#sheer curiosity tbh

[catboydan]

what do you use to abbreviate

[welcometogrouchland]

(ID in alt) hi sorry for back to back marvel fanart I swear I still have dc stuff lmao. However I did recently read X-Men: first class and got a bit carried away doodling this after Lmao

[unconventional-lawnchair]

"god I'm supposed to hate you, why don't i hate you?" with barty and potter! reader? 👀 the recent fic got me thinking sjdjkdkf

I Might Still Hate You

Barty Crouch Jr. x Potter!Reader

AN: I couldn't sleep last night, I'm blaming this. ANY excuse to write Barty x Potter reader tbh

Summary: An unexpected guest shows up at your house late at night.

WC: ~3k

CW: Small bit of cussing, implied child abuse

You couldn’t remember a single time Bartemius Crouch Jr had ever said something kind to you.

It was likely because he never had.

From the very beginning, you and Barty had been locked in a mutual loathing. Whether it was academic rivalry, dueling matches, or sheer social standing, the two of you couldn’t seem to share a room without bristling at the other’s presence. Maybe it was the way you refused to bow under his threats, meeting his sharp words with sharper ones of your own. Or the way he matched your challenges like a game he was desperate to win, his smirk always daring you to push him further.

But really, it was probably your name.

"Potter."He never just said it- he delivered it, each syllable like a whip crack, leaving something raw behind. You hated the way he said it, how his voice dipped just slightly when he drew it out, like it was a secret he wasn’t supposed to know but delighted in exposing anyway.

“You know, it suits you.” He had told you once, a wicked grin slashing across his face as you squared off in yet another argument. “All that self-righteousness. It clings to you, like perfume.”

Your glare had only made his grin widen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re exactly what everyone expects a Potter to be. And isn’t that exhausting for you? Always pretending you’re better than everyone else?”

“I don’t need to pretend, Crouch.” You had shot back, stepping closer, challenging him as you always did, smirking. “But maybe you should stop pretending you’re not desperate to prove yourself to me. ‘Clings to be like perfume’? Give me some room, maybe you wouldn't be so wrapped in it.”

That grin faltered just slightly, his eyes narrowing. For a moment- just a moment, you thought you saw something flicker behind his bravado. But then it was gone, replaced by his usual venom. Giving you an expression he saved just for you- unbridled hatred.

“You’re insufferable.” He glared down at you before slowly smirking himself. As if his lip didn't twitch into a frown at your remark.

“And you’re pathetic.” You drawled, running your quill along the bridge of your nose.

Barty had a way of getting under your skin. You told yourself it was just the rivalry. Just the mutual hatred that kept him in your thoughts, his voice echoing far too clearly in your head.

But you hated how sometimes, when he was close, your pulse raced for reasons you couldn’t quite name. How his cologne reminded you of your best days, because he was never far behind you.

Everything considered, everything he's done and said to you, there was nothing that prepared you for this.

A sharp knock echoed through the quiet halls of Potter Manor, startling you from your thoughts. It was late, too late for visitors. The rain outside battered against the windows like an unwelcome intruder. You hesitated for a moment before making your way to the front door, curiosity piqued and wand subtly gripped just in case.

Pulling open the heavy oak door, you were met with a sight that made you question if you'd somehow drifted into a dream or perhaps a nightmare.

"Crouch?" You uttered, eyes widening as you took in his disheveled appearance. His usually pristine hair was plastered to his forehead, rainwater dripping down his face and soaking his clothes. A dark bruise was forming around his left eye, the skin swollen and tender-looking. His nose was red, and whether from the cold or something else, it was clear he'd been through quite an ordeal.

He blinked at you, seeming just as surprised to find himself on your doorstep. "Potter.” He mumbled, but the usual sneer in his voice was absent. Instead, it sounded almost... defeated.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, a mix of concern and confusion lacing your tone.

He glanced away, jaw tightening. "Didn't realize where I was going," He shrugged. "Just walking."

"In the pouring rain? With a black eye?" You raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident.

"Brilliant observation, as always," He shot back, but the retort lacked his typical bite.

You sighed, stepping aside. "Well, don't just stand there. Come inside before you catch pneumonia."

He hesitated, pride warring with practicality, but the chill of the rain seemed to make the decision for him. He stepped over the threshold, dripping water onto the polished wooden floor. You closed the door behind him, the sound of the storm muffled but the tension between you both as palpable as ever.

