#one is a pronoun though so its used sparingly

[lesbianherald]

when i got to the no caps breakdown and realized the only two words you were capitalizing I had a breakdown myself. amazing work !

the sigh of relief i just let out I swore the first comment I was gonna get on that was like errrrm I noticed some typos DKLFJHDSLFKJD

thank you !!!

[philliam-writes]

you are in the earth of me [01]

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Content: cot3 +1 (and kipps), canon-typical violence & horror, loss of family member (not just Lockwood), found family, touch starved Lockwood, childhood friends Kipps & Reader, childhood trauma, slow burn, rivals to lovers (if this stays a Lockwood/Reader), mature language (swearing), aged up characters (everybody's in their early 20s; Kipps is mid-20s), fem! Reader though pronouns are used sparingly and no use of y/n

Summary: “Ton—Anfonie ‘Ockwoo’.” You nod, and finally swallow your mouthful of food. “I’ve heard things about you.” Lockwood’s dark eyes slide over to Kipps for a second, glinting like a knife drawn out of its sheath. He gives you a nice, easy smile. “Only good things, I presume?” You feel your face scrunch up at the memory of Kipps’s curses, threats and very imaginative ways of what he’d do with his rapier and a very specific part of Lockwood’s body. “Yeah, uhm … things.”

Notes: [02]

Words: 5.1k

A/N: Words will never suffice how much Lockwood & Co. has carried me through some of the toughest parts of my life. To see it adapted to a show is SO EXCITING, I couldn't help but be a little self-indulgent and plan out a whole ass story for my favourite three (+ Kipps) ghost hunters. So here we go.

This could either stay a Lockwood/fem!Reader or I could easily change it into Locklyle or even freaking poly cot3 x Reader or just Locklyle depending on what people want to read. I'm fine with pretty much everything; I just want my silly little Reader joining 35 Portland Row because I am in DIRE NEED OF FOUND FAMILY AND JUST SELF-INDULGENT GHOST HUNTING

So yeah, I'm totally open to people requesting Locklyle or anything for this one, but it's still gonna be from Reader's POV and focusing on an original story with action and characters studies and personal growth. Also sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my first language and I'd be super happy if someone offered to become my beta-reader for this! Any feedback is super super appreciated!!

01: let the dead hollers hum

when i first saw you, the end was soon to bethlehem it slouched and then it must've caught a good look at you

—hozier: nfwmb

At almost two in the morning the streets should be empty of people and cars, yet you manage to nearly get hit by a night cab turning down Tredegar Road. Its ghastly horn echoes like the wail of a Banshee through the dark, disturbing the peaceful night. Across the street, a kitchen light flickers to life inside a building. A shadow moves behind the white curtains, pausing for a second to look out at the street.

Bracing against the cutting wind, you turn up your maroon trenchcoat’s collar and duck your head like a turtle trying to hide inside its shell. It would have been much colder without your gloves now that the early winter bite is coming, but it’s still very unpleasant to be outside after the sun has set. Today is a clearer night, despite the day of rain; the moon chases stray wisps of cloud across an otherwise unmarked black sky.

London turns in earlier than usual now that the nights grow longer and colder—and more dangerous as well. Just yesterday you heard two more night-watch kids have succumbed to ghost-lock down at the warehouses near Blackfriars when they got distracted trying to warm up from the freezing evening rain that had set in after eleven. They turned into easy pickings for a Drowner lurking beneath the docs—former scoundrels who ended their sorry lives in the water by drowning. They rarely make a pleasant sight with their bloated limbs and skin wrinkled so hard it is peeling off like layers of paint.

It makes you glad to feel the familiar weight of your rapier hanging from your hip holster, to know that just within short reach, everything you need to protect yourself is at your disposal. That and the salt bombs around your belt. It’s hard not to feel safe while carrying around something with ‘bomb’ in its name.

You find the meeting point you’ve been summoned to at the end of the street. The Green Goose is a two-floor building with the restaurant at the bottom and what you can only assume the storage and other facilities upstairs. All sun-blinds on the first floor are drawn shut.

Few London establishments are open during the night, and fewest of all in the dark hours before the dawn. But places like this, catering for agents or night-watch kids, are easily recognised by the additional fortification against possibly unwanted visitors. High up where the first floor meets the second, heavy mistletoe bushes run around the whole building like a gigantic garland. You imagine in summer this would be lavender blooms, plunging the whole street into their thick, sweet scent. The door and windows are laced with iron grilles, and overhung with battered ghost-lamps. A few wooden dining tables and benches remain vacated outside, left to their own until the warmth of spring returns.

After a first glance inside the premise through the grimy windows, you don’t spot your friend. How much easier this would be if you could carry a phone around, just to check if you are at the right place. Now all you have to go on is his cryptic call before your shift started this morning, and a vague sense of the kind of establishments he likes based to his tastes.

Good thing you have known him for almost a decade.

But that doesn’t really give you an idea what exactly Quill Kipps wants from you. Maybe help with a case? Or he has finally realised he has a crush on his co-worker, that lemony-smelling Kat or Kate, and now he needs advice. Not hanging out at the dead of the night would be a preferable start.

Small bells jingle when you push the door open with your shoulder, and a waft of warm air scented with grease and coffee hits your nose, bringing heat back to your face. It looks a lot smaller than from the outside, narrow and with the sitting area stretched in an L-shape around the bar and counter in the middle. Behind that a pair of slightly askew doors lead to the kitchen where you can hear a radio play.

The first row of tables line alongside the window, then disappear further into the back. In the corner, two night-watch kids sit huddled together, quietly snoring and drooling on each other’s shoulders with their meagre food spread before them. A waitress with short black hair and a chubby chin standing behind the counter looks up from a magazine, stares at you, and blows out a baby-blue bubble of gum until it pops loudly.

She raises an eyebrow.

You raise one back at her.

From the other side of the entrance, you hear Kipps calling your name. At that, the waitress gives you a single, polite nod which you answer alike, as though you are two cowboys engaged in a stand-off who don’t want to shoot each other.

Marching down the narrow aisle, you pass an occupied table and accidentally bump into it. Cutlery rattles against an empty plate. You mumble a half-hearted apology and move on, barely listening to the grumbled answer or really looking at the man clad in black sitting there. He gives of a sweet, heavy scent you can’t really place, and quickly move on.

Knowing you’d arrive in a foul mood, Kipps has already ordered your favourite midnight snack after a hard day’s work: coffee and a simple English breakfast with a fried egg, hot and greasy sausages, crispy bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms on the side.

“It better be important, Kippy,” you say in lieu of hello, manoeuvring over his lap to the unoccupied seat by the window, using elbows and knees to execute a complicated dance with him so you can squeeze into the narrow booth. He grunts and makes barely any effort to make you room. His outstretched legs take up a disproportionate amount of real estate. “I got a ten hour shift behind me and I’m desperate for my bed.”

“You certainly smell like after a ten hour shift,” he comments, wrinkling his nose. Of course he looks well kempt and neat as always with not a single ginger curl on his head out of order. But there are dark circles under his eyes as though someone put a charcoal pen to his skin, betraying his tidy appearance. His eyes flit over your face for a second, scanning it for any injuries.

You give him your best shit-eating grin and wolf down on your eggs when someone clears his throat from across the table—and that’s when you realise Kipps isn’t alone.

Nursing a cup of tea, opposite you sits a young man in a black suit, slender and tall, his short, unruly hair swept back elegantly. He watches you with mild interest, his thin lips slightly pursed, like someone would watch a flock of hungry pigeons plunge towards bread crumbs spread by tourists at Hyde Park—nothing out of order. Just another regular sight in the big city on a late afternoon stroll.

You hold his steady, dark eyes when you bite into your egg, feeling the yolk escape at the corners of your mouth and run down your chin. You didn’t even realise how much you were starving.

“Hwo’sh yor fren’, ‘Ippy?” you ask with your mouth full because you have absolutely zero shame.

Kipps swallows a groan.

“Yes, Kippy,” the young man replies with the most soothing, alluring voice you have ever heard, as though he’s eaten silk and honey for breakfast. “Why don’t you introduce us?”

Kipps makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. Annoyance radiates off him stronger than any other-light you have seen on apparitions. “Friend is a bit much,” he says slowly, as though he has to talk around the word ‘friend’ because it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “That’s Lockwood.” You recognise his tone. It sounds a lot as if he’s saying That’s the biggest nuisance of my life.

The effect is pretty much the same.

You nearly choke on your next bite and aim for the coffee to wash it down. When you jerk your head around to stare at Kipps in disbelief, your eyes stretch wider than the dinner plate before you. Kipps must read what’s written on your face: That’s Lockwood? Tony Lockwood you can’t shut up about? Your arch-nemesis?

Kipps rolls his eyes so hard it must give him a spectacular view of his skull. Just humour me, his expression says.

“Ton—Anfonie ‘Ockwoo’.” You nod, and finally swallow your mouthful of food. “I’ve heard things about you.”

Lockwood’s dark eyes slide over to Kipps for a second, glinting like a knife drawn out of its sheath. He gives you a nice, easy smile. “Only good things, I presume?”

You feel your face scrunch up at the memory of Kipps’s curses, threats and very imaginative ways of what he’d do with his rapier and a very specific part of Lockwood’s body. “Yeah, uhm … things.”

Lockwood seems to understand, for he doesn’t inquire further, but his smile seems to freeze a little at the corners. “And you are?”

“Kipps’s friend.” You stuff the rest of your toast into your mouth and give your name. Lockwood blinks and keeps a polite smile, and doesn’t ask even though you’re sure he didn’t understand a word you just said.

“I wasn’t aware Kipps has friends.” Lockwood’s eyes have taken on a taunting glint, and he leans forward as he speaks. “Certainly not friends at Rotwell.”

His eyes drop to the crest stitched onto the upper part of your sleeve on your trench-coat: a snarling lion holding a rapier in its front paw—the agency’s symbol—before he gives Kipps a pointed look as though that small detail would have been worth mentioning before they got up to whatever this is.

Kipps ignores him. “I called you because I need your help,” he says, sliding napkins over to you which you promptly ignore. “I need your Talent.”

You halt at that and give him a long, level look. Kipps doesn’t shy away from the weight of your gaze, and suddenly you become painfully aware of the tension surrounding them, thick enough you could cut it with your dull knife.

Slowly, you chew your sausage. “What exactly are we talking about?” you ask, voice quieter, matching Kipps’s. He’s doing that little wiggle in his seat, shifting his weight from left to right he always does when bracing for potential conflict. When he trails his eyes away from you, you follow them to Lockwood who is looking at Kipps as though seeing him for the first time.

From the pockets of his long, black coat, Lockwood pulls out a small wooden box. It would easily fit into the palm of your hand, and from where you sit you can’t see a particular design or anything on the surface. Lockwood slides the box across the table towards you, flips it over with his long, slender fingers, and opens the lid, revealing a small bronze key lying on a cushion surrounded by thin iron plates.

You stare at it for five, six seconds. Then reach out to take another big swig of your coffee. With no sugar, acidly bitter taste explodes on your tongue, just the way you like it.

“It’s a Source,” you say. “You just carry a Source around like that?”

“Exceptional observation skills,” Lockwood says with the mild tone of someone barely holding back his impatience. “I can see why you asked her to join us, Kippy.”

“I can see why Kipps wants to shove his rapier up your—”

“Trust me, I’d be the last one missing out on a chance to ridicule Lockwood,” Kipps interrupts, tapping a finger on the table in front of the box, “but Barnes wants results by tomorrow and I’d like to act like professionals for once, so can we please focus?”

Lockwood and you throw a mirror glare at Kipps that’s something along the lines of You’re one to talk. When you notice each other’s similar expressions, Lockwood quickly schools his features back to a neutral one. “It is secure inside its seal for now, but the Visitor contained in it is not particularly strong. If we’re quick, it won’t have time to come through,” he says.

You shake your head. “You’re mad. And you—” you knock your knee against Kipps’s—“what’s wrong with you for going along with this?”

“There’s just … not enough time,” Kipps says. Exhaustion seeps into his voice, strong enough to peel back layers of caution for he shares a quick glance with Lockwood and what they don’t say screams so loudly that you have to lean back and re-evaluate what you’ve known about their relationship up until now.

It seems that Kipps has missed out on filling you in on some crucial details about the past few weeks he has worked at Kensal Green Cemetery.

“Then why don’t you just tell me what this is about?” you say, looking over at Kipps sharply. “Why does Barnes need you both to work on it? Is it a Fittes job? Did Bobby get his greasy little hands on something and—”

“Actually,” Lockwood chimes in, “it is our case. Lockwood & Co. Kipps is … an associate. And we’re very short on time to solve this case. Let’s just say Kipps has a little favour to repay. We need someone who excels at Touch, and he said you are the best at it. You might be our last chance to find out more about this key.” He has switched from that arrogant drawl to a soft, melodic cadence with that maddeningly smooth voice of his. It has to be intentional—he is trying to play you like a fiddle with that charm he switched on like an industrial bulb.

“What’s there to solve? You got the Source, you sealed it. That’s all there is. This should be on its way to a furnace right now.” You fall back into your seat, eyes raking over Lockwood’s form. He doesn’t even wear a uniform for Christ’s sake. “And you call yourself an agent?”

And just like that the light goes out, the switch flicks off. Lockwood’s face is calm; the only sign of his agitation is a pulse hammering in his throat and a muscle twitching in his jaw.

Kipps shifts in his seat. “We can’t give it to Barnes yet,” he says in a quiet voice, wrenching your eyes away from the glaring contest you have engaged in with Lockwood. Kipps presses his lips into a thin line, and you can see the mental strain it takes on him to agree with something Lockwood said. His handsome face crumples as though he has bitten into a lemon. “We believe the murder of that Visitor is still out there.”

You digest that. Go in for some more food. It takes a lot more effort to swallow your bacon. “Even more reason to just leave it to Inspector Barnes and DEPRAC. Exactly why is this your responsibility?”

“Justice for the dead?” Kipps offers.

“Protecting the living?” Lockwood states nobly.

It sounds like a load of crap, but you are too sleep-deprived to bother figuring out what truly is at stake for them. Maybe another stupid bet, or whatever favour Kipps owes Lockwood from the last.

You run a hand through your hair, bobbing your leg up and down in a frantic rhythm. It isn’t your favourite thing to do, but you have always had a hard time telling Kipps no—and God knows he has done so much for you.

“You owe me,” you tell him. Kipps nods, and visibly relaxes with relief.

“Do you need me to—” he starts, sliding his hand across the seat and offering it to you. From across the table, you hear the seat’s leather creak as Lockwood leans forward to get a better look at what you are doing. It reminds you of a hound scenting blood in the air and going out on the hunt for its prey.

