjoy them, but also because it’s part of the point. Her story amazes me because it treats a female character and her psychological and emotional life with an intense amount of interest regardless of any special talents or achievements she happens to exhibit. She doesn’t fit the model of a modern heroine but neither does she need to – she’s still worth spending time with and caring about.* To me the most important things about Fuchsia are how different and interesting and relatable she is – and how real she feels.

* To be honest, this is part of the point of the Gormenghast novels in general. The story is meant to illustrate the damage that society – and in particular rigid social structures and customs – can do to individuals with its callous indifference to genuine human need. Fuchsia is one of many examples of this throughout the novels. These characters don’t need to be exceptionally heroic in order to matter – they just need to exist as believable people. And despite how strange they all are, they often do manage to be fundamentally relatable.

Why am I talking about female characters in particular here?

The focus on “strong” female characters and the critique against that is pretty widely acknowledged. Growing up, I definitely noticed the lack of female characters in popular media and the ensuing pressure this then places on the ones that do exist to be positive representations of womankind – someone girls can look up to. It’s very understandable that we want to see more examples of admirable female protagonists, given that women were traditionally left to play support roles and tired stereotypes. The problem is that the appetite for more proactive female heroines can sometimes lead to characters who are role models first and realistic human beings second (characters who I mentally refer to as Tick-All-The-Boxes Heroines). It’s not a problem with “strong” proactive heroines per se, but rather lack of variation and genuine psychological depth (not to mention a sometimes too-narrow concept of what it even means to be strong).

Male characters tend not to have this particular problem because they are much better represented across the whole range of roles within a story. You get your fair share of boring worn out archetypes. You get characters who are meant to represent a positive version of heroic masculinity (and now that I come to think of it, having a very narrow and unvarying presentation of what positive masculinity looks like is its own separate problem, but outside the scope of this particular ramble). We don’t usually spend time obsessing over whether a piece of fiction has enough examples of “strong” male characters though, because we’re generally so used to seeing it that we automatically move on into analysing the work and the characters on other terms. And because there are often more male characters than female, they don’t all bear the burden of having to be a positive representative of all men everywhere. They exist to fulfill their roles, and often exhibit more variety, nuance and psychological depth. They are also often allowed to be weird, flawed and unattractive in ways that women usually aren’t (which is a damn shame because I’ve spent my whole life feeling like a weird outsider and yet this perspective is so often told primarily through a male lens).

Tl:dr; Fuchsia Groan is a character who feels like an answer to so many of those frustrations that I felt growing up without even truly understanding why. A large part of why I love her is simply because of how much I relate to her on a personal level. I admire her emotional honesty and her loving nature… But there’s also a part of me that was just so relieved to find a female character who exists outside of the usual formulae we seem to cram women into. She is unique, weird and wonderful (but non-sexualised). Psychologically nuanced and vividly written. She isn’t exceptionally heroic or talented or a high achiever – but she does feel like a real person.

Female characters don’t need to tick all the right boxes in order to be interesting or worth our time any more than the male ones do.

#fuchsia groan #gormenghast #mervyn peake #female characters #mental health #depression #long

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sassooda · 4 years ago

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Worlds Away JJK AU / Chapter 16 - Observer 🔞

w/c - 6,503

Choso’s curiosity has been getting the best of him lately. He remains mindful in his duties but he can’t help but research in his spare time, knowing that the unknown is slowly eroding away at him.

Yesterday, he had some updates about Itadori’s control over Sukuna, which he muddles in an attempt to pull Getou’s attention from him, so he made his way to Getou’s room to deliver the report. He heard crashing sounds and grunts but knew better than to simply open the door. As he leaned into it though, he began to hear the muffled cries of a woman, some sounding comparable to Elska’s but the rest resembling horror. To his dismay, he became intrigued and decided that he should take a peek using his observer’s technique.

Choso quickly strolled his way back to his office and shuts the door behind him. He places his phone on his desk and sits down in the swiveling leather chair. He removes the tie from his hair in an attempt to relax. He hesitates for a moment, feeling a little dirty about his intentions for doing this but he really needs to know more. While still sitting, he turns his back to the door and draws an oval shaped design into the air. He closes his eyes and focuses on mapping the trail to Getou’s room, a much simpler task than transporting people. When he finishes, his eyes open and before him is now a real time vision of what was happening in there.

He sees Getou mounting a curvy black-haired woman who’s bound up in chains but face down on her knees. Choso is confused because although it looks sort of like what Naoya was doing to Elska, Getou seems to be hurting the girl in front of him. She’s not crying but her expression definitely reads distress in contrast to his that has an engrained smile accompanied by laughter. He can’t see much from this approach but catches sight of Getou’s length as he begins to harshly administer repetitive full thrusts, ramming the woman into the floor. Her entire body jolts with each round which seems to excite Getou further as he taunts her “I knew you were a slut.” Choso was trying to take away as much as he could from this display but couldn’t help but feel Getou was doing it wrong…Naoya’s approach seemed a lot less, well selfish. He hears the woman grunt into a whine, “I didn’t say you could cum yet bitch.” Getou began striking the woman with her own chains and he decided that was enough…he didn’t care to see anymore. He remembers the shiver that crossed his body as he released the technique, forming even more contempt for the man he worked for.