You closed the door softly, turning to face him with a sigh. Barty stood there, dripping rainwater onto the polished floor, his gaze avoiding yours. Your mother was going to kill you. There was something unnervingly quiet about him, something unspoken weighing heavily in the space between you.

"If my brother sees you, he’s going to lose his mind.” You muttered, already thinking through how to avoid that particular disaster.

Barty snorted, the sound bitter but faint. "Wouldn’t be the first time a Potter tried to hex me."

"Well, I’m not in the mood to hear James shouting at two in the morning, so we’re going to avoid that, alright?" Without waiting for his reply, you grabbed his arm and began pulling him toward the stairs.

He stiffened. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you.” You hissed. "Now, shut up and follow me."

He opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it, instead allowing you to lead him up the staircase. The house creaked softly underfoot, the storm outside muffling your steps as you tiptoed toward your room. You couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder every few seconds, half-expecting James to come barreling out of his room with Sirius in a righteous fury.

When you finally reached your door, you pushed it open and gestured him inside. Barty hesitated, his eyes narrowing. "Your room?"

"Yes, my room.” You replied a bit snappily, exasperated. "Unless you’d prefer I dump you in the hall for James to find?"

He stepped inside without another word, though his posture was tense, his gaze darting around the space as though expecting a trap. You shut the door quietly behind you, casting a silencing charm for good measure.

"Sit.” You ordered, gesturing to the small chair near your desk.

Barty sat reluctantly, his wet clothes clinging to him and dripping onto the carpet. You grimaced. "You’re ruining my mum’s rug."

"Your concern is touching.” He drawled, though the usual venom was missing. He looked utterly miserable, and the bruise on his face seemed darker in the soft glow of the room’s light.

Ignoring his sarcasm, you rummaged through your wardrobe for a spare towel and tossed it at him. "Dry off. I’ll find something for you to wear so you’re not freezing to death."

He caught the towel with a raised brow. "I didn’t realize Potter hospitality came with wardrobe changes."

"Do you ever stop talking?" You shot back, digging through a drawer until you found an old jumper Sirius gave you and a pair of sweatpants James had ‘lost’. "Here. They're my brothers, but it’s better than sitting around in wet clothes."

He muttered something you didn’t quite catch, taking the clothes from you with a begrudging nod. You turned away, giving him privacy as he changed, though you couldn’t help but feel the tension in the air grow thicker with every passing moment.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter. "Why are you doing this?"

You glanced over your shoulder, finding him standing there in the oversized jumper, his wet hair pushed back from his face. Without the rain and the usual sneer to hide behind, he looked... different. Tired. Vulnerable, even.

"You showed up on my doorstep looking like you’d been through hell.” You shrugged. "I couldn’t just leave you out there."

He scoffed lightly, but there was no real bite to it. "You’re a strange one, Potter."

"And you’re still unbearable," You mumbled, crossing your arms. "But here we are."

Silence fell between you, the storm outside filling the quiet. Barty’s eyes flicked to the window, then back to you. "Your brother-”

"Will stay asleep if you keep your voice down.” You interrupted. "I’ll deal with James or Sirius if it comes to that. For now, just... sit down and rest. I’ll grab some ice for your eye."

He didn’t argue, which was strange enough in itself, sinking back into the chair and watching you as you slipped out of the room. When you returned with a cold cloth, he accepted it without a word, holding it gingerly to his swollen eye.

"Thanks.” He mused after a moment, the word sounding foreign in his mouth.

You sat down on the edge of your bed, studying him carefully. "Who hit you?"

"Does it matter?" His tone was dismissive, but you caught the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched.

"It does if you’re going to keep showing up like this.. was it your father, Junior?”

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. You sighed, leaning back on your hands. "You don’t have to tell me. But you’re not going anywhere until you’re steady on your feet, alright?"

"Afraid I’ll collapse in the rain?" He snarked, his usual smirk making a brief appearance.

"I’m afraid you’ll collapse on my doorstep and make me explain to my father why a random boy is here," You shot back.

The room settled into a fragile quiet, the storm outside providing a constant backdrop. Barty sat there, pressing the cold cloth to his eye, his face obscured by shadows and bruises. You leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees, watching him carefully. He was always so quick with a retort, so quick to lash out, and yet now he seemed... hollow, his usual sharp edges dulled by whatever had led him to your doorstep tonight.

"You’re staring.” He muttered, his voice breaking the silence.

"You’re in my room.” You countered, refusing to back down.

He huffed a faint laugh, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. "Fair enough, Potter. I didn’t exactly plan this, you know."