“No, I’m good. I’m not taking my gloves off anyway.” You don’t like using your Talent without anything to ground you, but there is something about the way Lockwood is looking at you two, hungry almost, as though he is categorizing a particular fascinating information to dissect it later and see what use he can draw from it. Best to just ignore him. Besides, without your gloves, you feel naked, vulnerable. This isn’t something for prying eyes—and Lockwood has an awfully piercing, scrutinising pair of unfathomably dark eyes you are not interested at all to get lost in.

You lean back into the seat and get comfortable first. It never works when you go in too tense because it takes more effort to peel away the wards of your consciousness. When Kipps takes the key and plays it into your open palm, you focus on its weight first—akin to a bird bone, you barely feel it through the thick fabric of your glove.

Which doesn’t mean it isn’t heavy. The energy radiating off this thing is like a physical force pushing you back into the backrest of your seat. You close your eyes and focus on the low thrum of energy—feelings and impressions wash over you in torrents, layer after layer. Your chest feels heavy. Your stomach clenches in a hard, tight knot—fear. Fear grips you in a tight, cold grip.

Something is lurking, far far back, something unfathomably dark and abysmal but you can’t get a hold od if through your gloves and as you begin to sift through the chaotic blur of emotions to find the source—so much darkness, so much death; good Lord the things people did to get their hands on—

Excitement. A lingering echo burning so bright it blinds; hope swelling after long periods of dread, like the first spring buds blooming after a cruel, cold winter. Agitation. The adrenaline-inducing last sprint towards your goal knowing there is nothing that stops you from reaching it. The smell of damp soil and coppery hijacks your senses, and then—

Pain explodes in your chest, knocking you back against a cushioned surface. Your knees slam against something hard, sending hot shots of pain up your legs. Your eyes snap open but the world spins when all the oxygen is sucked out of your lungs and warmth spreads over your chest, liquid seeps through your fingers—but how? He could not. He would never—someone is screaming, a piercing, blood-churning scream. It takes a moment to realise the scream belongs to you; the wailing is drawn out from your raw throat, but how could anybody blame you; you are dying, shot in the chest by—

Someone is calling your name. Strong hands grab your shoulders and shake you hard as though trying to tear you away from a dream, a nightmare.

“Oh God, help me. He—he shot me—please help.” You gasp, trying to stop the bleeding by pressing your trembling hands against the wound.

“You’re fine. Listen to me, you’re fine. Nobody shot you!” A familiar voice—Kipps’s voice pierces through the wailing terror inside your head. You stare up at his green eyes which are paler than usual, widened in worry. “It’s just a psychic echo. You’re safe here.”

Another forceful inhale expands your lungs. The hot pinpoint pain in your chest subsides slowly with every shaking exhale, and when you look down at your hands, there is no blood sticking to your fingers, only coffee. When you hit your knees against the table, you knocked over your cup. Now the liquid is spreading across the table in a big puddle and dripping down its edges.

Lockwood is busy wiping the table clean with the leftover napkins while wildly gesturing with his free hand to the waitress looming over your table. “Just a long night, nothing serious,” you hear him say in haste. Either she isn’t interested or doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this; she shrugs and drags herself back behind the counter. You look around the establishment, ready to apologise for your outburst, but everybody has left already.

You turn around. When your eyes meet Lockwood’s, he grins, his smile so sudden and jarring as a thunderclap. “I have never seen anyone so sensitive to Touch. That was remarkable.” He beams as though you have performed an exceptional trick at the circus.

Something about the excitement in his voice sets you off—or maybe you are just still very raw from the experience, and the aftershock of such a gruesome echo is driving you up the wall.

“Oh yeah, it is so much fun! Feeling how people get killed every time is so worth it.” You grab your fork and stab your sausage with enough force you send tomatoes flying. On second thought, you are not hungry anymore. “Why don’t I get a gun and shoot you just so you can get an idea—”

“I’ve had my own fair share, thank you,” comes Lockwood’s flippant answer and for a second you imagine leaning over the table and smothering him with his own tie.

“So he was shot.” Kipps quickly steers the conversation back to its topic before you can follow your impulse. You slump against the seat, feeling pressure around your hand. When you look down, Kipps is holding your hand tightly, grounding you. You should have let him from the start. Weakly, you squeeze back. “We knew that already—”

“He … he never expected it to end like this,” you say slowly, gazing outside the window. Only your own reflection stares back at you. “He was shot by someone he knew. There was … genuine surprise. Before the pain, I mean. He couldn’t believe he would be hurt by someone he trusted. It was so absurd, he didn’t even have time to feel betrayed. That’s how unbelievable it was.”

“So it was someone very close to the victim. Who’s someone you’d never expect to betray you?” Kipps thinks aloud.

“Friends,” Lockwood provides.

“Family,” you say, quietly.

“A lover.” Kipps takes your fork and helps himself to some leftover mushrooms from your plate. When you look at the food, your stomach churns. “We should go back to the house tomorrow and see if you missed something, Tony. Wouldn’t surprise me if you managed to gloss over some obvious evidence,” he says to Lockwood.

“Why do you believe I would be the one—”

You shut out their bickering. A fine drizzle has set in outside, leaving small rain drops on the window. The street is a blur of black and faint white light from the ghost-lamps. When you look at your own face in the window’s reflection, your own eyes stare back at you—big, scared and haunted.

It always takes some time to get back after using your talent—to slowly build up the walls and distance yourself from the echoes of someone else’s life and the brutal way it ended. Deaths like these: sudden, violent, painful are always difficult to come back from. Which is why it is so important to have someone to ground you. Kipps has known you for so long, he is well aware how the psychic hangover drags your senses through the shredder and leaves your mind and body bruised and raw like an open nerve.

He had a few years training on how to handle it thanks to your brother.

The thought of Matthew shakes you awake and shoves you into full alertness, as if ice-cold water has been dumped down the back of your neck. You feel a sharp ache in your chest as you shove the ghost of his memory out of your mind, and then raw emptiness, as if a grappling hook has yanked your heart out of your body. It is just the aftershock—the hangover from the psychic connection, you try to reason. This is no time to allow grief back into your body, your mind.

Kipps must have heard the quiet sound you made, like a wounded animal. He falls dead silent mid-sentence and whips his head towards you. An echo of recognition passes his features for a second—there and gone so quickly, you think you imagined it.

“We are done here,” he says, and reaches over to close the box’s lid with a resolute click. You didn’t even notice he has taken the key away from you and returned it inside its seal. Lockwood opens his mouth, as though ready to argue, but whatever expression your face paints, even he recognises that you have reached your limit. Without another word, he swiftly slides the box back into his pocket.

You turn away from them, feeling anger and frustration boil inside you. You don’t want them to think you are weak just because you are a little more sensitive than other agents who can use Touch.

“Want me to drop you off the dormitory?” Kipps asks, his voice intensely neutral. He is digging through his purse to pay for your food, and shoots a glare towards Lockwood to indicate that no, he will not pay for his.

The dormitory for Rotwell agents, commonly known as the Lions Den, are rows of sand-bricked two-room apartments housing most of Rotwell’s younger agents in Chelsea. Half of your monthly salary evaporates just for paying rent, but at least it is a roof over your head and only a few stops away from your workplace. There is also something about pretending to belong to the upper posh class of London, to stroll through the highly-maintained gardens and polished windows glinting like diamonds in the early morning sun. They don’t have to deal with countless sleepless nights, the psychic hangover that makes you feel as if your body is not your own, or the constant fear every shift might be the last.

Sometimes it is that moment of pretending as though you live a different life that makes a difference.

“It’s okay, I’ll just take a cab.” Because for one, Kipps lives on the other side of the city, and two, you need to be alone.

Kipps nods, but he doesn’t look happy about it. Lockwood stays silent and is completely relaxed, a paragon of serenity with alert, dark eyes.

You scoot out of the booth and follow them outside into the cold drizzle. Mist hangs in the dark streets, rendering the area nearly invisible. Kipps and Lockwood share a few quiet words. When they part, Lockwood’s coat end flaps like black wings in the dark. He turns halfway around, gives you a long, considering look over the back of his shoulder. He parts with a single, almost approving nod, then ducks his head against the biting wind and strides down the street, disappearing into the dark night.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kipps buttons the front of your trenchcoat. He is balancing on the back of his heels—an old habit when he feels bad for something and doesn’t quite know how to apologise and it would be easier to just bail from the conflict. “You still look like shit.”

You give him a weak kick to the shin. His shoulders relax. “I’ll fill you in tomorrow about how it went,” he says, jamming his hands inside his pockets. He pulls one out again and shoves a crushed candy into your hand. It’s your favourite brand and for the first time today, you feel something warm spreading in your chest.

“Wait.” Before he can turn away, you quickly catch his sleeve and make him turn around. “About that key…”

“Is there anything else?” Kipps leans forward and you have to bend your neck back to meet his eyes.

You remember when he was much smaller and you were at the same eye level. At 13 years, Kipps used to be smaller than the rest of the boys at Stroud & Co. where you started out your agent career and met. He’s had his share of playing errand boy or punching bag for the older, taller boys, until Matthew came along one day, dunked one of Kipps’s bullies into an overflowing rain barrel and got his nose broken in return.

They became best friends after that, and you in the middle. Matthew, Quill, and you. Lock, Shock, and Barrel.

Now, only two remain.

Kipps claps your shoulder, snapping you out of the memory and dispersing the picture you have conjured in your mind of him young. Today, he stands tall and broad-shouldered before you, twice in size and muscle. Nobody sane would try and mess with him.

“What’s wrong?” Kipps asks. “Where did you go in there?” He taps two fingers against his temple.

“When I was holding the key, the recent death was the strongest echo, but there was more. Like … way, way more.” You sling your arms around yourself. “Like many layers on a painting, and whatever is underneath all that … it feels evil. Really, really evil. There is a lot of death attached to that key.”

Kipps chews on this. He looks down the street to where Lockwood has vanished, his square jaw drawn tense. “I can’t say Lockwood’s stake on this, but I don’t care much about its history. It changed owners, I get it, but who would kill for something like that?”

“I don’t know.” You think back to the smell of blood, to the underlying eagerness to own that key. “But if that key is already that vile,” you say, shuddering, “then what about the thing it opens?”

“Not important to me as long as it’s not our problem.” He yawns, and taps a foot against the hard pavement to stave off the cold. “I bet it got destroyed or lost long ago. There is no way it’s still around.” Kipps runs a hand through his hair. It curls against his temple and neck in the damp mist. “Chances are high we’ll never hear anything about it ever again after this week. Case closed. Thanks for helping us. I’m sure DEPRAC can find the murderer and it’ll be just another case in the books.”

“Yeah, sure. I guess you’re right.” You barely hold back a yawn.

Kipps nudges your elbow. “I’ll catch up with you later, OK? Gotta make sure Lockwood’s the one who messed up the earlier investigation and go back to the crime scene.”

“Doing the Lord’s work,” you joke and give him a mocking salute. For the first time tonight, Kipps grins that lopsided half-grin showing part of his white teeth before he rushes off into the night after Lockwood.

For a moment, you stand still and let the drizzle engulf you. Although you have been almost sixteen hours on your feet, exhaustion has slowly trickled away, and in its stead a bone-deep anxiety has settled. Sleep. You need to sleep this off, and everything will return back to normal by tomorrow.

Heading for the main street to catch a night cab, you don’t turn around, and just like that, you miss out on the shadow unhitching itself from a wall even though the ghost-lamp flickers to life.

A/N: hmu if you want to join the taglist!

[stupidiinspades]

NAME?: fen / fenor or jasper if you've known me that long XD.

PRONOUNS?: he / him / it / its. [ afab demiguy / masc nb ]

MOST ACTIVE MUSES?: as of the current? constantine and desire. though i also write on discord and play with other muses there. c:

EXPERIENCE/HOW MANY YEARS? 17 years christ alive. . . I STARTED my roleplaying hobby on a flashchat on 2007. I've been on Tumblr on and off since about 2012. You may have seen me on (currently hiatused) blogs such as @gvbricl, @sinamxris, @brxthermine, and @iintransigcnt. my video game / tv multi is currently located at @invarietas.

FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT?: honestly all of them in varied measure! smut comes through character chemistry however- i have incredible difficulty simply writing it with characters mine have just met (kkeungi is somehow an exception to this as such was how this blog started XD).

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES?: it depends on thread context, plot, muse, and the situation we put them in. however when i DO go off on essay length exposition, i attempt to write such in a way that invites my writing partner to reflect upon it in their own reply. like internal commentary on the event at hand? though i do know such can be more than empty space so i try to do so sparingly.

PET PEEVES?: aggressive / bitchy ooc; especially in rules or tags or dms. if you hit me as a sheaf of finely grit sandpaper against my brain, we won't jive well. i've been doing this long enough where i have already gone through the tetchy phase, and honestly just want to relax. this is what i do for fun. perfection is unattainable and so the whole elitist scene is obnoxious. if you are having fun and doing no harm? then you are roleplaying correctly.

another one which is more personal, is presuming that if i don't get back to you in a 'timely' manner, i'm not interested. i have literal, physical holes in my hippocampus (the memory slab of the brain) from childhood epilepsy and trauma. combine that with AuDHD and lack of object permanence I... am very aware I can try people's patience. XD All I ask for is grace when being given reminders. Passive aggression will shut me down.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE?: I used to be, in at least so far I never liked self-reflection. I do have a wit and sarcastic streak a mile wide when warranted? I also don't smoke or drink, but I DO flirt simply as a form of banter / communication. XD But I tend to save that for in person communique, and if it makes you uncomfortable just let me know!

TIME TO WRITE?: anytime i can get my brain to cooperate and I'm awake. XD Many times when in a bout of insomnia i can get the most out of my brain worms.

TAGGED BY: @griefacquainted (stealing from jesus is okay in this context) TAGGING: @gcldfanged | @byteing | @desalvar | @saturnmused | @neptunemused | @amalgamatedmuses | @endlesslyxmused | @holyhitter | @qapsiel | those with multis ofc pick whichever muse to compare to if you like. XD

[sweet-old-hereafter]

APE ENGLISH RAMBLE PART I

The first rule of ape english is that the rules are fluid. This is partially for realism and partially because I cannot be expected to keep up with all of these rules even though I created them. My mind is not big enough.