Today though he thought, ‘Maybe I should try her…’. It’s been a long one but he found himself with extra time since he didn’t need to be on medical standby, everyone was at the base. He sits down in his chair like before but less relaxed for he doesn’t know what he’s going to see… ‘hopefully nothing like yesterday’. He again traces the oval in the air before his eyes shut until he can once again navigate the distance and map the path. Once he’s completed this he opens his eyes quickly to the sounds leading from the window like projection.

He sees Elska riding Gojo, although he wouldn’t know to use such vocabulary. His mouth drops at the full view, being thankful for whatever it was in that room that created the shadow he could infiltrate. It’s as if he’s sitting across from the couch, only mere feet away. Now he can see exactly how it’s done.

His eyes are completely honed into how Gojo and her are connected, where and how she’s making him to move in and out of her. Their moans hitch his breath. He finds himself with that strange feeling, that overwhelming tingling that makes him grab himself through the cloth of his pants again. He notices that his own meaty extension is becoming firmer, throbbing in response to the naughty sights playing out before him. When she gets up, he frowns and sighs thinking that he must have caught the end of it but she soon sits back down on him, leaving Choso to see now her face and breasts.

She’s definitely having a better time than Getou’s woman. Her expression is soft with furrowed brows and an open mouth. He finds it interesting that she seems so overwhelmed but is controlling the situation and doesn’t slow down. A high-pitched “Ahh!” leaves her as he watches Gojo’s smile widen. He’s doing something with one of his hands but Choso isn’t at the right angle to view it. Whatever it was, she seems to really like it.

He leans back in his chair, hand on his crotch as he continues to watch them go at it. He puts some pressure into his palm and brushes down towards his knees, causing himself to vocally shudder. ‘This is strangely wonderful’. He’s watching the climaxes unfurl between the two, their cries making him grip himself now and he sees Gojo hold her down in place above him, pushing into her. He’s seen so much in his lifetime and wonders how he never discovered this before. ‘I wonder if my brothers knew?’ The show before him has come to end but he doesn’t release the technique so he can take in their bareness as he gathered that helped him feel good too. He’s reaching into his pants now, fondling himself in different ways, experimenting with what feels best. His hands are pretty big but now his grip has widened more than usual as he holds himself snuggly. He��s not even aware of his own moans as he mirrors the same motions along his shaft that would be experienced if he were with one of those girls. His body tenses up, causing the rest of him to become erect as well while he quickens his moving hold. There’s a small amount of liquid oozing out of the head. He runs his fingers along the tip, giving it a fluent ribbed like texture and his toes curl for a second. “Uhh..ah”. ‘Feels really fucking good.’

He’s back to focusing on their interactions while stroking himself. Gojo is dressing her as she seems to be losing her usual collected state. He doesn’t find her as exciting in this situation covered but the little dress is still pretty revealing, appetizing in a way. He bits his bottom lip. He’s about to remove himself from his pants as they seem to have shrunk around his thighs and hips but then the door to his office swings open.

“Cho-so I need you to sign off on the-…” Naoya’s voice is lost as his eyes meet Choso’s technique. His earlier good mood is decimated as he’s watching a naked Gojo embracing a barely dressed Elska. He’s immediately enraged at the fact that they’re holding each other and the implications of how their dress…or lack thereof… insinuates a situation of abhorrence for Naoya. “What does that blue-haired dick think he is doing?” He then sees Choso’s flushed face paired with open pants and still clothed erection.

“What the FUCK is going on in here!?” Naoya’s deep voice booms through the room, hollowing Choso as he jumps to stand up. He braces himself as Naoya beelines for him, or so he thought. Naoya completely passes him though, in an attempt to jump through what he thinks is a portal, completely heated at the sight of Gojo swaying his woman in his arms.

“Naoya NO! YOU CAN’T!” Choso grabs onto Naoya’s shoulder and uses his cursed energy to rip the large man away as fast as he could. Naoya flies backwards to the other side of the room but Choso knows it’s too late when he sees the ripple effect cascade outwards from where he assumes Naoya’s hand penetrated its surface. He can see Gojo looking around the room in a completely defensive state, hoping that he’s still left ignorant as to what just happened. He releases the window quickly after that.

“That technique is only untraceable as long as what is observed remains undisturbed!” Choso catches himself actually raising his voice for the second time ever, which seems to throw Naoya by surprise too. “You could’ve ruined everything!” He’s trying to calm himself, “We lose a major advantage if they find out I can do this Naoya…”

“I thought I made myself pretty clear you little perv, you’re not to touch yourself to her…what the fuck!?” Naoya is standing himself up, brushing the dirt from his arms and cracking his neck. He’s irritated by this ‘HIM TOO NOW?’ He doesn’t understand that Choso is simply inquisitive about the act and isn’t actually wanting to try and take Elska, he’s just paranoid after it seems everyone else does.

“You actually said for me to not touch myself to the thoughts of you and her.” Choso corrects Naoya in a matter-of-fact manner, still collecting himself from the infusion of his groin and the seriousness of what almost happened. “Why didn’t you just call or even knock?”