"You don’t say?" You deadpanned, tilting your head. "Because you seem like the type to storm through rain-soaked nights and show up unannounced."

"Better than staying where I was." The words slipped out before he could stop them, and his face darkened immediately, his jaw clenching as he turned his attention to the cloth in his hands.

You didn’t push him. Not yet. Instead, you sat back, letting the silence stretch just long enough to ease the tension in the air. When he finally looked up, his eyes met yours, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of malice in his gaze. Just exhaustion.

"I don’t understand you, Potter.” He scoffed softly, almost as if to himself. "Why are you doing this?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "You keep asking that. Do you really not get it?"

His brow furrowed. "We hate each other. Isn’t that the whole point of us? This... thing?"

"This thing? You mean our rivalry?" You huffed, raising an eyebrow. "It’s not like it’s my whole identity, Crouch. Believe it or not, I’m capable of basic human decency."

"Decency?" He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "You don’t owe me anything, Potter. Especially not that."

"No, I don’t.” You shrugged, leaning forward. "But you showed up here, soaked to the bone and bruised. I’m supposed to hate you, sure, but..." You hesitated, the words catching in your throat before you forced them out. "I don’t hate you right now."

His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to find the trap in your words. "Why not?"

"Merlin, Crouch.” You muttered, exasperated. "I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you look like a stray Kneazle someone kicked into a gutter."

His lips twitched at that, and for a brief moment, you thought he might smile. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, his expression guarded but less harsh. "Don’t pity me, Potter. That’s worse than hate."

"I’m not pitying you.” You snapped back. "But I am trying to figure out why you’re so determined to make everyone hate you, including me."

"Maybe I deserve it." His voice was so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. His usual bravado cracked further as he glanced away, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the towel.

You softened at that, the sharp edge of your retort fading before it could form. "Maybe you don’t.” You coaxed gently. "You ever think of that?"

He didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes. He looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t bring himself to let the words out. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting back to you.

"You’re annoying, you know that?" he finally muttered, shaking his head. "You’re supposed to be this... untouchable, perfect Potter. And yet here you are, making it impossible for me to hate you."

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. The air between you felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.

"You hate me just fine most of the time.” You rolled your eyes, your voice quieter now.

He laughed, but it was a hollow sound, one that didn’t reach his eyes. "Do I? Or is that just easier than... this?"

"This?" You echoed, your heart pounding as the word lingered in the air between you.

He didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes said enough. Vulnerability mixed with defiance, like he hated himself for letting you see even a glimpse of what lay beneath his carefully crafted exterior. You opened your mouth to say something, anything but the words tangled on your tongue.

"I should go.” He said suddenly, standing up and tossing the towel onto the chair. "This was a mistake."

You were on your feet before you even realized it. "Don’t be an idiot, Crouch. You’re not going anywhere like this."

"I’m fine.” He snapped, but his voice cracked, betraying him.

"You’re not fine.” You shot back, stepping closer. "And you don’t have to be."

His jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You think you know me, Potter? You don’t. You can’t just... fix me with a towel and some kind words."

"I’m not trying to fix you.” You scoffed but your voice strained, soft but firm. "I’m just trying to remind you that you don’t have to do this alone."

For a moment, it looked like he might argue again, but then his shoulders slumped, and he let out a shaky breath. "Why are you doing this?" He asked one last time, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t have an answer, not really. All you could do was reach out, resting a hand on his arm. "Because I don’t hate you.” You said finally. "And maybe I never did."

His eyes met yours, and for a fleeting moment, the storm outside seemed to quiet.

“I hate you.” He whispered softly. Testing the words on his tongue.

“That's okay.”

“I hate you.” He spoke again, more determined as his brows furrowed at you in frustration.

“I can live with that, Junior.”

“I hate you.” He spoke in his normal tone, before his shoulders fell and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I'm supposed to hate you. Why don't I hate you?”

Your heart thudded painfully at his words. His voice, usually laced with arrogance and venom, was raw now, trembling with something unspoken. It wasn’t a question meant for you. It wasn’t even a question meant for him, not really. It hung in the air, heavy with everything he couldn’t say and everything you couldn’t answer.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his words carved into you, settling in places you didn’t want to acknowledge. "Maybe you’re not as good at hating as you think," you whispered softly, your voice barely cutting through the silence.

Barty let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Oh, I’m very good at hating, Potter. Comes naturally to a Crouch. You should know- you’ve been on the receiving end often enough."

"Then what’s stopping you now?" You challenged, stepping closer, the space between you shrinking to something almost unbearable. "What’s so different this time?"