You will notice a slight discrepancy in the spoken dialogue of the apes and Noa’s inner monologue; there are some non-diegetic reasons for this that I’ll be covering, but in-universe it is still physically uncomfortable for the apes to speak for long periods of time, despite the fact they have an understanding of language just as complex as modern humans at this point. The workarounds are regional; Eagle Clan would supplement with sign language, but the Coastals will speak to the point of vocal injury I’m derailing nevermind

Limited physiology is the main thing that governs the conventions of ape english. So, this dialect prioritizes two things; brevity and precision, the latter being the more important, because having to repeat or explain yourself is worse than adding on a few additional words for clarity. With that in mind, let’s get into it.

Warning: this doesn’t actually make sense

Exclusions/Omissions

There are two unwavering, hard and fast rules to ape english; NO ADVERBS, NO CONTRACTIONS. Let me explain-

Why no adverbs? I should clarify that I mean adverbs of degree or manner, which typical[ly] end in -ly (with the exception of only. They say this a lot.).

The -ly ending involves both a liquid consonant and a vowel glide, a structure that requires vocal dexterity unique to humans. Just as it is depicted in the films, the apes have an intense pharyngeal intonation that is just not capable of pulling off those delicate, flowing sounds, at least not with ease.

Not to mention, I think most of the time they are unnecessary. In cases where it would be necessary to utilize one (such as the example below; where the distinction between how much fur an ‘echo’ would have opposed to an ape) you would just drop the -ly. I do this a few times, sparingly.

From a white sheet, a limp arm thick and dusted light [not lightly] with fur flops with each step between them.

Why no contractions? Saying ‘don’t’ is a hell of a lot quicker and easier than saying ‘do not’. No it isn’t is not! As I said, they value precision over all else. Contractions involve a complex mechanism of dropping syllables, compressing vowels, merging consonants…this all involves fine motor control and it’s way easier just to round out those harsh consonants with the ‘o’.

Alright, moving on to some omissions that are utilized in a looser sense.

95% of the time, I will substitute fragmented sentence structure for actual article omissions in internal monologue to maintain the archaic feel. I have no real justification for this other than constant article omission is pretty much unreadable. I wrote a draft like this and it might as well have been reading oo oo ah ah.

However, subject/pronoun omission is much more tolerable! Particularly when referring to one’s self using (or not using) ‘I’. For example, it is always acceptable to drop the ‘I’ when introducing oneself or describing oneself using ‘am’.

‘Am Noa,’ I say.

I should not be nervous. Am not nervous - for myself.

This is acceptable because the use of ‘am’ is sufficient for conveying that you’re referring to yourself. Who else would you be referring to? In the second case, we also have ‘I” in the preceding sentence, and it’s proximity to the next one is more than enough. Here’s another example of an acceptable pronoun omission;

‘Mother’s voice hums through the wood of our home. Cannot hear what she says. Must be beckoning him back to rest.’

In the second sentence, its implied well enough that he is the one who cannot hear what she says, BUT even if that was missed, it’s not particularly important in the context of the sentence to understand WHO cannot hear her, just that she cannot be heard. The third sentence can omit the pronoun "she" because it directly follows two sentences where the subject—the mother—has already been established.

      ‘It is’ can be streamlined to just ‘is’ in most cases. ‘It’ can be implied from context, especially when the sentence follows a clear reference to what "it" refers to.

Is alright. Raka says it makes me look tough.

Is no one’s fault. Is only the way things are.

Here’s an example of when it would not be acceptable:

The way is narrow so that only two can walk side by side. [I] fall behind, lost in the cavern of my mind.

‘I’ is critical in this sentence because this sentence transitions to a whole new action, and the preceding sentence has a different subject. And no, ‘my’ in the same sentence doesn’t count because it’s a possessive pronoun, it doesn’t indicate anything about who is performing the action.

Dropping expletives is also fine in most cases.

‘Then is the hilly meadow,’ vs ‘Then there is the hilly meadow.’ An expletive like ‘there’ adds nothing to the sentence other than some structure, and the apes are not particularly worried about that.

Keep in mind these do not have to be omitted; they’re often not! It all depends on the cadence and the contextual continuity.

Confused? Me too. In the next installment I’ll go over sentence structure and vocabulary. So much parataxis!!!!

[pokemoncenter]

In most regions, the rule of eye contact is considered the chief rule of being a Trainer. That is to say, eye contact is considered a challenge to battle. Furthermore, at the start of battle, etiquette decrees that the Trainers introduce themselves, by name and Trainer class, or simply as "Pokémon Trainer" for those who have eschewed or not yet decided on their class.

Recently, in Unova and Galar, there is a push, especially among the young, to add one's pronouns to the formal introduction of a battle. The format would thus change from, for example, "Youngster Joey wants to battle" to "Youngster Joey (he/him) wants to battle".

This is on its face a good and welcome change, but there are also several who are opposed to such a thing. These introductions have become highly ritualized over the years- In the early 1990s, there was a known case where a Trainer nearly lost his license over forgoing the introduction, and another in 2007 where a Trainer was disqualified from a Gym Challenge for forgetting the introduction (though he was allowed a retry at a later date). Something so ritualized means that changing the rules can be difficult, as confusion as to which rules of etiquette are being followed can cause problems.

The other, actually reasonable fear about this, is that it unduly pressures Trainers who have not yet had time to determine their own identity, or who wish to keep their gender or pronouns to themselves for personal reasons. After all, many Trainers just starting out are young, and the purpose of the journey is self-discovery- If one's introduction does not match the pronouns on their Trainer Card, that could be considered a foul as well, which is a severe issue.

(The Kanjoh area and surrounding regions, however, do not seem to have much thought for this issue, as the language of the area uses pronouns sparingly at best regardless, and the grammar for them is too different for it to matter.)

[wander-wren]

small things to stop doing in your fics

(or any kind of writing, but i live on ao3. we begin with flat-out crimes and then slowly start moving into things that just bug me personally but aren’t wrong)

epithets. if i’ve said it once, i’ve said it a thousand times. you should only be using epithets for characters whose names we do not know. they can also be used VERY rarely to break up the repetition of names/pronouns or to emphasize characters’ relationships/viewpoints, ie “his boyfriend” or “the asshole.”

writing out accents. please stop. you can include a couple of small things, like “somethin’” or “ya” (for “you”), but even keep that to a minimum. specific turns of phrase/references go way farther imo to establish a character’s culture/background/etc. a little goes a long way, and doing it repeatedly can make sentences hard to parse. this also! applies! to children and babytalk! have you ever listened to a child speak? toddlers can enunciate pretty well!

not enough commas. put commas before names and titles. it’s not “Hey John” or “I’m on it captain,” it’s “Hey, John” and “I’m on it, captain.” also, put them after discourse markers/interjections such as “well,” “so,” and “now.” you should be writing “So, how are the kids?” not “So how are the kids?” even if your character is speaking quickly, you still want the commas because of grammar. it can occasionally be acceptable to omit them if you want to indicate extreme excitement/panic/anger/etc, but use it sparingly.

too many commas. i’m a comma fiend like the rest of you so i’m guilty here too, but we gotta at least stop with the comma splices. commas split and independent and dependent clause, meaning that one part of the sentence cannot grammatically stand alone. if all parts are complete sentences on their own, that’s a comma splice. try splitting it into two sentences, using a semicolon, or rewriting. this is usually fine in dialogue, though, that’s just how people talk.

also, using a lot of commas to denote panic is something i used to be HUGELY guilty of and now i hate it. instead of, “I, I, I don’t, I don’t know,” you can try, “I-I…I don’t—I don’t know!” probably not that much punctuation that close together, but for the sake of example. emdashes and ellipses, my beloveds 🫶

roleplay speak. i don’t know what else to succinctly call this? i’m referring to the tendency to be redundant and over-explain, especially in dialogue. it’s a phenomenon i see constantly in rp circles, usually because of post length requirements (and i have little issue with it there, it’s just the culture). things like:

“Surprise!” Adam shouted, popping out from behind the door.

“Oh my god!” Scott screamed, having been completely startled and not expecting Adam to be home yet.

yeah, we can guess that Scott is startled, right? because of the screaming? and clearly if Adam is surprising Scott it stands to reason his presence is unexpected? why are we stating this twice?

i believe this also comes from the mistaken idea that every line of dialogue needs a tag attached, which is….horrible. you can let the dialogue exist on its own sometimes, friends. you can also include an action beat without a tag. like above, i could have just said “Adam popped out from behind the door” and omitted the shouting altogether. we can assume he is being loud because that’s usually how people do surprises. anyway. moving on.

condescending to readers. this isn’t so much about writing as it is author’s notes and the like, and “condescending” may be a strong word, but i’m trying to be succinct. at any rate, please stop telling your audience to not read your fic? “do not read if sensitive to [blank]” or “if you have [disorder] skip this fic!” is a horrible way to trigger warn. people know their own boundaries. tell them what the work actually contains and let them self-select.

i also find “rest stop/check-in” type notes condescending, like “if you are reading this between the hours of 10pm-4am, go to sleep” and “STOP! have you eaten/drank/walked around in the past few hours? go do that!” again, we know ourselves. i’m not your kid, don’t tell me what to do. i don’t mind a polite, casual little “thanks for reading, remember to drink water and take your meds, bye” note, though.

the others in this category? i will straight up not read the fic over that on some days. ESPECIALLY because, in my experience, the people who are most intense about warning for every little thing are the ones with the mildest fics, and that’s not what i’m here for.

complaining about your own wrong tags. this is, admittedly, such a nitpick, and it definitely is more common in certain communities than others. but as longtime followers may know, i’m a bit obsessed with ao3’s tagging system and it drives me BONKERS when people use the wrong tags and follow it with “not actually but there’s no tag for xyz.” here’s the thing: you can still look at all the works that have ANY tag, just the non-canonized ones can’t be filtered on. and the best way to get a tag canonized is, guess what, to USE it! imagine that. also, if you’re using the wrong tag, you’re just going to clog the filter results and get people who don’t actually want to read your fic. just stop.

[bloggingboutburgers]

HI !

So first of all i love your comics they're so wholesome and informative !

Second of all i have a question. I am french like you and you said that you're partner was non binary and used they/them pronouns, so i was wondering what pronouns do you use when you are talking about them in french ?

I hope you have a lovely day !

Hullo and thank you so much for the kind words!^^

That one's definitely a bit of a headscratcher, haha TwT Since French is a latin language and as such is very binary in its wording, much more so than English... Thankfully my partners' parents also speak a latin language, so they were understanding of that conendrum TwT

Originally I was like "What pronouns would you like me to use for you in French?" and they said "elle" was fine, so I went with that. Even so, I tried to use it as sparingly as possible and to turn my sentences about them in a way that would not imply any specific gender – it's mental gymnastics, but it's not impossible! Then at some point the nonbinary pronoun "iel" got added to the French dictionary, and my partner expressed that since they'd like me to use that one for them from now on. So I am! I still do my best to turn my sentences in the least gendered way possible though, to avoid the pesky terminaisons dilemmas and all that jazz.

I hope this was helpful! TwT And I hope you have a lovely day too!

[koffing-time]

I will gladly interact with you! Send an ask! @ me! I would love to RP with you. I will do an (IC) promo if you ask (assuming i'm popular enough for that lmao)!

Hello Hello ~

My name is Tix (they/them, occasionally it/its), and welcome to my rotomblr blog! I'm 23, I'm from Unova and i have a small café on Route 3 right outside Striaton City. If you don't find it, just look for the Daycare on the hill, walk up that hill and look for the building at the foot of the hill! And now come in and get a cupcake, you earned it!

Don't be alarmed by the poison types around here! Most of them are registered to me and are completely harmless unless you touch them. They are also friendly, so if you wanna pet them, ask me! I'll gladly provide handling advice.

I also have an employee, Olivia. I might occasionally mention him. Maybe she'll also make a few post here and there.

There is also Brandy, my Rotom. Let's hope they can behave!

As for my Pokémon, there are a few! [Complete list of Pokémon including retcons at the end in the ooc section]

My Koffing, Coffee! The shop's named after him! Look at his FABULOUS moustache!

Bienenstich the Scolipede, she's very good with kids. If you need someone to look after your toddler, she's the gal! (i am so not kidding)

Cream the Haunter. No, your drink isn't haunted, she just helps me out a bit.

Muffin the Roselia, he's the primary gardener. I would do more around there but he doesn't let me.

Poppy the Toxicroak, he's a cool guy. He also makes music with me.

Basil the Toxtricity. Best bassist i've ever met (sorry Roxie).

Carrot Cake the Clodsire. He doesn't do much, but that's okay.

Rhubarb the Ekans. Little rascal. Don't trip over him.

Eggplant the Skorupi. He's new, still getting to know him myself!

Soup the Grimer is also quite new. I hatched him from a strange egg.

Also here's three pics of me. (//i forgor what the picrew were. if anyone knows, let me know)

//Pelipper Mail is on

//I will draw your OCs badly

OOC below the cut:

// Hi, hello. I run this blog as a side blog, so I'll like and follow from my main @fire-water-grass-core. If you need to address me (the player/mun), I'm okay with any pronouns, and if you need a name you can call me Kama, Nox or Cheese. I also run:

@zekrom-sword where i explore some darker themes (ig?) regarding pokémon hunting. This blog is less focused on blogging though and goes more into headcanon/fanfic territory. I'm happy to RP with Felix (muse over there) though!

@fire-water-grass-core is the main, as mentioned. Originally it was planned for that one to be a personal blog for Olivia, Tix' employee, but i didn't really get into it. I mostly use it for OOC stuff regarding rotomblr ig?

@kamataros is my general, non-pkmn-irl blog. idk what you would want there? but feel free to check it out. I post a lot of shit and a lot of it is untagged.

NOW for the rules ig?

ZERO: don't be a dick. easy, right? right. This is the important part :)

First: blanket #unreality warning. I will tag posts usually as pokemon irl, #pkmn irl or #pokeblogging. The actual unreality tag is reserved that genuinely blends reality and fiction (such as talking about animals in the context of the pokemon world.)

Second: i went on a BIG hiatus for like 6 months. I've retconned a few things, but i didn't want to actually go through the blog and delete stuff. Instead, i tagged all old posts as #Koffing-Time-1.0. Everything with this tag is not neccesarily canon anymore. case-to-case basis i guess.

Third: If anything comes up, I'll try to put a warning tag. I'll keep it to one format: #cw [trigger]. I will probably still use them sparingly, since i'm personally okay with most things. Please tell me if i should tag something.

Fourth: I won't participate in high stakes a lot and probably never in ultra stakes. Everything will be appropriately tagged #high stakes pokereality on the off chance that i do join. I don't think i will be getting into details like "low stakes" and "medium stakes" for tagging.