“Choso…she is spoken for...BY ME!” His eyes trail down to Choso’s pants. “Do you understand why this is wrong? If I see this again, I’ll tug it so hard it falls off…and I DID!” He points to Choso’s phone that’s lit up and displaying 4 missed calls. Naoya’s voice is still raised as he has yet to calm down himself. He felt like if he didn’t get to her right in that minute, or at least soon, he’d lose her forever. It was clear to him, her affections for Gojo and that made him insecure about his own for her. He never planned on caring for whoever his wife would end up being, marriage has always been about beneficial arrangements within the clans. He didn’t even care much for the idea when she was mentioned to him initially, years ago, ‘Just so long as she can produce strong heirs.’ Now however, he found the time and distance between them to be torturous, he knows she feels something for him too but isn’t able to sum up the totality of exactly how much that is. He knows he’s lucky to have such emotions for his intended and now feels the need to share them.

The room remains soundless for a minute until Naoya sighs and looks to Choso. “Look, I’ll keep this our little secret if you do that for me so I can see her tomorrow...” He’s still pretty pissed off about everything he just saw…literally everything…but when he looks to Choso who is undoubtedly embarrassed, he can’t help but feel bad for the guy. ‘He’s new to that stuff.’ Naoya thinks of how she looked in that tiny little slip and shudders pleasurably before turning his attention back to his pitiful friend. Choso probably would have remained uncorrupted had Naoya only done his job that day when he caught them. He realizes this. “Just don’t do that to her ever again. You need to find someone else to peep on, Tom.”

Choso doesn’t understand the reference but nods his head in agreeance while looking down to the right…still too embarrassed to meet eyes with Naoya while on that subject.

Naoya sighs again and walks closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Look, it’s alright, all men have been through something similar at one point or another.” He tries to add encouragement to his voice because other than this, he’s grown really fond of him as they’ve grown closer. “It’s almost like a rite of passage.” He trudges up a smile, “You’re just a really, really late bloomer buddy.” He pats Choso’s shoulder and then turns to leave the room. He seems in a hurry all of the sudden. “I fucking mean it though, leave her OUT of it. I’ll know too if you don’t!” He smiles and pulls the door shut behind him, never even addressing properly which papers he needed signed. A faint, “I’ll be back in the morning” is heard as his footsteps fade.

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

Toji was confidently strolling the halls with a large paper bag in hand. ‘He won’t be able to resist this special edition.’ He woke up on the floor of his demolished apartment without wings luckily. He’s still over joyed about his new form, loving the power surging through him although he hasn’t summoned any cursed energy since the scuffle between him and Gojo. “Tch…Gojo…” he grumbles, “I am surely the better option now, she just needs the truth.”

He arrives to Nanami’s office but finds that it’s empty. ‘Maybe I should have called. He better not be on a mission.’ He stands in front of the doorway speculating where the shaman could have been at this time of day. He walks further down into the hall aimlessly, really looking for anyone who would know of his whereabouts, Megumi even if he was lucky, until he begins to hear voices. He nears them, recognizing them as the distance disappears. “God damnit…” He says as he leans into the doorway to find Nanami, Gojo and Elska sitting around a conference table.

He first looks to Elska who looks in much better condition than the night before. As he scans over her white tanktop and skin, he’s thankful initially to see that he didn’t leave her with any bruises but then gathers that meant she’s likely fed since. Gojo stands up immediately upon seeing Toji, slightly confused as to why he wasn’t able to sense him like before.

Nanami sighs, “I swear if you two break anything, I’ll make sure it’s deducted from your pay Satoru…”

Toji immediately punches a hole through the door, “HAA you heard him!”.

“TOJI what the hell?” Nanami is standing now too, his hands having slammed down on the table.

“Toji stop it!” Elska is still sitting but her expression is stern.

Toji throws his head up, “I’m sorry Nanami…I couldn’t help myself.” He sighs, “I won’t do it again…”

Elska looks satisfied by this but the other two men were shocked by how easily he listened to her. Toji shuffles to the side of the table closest to him and hands the bag to Nanami. “This is for helping me with my room.” Ending with a mischievous wink.

“The fucks he talking about Nanami?” Gojo turned his entire head in a dramatic way to narrowly eye his blonde friend. He’s can’t believe Toji would have the balls to show his face again so soon after what happened. ‘And now there’s talk of a room?’ He turns to Elska now on his left, checking to see if she’s uncomfortable by his showing up but she isn’t. Her posture has actually straightened and her eyes have yet to leave him since he entered, which he doesn’t like.

“I never said yes, Toji just doesn’t liste-…”

“Fuck that, I’m moving in y’all. My place is toast now and I have no other choice.” Toji throws his hands up in comical defeat as he prepares to lay the gravy on them. “My son is here and so is my ma-…Elska…who is still in danger by the way.” He looks to Gojo now, both of their eyes narrow simultaneously as the scowls also form. Satoru rolls his shoulders back and intensifies his presence.

“What happened at your place, Toji?” Elska’s voice in brimming with concern as she now finally stands, joining the others in the room. She lands her right hand on Satoru’s arm to display that she’s still very aware of his hesitation but is also asking him to hold off for a moment.

“Doll, I’m so glad you asked…” A wide grin takes over Toji’s expression as his excitement builds. He wanted to show her rather than tell her but this is still going to be good. “It turns out that you gave me wingsSHAHHHHH” The cry that leaves him is thunderous and wild.