His eyes flickered to yours, narrowing as though he was trying to figure you out, to dissect every word and find its weakness. "You’re insufferable," He muttered, but his voice lacked conviction. "Always so damn persistent."

"Stop deflecting, Crouch." You didn’t give him the satisfaction of backing down, standing your ground even as his walls threatened to rebuild. "Why don’t you hate me?"

"Because I-" He stopped himself, his jaw clenching, the frustration in his expression cracking further. He turned away from you, raking a hand through his damp hair. "I don’t know, alright? I don’t know. I’ve hated you since the first day I met you, but now-" He broke off again, his shoulders tense, his fists clenching at his sides.

"But now what?" You pressed gently, your tone softer this time.

"But now it’s harder.” He admitted finally, his voice so quiet you barely caught the words. He turned back to face you, his eyes meeting yours, and for the first time, he looked completely, heartbreakingly vulnerable. "I don’t know what to do with that."

Your chest tightened, the weight of his admission settling heavily between you. "Maybe you don’t have to do anything.” You took another step closer. "Maybe it’s okay to just... stop fighting it."

His lips twitched, not quite a smirk but not a smile either. "And what exactly am I supposed to do instead?"

"You could start by letting yourself be honest.” You replied. "For once."

Barty studied you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours like he was looking for an answer he didn’t want to find. Then, almost imperceptibly, he took a step closer, the tension between you reaching a breaking point.

"Honest, huh?" He murmured, his voice low. "Alright, Potter. Here’s some honesty for you- I hate the way you do your hair. I hate the way you hold a room. I hate the way you can wipe me across the floor in a duel and still challenge me in a classroom. I hate how you never stop talking- I hate how you make me feel. I hate that you make it impossible to look at you without... without wanting something I’m not supposed to want."

Your breath hitched, his words sending a jolt through you. The room felt smaller, the storm outside nothing compared to the one brewing between you.

"Then stop pretending you hate me.” You slipped your hands into your cardigan pockets, your voice steady despite the way your pulse raced. "Because we both know you don’t."

For a moment, he didn’t move, his expression unreadable. Then, with a frustrated growl, he reached out, his hand cupping your jaw as he pulled you closer. His lips hovered just a breath away from yours, his gaze locked on yours.

"You’re infuriating," he murmured, his voice rough, almost broken. "And I don’t know if I hate you or if I-"

He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t need to. The space between you disappeared, the storm outside fading into nothing as his lips crashed against yours. It wasn’t soft or sweet- it was raw and desperate, filled with all the unspoken words and tangled emotions you’d both been avoiding for far too long.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I still might hate you.” He mused, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"That’s fine.” Your voice was breathless but steady. "I might still hate you, too."

But the way your hand lingered on his, and the way his grip on you didn’t falter but tightened, told a different story entirely.

[jals-stuff]

dudeeee orter is SOOO overworked it's crazy. man just looks like a stick and he can probably sleep while standing it's almost scary 💀 love him tho!

IKR man can probably sleep with his eyes open too, just imagine laying in bed and he's sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room with his eyes wide open but he's sleeping LMAO best sleep paralysis demon tbh. your ask did inspire me tho thank you anon ♥ just a very short one!

word count: 900 ish

Train ride.

"Are we there yeeet?"

Your voice took him out of his intense focus as he looked up from his book, golden eyes narrowing in annoyance at your childish whine. You had been Orter's teammate for about a year and a half, so he was pretty much used to it now.

"Will you stop asking? The train left less than an hour ago."

A deep sigh escapes your lips and you rest your head against the table in sheer boredom. It was your idea, after all, not to bring any distractions because what's a few hours long train trip anyway? Nothing you can't handle, or so you thought.

The two of you were on your way back to the Bureau after a long, exhausting mission that should've been mainly investigation, but had somehow escalated into a wild goose chase after the main suspect had ran away.

Your eyes shot up to look at him but his attention was already back on his book. Out of curiosity, you switched your seat and plopped down next to him to read a few lines of it— which was dumb, he was already midway through the book.

His eyes travelled to your form for a few seconds before he resumed his reading, not minding your closeness as long as you wouldn't disturb him. "Why didn't you bring a book? Or... whatever things you allow yourself to be entertained by."

You shrugged dismissively as your eyes kept carefully following the lines. How interesting is it that the human brain can make something this boring look so enticing whenever there are no other distractions around?

"It's fine... I can read your book, too."

He decided not to respond and flipped the page to keep reading. What was interesting, however, was to know what kind of books Orter likes to read, even though you couldn't really guess what the story was about right now.