Fifth: Regarding sentient/sapient pokémon: they are allowed. I might ignore them if i ever do any story-arcs or so, but go ahead! (this was different for 1.0)

Sixth: Ask games will be tagged with #ask game. Once i reblog them, they are open indefinitely, including old ones from #Koffing-Time-1.0. The tag will be for the initial meme only, not the answers to make it possible to find them. Generally, please put the question for the meme into your ask, especially if it's an older ask game. (Feel free to ask Brandy or Olivia as well, but if not specified it will be Tix answering)

Seventh: DMs are an OOC zone :)

OTHER TAGS:

I'm trying to use a funny tagging system for blogs i "frequently" interact with (as in.. i am not chronically on tumblr so "frequently" is a bit much to say)

Out of Character posts will be tagged with #ooc . This goes only for posts where a significant portion is ooc.

Out of Character answers to asks will be tagged #cheesy answers

Out of Character notes will be marked as // or //ooc (including tags)

I might reblog art or even posts that tix isn't involved in. these will be tagged #//reblog

Posts involving details about certain headcanons will be tagged #headcanon

Image descriptions or Video description will be in [brackets] .

Also here is a (not complete) list of a few headcanons that i use.

I'll update and edit this post as well as reblog it if something changes.

Lastly

I, Cheese, Mun will use pink coloured text in addition to the //

Tix will be writing/talking in colourless text

Olivia will be writing/talking in blue text

Brandy will be writing/talking in red text

otherwise, i won't use much colours in posts. this intro blog stuff will be the exception to make it easier to read (i hope)

That being said: feel free to interact, feel free to send a DM, feel free to send asks, I'm happy to do offscreen posts and RP and whatnot, I won't bite and i won't poison you. Probably.

PS: little thing about reblog chains (i guess?)

Now, that was a long one. If you read it all, congratulations, have a cookie. Or a coffee. And most importantly: have fun!

PPS: Here's a list of Tix'Pokémon:

Coffee the Koffing

Muffin the Roselia

Bienenstich the Scolipede

Cream the Haunter

Poppy the Toxicroak

Basil the Toxtricity

Cracker the Murkrow (retconned) [it hurt me to do this but there are so many already] (never fucking mind i love them too much i can't delete them)

Cheese the (shiny) Crobat (retconned) [it hurt me to do this but there are so many already] (never fucking mind i love them too much i can't delete them)

Rhubarb the Ekans

Chocco the Salandit (retconned)

Carrot Cake the Clodsire

Pumpkin the Bellsprout (retconned)

Loaf the Trubbish (retconned)

Yoghurt the Yveltal (retconned)

Bun the (ultra domesticated) Trubbish (retconned)

Roll the (ultra domesticated) Tubbish (retconned)

Appleslice the (ultra domesticated) Mareanie (reconned)

Bacon the (ultra domesticated) Mareanie (retconned)

Lettuce the (ultra domesticated) Mareanie (retconned)

Tomato the (ultra domesticated) Mareanie (retconned)

Caramel the Beedrill (retconned)

Tofu the Sliggoo (retconned)

Annie Stonefruit the (albino) Cranidos (retconned)

Jack the Pumpkaboo (retconned)

Brandy the Rotom

Eggplant the Skorupi

Leonard the bed-sized Clodsire Plush

Soup the Baby-Grimer

If all of Tix team appear in a post (i doubt) it'll be tagged with #tix band

Also a list of Olivias Pokémon

Hans the Lotad

Grill the Darmanitan

Marbles the Alolan Exeggutor (tagged with just #marbles the exeggutor )

The Kalosian the Escavalier (tagged with just #kalosian the escavalier)

Beach Ball the Gible

Gregor the Gimmighoul

If all of Olivias Team appear in a post, it'll be tagged #olivias gang

[gaymergal]

:3 happy pride 🌈 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

I unintentionally came out to my older sister (again) by wearing a piece of clothing.

💚💜🤍 😂 she remains the best

(Story followed by small spiraling below the cut 😃👍🏾✨)

Forever ago when I was in high school, I was only out as gay at school with friends. And didn’t come out to family until later (Highschool for me was 2004-2008 Bush era. And though my family is and has been very liberal leaning, we were also raised catholic which definitely fueled my personal hesitation to come out at home. Spoilers alert when I told my mom it went hilariously well)

One day after school myself and a pair of friends were at the mall, and the three of us bought a three piece matching friendship necklace at Claire’s on clearance that said roughly Best (star charm), Friends(heart charm), Forever(rainbow charm)

(90% sure that was the breakdown important thing is my section of the necklace had a rainbow charm)

It was like the only rainbow thing I owned, and I would wear it sparingly cause wasn’t 100% out. I had left the necklace on at home and my sister immediately clocked it and pulled me aside and asked if I was gay.

It was a very brief side bar conversation, I was in the kitchen and she literally pulled me into another room and was like “u gay? Your wearing a rainbow necklace”

“Uh yeah”

“Ok cool”

I never did a big announcement to family. Starting with my sister (actually, one of my brothers might have been the first family to know followed then by my sister🤔)

I just told family in one on one conversations as it came up, and eventually even extended family just knew I was gay.

(When I told my mom, because of the way I nervously started the conversation, on the verge of tears saying “i have something important to tell you” she thought I was teen pregnant and when I said I was gay she was like that’s it? That’s fine!)

Anyway! In 2020 with the support of my wife I experimented with pronouns and found that in addition to she/her I really do vibe with he/him pronouns (🥰 I am both her wife and boyfriend and absolutely love being called either)

I really only use he/him privately online and at limited irl queer gatherings and haven’t explicitly told my family (There is a hesitation that family might not fully “get” use of he/him pronouns and for now I’d rather keep it away from them for the time being. At this point its less of a fear of rejection and more of a…I don’t know how that conversation is going to go, and that gives me anxiety to bring it up and start a conversation about it.)

We just had our local pride weekend and I was wearing a pair of black socks that had stripes of green purple white at the top of them 💚💜🤍 for genderqueer and did post a family picture of me my wife and our son at pride to FB (socks visible) not thinking anyone in my fam would clock it.

Got a text from my sister yesterday: “Random question. What are your pronouns?”

Which prompted a phone call (that went super well :3 🥰)

At first she thought they were non binary colors and googled to confirm, but saw that the colors didn’t match but “knew it meant something” and then asked my niece (gen z theater kiddo) what the those specific colors represented. (Lol like straight up queer pop quiz style “hey green white purple, what’s that flag? 🤣)

When the dreaded “what do you want me to use for you” came up (idk why so much anxious, it is very much use one or the other or a mix, i genuinely like and respond to both. the only strong feeling i have is please don’t directly ask me which to use, or why he/him in addition to she/her)

It was a very quick, “so i can still use she/her”

“Yep”

“You sure?”

“Yep”

“well if that changes, I’ll just keep an eye out for new colors”

“🥲💖” (which I found to be very sweet!)

On the one hand, part of me is like, ah history repeating itself, just tell family as it comes up.

But with Pride and (:3 my first!) Father’s day coming up I am tempted to make a FB post just to set the record straight on my pronouns but, (anxiety)

Its weird, like I don’t necessarily feel like I’m in the closet as much as I did with being gay in high school. I’m not afraid of someone finding out. I don’t think my pronouns are something that needs to be kept secret. If asked I am comfortable enough to respond to the question, but the thought of anoucing them publicly is just a big no-no. 🙃

😅 Anyway!

🥳 happy pride! ❤️🧡💛💚💜💙💖

💚🤍💜 treating myself to an early father’s day hair cut tomorrow ✌🏾 :3

[bunnyxoboo]

indie. private. selective. SASHA JACKSON of the BRATZ franchise. brought to life by hoops, a black writer.

available verses: main verse, high school verse.

verses under construction: bnha, genpact, hq!!

important notes:

💋 sasha, as well as the rest of the bratz girls, are now 20+ in age as of 2022. her default/main verse will be written as such, exploring what adventures await her into adulthood. adult themes may be present. i have a high school verse for sasha for any muses that are underage or have underage verses, but it will be used sparingly.

💋 sasha is going to be written primarily from my own headcanons & bits from the bratz canon, but she is ultimately canon-divergent.

💋 i will default to using sasha'a animated icons unless otherwise applicable or you ask me to use them ahead of time. i usually always ask whether you would be more comfortable with animated icons or real face icons before interaction.

💋 the main bratz pack is: cloe ( @cloexoangel ) , yasmin ( taking applications ) , jade ( taking applications ) ♥

💋 this blog will have multiple verses available for crossovers and aus. if you don't see a verse listed for your fandom, please ask me! i may just not have it written down yet or i'm in the process of creating it.

💋 this blog is a cute, little, low maintenance hobby for me and i'm gonna treat it as such.

💋 mobile friendly rules + bio under the cut!

Disclaimer:

i do not claim to own any part of sasha jackson’s character or the series she comes from. everything portrayed on this blog is bred from my own creativity and imagination unless sourced otherwise. you, as the consumer are not allowed to copy , re-purpose , distribute , sell , or claim any content on this blog as your own , from its writings to its graphics.

intro

this is an independent , private , and highly selective roleplay blog for sasha jackson from the BRATZ franchise. i go by hoops, my pronouns are they/he. this blog is unaffiliated. my graphics , including my icons , are not for public use. the content on this blog will come from canon material and my own headcanons. i have animated icons and real face icons in my disposal , but i default to animated, unless i see that you use real fc icons too or you ask me to use them ahead of time.

etiquette

i will not tolerate any racism , transphobia , terf / serf / transmed scum , xenophobia & or other traits of general sentient shitstains. keep your drama to yourself. reblog as text , don’t reblog asks for rps , trim your posts , do not use me as a meme resource or hound me for replies , ect.

duplicates

i’ve got anxiety and have had plenty of issues with duplicates in the past to warrant my apprehension of following them. i can’t imagine that the BRATZ fandom is popping, but with that being said, i will not be following duplicates first. i also hold the right to soft block any duplicates who do follow me, that for whatever reason, make me uncomfy. so just know that if you’re a sasha blog that wants to follow me. i DO however, like twin aus, but the only way you’re gonna get a twin au outta me is if we’re friends ooc and discuss it privately first.

shipping

this blog is very selectively multi-ship. organic chemistry is needed to pursue a ship with me in general , but sasha is a picky muse with high standards and a bit of a workaholic, so romance is to be met with patience and effort. as of 2022 and onward, the og BRATZ cast is of age and owns their own business(es) , so you may see sexual content on this blog, which will be placed under read-mores if need be and tagged appropriately. i do practice ship exclusivity of characters and faceclaims , so i expect the same of my shipping partners.

mains + exclusives

like stated above , i do practice ship exclusivity , but not character exclusivity. there’s way too many blogs of each character to only write with one single interpretation; there may be occasional exceptions on this for obscure characters. i will have mains though and you can find those blogs on my connections page, which will also indicate if they’re ship exclusive too. if you want to be a main of mine, we need to not only be actively writing with each other, but also be pals ooc.

miscellaneous

personal blogs will be blocked on sight. we stan multi - muses , women muses , & heterosexual muses in this house. this is just a fun little hobby blog for me, but there could be possible triggers in angst content. all triggers will be tagged as such : trigger word /; ie : violence /. spoilers will be tagged the same way. please use discretion when following. i am 28 years old and i will not be interacting with anyone below the age of 18+, preferred age is 23+. rules are subject to be added , subtracted , or modified as i see fit .

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Name: sasha jackson. Age: 23. Nickname: bunny boo. Gender: cis woman. Orientation: bisexual biromantic. Date Of Birth: august 3rd. Residence: los angeles , california. Occupation: co-founder of BRATZ magazine , co-founder of TALKING BRATZ ,  aspiring music producer , singer , dancer , all around badass. Education: university graduate. Class: wealthy. Virtues: ambitious | athletic | intelligent | honest | protective | organized | generous | observant | stylish. Vices: bad - tempered | controlling | competitive | sarcastic | fierce | workaholic | prideful.

Attitude like Khaleesi

Appearance

standing at an height of 5'8, sasha boasts a slender , toned, & curvy physique honed through many years of dancing. atop her head is a waterfall of dark brown hair, silky and soft to the touch. she switches up the style of her hair often. sasha’s skin is blessed with melanin , noted to darken under the summer sun but not burn. there is not a blemish on her & her skin is even softer than her hair , evidencing that she takes care of herself extensively. under dark, long lashes, her eyes are a bright hazel color with a balanced mixture of green & brown & are one of the most expressive parts of her face. she smells like shea butter , sweet almond oil , vanilla , candied pear , sandalwood , bubble gum , & patchouli. 

you can’t touch my bag, wish you could

Analysis

neutal good. enfj. fire. type 3 - the achiever. choleric. kinesthetic, musical, spatial.

SUN IN LEO:

Leos are bold, warm, and loving. They are also the ultimate performers. They can dazzle with the theatrical flair of a Broadway star and the charisma of a politician. They are captivating personalities. No matter how quickly they’ve just been introduced to a topic, they can speak eloquently about almost anything because they have such a way with words. Leos inject ambition into everything they do. They are ruled by the heart. Their actions are natural and effortless because they are brash and confident and trust their instincts. Leos have an unrelenting appetite for growth that is easily satiated by the praise of others. When they are hurting, it shows. They will use their anger as a protective wall to shield their vulnerabilities. They want to be perceived as unbreakable because they are scared of admitting vulnerability, needing things from other people, or being incomplete.

[theteasetwrites]

Go Get Him | Part 2

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 10 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT—oral (female receiving), teasing, edging, premature ejaculation (lol), sub!Daryl (ish), idk straight people sex what else do I say, swearing ❧ Word Count: 8.1k

❧ Summary: Daryl hasn't made love to you since your first time together. It's hard to imagine that he doesn't love you, but you fear perhaps you scared him away with your forwardness. That theory is disproven when he arrives at your door, like a lost, lovesick puppy.

❧ A/N: Second part to Go Get Him! Sorry this took so long, I have been busy moving and also doing grad school and trying to find a job and also just generally dealing with my family which is lowkey a pain in the ass but yeah here's the sequel, which is basically just... I mean basically this whole thing is sex. If you enjoy Daryl being a pathetic horny simp then this is for you. Also I was going to actually have them bake a peach pie and then have them like play with the food lmao but that was too much work because I would've had to look up how to make a peach pie and bestie I just wasn't gonna do that. There are still remnants of that tho with the peach thing so there's that.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you were a little too in love with him. Well, you always knew you loved him, but in love? Deep, sickeningly potent, noxiously passionate, nearly burdensome, love. Even now, grinning rather foolishly at the bracelet he’d made for you from multicolored twine, you felt your heart flutter in your chest, like the movement of the vibrant ruby-throated hummingbird making its daily rounds at the nectar feeder outside your living room window.