Toji hunches over and grabs at his shoulders, “Aww FUCK not right now!” He’s struggling to the floor as he finally catches himself before falling over, being on his hands and knees now. Elska tries to run over to him but Satoru grabs her arm and pulls her back forcefully, not knowing what to expect. Toji’s muscles are dancing along his back as his skin begins to stretch from large bone protrusions. “Why does it hurt so bad!?” After what seems like forever, they finally rip through and the massive deep grey wings take shape around him. His tattered shirt falls forward, holding on by the waist. His wings were much thicker than Elska’s and used more body area where they conjoined from the spine outward. No one says anything at first, they just stand there as the gusts wave through them.

“They’re…beautiful.” Elska gasps and reaches out for one of the stray feathers that was blown across the table as he’s tearing off the rest of his shirt. “They’re so big! Wow Toji!” She can’t help but feel excited at his time, finally seeing what others saw when they looked at her. His stature was large as it is but with the added mass of feathers, he almost seemed imperial…like some kind of winged royalty. Their eyes meet for a moment but the gaze between them seemed timeless. Her eyes begin to glow, fangs slowly forming. She mindlessly tries to walk towards him a second time, with him never leaving her sight. Satoru snatches at her again and yanks her backward which throws her back into reality.

“Have you forgotten what he’s done to us? To YOU?” Satoru’s words are harsh, stinging as she recollects exactly what he’s referring to. ‘Why am I like this… He’s right.’ “I’m sorry.” Is all she manages in response.

“No. I don’t think so Gojo…you’ve got this all twisted.” Toji’s voice is lowered, he seems like he may even growl. He steps a little closer, wings twitching randomly as he does. “Elska… he kidnapped you from your world, held you prisoner, abused you…” He sees Nanami’s eyes widen as he tears off the cap of the bottle and just chugs from it. “And then he had your memories erased.”

Satoru hasn’t moved but his grip on her arm has become unbearable as she tries to pull it away from him. He releases her instantly not being conscious of his actions. “My love…please, don’t listen to him…” His eyes remain on Toji, evolving into a menacing state. Satoru is actually the one to growl, “It’s not that simple.”

“Great! Now that’s out in the open…” Nanami is only now putting down the bottle, already showing signs of intoxication. Everyone turns to him to address the random interruption as he pulls the bottle out of the paper bag and slides it to Elska. “I can’t fucking believe you two right now…she deserves the next go.”

Elska receives the bottle, catching it with both hands along its path. The atmosphere is so incredibly tense and weird as she tries to take in Toji’s words. “That would explain a lot actually…” Hands shaking, she swigs the bottle herself, coughing slightly afterwards to her first try of Jameson. It probably looks as if she didn’t enjoy the taste but she repeats the same action twice more, drinking more in each time. She’s sure that information was shocking but can’t bring herself to negatively emotionally react. ‘It’s almost not surprising though and that would explain that flavor.’ “Jesus you guys…what the FUCK?” She rarely swears but felt this was as good a time as any…still kind of dazed as she pieces things together from her own perspective.

Satoru is still frozen solid as he fails to understand her reaction once again. He’s finding that even after all of this time, she’s still so unpredictable. ‘How did she just take that kind of information in stride?’ She doesn’t seem to discredit it, in fact she seems to be coming to terms with it. ‘Is this it, is she going to leave me?’ He’s staring off in space, retreating into his mind, when he feels her nudge him with the bottle. He looks down to her as she looks straight ahead, unwilling to meet his eyes at the time. He slowly takes the bottle in disbelief and quickly guzzles some like his life depends on it. ‘Is she just having a delayed reaction? This is fucking creepy.’

Toji is waiting for shit to hit the fan too. As he listens to Gojo chasing a buzz, his eyes meet Elska’s and he’s not sure what she’s feeling, she’s not giving anything away. He was expecting her to completely freak out and maybe even attack Gojo herself, hoping so anyways. She looks up to him again for a moment and he can sense her gears turning. “Are you alright, doll?”

Gojo slams down the bottle, surprisingly not shattering it. “Stop with the fucking pet names before I rip your fucking mouth off.”

“I will be once Sati hands you the bottle.” She giggles a little as the sudden introduction of alcohol begins to affect her as well. “Sati, don’t be such a dick…I mean, seriously…like you’ve room to talk right now.”

He thinks to be offended for a second but can’t help but still remain on edge by her demeanor. She hardly speaks to him that way and he’s completely unsettled by her composure. ‘She’s still calling me Sati…’ He shrinks down as the pressure seems too great, he’s wondering if he would’ve preferred her to lose her shit. She finally looks back at him and she even smiles. ‘Why?’

“Elska…” his voice is so unsure of itself as her name leaves his lips.

“Pass Toji the bottle.” She sees Satoru’s reluctance as he’s picking up on the symbology of the situation. “You’ve both said your piece now stop being a child and just do it.” She looks to Toji now who is extending out a hand, smugly ready to accept the forced gesture. “Toji, don’t make this any more difficult than it already is…” To this he huffs and removes the arrogance from his expression.

Nanami stands up, laughing, “Grown men…” and shakes his head as he announces he’ll be right back. Everyone watches him leave until Satoru finally slides the bottle across from him, towards Toji. “Take it, cunt.”

“SATI.”

Toji and Gojo’s eyes are locked, even while Toji drinks. After the first sip he lets out, “HAHH…yea, this definitely was needed today.” Before tilting it upwards for more. His wings flutter as he takes in the beverage, causing Elska and Gojo’s attention to remain on him.