"Aren't you tired?"

He adjusted his glasses on his nose and quietly cleared his throat.

"What gave you this impression?"

Answering him that "oh, your reading speed is slower than usual, your hair is just a little messy and you blink very slowly" would be admitting that you've been staring a little too long at his handsome features.

"...call it a hunch." You chuckled softly at your own thoughts and he raised an eyebrow but didn't dig any deeper.

He flipped yet another page after a while, but it was just a little too quick for you.

"Hey, hey, I wasn't done! ..let me hold the book on this side." He sighed deeply but knew very well that if he didn't abide to your tantrum, you would probably be more annoying.

So here you were, holding half of a book while he held the other part of it. Your thumb was holding the page a little deeper than necessary to make sure the book wouldn't escape your grasp or that he wouldn't try to turn a page without asking.

Another page flipped, and you found yourself quite relaxed, your shoulder resting against his, reading peacefully... until he was done with the page you were holding— or almost.

You see, your thumb was covering a small part of it, and instead of asking out loud, his hand made his way to yours and he gently brushed your thumb aside so he could keep reading.

Needless to say, you were really agitated now. You decided to let him turn the page, unable to focus on the story any further and trying to control this embarrassing blush that had crept on your face.

No questions were asked, and he flipped the page again. You tried to read the first few words again, but it now felt like you were fully aware of his shoulder against yours, of his leg against your own on the train's sofa, and of his soft sighs as he kept on reading.

You really did try to keep reading for a long time, and you realised Orter hadn't flipped the page in a while now. Was he... waiting for you? You were about to apologise for taking so long when you felt his head against your shoulder.

He hadn't let go of the book, but he was now peacefully asleep, looking very relaxed against your shoulder.

His warm, soft breathing against your neck only made you more flustered, but it was somehow extremely soothing. You carefully removed his glasses and folded them on the table.

You slowly pushed the bookmark inbetween the pages and closed the book, sliding it on the table as he let his hand fall back to his lap.

Now, to see which of you would be more embarrassed when he would wake up...

After three or so hours, his eyes fluttered open, only to be greeted with an unusually blurry vision... where were his glasses?

As he was about to reach for them, he felt some kind of weight against him and, upon further inspection, it seemed to be your limp figure, sleeping with your head on top of his.

One movement too quickly made and your head fell from his, landing on his shoulder and visibly not disturbing your sleep enough for you to wake up. You only gave a quiet groan as you softly nuzzled him.

He gave a deep sigh as he looked at you and your messy hair, eyes closed and looking so peaceful...

He mindlessly brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, gently placing them behind your ear, his thumb lingering a little against your cheek as he chuckled quietly.

He rested his head on top of yours and closed his eyes again. The ride wasn't over yet, surely he could indulge in a bit more of this temporary peace, right..?

[mukimokai]

having "childlike wonder" doesn't mean a character is "childish" or a little baby

childlike wonder is an attitude: of finding joy in the mundane and enjoying the simpler things in life. Having an inherent interest and excitement in new things, places, and experiences. Wanting to take in every detail of something, even if it's something small. It drives exploration and discovery, wanting to know how the world works and figure it all out. Having inquisitive minds. Being fascinated by the world around oneself. Being open to new perspectives.

childlike wonder doesn't mean "childish."

Yeah. I believe Alhaitham can see Aranara. It makes perfect sense because he has every quality listed above.

Yes: Alhaitham has childlike wonder. No, he is not childish. There is a distinction between "childlike wonder" and "being childish"

So can he see Aranara? Most likely yes, it's probably canon: Web events have always been that way anyway, always introducing you to the characters and their respective personalities and interactions if there are any. Web events are canon in the sense that: if the scenario happening in the event took place, this is how the character would act in said scenario.

Yes, I do think there is enough evidence he can see them just looking at his character as a whole: plus why else would the Sumeru lobby have us turn into Aranara if almost the entire Sumeru cast were adults that the Aranara don't inherently trust? The only character who would've been there in that case would've been Nahida but we had Alhaitham and Nilou as well? And it makes sense for them to be able to see the Aranara so like. I was actually completely unsurprised that Alhaitham and Nilou could see them so uhhh-

oh and also. to the ppl who say "Kaveh can't see the Aranara bcz he's traumatized" girlie. the one child in Yoimiya's quest was going through such a traumatic illness and she could still see them.