Since that day you told him how you felt, and gotten to know each other much more intimately on the sofa you sat upon now, you hadn’t stopped thinking about him once. It was a week ago now, but it had felt like an eternity—an eternity of wondering what he was up to, holding his hand any chance you could get, asking him if he wanted to come over… And he hadn’t, not since then. 

You hadn’t had a private moment with him since that day, and you began to worry now. Maybe it didn’t mean as much to him as you thought it did, but he had said he loved you, and you knew that couldn’t be just a casual statement for Daryl. He was more intentional than that, more careful with his words, which he used rather sparingly. You knew him well enough to know that his word was strong, just like him. He never said anything unless it had meaning. 

And he was busy. He was always so damn busy. It was a miracle you had a chance to get him alone in the first place. Still, he hadn’t shied away from you, not like he often did before. The change in your relationship seemed to be forming gradually, despite the abruptness of last week’s midday tryst. You liked it that way, though. You might’ve known Daryl for seven years, but you hadn’t known him this intimately before, so it made sense to take things a little slow after that initial rendezvous, but you had to admit, you thought about it a little too much.

It was hard not to. After all, he might not have been your first sexual experience, far from it, but he was by far the best, not necessarily because of his technique, but because of the feelings that had been growing deep inside of you for so long. He was shy and innocent, and yet somehow sloppy and wild, in his lovemaking, and you liked it. With time, you were sure he’d learn exactly how to please you, and you were sure you’d figure out his needs and desires, too, but that couldn’t be done if Daryl didn’t at least try to find time to make love to you. 

All he’d done was peck your lips gently and quickly, hoping no one else would see, and hold your hand with loosely curled fingers, so he could quickly jerk it away if anyone saw. Still, he looked at you in a new way, you could see it in his eyes. They were more relaxed, hazy, almost as if he’d just been lulled into a dream. You didn’t know it, of course, but you were in that dream, and he thought about that day perhaps even more than you did. It consumed him, every waking moment spent wanting to get your hands on him again, wanting to taste even the smallest morsel of the sweetness between your legs, wanting to bury himself in the deepest part of you until your shaking body squeezed around him, drawing him closer and closer to the greatest pleasure he’d ever felt. 

And yet he still was afraid to make the wrong move, to touch you when you didn’t want to be touched or to even hurt you if he moved too wildly, as he was prone to do. As much as he wanted to admit otherwise, he was waiting on your beck and call, not being too forward until he knew what to do, and he still knew very little. 

It seemed you were at an intimate impasse, a sexual stalemate. You were waiting for Daryl to make the next move, and yet he was too afraid of making the wrong move. Perhaps you’d have to light a fire under his ass—let him know that you belonged to him now, and that he could have you any time, any day. At this rate, you weren’t sure you could go much longer without him knowing that.

Rosita’s weight plopping down beside you stirred you from your thoughts, tearing your eyes from the simple bracelet he’d given you the other day as you prepared to focus on something other than Daryl. 

“When did you come in?” you asked, though you knew you were close enough to Rosita to figure she’d let herself in without knocking. 

She leaned her elbow on the back of the couch to prop up her tilted head, then let out a huff of air as her other hand rubbed her forehead in exhaustion. “Baby’s got me running on three hours of sleep,” she said. “Left her with Eugene… Needed words of encouragement.”

You smiled in bittersweet understanding, patting her knee as you straightened up to look at her. “You’re doing great,” you said. “Best mom I know. Coco’s a lucky little baby.”

“She’s restless too,” she added. “Don’t ever have a baby if you value your sleep schedule, that’s all I’m saying.”

You scoffed and shook your head with a smile of amusement. “Mm, as if that could even happen.”

Rosita raised an eyebrow as her head perked up from the cradle of her hand. “What about that afternoon delight last week?” You felt her finger teasingly poke your side. “You’re sexually active now.”

“Yeah, well I’m starting to wonder if he really meant what he said.”

Her smile wilted. “What, when he said ‘I love you’? He must’ve meant it, (Y/N). I mean, he made you that bracelet.”

You shrugged as you fiddled with the colorful twine on your opposite wrist. “That doesn’t mean he loves me. If he really loved me he’d spend more alone time with me. I don’t know, maybe I’m too needy. Maybe he needs space…” You looked seriously at Rosita, with slight panic in your eyes. “Do you think I was too forward? Do you think I scared him off? I mean, maybe I was too… dominant. I don’t know, I just…”

She shook her head and sighed. “You did nothing wrong. Besides, he hasn’t been completely avoiding you. He’s just busy, (Y/N). You happened to pick one of the most important guys in Alexandria, so of course he’s going to have a lot of stuff to do… besides you.”

“I know, I know… But what if he didn’t like the sex? Maybe it was too much. What if I overwhelmed him?”

You had spared Rosita the gory details of the sex, but she knew the jist of it, how you had been the more dominant one, and how Daryl was… inexperienced. You also spared Daryl the embarrassment of telling anyone he was a virgin, since he seemed quite ashamed of that fact himself.

“You’re overthinking,” replied Rosita. “He’s probably just being Daryl.”

Being Daryl, you thought. Shy, quiet, aloof, insecure… 

“He’ll come around,” she continued. “Let him come to you. Make him show you how much he wants you.”

That appealed to you, the idea of Daryl practically crawling on his knees in desperation for you and your body, upon which you did feel his eyes roaming on more than one occasion since last week. 

So you waited a while, a few more days, until Daryl would show up at your door on his own volition. You still found time to tease him like you’d always done, bending over in his direction with a particularly low-cut blouse on, or making prolonged eye contact as you trailed your fingers down his arm. If you hadn't been in public, he might’ve done something. 

He might’ve lost all control and lowered to his knees until his face met the junction of your thighs, where an intoxicating warmth was heating his cheeks and drawing him closer to the proverbial pot of dripping golden honey beneath your dress. 

He might’ve buried himself between those thighs, allowing all of his senses to be completely engulfed by that center of gravity he’d encountered once before. He could practically feel your fingers lacing firmly through his hair, pulling him closer despite no space existing between his mouth and the fabric draped over your body.

In desperation, he might’ve lapped at nothing, instead tasting that fabric and wettening it with his saliva as he silently begged to lift your dress, himself still a little shy to do such a thing. The longer he waited for your permission, which you purposefully held back, the more fervent he became, nearly sending you stumbling backwards as his nose and mouth buried themselves further between your clothed thighs. 

That was all in his head, though, as he lacked the courage to do it. 

Until one day, in the late afternoon of a particularly warm spring day, he worked up the courage to climb those steps up to your front door, planning on letting you know that he hadn’t stopped thinking about that day last week, that it consumed every inch of his body and soul. That, and in his hands was a basket of freshly picked peaches. He knew you usually picked them yourself, but he figured the least he could do was do the labor for you. 

Surely he could find the courage to kiss you as soon as you opened that door, to be spontaneous and passionate just like you, but when the door did open, he froze, finding himself almost as clueless as he was before. 

“Hi, Daryl,” spoke Rosita, holding baby Coco on her hip. All his confidence began to wither away, his plans foiled and his words stuck in his throat. “I was just heading out. I’ll get (Y/N). Come on in.”

She and the cooing baby led him to the kitchen, where he awkwardly sat at the counter as Rosita climbed up the stairs to find you folding your laundry on the surface of your bed. “Who is it?” you asked. 

Rosita’s lips quirked in a crooked, slightly devilish smile. “Your gentleman caller.” 

You dropped the sock you had been turning inside out. “Daryl?” you gasped in surprise. “He’s here?”

“I told you he’d be back,” she said in a sing-song voice, bouncing Coco with the rhythm of her words. “I’ll leave you two alone. I’ve gotta put this one to bed anyway.”

Your eyes darted around for a moment, a million thoughts running through your head as your heart began to race at the idea of spending time alone with Daryl again. A part of you might’ve been slightly annoyed that he’d been avoiding that alone time with you, but maybe he’d just have to prove how sorry he was to you.

“(Y/N)?”

“Hm?”

“Jesus, you’re already dicknotized.” 

With a quick kiss to Coco’s forehead, you sent Rosita back downstairs before you, and as she passed Daryl on her way to the door, she swore she saw a condom poking out of his back pocket, but maybe it was just her imagination. 

Soon, you were practically skipping down the stairs, though you made a point to calm yourself before Daryl saw you, in the hopes that you’d appear much more seductive, though it didn’t take much effort, since Daryl was immediately seduced, as he always was.

“Hi, handyman,” you said, voice more husky and lower than usual.

He cleared his throat and quickly stood to his feet, despite not being entirely sure why he did so. Perhaps to give you a standing ovation of sorts, to recognize how perfect you were to him. Surely any unworthy mortal such as himself would need to pay his respect and admiration to a goddess like you.

He must’ve stood too fast, as the headrush that surged through him was enough to send him stepping backwards to catch himself. You’d only ever seen him this nervous last week, which surely must’ve been a good sign.

You couldn’t help but smile at his shakiness, and in an attempt to rid himself of embarrassment, he uttered a halfhearted chuckle under his breath, rubbing his clammy hands up and down his jeans as he stepped forward. 

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat immediately after. “I, uh… hope I ain’t interruptin’ anything.”

You stepped closer, too, until you were only a foot or so away. Close enough for him to smell that intoxicating perfume, and to feel the heat of your body radiating off his skin. 

His eyes roamed unavoidably to your lips, the natural gloss catching the light of the dining room chandelier. As if you knew he was focused on them, you parted your lips to breathe a husky sigh, as your half-lidded eyes wandered to the small patch of chest hairs blooming at the collar of his shirt.

“No, no. You could never interrupt anything. I always have time for you.” You ventured to step closer, taking one hand in yours to raise it to your mouth, eyes glued to his as your lips just grazed the back of his hand. Anything more than that was too much now—if he wanted you, he’d have to either take you himself, or beg for you. “Do you need something, baby?”

He swallowed hard, trying to lubricate his dry throat enough to produce some kind of words that wouldn’t be too gravelly to understand. In the tone of your voice, and in the way you brushed your lips back and forth on his hand, you were sure you were being obvious, but when he spoke, you knew you’d have to try even harder. 

“Just wanted to see you,” he said. “Wanted to, uh… I missed you.”

You tilted your head and smiled sweetly. As much as you wanted him, you had to admit that just his innocent sweetness was a gift in and of itself. “I missed you, too. It feels like we haven’t been alone since…” You trailed off with a laugh. “Well, you know.”

He licked his lips and averted his gaze to his feet, in slight shame of his inability to make more time for you. “M’sorry,” he said. “Just been busy, s’all. Plus I… ain’t really used to this whole thing.”

“What whole thing?”

“Ya know… Havin’ my own woman.”

You laughed at his turn of phrase. “You mean, you’re not used to being in a relationship?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled as he chewed his lip. “That’s what it is, right?”

“Of course,” you replied. “I mean, if that’s what you want it to be. I know it’s what I want it to be.” You stepped closer again, raising your hand to brush his hair back from his eyes. “Your eyes are so pretty.”

He scoffed, and as your hand trailed down his cheek to his jaw, you swore you felt him begin to relax. He must’ve been getting more used to your touch. 

“They’re just blue,” he said. “Nothin’ special.”

“They’re a beautiful shade of blue. You should have more confidence in yourself, Daryl. Especially with me. You know I’m yours.”

He cleared his throat and hoped the blush upon his cheeks wasn’t terribly noticeable. “I know. Just… kinda hard to believe.”

“Well, believe it.” You leaned forward to nuzzle your nose against his, tickling him slightly as he let out a quiet, nervous chuckle. “And you’re mine, right?”

He cleared his throat and nodded quickly. “Yeah. I’m yours… Buttercup.”

He cringed internally, not knowing exactly where that sudden burst of confidence came from, but it was quickly matched by your own as your lips slotted firmly between his, your hands clasping tight around the back of his neck. “Daryl,” you sighed against his lips. “You taste so good, baby.”

Your lips moved languidly to his cheek, each kiss more tongue-heavy than the last. 

His hands grasped firmly at your lower back, pulling you closer despite his fear of getting too carried away in his desperation. Even so, he felt a burning in the pit of his stomach, an unavoidable hunger rising up to his throat as his tongue tickled your cheek.

“Mmm,” you laughed, burrowing your nose into his soft, silky hair. His lips migrated to your neck, suckling on the skin as your hand guided his to your bottom, where he squeezed on his own volition. “You’re the only man who can touch me like that.”

As your eyes opened in a blurry haze, your eyes were attracted to the basket of bright, crisp peaches on the kitchen counter. “Daryl!”

He panicked as his hands loosened their grip and he pulled back to meet your wide eyes. “What’s wrong? I do somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” you laughed. “You brought me peaches?”

He turned to follow your gaze, fixated on the delicious fruit. “Oh, uh… Yeah, I know how much you love to make that peach pie.” He stepped back, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck with a sweaty palm. He hoped he hadn’t overstepped a boundary, as if offering you a basket of peaches was anymore intimate than what he’d already done. “Thought I’d pick you some. Got the best ones off the tree.”

Your wide grin chased away any worries he might’ve had. “You’re too sweet. Thank you.” 

You leaned forward to take a peach in your hand, inspecting it as you bit your lip in admiration of the succulent fruit, its round curves and soft, fuzzy coat so strangely enchanting. 

And then an idea came to you. 

“Wanna try one?” you asked. “Make sure they’re nice and ripe?”

Unaware of your intentions, he innocently nodded, his lips upturning into a sweet smile. “Sure.”

Washing the skin of the peach, you eyed him from across the kitchen, your hands purposefully caressing the fruit much more sensually than you usually would. 

From his viewpoint, it was difficult not to eye the low cut collar of your sundress, and with a more intent gaze as you looked away, he spotted your naked breasts beating against the inside of the lightweight fabric as you scrubbed the dirt from the surface of the peach.

Jesus Christ, he thought to himself. Woman’s got no damn bra on.

“You’ve got an eye for peaches,” your voice interrupted his increasingly lusty thoughts. “Is it because you’re from Georgia?” 

When he didn’t answer, you turned to meet his entranced gaze, which was focused on your chest. “Daryl?”

“Uh, yeah. Georgia. Peaches. Real nice peaches.” Fuckin’ Christ.

You gracefully side-stepped around the counter with a bowl now filled with rinsed peaches, as well as a knife to cut them. He tried not to watch too closely, not to pay too much attention to the outline of your curves underneath your dress, but it was hard not to.

“I’ll cut out the pit,” you said, picking up the knife in one hand and a peach in the other. “Keep them for planting more trees.”