“I need that again before I say my bit…” Elska now waves to the bottle in Toji’s hand which he leans over slowly to hand it to her, unnerved by what exactly it’ll consist of.

She guzzles some this time and Satoru twitches in response, probably wanting her to slow down considering she was such a lightweight. When she sets it down, it’s with purpose. “Listen you two…” She sighs deeply, “I am not oblivious, I was simply missing pieces of the puzzle. Sati, my dream last night…I believe it was a memory of the first time I gave myself to you.” She notices Toji shift his stance, being out of the loop. “You’ve always had this taste about you, I’ve sensed that side of you this entire time. The nightmares, I’m accepting now that they may potentially all be memories…which means I know far more than you think I do.” Both men remain silent, unsure of where this is heading. Satoru’s face looks like he’s in pain, genuine agony as she progresses, turning towards him, “You’ve done some really horrible things my dear, to me and others as well… I can’t argue that.” She places her left hand into his cheek as he buries his face into it reflexively. “And as sick as it is, I almost understand. If I remember correctly then I think I’ve said this before although it’s even more so true now.” His eyes anxiously meet hers, “You were raised to believe that love was not in your nature but Sati, you are no monster.” He inhales sharply to this, almost as if he’d been holding his breath the entire day. His eyes close as his face reddens from emotion, “You didn’t know how to express your feelings properly then but you do now.” He brings his hands up to her one on his face and gently holds it as a single tear rolls down his other cheek. “If you never took me, I wouldn’t be here with everyone from this world today…I’m happy here.”

He responds in a whisper that leaves a timid smile as he recalls that wonderful night, and soaks up her current words, “This must be love.” To which she half laughs, half cries as her own tears are beginning to form as well. “Elska…” He decides to finally embrace her, “My Elska…”

Nanami enters the room again, “I knew I had another one somewhere! With the content being spewed, I just knew that one wouldn’t be enough.” He sets the second bottle down and opens it, uncaring that the first is unfinished. “I care about all of you, yes even you Toji…but this is the most dysfunctional shit I’ve ever heard of in my life.” He laughs wearily as he swigs from the new bottle.

Toji turns the chair in front of him around leaving the support in front of him as he sits at the table, feeling defeated. ‘How in the fuck did that just go down like that. All of that work, lying, sneaking around, scheming…and for what? She still loves him anyway?!’ He reaches for the first bottle and gulps a decent amount down. “What the fuck man…”

She turns to Toji now, placing her hand on top of the one teetering the bottle on the table. “You Toji, you’re not innocent either…you need to stop trying to manipulate us.” He scoffs to this, removing his hand and the bottle from under hers to drink again. “Toji…” The hurt is evident in her tone.

“Look doll, since I’m taking this harder than you are let me just have a minute.” He softens his voice to her, “This isn’t what I expected to be honest.” He watches her drink from the second bottle that Nanami handed to her. A smile forming on her face as she wipes away the liquid that spilled from her lips. She’s wearing black sweatpants too but the snug little white tank top, now has little dribbled murky spots from the spillage. He’s feels it minutely but his wings flutter again while he observes her.

“Toji, you’re still very special to me and you should understand that thoroughly.” She sees him darting eyes over to Satoru after she spoke to which a grin formed indicating that Satoru probably didn’t like that. “We are bonded now; our relationship is also very unique.” She now sits down, feeling tipsy and warm. “I can’t believe it’s finally out there.” Her relief is clear as she leans back and stretches. “It really all makes so much more sense now.” Her composed demeanor instantaneously relaxes everyone in the room, it becoming evident that her ability to be understanding and empathetic had been greatly underestimated.

Nanami leans over where he sits, “Shame on these men, Elska. Imagine if you had a quiet guy like myself.” He laughs to his own words as he waits for the rebuttal.

“Not uhh Nanamin you’re a scoundrel too! I caught you staring at her ‘little lady’ last night.” Satoru laughs loudly as he knows he’s just struck a nerve. “You’re face right now!” He’s lost in snickers as his tension fades.

Toji and Elska stiffen to these words. Toji angrily snaps his head to Nanami not understanding why that would even transpire, “WHAT?” He stands and his wings begin to flail.

“Toji you have to calm down! I’m sure it’s a joke!” She glares at Satoru for stirring things up again, “Why would you say that?” She shoves his shoulder and hoping that small bit odd normalcy they were experiencing wasn’t just ruined.

“I’m kidding, we all know our Nanamin wouldn’t do such a thing!” He turns to his now statuesque friend with an evil grin, hinting that he’ll blow the shit out of proportion if he needs to, he has the power to throw him under the bus. Nanami loosens his tie while he awkwardly chuckles and finally begins relaxing again, fully comprehending what Satoru’s eyes were saying.

“Alright boys…I’m in desperate need of a shower” She stumbles a bit once standing and remembers that she’s still technically wearing both men, “Ok maybe a bath then.” All four chuckle as she straightens herself and makes her way to the door. I’ll come back when I’m done if you’re still gathered here.” And she waves as the room falls quiet to her absence.

Satoru and Toji both take a swig at the same time which causes Nanami to laugh. “You know, you two aren’t so different from each other if you really think about it.” This statement wasn’t met well though and they refused to look at each other.

“Difference is, this fuck always wins.” Toji rolls his eyes as he sits again, placing an elbow down on the table to rest his head in hand. He’s facing Nanami, allowing his hand to block his view of Gojo.