Kaveh can't see the Aranara not because he's traumatized or whatever. but because he's pushed away his past. Kaveh is actively removing himself from childlike wonder in favour of idealism: he is constantly chasing after his goals, constantly trying to do more and more, constantly striving for perfection that he forgets the mundane, everyday things in life due to the sheer amount of stress he is putting on himself on a day-to-day basis. Kaveh is also not open to new perspectives; following his own ideals to a point and shutting away anything that contradicts his ideals. He is not an inherently curious character either; we've only seen him comment on a few things that pique his curiosity (i.e. the one voice line abt lightning) but as a whole, he's not interested in much else if it doesn't have to do with the arts or things he is passionate about which is unlike Alhaitham who seems to take an interest in literally everything other than gossip.

again: childlike wonder and being childish are different things, PLEASE understand that...

i might have 50 million people come at my throat for my take on all this but like ykw idgaf: I'm entitled to my opinion and this is how i see the whole situation.

I do think people who said it's "out-of-character" for Alhaitham to see Aranara are either mischaracterizing him or they don't understand what exactly it takes for Aranara to be seen by adults. Maybe it's both; i know a lot of people skipped the Aranara quest dialogue, and, for the longest time, Alhaitham has been one of the most wildly mischaracterized characters in the fandom (and still is being mischaracterized to this day unfortunately) so idk tbh.

and ppl always say Nilou is bland so like... i don't think ppl pay much attention to her at all which is unfortunate because she's really silly actually. Nilou stan number 1 right here tbh.

idk it's just my thoughts on it: yeah I do think it can be seen as "basically canon" but I don't think it should be used to justify "omg!! hahahahah they're so childish lmaoo!! alhaitham and nilou are such babies ahahah!"

like. gen. nuh uh. what.

yes i call them babies because they're my babies but that's just bcz i like their characters, i called them that even before this whole fiasco with the aranara... so like. uhm.

this was way longer than i planned it to be. sorry for the yapfest holy.

considered not posting this but eh who cares, it's just my take lol

[verysmallcyborg]

fornax but if they were a femhroth, i did this out of sheer curiosity of wanting to see a femhroth in the seal rock coat tbh :v (they are forever an au roe, but sometimes you gotta satisfy the occasional Curiosities)

[unknowable-known]

Hello, how are you? When I know myself, can I make everyone in the world fall in love with me instantly in the way I want, even if they don't know me, even if they don't know me, even if they don't see me, even if they are famous, and can I have and experience the relationship with them in the way I want and love in the way I want and sexuality in the way I want instantly, is it all possible?

I'm gonna be generous lol, since this is my first ask ever. This will also be the only such ask I'm gonna answer. You can go to void success stories or shifting reddit or whatever if you wish to keep coping thereafter. After this ask any "manifestation" cope questions will be swiftly deleted. You can always refer to this ask!

Also, I'm great thanks for asking! And hoping this finds you well🤍

So it's a resounding YES to your question. But tbh, your question is really desperate. Such a question is completely unnecessary. You simply allow such plot lines to unfold out of sheer curiosity, you know? You don't need to be so weird about this...

Because....

And because such desperation will keep you in experiential loops....

Again, you can keep coping and begging. Or you can know yourself, understand yourself, and discern the infinite textures of yourSELF!

There's nothing wrong with the apperance of desires. They can be used to inspire experiential textures of yourSELF. Just use the mind wisely and as intended. Know yourSELF first and foremost!

[ranticore]

Chapter 2 - To Be Human

for tdov i'll post my most trans coded character, more trans than any of the others tbh. obviously it's ishmael

---

Forward by the author | Chapter 1

In a bright white room with a single large round window, a young Ishmael sits on a bed. The edge of a rock ridge curves across the view beyond the window. Ishmael looks out through the window at the sheer sides, one hand pressed to the glass so that the light diffuses red through his skin. He is twelve years old and wears a shapeless blue and green garment that does not fit him, pinching tight around his neck but loose across his shoulders. A sipho nymph flies past the window and he turns to follow it.

Voice of Maris: What was that? Did you see it?

Ishmael: Not really. Too fast.

Maris: That was one of those – what are the zoologists calling them again? It’s a different name every time I hear it.

Ishmael: Exosiphonid.

Maris: I think they’re scary. Like giant dragonflies.

Ishmael: Did Surwan see it?

Maris: Who’s Surwan?

Ishmael: This girl in the biology class. She wanted to see an exosiphonid.

Maris: I didn’t know you were in the biology class. Was it good?

Throughout the video, Ishmael does not make eye contact with Maris or the recording device. He appears to hide behind a curtain of hair and hunch in on himself while he is not looking out through the window.