With his usual overbearing concern for you, he watched carefully as you began to slice the fruit by its girth, and when the blade of the knife got too close to almost cutting your thumb, he couldn’t stand by and watch any longer.

“Nah, let me,” he said, grabbing the fruit and the knife. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You scoffed with a smile, slightly annoyed by his caring nature, but mostly quite enchanted by it. He was always like that, more so the longer you knew him. If you didn’t need to lift a finger, he wouldn’t let you, and certainly not if that finger posed a risk of getting cut.

“Well, I’ve cut plenty of peaches myself, Daryl.”

“I’m here now,” he said, keeping his eyes glued to the sticky juice beginning to seep around the silver blade penetrating the soft fuzzy surface. “I’ll take care of you.”

If he hadn’t been so absorbed in his work, he might’ve been more bashful about his words, but you certainly weren’t going to let them go unnoticed.

“You’re adorable.”

“Am I?”

“Mhm… Adorable and sweet.”

He popped the pit out of the now halved peach with a huff. “Gotta start gettin’ used to all this flattery.”

“Oh, I’ve been flattering you since the day I met you,” you laughed. “You were just too innocent to notice it.”

He looked up as he handed you your half. “Innocent?” he asked. 

“Well,” you sighed, raising your peach to your lips, “you’re not that innocent.”

“Pfft,” he scoffed with a crooked smile, the kind of smile that proved your point quite well. There was innocence in his eyes, but that smile was almost mischievous, like it knew exactly what you meant all on its own. “Eat your peach.”

You almost took a bite, but when he raised the fuzzy fruit to his lips, you felt a tingle surge through you, a reminder of the feeling of his lips kissing a part of you not too dissimilar from the shape of that fruit, with its delicate flesh and its deep, concave center. To see that tongue of his swirl circles as it gathered the succulent juice from the perfect ripe peach might’ve been just the most beautiful sight. 

“Wait,” you said, scooting forward on your barstool until your knees touched his. “Why don’t you eat that peach like it’s me?”

His eyes narrowed in confusion at the request, and though he wondered what you meant, one look at the cross section of that peach in the palm of his hand was enough to confirm it. 

You leaned forward once again, cradling his hand in yours as you lifted the fruit to his lips. “Like it’s my pussy,” you whispered. “Please?”

The slight beg in your voice awakened something within him, an urge to please you and satiate your needs as best he could. 

His tongue slotted gently into the pit, lapping up the juice as his fingers squeezed the fruit from the outside, creating a sinful sound. “Like this?”

“Mhm.”

Discarding your peach, you reached your hand down between your thighs, touching yourself just above your dress. “Good boy,” you said. “I like when you listen to me. Keep going.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours, not that they could. Your stare was much too intense, and much too seductive, to ignore. In truth, this was torture. He’d been thinking about licking you ever since he’d done it a week before, and one taste was enough to render him addicted for life. It was the idea of pleasing you, of hearing your moans and sighs and whimpers of sexual relief as his tongue massaged your most intimate, sensitive part. He would never want to deny you, or himself, of that pleasure. Now, licking and sucking desperately at the flesh of a peach was almost humiliating, as though you knew exactly what he wanted, and yet you withheld it from him by offering a meager substitute. He supposed he brought this upon himself, though, with his shyness preventing him from being alone with you since last week. Maybe this was part of your plan.

With sticky droplets of peach juice dripping down his chin, he finally sunk his teeth into it, allowing more flavor to surround his wiggling tongue. The movements seemed to match those of your fingers, swirling in tight circles over the sensitive nerves tucked under your dress and panties. 

“It ain’t like the real thing,” he said. “Let me… I wanna…”

Your hand tore away from your body as you leaned forward to catch his lips, still coated in a thick layer of sweet, peachy goodness. “What do you want, sweetheart?” you asked into his mouth. “Big boys use their words.”

He swallowed hard as he watched you take a bite of his peach, deliberately letting your lips sink around the juicy fruit in the most sinful way. “I wanna lick your pussy,” he said, almost ashamed of his words, but he couldn’t help it—if you asked him to speak, he had to speak. The hold you had over him was insurmountable. “I wanna taste you… Ain’t nothin’ even close to the taste of you.”

You smiled against his cheek, where you pressed slow, languid kisses. The half-eaten peach had dropped from Daryl’s hand in distraction, though neither of you noticed. “Oh,” you laughed. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

The frustrating thing about Daryl was that you knew he could overpower you—he was physically very strong and bulky, with lean, muscular arms that could squeeze your abdomen tighter than a corset. All that, and he was still so delicate with you, so weary of hurting you with his strength and passion that even frightened himself the more he became aware of how much he loved you. He’d never seen himself as a sexual person before, but you’d opened up a whole new part of him that he was both excited and fearful to explore. 

When he exerted enough strength to pin you against the counter, lifting you up by your waist as his lips devoured yours, you couldn’t help but moan in pleasure, though he quickly hesitated once again, removing his lips.

“Sorry,” he said, gently rubbing your hips up and down. “Did I hurt you?”

You scoffed, reaching down to strip yourself of your panties. “Get down there,” you said. “Eat me like that peach.”

From his lips erupted a low growl as he hoisted your ankles to his broad shoulders, moving with just a hint of confidence once again as he lowered his head beneath your skirt.

He felt his jeans begin to swell with the pressure from his cock rising, hardening with each quick, desperate lick up and down your slit. His tongue flattened wide, while he groaned in pleasure at the familiar taste he hadn’t been able to get out of his head. He was addicted to it, lapping at your natural juice like it was ice cold water, and he’d been wandering through a desert.

His tongue was only slightly more calculated than last time, focusing more on the little bundle of nerves above your entrance, knowing it was the goldmine. 

When he swirled his tongue just right, causing you to clench your thighs around his head, he groaned again, not in annoyance at the feeling of your legs interlocking, but bliss.

“Aw, fuck,” he groaned, voice muffled against you. 

You sighed and smiled as you threw your head back, pleasure overtaking you. “You like when I squeeze you with my thighs?”

“Yes…”

“Yes what?” you asked more sternly now, letting up on your entrapment of his head. 

He paused for a moment, though his tongue quickly licked at you again in short, frustrated bursts. Still, he missed the feeling of you all around him. “Yes, (Y/N).”

Your hands laced delicately between soft, chocolate colored strands of his lengthy hair. “That’s a good boy,” you cooed, squeezing your thighs tighter than before. With a low whimper, he moved more vigorously on your clit, pursing his lips and licking it as he sucked. “You said you’d take care of me… Take good care of me, Daryl… I want you to take care of me.”

I will, he responded in his head, his mouth much too focused on his task to answer out loud. Take real good care of ya, buttercup. 

His hands wrapped tightly around the outside of your thighs, pulling them even closer around his head until he was sure he could barely hear anything with your thighs covering his ears.

“Oh!” you cried out, his tongue flicking wild strokes up and down your most sensitive area. Each movement made you flinch and writhe and whimper from the sensation of little shockwaves coursing through you, building up gradually and becoming stronger and stronger. 

You would’ve thought from the way he was moaning and whimpering, too, that you were pleasuring him, but just the act of tasting you was enough for his cock to expand his pants as far as they could go, his engorged tip achingly rubbing against the inside of his scratchy jeans. 

You were sure you’d never heard of a man being as turned on during cunnilingus as him. It pleased you, how passionate he was, how he’d probably beg to taste you if he got desperate enough. Something about the way he moved his tongue, lapping you up like you were his first meal after a long fast… That alone could get you off.

As he kept going, never coming up for air and drowning himself in the accumulation of your arousal, you feared he’d pass out from lack of air. “Baby,” you huffed, tugging gently on his hair as you tried to catch your breath. “You can… take a break… if you want to.” 

He only grunted in response, the animalistic hunger in that sound sending another vibration through you all on its own. He felt himself nearing his peak, with the adrenaline of fear and excitement and arousal and basic, primal need coursing through him, causing his veins to bulge underneath his suntanned skin.

In an effort to calm himself, he lowered his hand to paw at his bulge, where his cock began to pulse and throb with each angelic sigh from your open mouth. His hand only worsened the situation, the pressure unintentionally driving him to the brink of orgasm.

“Shit,” he groaned, head still tucked between your shaky thighs, with your own orgasm not far. 

At this point, you couldn’t even notice his ragged breathing or his body convulsing with each spurt erupting from the tip of his cock to coat the inside of his underwear. 

His tongue never ceased its mission, though. He never stopped lapping at the wetness of your folds. When your hands tugged at his hair the hardest they had yet, and your whimpers and moans grew louder, he knew it wouldn’t be much longer until—

“Daryl!” you cried out. “I’m… Oh, you’re going to make me come…”

And you did, waves of intense orgasmic pulses causing you to buck your hips, your clit hitting the tip of his nose and intensifying the feeling even more. “Yes!” you repeated in a hazy state of bliss. “Daryl…”

Your shaking legs dangled loosely on his shoulders, your thighs losing their grip on the sides of his head as they became numb once your orgasm began to fade. He could no longer feel your body twitching, so he raised his head to look you in the eyes, blinking gently as a wide grin split your face. 

His expression turned from hungry to shy, and slightly nervous. He looked like a schoolboy who’d just been caught doing something naughty in the boys’ bathroom. It wasn’t too far off—he knew he’d lost control of himself, and he was embarrassed, terrified you’d be disappointed in his lack of ability to keep himself from coming too soon.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you said with a slight giggle to your voice, still trembling a little from that intense feeling. “You did so good.” Your hands returned to his hair, massaging his scalp as your fingers attempted to restore the messy strands you had misplaced to their natural pattern. 

With your hands lowering to his cheeks, you pulled him forward until his lips met yours and his body aligned perfectly just above you. The sharp hardness of the kitchen counter below you wasn’t particularly forgiving on your back, but the thrill of it made it worthwhile. 

You felt his arm squirm between your bodies, his hand reaching to his crotch to adjust himself again. The discomfort he felt from the accident in his pants was hard to conceal. 

Still, you chalked it up to nerves, and you tried to hold him in place above you, but his arms were too strong to be kept still by you. “Daryl,” you huffed. “What are you doing?”

Clearing his throat, he lifted himself from you to step back from the counter, turning around quickly. “Nothin’,” he said. “Just gimme a minute.”

You heard the sound of his jeans unzipping, and the soft rustling of fabric as he tried to clean himself up. Now concerned, you lifted yourself from the counter and lowered your dress to wrap your arms around his waist and slot your forehead between his shoulder blades. He stiffened a bit, then relaxed, remembering he was in safe hands. Quite literally. There wasn’t any other touch he’d feel comfortable with but yours, even when you were just friends. Your touch was soft, dependable, like a promise. Not an empty promise, a promise with intention and devotion. 

“Did you—”

“Nah,” he said, even if you hadn’t quite finished your sentence. 

“You didn’t even know what I was going to ask,” you laughed. 

“I didn’t come.”

You scoffed and raised your head to peek over his shoulder. “Well, now I’m curious… It’s okay if you did. Actually, it’s cute.”

“Pfft.”

“Turn around.”

There wasn’t an order you could give that he wouldn’t follow, especially in this state. After a few moments of obligatory silence, he slowly turned to reveal his unzipped and unbuttoned jeans split open, where his black underwear showed a fresh whitish stain. 

You tilted your head and smiled. There was something so cute, and sexy, of course, about his inability to control himself, his struggle to keep his arousal at bay, and how much just pleasuring you with his mouth turned him on. How could he come without even being touched? You knew he was sensitive, but this was another level… It was perfect. He was perfect.

“Sorry,” he spoke under his breath, lowering his head as his eyes fluttered to occasionally look back up to you, as if checking to see your disapproval. “Jus’ still gettin’ used to it… and you’re so damn beautiful, especially when…” He trailed off, shaking his head with a self-derisive scoff.

Your shoulders shifted playfully, biting your lip as you rested your hands on his shoulders to gently massage them. They were tense, as usual, with tight knots and hard, lean muscles aching for some comfort. In the back of your mind, you wanted to remove that raggedy black button up shirt and trail kisses along those broad, workworn shoulders, upon which the world seemed to rest. Any man who spent as much time as he did caring for and protecting his community would’ve needed it, but for a man who seems to be so touch-starved, he needed it extra.

“When what?” you asked. 

He swallowed, thinking back to the sultry moans that had poured from your watering lips as he pleased you. It was more like the sound of a goddess calling upon her most loyal servant to do her bidding, and if he could take the place of that servant, he’d do it gladly. Everyday of his life. 

“When you make those little noises,” he said with a shrug, trying to speak as casually as he could. Siddiq had given him the unsolicited advice to “play it cool,” and he supposed now was the time to put that phrase into action, though he was anything but cool. “Can’t control myself.”

You sighed, trailing your fingers along his collarbone until they found the top button of his shirt, which you slowly undid before gracefully cascading to the next, and the next…

“Do you think you have anymore left in you?” you asked. Now your hunger became insatiable, with your eyes constantly returning to the bulge within his underwear, still wet and visibly a little sticky. “I mean, if you’re not too busy… I know you’re a very important man.”

Within moments, his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the sheen of sweat on his bare chest. Your fingers tickled the soft, slightly curly hairs of his happy trail, leading to his underwear. 

He let out a deep sigh as he felt your hand gently squeeze his bulge, not enough to cause pain, but enough to make him flinch. 

“I ain’t…” he said shakily, trailing off as he lost his train of thought. How was he to focus on forming words when your hand was cradling his cock, massaging it tenderly over the soft fabric of his soiled underwear. “Ain’t that important.”

You pouted teasingly, with glimmering doe eyes that betrayed your arousal. “You’re important to me. I love you, Daryl.”

His body relaxed as he registered those three lovely words. For so long he’d wondered what it was like to be loved by someone, and for the first time, he didn’t feel like there was a missing piece in his life, an empty space where that emotion should be. You’d always been special to him, and now that he could allow himself to understand his feelings completely, clarity washed over him like crisp spring rain. In its wake was every little flake of shiny gold stars he swore he saw in your eyes. 

Every movement of your fingers as you tugged his jeans and underwear from his waist made him wobble and cling to your shoulders for balance, eliciting a laugh from you. He hadn’t even noticed he failed to respond. “I love ya, too,” he said. “I’ll keep you safe, won’t let anythin’ bad happen to you. I’ll take care of you.”

You raised an eyebrow at his delirious rambling, his agape lips and increasingly ragged breaths proving to be rather adorable. 

He only noticed he was now fully naked when he heard the sound of his shirt button hitting the tile floor. “Shit, you don’t waste time,” he laughed nervously, and to prove his point, your lips crashed impatiently, tongue circling wildly in his mouth as he tried to keep up. 