“I really do I guess… I still don’t feel like it though.” He sighs as the outcome is still blowing his mind. His little Elska is really something else. He’s twirling the ends of his hair as he thinks about how much time he spent in fear of this exact predicament. He was so sure she would be mortified…and rightfully so. “You still get to feed from her though so it can’t be called a true victory…fucker.”

“Are you seriously telling me that even after all of this, you two are STILL making it about yourselves?” Nanami completely removes his glasses now as he pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Neither of you really gave her a choice to begin with so why is it so important that she chooses now? What, like you value that or something suddenly?” His tone is still friendly but he’s getting agitated at how they could fail to get along or even understand.

“What are we supposed to do, fucking share her?” Toji spits instantly, empty chuckles leaving his mouth as his nerves are being worked again.

Gojo shifts his weight in his chair and crosses his legs.

Nanami brings his hands together in an intense moment of deliberation. “I mean, yea…maybe.”

Toji postures himself upright immediately, “She’s not a fucking toy.” He looks to Gojo out of curiosity as the man chugs some more from the second bottle, surprised to not hear more protests from him as well. He looks like he’s thinking now too.

“If it weren’t for Naoya then I wouldn’t even be considering this.” Gojo is smiling wide, feeling a little drunk now. “I wonder how he’s doing...”

“What do you mean by that?” Toji is quick to want to understand the implications of that sentence. One of his eyebrows are raised as he gives Gojo his full attention.

“Well… when I was sealed, Naoya brought her to me. He was putting her…in a tough position and one thing led to another. It was a really bizarre occurrence but long story short, that was almost a threesome.” He pauses a moment as if he’s reflecting, “Had I been able to move? It would’ve definitely been a threesome.”

“He fucked Elska?” Toji’s voice is matched with the same surprise as his expression. Naoya has been officially underestimated as well.

“Right in front of me.” He takes another drink as he greedily relishes in the memory. His mannerisms were so casual that it didn’t seem to sit right with the others listening. “She was partially in my lap for the majority of it, I just couldn’t move.”

“What? Satoru, are you serious? And he’s still alive?!” Nanami is flabbergasted by the calmness as the words left his possessive friend’s mouth. ‘I did not need to know all of this.’

“Well…” He laughs to himself as he makes eye contact, shifting between the two, “Of course initially I was ready to disembowel the fucker but as it progressed, I just realized that I was into it!” He shrugs his shoulders as he relives the situation some more, a deep sigh existing his lips.

“I’m going to kill that little shit…” Toji drinks again, “He wants to make her a fucking Zenin, Gojo, surely you know this. What do you think the boy is cute or something?”

“Of course I’m aware but I’m not going to let that happen. Also, I’m not attracted to Naoya…I just like how he makes her feel.” He shivers now to his own words. “Woah, that sounded weird to actually say.”

Nanami is genuinely curious about all of this now. He removes his jacket and rolls up his sleeves to reduce his alcohol sweats. He never would’ve imagined Satoru being open to this considering he’s one of the few people that was familiar with the devil inside of him and how Elska existence made him behave. He would always keep an eye on her from afar just in case Gojo ever relapsed into old, terrible habits. He never has but upon seeing how incoherent and roughed up she was last night, he did fear for a second there. “Could you see the same possibilities with Toji?”

Gojo looks over Toji fully, from wing to toe. He’s acting like he’s sizing him up for the first time all over again. He wants to say no but in his current state of mind he can’t help but admit that he’s a little interested. He could argue that it wouldn’t be right due to Toji’s feelings for her, understanding that it could be threatening…but he knows Naoya falls under this exact category as well. “It wouldn’t work, Toji would have to cut off his own dick.”

“What?” Toji and Nanami question at the same time. They look baffled at what may be assumed as an outlandish ultimatum.

“Don’t you remember Toji, that day… the day you fucking tricked me into a misery? You said you would rather chop off your own dick than ever lay eyes on my mine.” He now hoots at how seriously they took him a few seconds ago as he was really just being a shit. He’s surprised when Toji actually cackles to his joke, unable to fight off that stupid infectious laugh. Nanami’s humor doesn’t seem to mesh well with mention of a dick lost however.

“Would you be able to stay in your fucking lane if I said yes?” Gojo is all seriousness now as he questions Toji, implying that he is really thinking about it.

“I don’t know exactly how I would do that but are you really considering this? What if she doesn’t even want to?” Toji’s failing to hide his excitement. Sure, he didn’t want to share if he could help it but he also recalls a time where he wasn’t so against the idea. “Holy shit, I have an experience like that with Zenin too now that you mention it.” Gojo and Nanami are both all ears, Gojo’s face being a little more serious as this will be news to him. “Well…uhh…it was after I fed her for the first time…” His voice trailed off wondering if he should’ve kept his mouth shut but Gojo doesn’t look like he’s going to swing, yet. “We didn’t know Naoya was there but it turns out he came for his men, who Elska fantastically handled. There was blood everywhere and the sheer amount of gore…so fucking impressive.” He realizes he’s getting off track as Nanami ducks his head back in confusion. “She released her pheromones and the little shit lunged out of nowhere not having been affected before.” To this the three of them laugh as they can all recall their first time exposed to the scent. Their bellows chimed in unison as the cordial air surrounds them. “He’d never met her before and couldn’t understand why he wanted her to keep biting him. He squirmed so bad at first. She stole a chunk of his nuts that day I swear.” He laughing but then lets out a sigh, “But I didn’t want to hurt her and I wasn’t in the right mind to fight him…so I watched until I knew I was losing control…then I left. He wasn’t going get too far, she was taking advantage of his not knowing and got away shortly afterwards.”