Ishmael: Dan said I could join next semester. I was waiting outside.

Maris: And eavesdropping?

Maris: I think it’s admirable to want to learn. What do you want to learn about? Is there anything that interests you? I’m no biologist, really.

Ishmael: Surwan likes the flying ones, like siphos. Callum wants to learn about leviathans.

Maris: That sounds exciting. Would you like to learn about leviathans too?

Ishmael: Lee doesn’t think they’re real. He said the betas wouldn’t get made if there were monsters in the water.

Maris: I don’t think Lee is a trustworthy source on that, if you want my opinion. Would you like to find out the truth? Imagine if you were the first to see a leviathan, they might name it after you.

——

The video transcribed above is a very typical example of Maris’s early sessions with Ishmael. He appears to resist all of her attempts to get him to submit an original thought, and repeatedly refers to the Human children instead, those who are undergoing a structured education about the zoology of Siren.

Maris’s notes echo my own understanding – that Ishmael struggled to articulate anything beyond a constant wish to be included with the other children, to the point of eavesdropping on classes he was not allowed to attend.

His passing curiosity about the wildlife around the settlement served only as a means to connect with the other children. And he was repeatedly shunned for these attempts, as Callum’s diary later noted. Those children whose likes and ambitions he carefully memorised did not think of him the way he thought of them. In fact, as far as I can tell, they did not think of him at all, because he was not a peer in any real sense.

This video also acknowledges the existence of the beta generation of Sirenians, who largely resembled modern phocids, though smaller and with shorter tails. It is important to state that although modern phocids descend from this beta generation, they do not descend from Ishmael. In fact, nobody descends from Ishmael, despite legends and myths to the contrary. This was stated explicitly several times by both Ishmael as an adult and Dan Loris, but made clear to Ishmael by Maris during these sessions.

“The other children are learning about how to make babies,” Ishmael announced at a session one day. “Dan wouldn’t let me stay. He never lets me stay.”

“You don’t need to know any of that,” Maris said. “You’re different to the other kids, remember? You don’t have a body that makes babies. Honestly, that’s a pretty sweet deal if you ask me. Can we swap?”

Her attempts at reassuring him seemed to fall on deaf ears, because reminders of his differences were often poorly received by Ishmael, or ignored. He paused to think about what she said, wondering how she could envy him when all he wanted in the world was to be like her.

“How do I get one?” he asked.

“A baby?”

“A body that makes them. I asked Dan and he said the betas can do it.”

“Well, yes,” Maris said, now wondering exactly how much it was appropriate to delve into he topic. “You don’t want to be like a beta, though, do you?”

Ishmael visibly shuddered. “No! But I want to be like Callum, can Dan do that? I’m getting better at being upright, so maybe if I practice more I can change.”

Thwarting Ishmael’s one desire was the absolute fact that his genetics were set in stone, and he could not be retroactively made fully Human. These sessions reveal a seam of anxiety, too, over the beta generation. At the time there were twenty of them, living in a separate location where they had access to a test pool.

Repeatedly, during the sessions with Maris, Ishmael brings them up as a potential bad ending for him, the inverse of his great desire to become like the other Humans. Those beta phocids were less Humanoid than Ishmael himself was. He believed that by mimicking the Human children he could become more similar to them, but the opposite could also be true, and the wrong actions might cause him to degenerate into a beta phocid.

Unfortunately for him, his efforts at being ‘upright’ did not result in any permanent bipedalism. When he was fourteen, his unpredictable growth had shifted his proportions away from the more Humanlike ratio he’d been born with. He was finding it more difficult to stand up straight, instead adopting a hunched and arched posture which still left him standing taller than the children of his age whose attention he coveted. The onset of puberty and these shifts in his body were tortuous, and it was a time that lasted until his mid-thirties when he finally reached his adult size and proportions.

But there was an improvement noted by both Dan Loris and Maris – despite repeatedly displaying signs of distress and depression in his sessions with her, he was no longer wordlessly violent, and did not give himself to his rages anymore.

Maris had provided him with the one thing he needed at the time – a safe person to talk to, someone who asked him how he was feeling without taking it as some scientific data point. She reported it all to Dan Loris, of course, but did not tell Ishmael that. He believed that she was his only safe harbour in the entire world.

Maris, in her own notes, says pretty much the same. And she was fond of him, too, revealing a genuine affection towards him alongside a deep abiding worry that she was not doing enough to ease his distress, and that she could have done more. She admits that she was not a trained psychologist, just someone in the settlement who had spare time and some textbooks. Her actual job was as a water quality specialist and she was acutely conscious that she had not the qualifications nor educational background necessary to help Ishmael properly. The settlement had a number of psychologists but they were not associated with the lab and did not volunteer their time.