“Take care of me,” you panted breathlessly against his lips, between impatient tongues twining around each other like vines. “Upstairs.”

His feet stepped on yours a few times as he tried to maneuver both your bodies up the staircase, hands moving up and down in frantic movements in attempts to rid you of your clothes. Soon you were naked at the top of the stairs, with a few superficial fingernail scratches from where Daryl’s quick, impatient hands had marred your skin.

“Shit,” he huffed against your neck, noticing a red mark from when he lifted your dress above your head. “Sorry... Did that hurt?”

You shook your head as you pulled him up the last steps. With hands cupping both cheeks, you pulled him into your room as you kissed him, until the back of your knees hit the bed, and he fell over you, both of you fully naked against each other. Everything had moved so fast, you didn’t even notice how many marks he left on you. It wasn’t painful, though. In fact, you’d hoped they’d last a while, as a reminder of what you were about to do. 

“You’d never hurt me,” you said. You were glued to his gaze, somehow soft and sweet, and hard and wild at the same time. “I feel it in your kiss. I know you love me.”

He lowered his head to nudge his nose against yours, his silky hair falling down to curtain both of your faces. “I know ya love me, too… Dunno how I got so lucky.”

You furrowed your brow and shook your head. “Stop.”

Your lips prevented him from speaking again, and your legs spreading underneath him to wrap around his waist drew his body closer. His hardening cock ached for attention, and as you writhed up and down underneath him, it fit perfectly between your folds, still wet from his saliva and the juice of your arousal. 

As if by instinct, he thrusted himself against you, his head buried sheepishly in the crook of your neck, mouth suckled to your skin where he’d no doubt leave another mark of his affection. For the first time, he was on top of you, a new position which gave him control, to some extent. He froze for a moment as he contemplated his next move. How was he to know what to do in this situation? He’d only had sex with you once, and now he was here.

“Daryl,” you muttered against his hair. “Just fuck me… Take care of me.” Your hand reached between your bodies to feel his cock. “Put this cock inside me.”

“Shit!” he suddenly exclaimed. 

Your eyes widened in shock as he lifted himself up. “What’s wrong?”

“Condom,” he said shortly, and the last thing you saw was his tight, pale little ass scurrying out the door to pick up his discarded jeans from the kitchen floor downstairs, where the condom he’d tried to carry so discreetly was held in his back pocket. 

You threw your head back and laughed, hearing Daryl’s cursing under his breath and his loud, hurried footsteps echoing through the house. He came back with the condom halfway on his cock, his hand still adjusting it until it fit just right.

“Got it.”

“Mm, baby,” you laughed, laying back down to sprawl out your arms and legs, your eyes hazy and your smile soft and warm. You writhed on the bed playfully, cupping your breasts with your hands and squeezing gently to tease his hungry, begging eyes. A part of him seemed to want to pounce on you, but another wanted to ask you permission. “Come over here and give me everything you’ve got, handyman.”

You watched in delight at the blush forming on his cheeks as he slowly but surely made his way over to you, kneeling on the edge of the bed to lower himself just above your body, where he positioned his cock to your entrance. Your hands gravitated to his shoulders, rubbing them reassuringly. 

His chest heaved with deep nervous breath after deep nervous breath. You kept your eyes locked to his cock, watching it slowly spread you open. In the shallow end, it came in at a perfect angle, tickling a special spot to make you shiver in delight. “Mmm,” you hummed. “Good boy.”

He scoffed under his breath. “Shut up.”

He inched deeper inside of you, wasting no time in going as deep as he could. There was a desperation to his movements, a deep, unavoidable need, and yet a hesitation, always lingering close behind. “This okay?” he asked under his breath. “This feel good?”

You leaned forward to tug on his strong, broad shoulders, the defined muscles flexing under his sweaty skin. His chest pressed to yours, your nipples aligning with his to tickle each other delicately. “So good,” you sighed into his lips. “I love you.”

His hips began to move on their own accord, slowly but surely moving to and fro to the rhythm of your heartbeat, the warmth between your bodies getting stronger and stronger. “I love you,” he replied.

With your arms tangled tightly around his back, he thrusted harder, in shorter, sloppier bursts. “Ah, fuck…” he groaned against your neck. You squeezed around his cock, the walls of that soft, warm passageway massaging him with each movement he made. It was suffocating in the most beautiful way, being completely overwhelmed and consumed by you and your body. Even underneath him, you still commanded him, your body forcing him to move with yours and guiding him to his pleasure, which only spurred on your pleasure. 

Your heels burrowing into the dimples of his lower back, you demanded he move more. In his position, the angle of his tip would just perfectly hit you in a sensational spot. “Daryl…” you panted. “Yes, right there, baby. You feel so good.”

He only gasped for air and groaned hoarsely under his breath in response, until his words returned to him. “I can’t… stop. Shit, (Y/N)... I’m gonna come.”

You huffed and loosened your legs’ grip around him, then pressed your hands to his chest to push him away until he pulled out of you. Much to his confusion, his body turned to obedient jelly as you maneuvered him until he lay pathetically panting and wiggling out of frustration and need to be inside you again. Not even his hand desperately tugging at his cock, wetted and dripping with your natural lubricant, could ease the pain of pleasure. 

“(Y/N)...” he practically whimpered under his breath. It was still as gruff and deep as his normal voice, but coated with a more high pitched, almost whiney layer. You watched one hand grip tightly around his aching testicles, the other massaging the reddened, leaking tip of his cock. He was right on the edge, and yet the feeling of his hands alone couldn’t release him. “Need ya… Please. I’m beggin’ for ya.”

Even his dark, pleading eyes begged for you. As much as you liked him in this state, on the edge of orgasm and needing only you to get him there, you also would love to see him come again, sooner rather than later. 

With your legs wide, you straddled his waist to meet his tip to your entrance, where your hand guided his cock, but not without thumbing at the tip teasingly, and rubbing it on your clit to please yourself with it. “Mm,” you hummed. He could only groan in response, leaning his head back as you could’ve sworn his eyes rolled back slightly. His hands grasped at your waist, trying to get himself inside of you. “You’re so cute when you’re horny,” you laughed. You let his tip enter you for a moment only to lift yourself up slightly until it slipped out, causing him to whine under his breath. “Do you like it when I tease you?”

He scoffed and looked up at you with hazy, half-closed eyes. “Woman… This is torture.”

You rolled your eyes at his hyperbole, as surely this was nothing compared to what some other, kinkier people liked to do in the bedroom. But, you supposed, you did like to torture him, if this was what he considered torture. 

“But do you like it?” you laughed, stroking his chest up and down as you lowered yourself once again onto his cock—terribly slowly, of course. 

He hissed as he watched your body envelop him again, and felt the tingle returning to his shaft as you started to circle your hips and massage him with your squeezing walls. 

“I… Fuck, I…” He threw his head back with a deep sigh and a delirious laugh trailing not far behind. “God, this is good… Ah, shit, how can ya feel this good, buttercup…”

You shrugged your shoulders as you moved faster, grinding in tighter, harder movements, with your hands planted firmly on his pecs, playfully twirling the slightly curly light brown hairs with your fingers. “Maybe my body was meant for yours.”

He reached up to pull you down. This time, he commanded you to kiss him, to slip your tongue in his mouth as he forced his into yours, with that sloppy, inexperienced kiss of his. With his hands tangling into your messy hair, he thrusted harder into you from below you, until his lips separated from yours to expel a loud, strained moan from the pit of his stomach. “Fuck!” he cried out. 

His cock pumped his spend into the reservoir of the condom, and for a while there you were sure he wouldn’t ever stop, but he did, and the moans subsided as he caught his breath and held you close, his arms almost suffocatingly tight around your back. 

For a while, you didn’t need words, just the feeling of your bodies interlaced in each other, him still inside you and making himself quite comfortable there, was enough. His chest made a wonderful pillow, despite how strong and hard it was. Somehow, it became soft for you. His body didn’t strain or flex with nerves. It simply mellowed, cushioning you. He was almost softer than the surface of your bed underneath him. 

“I ain’t ever met a woman like you,” he said, finally breaking the silence. You lifted your head to look at him, wondering what he meant by that, and if it were a good thing. 

“Like me?” you asked. “What am I like?”

“Real sweet,” he said, eyes closed and his voice slurring a little as sleep threatened to take him over. “But… real demanding.”

You scoffed. “Demanding?”

He opened his eyes as he became more alert. “Ain’t a bad thing. You know what you want, and you go after it, and ya get it.”

“Oh,” you laughed, snuggling back into his chest. “So I’m… strong willed?”

“Yeah,” he nodded sleepily. “I like it.”

“It’s not… scary?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Woman, you scare the hell outta me.”

“Oh,” you said, slightly worried now. “Sorry, baby.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he replied. “Told ya, I like it. I can handle ya.”

You always knew he could. 

~

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~

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[entamesubs]

Go Rush Character Style Guides

This came as a question but I felt as if it deserved its own post in case this was helpful to anyone else.

The characters in Go Rush have a lot of different ways of speaking in Japanese that are specific to them and them only, made to have them come off a certain way to Japanese-speaking audiences. In order to replicate that feeling, I try and translate these characters to speak a certain way in the subs that will come off the same way (or at least as similar as can be) for English-speaking audiences.

This is a style guide that I tend to use when translating, so I can stay relatively consistent on character dialogue.

This only contains guides for the main three (Yuudias, Yuuhi, and Yuamu) but has some miscellaneous notes for other characters.

Yuudias

because he uses 某 (それがし / soregashi) as his pronoun and a variety of rather old-and-flowery-sounding words and exclamations, he must sound the same in English (-> knight-like, ye olde fantasy feel)

cannot use contractions anywhere in his dialogue (no “don’t, can’t, I’m, that’s” etc. It MUST be “do not, cannot, I am, that is” etc)

use more flowery language for his dialogue when possible if it doesn’t sound wrong/forced (ie, calling planets by “stars” instead, saying “indeed” instead of yes, etc)

one key point from an interview with Arthur Lounsbery (the VA of Yuudias) is that he feels Yuudias is always “very simple and genuine” in his speech and usually holds no ulterior motives, so his dialogue should always reflect his “real and genuine” feelings in a simple manner

Yuuhi

he speaks using a lot of phrases and words specific to people from the countryside in Japan, so his dialogue in English should reflect that

uses a multitude of contractions, more so than any normal person would (stuff like “what’re”, “’cause”, “he’d’ve”, etc)

translate some of his “you”s to “ya” instead, but sparingly (instead of “you know you can just do it” it can be “ya know you can just do it”)

avoid going too far with the previous points however or else it feels forced. His dialogue should still be understandable and he speaks relatively "normal” despite some country lingo thrown here and there

Yuamu

though more eloquent than Yuuhi, she also has some country colloquialisms that slip sometimes. Maybe a more “Southern Belle” feel

don’t shy away from contractions for her, but don’t use them to the extent you would for Yuuhi

her “yare, yare” should be more like “goodness gracious” to fit her way of speech

again don’t lay on the Southern too thick, Yuamu herself only slips into that sort of lingo sparingly and we don’t want it to feel forced

Miscellaneous Notes

Zwijo’s pronoun is 我 (われ / ware), which gives off an authoritative, royal feeling. We aren’t entirely sure how to stylize his speech just yet as we need to hear him speak more first, so while he may be using contractions now, he may not later. He is a lot less formal than Yuudias, however

Manabu likes inserting random science and chemistry tools into his sentences because the Go Rush writers hate us, so make sure to write the sentence around said instrument when he does (twisting the translation a bit is fine for him, as some of these sentences are literally untranslatable with the pun)

Nyandestar has a very sultry, low voice and generally speaks the same way as well. She should sound a little like a stereotypical Bond Girl; a very high class, rich, and attractive woman vibe

Chupataro speaks in third person, so make sure all of his dialogue is third person. He likes using “chuparu” as a verb sometimes, so we keep that in the translation, even if we have no idea what it actually means (it is not a real word)

Anyway, everyone is free to interpret their dialogue as they wish; this is just how I tend to translate it so I can get the same feel from the Japanese across in English. Some other translators may do it differently; it all comes down to opinion.

[writingquestionsanswered]

I don't know how exactly I should ask this question I don't know to exactly explain it but I'll try I hope you understand what I'm trying to ask

Every time I finish a paragraph of the story chapter I honestly have no idea how to start the next paragraph like I'm writing the first person pov so the next paragraph mostly starts with 'I' which doesn't feel like it's giving a flow in the writing and even the reader isn't getting a flow in reading, what can I do about that? how can I not start the next lines or paragraphs with 'I' and how the next paragraph should start? I sometimes know how the next paragraph should start and sometimes don't I know it's on the writer how it should start but still it would be great if you could put some light on it

Always Starting Paragraphs with Pronouns or Names

(And How Exposition Can Help)

When writing in first-person especially, it can be easy to fall into the trap of not writing a story but a laundry list of actions: I walked to the window, I looked outside, I wondered where Harry was. I went to the kitchen. I fixed myself a cup of coffee. It can also be an issue when writing in third-person, too, except you’re starting with another pronoun or a character’s name instead of “I.” So, we’re going to look at how you can avoid that, but first, let’s do a quick refresher about paragraphs.

Newer writers (and even more experienced writers) often struggle with when to start a new paragraph. I see a lot of paragraphs that are split when they shouldn’t be, or paragraphs that aren’t split but should be. 

When to Start a New Paragraph:

when changing to a new speaker

when another character does an important action*

when changing locations (new room, inside to outside, new place, etc.)

when time passes

when changing to a new subject, thought, or topic

when necessary for dramatic effect (but use very sparingly)

when moving from action/cause, to thought, to speech

when an action beat goes on longer than immediately pertinent action

How to Add Variety to Your Paragraphs

Stories need to have a balance of action, exposition, and dialogue. As I said at the begging, when you find yourself starting with “I” or “[name]” a lot, it’s because you’re focusing so heavily on actions that it just becomes a list of things someone is doing. What’s missing is the exposition and dialogue. Let’s look at my example again:

I walked to the window, I looked outside, I wondered where Harry was. I went to the kitchen. I fixed myself a cup of coffee.

Let’s see what happens if I add some exposition:

By mid-afternoon, Harry still hadn’t called or texted. I walked to the window and looked outside, wondering where on earth he could be. With nothing else to do while I waited to hear from him, I went to the kitchen and fixed myself a cup of coffee.

That’s already so much better. It transforms the laundry list of actions into an actual story because now there’s something happening to frame these actions. The character is worried about Harry.