Gojo seems amazed by that last part. ‘I didn’t want to hurt her…I left.’ He turns to Toji sincerely, “You really fought the urges?” Feeling slightly less of man when he considers how he never could…there was no way he could resist her like that. ‘So Naoya was lying about their encounter...’ he was beginning to believe it after he saw how Elska was affected by him, being grateful for some clarity.

“I’m a big guy Gojo, I really didn’t want to hurt her.” Gojo perks up slightly to this inference. Toji thinks he even liked the sound of it. “If I’d gotten ahold of her again, I’m not saying that would’ve gone well though.”

Nanami is just watching everything unfold as he continues to drink. ‘To think after all of this time it finally comes out and it’s so anticlimactic. They’re holding a conversation now…and the subject matter at that…wow.’ “So Satoru, what do you say? Are you willing to give it a shot?”

“You’re not touching her with your wings out so you’ll need to figure that out first.” He’s been nothing but astonished today, “If she can accept me the way that I am, I feel I have to try to accept you I guess…” He folds his arms in a playful pout while looking to Toji out of the corners of his eyes. “No promises that this is a happy ending though.” He tries to hold his face but the alcohol mixed with his immaturity pulls out laughter instead.

“We’re really getting through the issues today. I never would have thought it’d be this easy.” Nanami holds up his bottle as to toast before passing it to Toji.

“I’m…I’m not even sure what to say but I know what to do!” Toji holds up the bottle to repeat Nanami’s action and smiles to him. He feels the blunt clinking of thick glass as Gojo has raised the bottle in his hand to meet Toji’s. He’s so surprised that he isn’t even able to hide it from his face.

“This should be interesting.” A wicked sneer takes over Gojo’s expression as the three men have finally come to an agreement.

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thexfridax · 4 years ago

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Translated interview with Adèle Haenel, heroine of “Portrait of a Lady on Fire”

Performing in order to richly live the now

Tomoko Ogawa, in: Ginza Mag, 3rd of December 2020 Translation by Rose @rosedelosvientos 🙏🏾

Set in 18th-century France, the daughter of an aristocrat who refuses marriage and a female painter who makes her portrait - two people of different social status - meet and fall in an unforgettable love that will last for a lifetime.

In the film “Portrait of a Lady on Fire”, Héloïse, an aristocrat, is played by Adèle Haenel, who, as an actress, always thinks, acts and decides constantly for herself. Late last year, she filed a complaint against the director for sexual abuse during/after her first film debut 18 years ago. At the César Awards, she protested and walked out after Polanski won Best Director, which shook the world of French cinema and is also still fresh from memory.

This film is also the work of Céline Sciamma, the director of Water Lilies, in which Adèle Haenel also appeared. Adèle recounts her thoughts about her current film, and director Sciamma’s “Female Gaze”, who, for many years was also her partner in her private life.

Q: Last year, “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” opened and was screened in Europe, and won Best Screenplay at the 72nd Cannes Film Festival. A year and a half has passed since then. Do you feel the magnitude of this work’s influence on women empowerment?

A: If put this way, people might think that it may be too subjective, but I think that not only this film, but Céline Sciamma’s works have constantly played a role in empowering women. But, it was understood that, surely, there’s also a way - that it’s possible to show the worldview of equal love between women from a different perspective, in a history where there are a lot of films that contained an element of women being controlled unilaterally from men’s point of view.

Q: Not dominance, but the joy of collaborating and creating something with someone, and the love that continues to grow is depicted in this film. What do you think sets it apart from many other films that have depicted love until now?

A: Until now, love has been depicted in ways such as controlling the other person, and in a sensual manner, but in this film, the nature of love is kinda different, I guess. The two women who happen to be in that place - while interacting extemporaneously using language that is characteristic of themselves and figuring each other out - are building up their relationship. While it’s fictional without altering historical facts, it’s a proposal that’s entirely different from what love looks like until now. I think that it’s a film that brings with it a new perspective.

Q: It’s not a one-sided view from the painter’s perspective where the person whose portrait is being painted is the “muse”, but rather of both sides looking at each other, and the connection of being seen is depicted. I think that you’ve also been called a “muse” up to this point, but during those times, do you remember how you felt then?

A: The word “muse” is used against actresses as a stereotype, and there were people who did say that to me that but, even if I were called a “muse”, I’ve come to be aware of not taking that position that’s being asked. That’s because even if it’s the director who’s directing, ultimately it’s up to the actors how they perform something while working together with different actors. So, you’re supposed to actively consider how you build up the character relationships artistically, politically, all aspects. In the first place, it’s not acceptable that in most films it’s the men looking, and the women being looked at, so even for things that aren’t visible on the surface, I constantly think and make decisions for myself.

Q: Tell us about the charm of Céline Sciamma as a director.

A: She has a very clear perspective, doesn’t she? She’s a person who can raise all sorts of questions and kinda make you rethink various ideas, not about how reality is, simply, but beyond those ideas that are based on the reality that there is. She’s also a visionary, and she understands the wonder of fiction, and has philosophical ideas.

Q: In this film, you were also able to apply the relationship of trust that you’ve built with your partner, at the time, through the course of many years.

A: That’s right. I’ve been friends with her for as long as 15 years, and of course she was also my partner, and that’s because I’ve been collaborating artistically for many years. This time, in the script, too, the character of Héloïse was written with me in mind. So since we’ve already built that trust with each other, there was no need to talk about every little thing, like, “I’m thinking of doing it this way”.

Q: This film has a mostly female staff, such as director Céline Sciamma, cinematographer Claire Mathon, Hélène Delmaire, the female artist who carried out the painting on-screen, etc. What do you think about its significance?

A: From the very start, this film’s intent - especially since the relationship between women hasn’t really been presented as something very important - is to focus the spotlight on women across history who weren’t written about. This time, an axis (focal point) has been put together by the film crew for the women who properly understand that importance, so there’s a part where the production did really well, I think.

Q: Through this film, is there anything that you discovered about yourself?

A: I don’t think in a way like, that there was a discovery or change just because of the role that I played. Basically, I’m the type of person who keeps moving and doesn’t stand still, who constantly asks and answers my own questions, and raises issues. Whichever work it is, I perceive them in one of those processes.

Q: I see. In the midst of constant movement, what is your primary motivation as an actor?

A: Meeting with people with whom I can collaborate with is a big one. Whenever I work with new people, I’m made to realize that there’s also such a different way of depicting (t/n: lit. “drawing”) the world. That there is a way to richly live the now, that is in film and art in general. That also motivates me.

Q: With all this motivation that’s hitherto been given to you by the director, do you think that it’s because you both share a common perspective?

A: Since I take the responsibility myself when I perform, there’s no such thing as being influenced by the director. I’m a person who doesn’t really care (t/n: I’ve a feeling ‘give a shit’ is what she really wanted to say here) about hierarchy, and the people whom I can really respect are those persuasive people who have a clear perspective, and, within the silence, can properly show what they want to talk about. Directors who give hints to the actors on how they can arrive at the reality that they’re thinking they want to depict more. I’m thinking that actors don’t express form, rather, their role is to explore the expounding of their own vocabulary. So a person who has a clear vision of what they want, and what they want to draw is amazing, in my opinion.

Q: Finally, all the handmade dresses have an impression that they’re being fastened thickly and heavily, but how do you think the costumes influence your acting?

A: When I wear the costumes, I feel like a pilot in the Star Wars series (laughs), so as we handle the costumes that we’re given, I really think about how I’m going to move while in it, you know? The one we had was a basic dress, but at first there was a feeling of nervousness, a tense kind of stiffness. But as the story went on, I try to be aware that the movements of the dress will become a bit softer along with my facial expressions. Even if it’s the same costume, I performed while feeling that change of heart.

“Portrait of a Lady on Fire” Original Title: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu Director: Céline Sciamma Cast: Noémie Merlant, Adèle Haenel, Luana Bajrami, Valeria Golino Music: Jean-Baptiste de Laubier Distribution: GAGA 2019/France/122 mins./Colour/Vista/5.1 Digital Channel Dec. 4, 2020, TOHO Cinema Chanter, Bunkamura Le Cinéma Nationwide Screening © Lilies Films https://gaga.ne.jp/portrait/

Profile Adèle Haenel Born in January 1, 1989 in Paris, France. Attended theater classes at 13 years old. In 2002, debuted as the heroine Chloe in Les Diables. In 2007, her name became more well-known after being nominated for Most Promising Actress at the César Awards. Furthermore, she was also nominated for her role in House of Tolerance (2011), and for Suzanne (2013), achieved Best Supporting Actress, and won Best Actress for Love at First Sight (2014) – becoming one of the actresses representing the world of French cinema both in name and substance. Her major appearances also include The Unknown Girl (2016) and Bloom of Yesterday (2016), among others.

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Translated excerpt from ’“Portrait of a Lady on Fire” - Approaching the True Face* of Adèle Haenel’

Atsuko Tatsuta, in: Madame Figaro Japan, 4th of December 2020 Translation by Rose @rosedelosvientos 💜

(*t/n: may also mean the 'true nature’ of AH. Literally it means bare face with no make-up.)

“A woman who has an adventurous spirit, while living under constraints.”

Interviewer: Marianne and Héloïse are depicted as contrasting characters, aren’t they? From the outset, when the canvas falls from the boat, Marianne jumps into the ocean in order to retrieve it. Héloïse, which you performed, has never gone into the sea despite living in the island. How did you interpret the contrast between this free and conservative way of living?

Adèle Haenel: Marianne and Héloïse were indeed depicted contrastingly. Not just marriage, but Héloïse is a person who’s lived within various restrictions. But, as the story progresses, you’ll understand that actually she’s a character who is highly curious, and also has an adventurous spirit. People tend to think that she’s dull and lacks vigour, but it’s soon understood that up to this point, in reality, her actions are coming from a place of being shackled. Playing the transformation of such a character was very interesting.

#rosedelosvientos #Ginza Mag #Madame Figaro Japan #Adèle Haenel #Céline Sciamma #Noémie Merlant #Portrait of a Lady on Fire #December 2020 #Japanese article #Translation #A spirited woman #Thank you so much Rose #long post

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