Adding Description

Exposition is about more than giving context, though. It’s also adding visual description, sensory description, and emotional description. So, let’s see what happens if we add that to the paragraph:

By mid-afternoon, Harry still hadn’t called or texted, and my gut roiled with worry. I walked to the window and looked outside. The sun was starting to sink behind the mountains, a sight I was accustomed to seeing during our evening walks--but not today. Wondering where on earth Harry could be, and with nothing else to do but fret while I waited, I went to the kitchen and poured myself a steaming cup of coffee. Its sweet, nutty scent put my nerves at ease, but I couldn’t help taking another look at my messages.

Isn’t this so much better? Now we get a sense for what the character is feeling and we get a better idea of the time, and can almost feel ourselves there. What happens if we add dialogue?

By mid-afternoon, Harry still hadn’t called or texted, and my gut roiled with worry. Where on earth was he? Had the exams run over? Did he fink out on them and hideout all day like last time? I walked to the window and looked outside. The sun was starting to sink behind the mountains, a sight I was accustomed to seeing during our evening walks--but not today. With nothing else to do but fret while I waited, I went to the kitchen and poured myself a steaming cup of coffee. Its sweet, nutty scent put my nerves at ease, but I couldn’t help taking another look at my messages. There was a new text from Sally asking if we had plans for the night, so I replied, asking if she was up for a call. Relief flooded through me when she said she was.

“Hey, everything okay?” Sally asked, picking up immediately.

“I’m not sure. Did you see Harry on campus today?” I bit my lower lip, willing her to say that she had.

“Yeah. He stopped at Melinda’s coffee cart on his way into his first exam. Why?”

I let out a breath, already feeling reassured. “He’s not back yet, so I panicked.”

Sally laughed, and somehow that made me feel even better. “You thought he skipped out on them again, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I admitted, feeling sheepish now. “Silly of me, right?”

“It is, we both know it is, but I get it. It would have crossed my mind, too. If it makes you feel any better, though, Sara and Jason aren’t back yet, either, and they were taking the same bio exam. It must have just run over.”

“That does make me feel better, actually. So, what did you have in mind for tonight?”

Now, by adding exposition and dialogue, this laundry list of actions has been transformed into an engaging, informative scene.

And, if you still find yourself struggling a little with using pronouns or names more than you want to, another thing you can try (which shouldn’t be hard if you’ve added enough exposition) is just changing things around a bit. A big part of what we do as writers is simply rearranging words so they sound better.

Let’s look at the following sentence:

I let out a breath, already feeling reassured. “He’s not back yet, so I panicked.”

If I didn’t want to begin with “I” here, there are plenty of ways I could change the sentence up:

Letting out a breath, I already felt reassured. “He’s not back yet, so I panicked.”

Reassured at last, I let out a breath. “He’s not back yet, so I panicked.”

“He’s not back yet, so I panicked,” I said, letting out a breath and already feeling reassured.

“He’s not back yet, so I panicked.” I already felt reassured, so I let out a breath.

Sometimes you just have to sit and play with a sentence for a little while, look at the different incarnations, judge how they look in context with surrounding sentences, and choose the best one. But, again, having that exposition in there in the first place is absolutely vital.

I hope that helps! :)

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[yourstruly-thenarrator]

Welcome! Please enjoy yourself! I know I am...~

!-Pinned post-! Please read;

Main account: @animnightmare

Alt main: @morally-gray-omens (contact me here if its been a while with no contact from me!)

This is a RP account for the narrator from the stanley parable!

Lightly updated for my return!

WARNINGS FOR THE ACCOUNT:

[If theese apply to you, should probobly mute it. Dont have to ofc!]

Lots of cursing. The narrator is extremely abusive and manipulative twords others, probobly has acute Narcissism. There is some horror/weirdcore imagery including eyes. Lots of long posts. I do my best to do readmores, but when rping in rbs, there's not much I can do. Also possibly derealisation? I'm back at recognizing it when its not outright, but I thing I'll mention it to stay on the safe side.

I do my best to tag things, but things do slip through the cracks, and it's also kinda hard to avoid some of this when interacting with this account as a whole. So if you want to avoid it altogether, please feel free to not interact with the account.

Rules!

I only really have one rule for this account that isn't a rule of the comunity or my accounts as a whole. Wich is; dont break the fourth wall of rp. You can break the fourth wall of theese being videogame charicters of course, but mentioning in charicter that you're in a RP just makes things kinda not fun imo.

Do interact if!;

You like the stanley parable!

You are a rp account!

You are ok with in charicter responses!

Or all of the above and more! ^^

Muses;

The narrator

[Eyestrain warning]

My main muse

Very full of himself

Stuck in the skip button ending

Nickname Skips though he resents having a nickname in the first place

"Why would I need a different name??? I'm THE narrator!"

"Usually talks like this"

"Somtimes like this"

"Now and then like this"

"Also like this somtimes"

It usually depends on his emotions and the context

You have full permission to hurt him at any moment, physically or emotionally, without asking first.

He/him but doesn't really care

Stanley![?]

Debut here

currently also frozen in skip button

Not actually stanley

Or human for that matter

We don't know much about him yet

Arguably sentient

Feel free to try and interact with him though

"*Gutteral, inhuman sounds*"

Created by the narrator in a move of reverse logic to show everyone how little he needed company

Mostly ignores stanley and treats him like a brainless child

You don't have to ask to hurt it either,

But why would you??

It/he but doesn't really understand

The owner of the account!

You can call me whatever you want. My primary pronouns are he/they/it/beep, but I use virtually everything. Get creative! I prefer she/her to only be used sparingly, though, if at all, and typically by people im closer to though i take no offense.

As linked up there, my main is @animnightmare . Im ageless across all my blogs, so if you have an age limit in your DNI, I'd suggest just not interacting, and I'll leave you alone whether i break it or not. (i am most certianly old enough to be online though, ill say that much lmao)

[chemicaljacketslut]

i’m bored and stalling writing a boring scene so let me rate reddie (and general) fanfic phrases/tropes

richie sneaking into eddie’s bedroom: 8/10 listen i know it’s overdone but it’s just so GOOD

miscommunication trope: -1000000/10 stop it you’re not shakespeare literally just have them TALK TO EACH OTHER

descriptors in place of names like “the younger male” “the ravenette”: 1/10 listen i know it’s hard to distribute names and pronouns without being repetitive but please i have a personal vendetta against this shit

richie being So Angsty: 6/10 i love projecting onto richie tozier as much as the next guy but at a certain point it’s like. listen. this man has one single braincell and it’s dedicated to loving eddie. he is a standup comedian. he is just not that angsty

using literally any other terms besides Synonym For Rooster/Synonym For Cat: 0/10 (Nickname For Richard is okay IF USED SPARINGLY)

“Oh… oh”: 1000000/10 one italicized word is something that can actually be so personal

college reddie: 10/10 delicious

emo/grunge/whatever richie & pastel eddie: 6/10 i see the appeal i guess and i definitely fell for this when i was younger but it’s just so out of character. bright patterns and zero fashion sense richie & smart sensible fashion eddie ftw. bring back book eddie’s canon gucci loafers

eddie just Showing Up to live with richie post-adult It battle: 9/10 in character and also parallels the richie sneaking into eddie’s bedroom trope

maturin bringing stan/eddie back from the dead: 7/10 listen it’s kind of a write off but like what tf else are you gonna use if you want to abide by the rules of canon

manwhore richie/soft eddie: 5/10 idk bout this one but i do appreciate me a good manwhore

“letting go of a breath they didn’t know they were holding”: 8/10 overused but still such a good way to describe that shit

“pregnant pause”: 7/10 hot take but my favorite part of writing is word choice/sentence structure and the idea of a pause being pregnant bc it’s heavy and there’s something in it not being said, it just works for me

richie & beverly being best friends: 10/10 personally i prefer sticking to the book choice of stan & richie being best friends but thanks to sophia lillis being braver than any us marine and giving beverly a personality in the movies, the richie/beverly best-friendship works so well

crossover fics: 6/10 just not for me personally, i tend to want my characters to stay in their separate universes and not interact with other universes’ characters. fics inspired by other media can be good though

barry-inspired fics: 9/10 this gets its own category because heeheehoohoo i love them so much and i have like 3 unfinished ones in my drafts everyone please write more of these

incorporating current memes: 4/10 it can be funny if you manage to not make it seem to tryhard, but memes age so quickly that this is a risky risky move

chatfics: 2/10 look i’ve come across like one decent chatfic ever, and it was in like 2018, and looking back on it now, all the humor is so stale. they’re just so hard to make believable and they don’t stay good for long because the way people talk to each other on the internet is constantly evolving

using iconic It quotes like “don’t call me Eds,” “you’re braver than you think,” “apple-solutely,” etc: 8/10 as long as you don’t overdo it or make it like PAINFULLY obvious like “hey guys it’s a reference!!! haha they said the thing!! guys did you see that they said the thing they said in the book/movie!!!!!” it’s a nice touch & i personally love doing this lol

songfics: 6/10 another hot take i think but if it’s the kind of songfic that’s either inspired by a song or it’s like bits of fic with the song lyrics dispersed throughout, it can be good

stan being the only sane one in the group: 5/10 i see where people get this from bc stan tries to come off as more serious and he’s very fastidious, but like he was still a kid, too. he has an equal amount of brain cells to the rest of the losers which is one. i prefer writing stan as trying to be the responsible one (or at least trying to come off as the responsible one) but getting into loser shenanigans anyway

that’s all i have off the top of my head suggest more for me to rate if u want

[chemicaldd]

─ hello! well uhhh..... [🥲] I wanted to talk about my TOH headcanons and shit, for like how I write and how Y/n and Ares are placed in the AU plus; i've implimented a new magic kind so Y/n can be overpow-/j.

─ so, down below is headcanons and stuff for each TOH character, prns, sexuality, gender, k'now? i'll start with the minors then move onto the adults. I'll also add their ages, and their race. OKAY ENOUGH EXPLAINING.

warnings. swearing, because i literally love light heartidly swearing and slandering my favourite characters<3

WELCOME TO THE BOILING ISLES.

in the boiling isles, magic roams free. Witches and Demons live together on the corpse of a titan, who's magic seeped into how they live.

magic is used in runes, and need to be sharpened for a Witch to become strong. But, there is an ancient way, to enhance magic, but it is very dangerous and could cause said witch or person using the magic basically combusts. Only few witches can use the magic, but must use it sparingly.

you enhance a rune, by adding a larger one on top of it. Though, it usually only will cause explosions, it sometimes will work but it depends on how controlled the witches magic is.

LUZ NOCEDA.

female, she/her (doesn't mind any prns, neo-included.) ─ bisexual ─ 15, human

"THATS GAY!" / She doesn't actually have a preference, though she is all in for lgbtqia+ rep. So, she always likes to meet other lqbt people.

she's dating Amity by the time she meets Ares, she probably met Y/n after she got into Hexside, they stumbled upon Y/n helping a kid and thought they where cool so she talked to them.

her and Ares get along pretty well, since Ares is willing to help Luz with magic, since Ares does a lot of training on their own.

AMITY BLIGHT.

female, she/they ─ lesbian, asexual ─ 15, witch

"mmmmmm, yes, women." / would probably listen to old timey songs, its her kinda music. / She gets really shy and nervous whenever she has to tell people she's ace. / She probably writes and draws as a hobby.

absolutely loves it when Luz calls her, their amazing girlfriend. Similar to Luz, she met Ares around the same time Luz did. Y/n was in Hexide when the two met.

she didn't like Y/n at first, but came to liking Y/n's help at the library since the two both like children. Amity & Ares act like siblings, she personally likes to think of Ares of their older sibling.

HUNTER ? [the golden guard].

trans ; male, he/him(pronouns don't matter to him vry much) ─ aromantic, asexual ─ 16, witch

"oh fuck, oh will of the titan, please, bitch, please, don't." / MR POEM WRITER??? / genuinely doesn't know what romance is lmao. / fucking swears 24/7 when he's not in the golden guard persona.

him and Ares are best friends lol, Y/n and him met due to Ares. He was the one to get Ares to peruse becoming a guard. THESE TWOS SLEEP SCHEDULE WHERE??

Y/N L/N.

genderfluid, they/them (all/any prns) ─ pansexual ─ 16, half human, half witch

"lol, yeah, no." / the most chill teenager you'd ever see / works half time as a healer / they go to Hexside.

they represent you, so you can add whatever you want abt them, i'll be willing to change them. though in my inhitial Au, Y/n is quite chill and plans to be in the healing coven. Though, they're not the best due to being half human.

ARES PEIRCE.

nonbinary, they/them ─ aromanticflux, asexualflux ─ 16, witch

"HA BITCH! SUCK IT!" / most chaotic one out of the three / junior palace guard / they personally dont like belos, but are willing to follow him.

its canon, they're platonically married to hunter & Y/n/lh. [fight me/j]. Literally can either be super chill, or super chaotic. They like to joke around so others will smile, they really like positivity[finding negative people triggering]. they represent the creator(person writing this).

WILLOW PARK.

female, she/her ─ questioning ─ 14, witch

"i'mgoingtopunchyou." / super,super calm / her and Y/n where best friends before Y/n started hanging out with the others. / still close with Y/n, Luz and Gus.

she works super hard to get into the plant coven, though she still has a few problems with Hunter and Ares and is super protective of Y/n because she sees them as her older sibling.

GUS PORTER.

male, he/him ─ bisexual ─ 13, witch

"no, no, not gay enough." / probably makes a lot of gay jokes / he likes to make illusions of himself and other people when he's trying to think of situations. / might have slight dyslexia, but its just my head-canon.

him and Ares wold probably just be a comedic duo, Y/n and him wouldn't talk very much, though the two get along. He doesn't work super hard but he's getting there.

EDALYN CLAWTHRONE.

female, she/her ─ bisexual??? ─ age who? witch

"HA, SUCK IT!" / chaotic!! / she always ends up trying to use magic, but would fail and be confused asf

she probably would get along with Ares the best, these two would cause so much chaos omg. Y/n and Luz are her kids, can't change my mind [😌].

LILITH CLAWTHRONE.

female, she/her ─ straight??? ─ probably like 49 idk, witch

"Eda what did I say about taking my-" / mostly chill / has a terrible time reading people / WILL NOT BREAK PROMISES AT ALL

she dislikes Ares and Hunter, and Ares will absolutely make fun of and mock Lilith. she probably spends the most time with hooty.

─ no, i will not be doing king, hooty, belos or kikimora.

─ king is my favourite but is a goddamn demon, i will not explain hooty because no, hes my favourite comedy character. ....belos and kikimora are self-explainitory.

─ give me more toh characters to do and i'll make a part two, these are just mainly the characters that are going to be writen in my stories.