To pre-empt the same problems with tantrums arising in the beta phocids, Maris was also supposed to spend some time with them, too. But she discovered that, with the exception of one, they were actually rather well-adjusted compared to Ishmael, likely as a result of their group all living together and being able to form a small close-knit community. Ishmael was deprived of this.

And, most importantly, the beta phocids could see themselves reflected in their community and use their bonds as a lens to make sense of themselves. Ishmael lacked this factor, and had no reflections or counterparts that he could use to understand himself. He was isolated by being unique, and by his inability to see the phocids as anything other than strange creatures he was embarrassed to somewhat resemble.

But it’s also patently clear that Maris, and Dan Loris and the other Precursors Ishmael was in contact with didn’t do much to raise Ishmael’s opinion of the beta phocids, as evidenced by the transcript above. Perhaps if they’d thought to assuage his fears by treating the beta phocids as people worthy of dignity and understanding, he might not have feared becoming like them.

The beta phocids, for their part, were born in a similar manner to Ishmael – the same deep dream, the same delayed birth, though their bodies were ten years old by the time they emerged from their dream and took their first breaths. Ishmael had been subject to numerous digestive trials measuring the suitability of his body for life on Siren. It was found that he was somewhat lacking in the production of a digestive chemical called an enzyme which would have allowed him to better deal with the high concentrations of silica present in Siren organisms.

He could eat and digest local plants and animals, but sometimes showed signs of digestive upset. Taking this information, Dan Loris was able to tweak his beta phocids before they were born, cloning and increasing the number of cells in their bodies which could produce the appropriate enzyme. He also took samples of Ishmael’s gut microbiome, which had taken years to properly develop, and implanted those samples within the digestive tracts of the beta phocids.

They were born as a group, though not all at once, allowing for correct monitoring of the newborns during the most tenuous periods. One suffered from the most common cause of death due to delayed birth; they simply never woke up, having rejected the dream at some point over the past several years. They were removed from the amniotic chamber where they passed on, a ten year stillbirth. We might remember the legacy of ‘Ishmael’, our Ishmael who was first born on Siren, but I feel it is only right to remember ‘Charity’, the first Sirenian to die here. They were given then to the assistants of Dan Loris who performed a post mortem examination.

The others suffered no more from the effects of delayed birth than Ishmael himself did. Although their bodies were more divergent from Precursor Humans than Ishmael’s was, at the time of his birth, and the discrepancies between their dream selves and their true selves must have been more jarring, this was offset somewhat by the communal nature of their upbringing. As soon as one was deemed fully awake, aware, and of sufficient health, they were placed in the boarding chamber with the other phocids and an assigned nursery worker. The birthing process took the better part of a year, so that the last born of the delayed-birth phocids was one year ‘younger’ than the rest, despite all technically being the same age.

Cherta, who gave their name to the wandering moon, was the fifth born beta phocid. There is very little to distinguish Cherta from the rest of the group, at this early stage, but I have on file their original description - “‘Cherta’, named for a sponsor of the project who donated three million nua*. Unisex ‘phocid’ of the Beta generation. Born age 10 years and 5 months, in [Year 3]. Melanistic colouring was chosen as protection against solar radiation, but it is expressed in heterogenous patches with a strong dorsal stripe. Length 5’1 nose to tailtip at time of birth and weight 54kg. Unusually violent birth, needed sedation.” In fact, Cherta assaulted Dan Loris’s assistants as they were born, reacting to the event as though it were an invasion of the bedroom of their dream. It was by all accounts an auspicious start compared to the others, and perhaps an indication that Cherta’s experience with the deep dream was not standard.

Cherta had fallen victim to another rare phenomenon of the incubator, referred to by Dan Loris as ‘dream rot’. This occurrence is a result of differences in the receiving brain, rather than the dream machine itself. The brain begins to understand, in some form, that what it is witnessing is not reality, and the structure of the dream begins to unravel.

At the time of Cherta’s delayed birth, the dream had been in the early stages of this process. If allowed to continue for too long, permanent damage to the psyche’s ability to judge reality is the result. Cherta would be haunted by this for the remainder of their life, but it was not severe enough to significantly alter their treatment compared to the other beta phocids.

The violence of their birth began to circulate in anecdotal form, eventually reaching the ears of Ishmael. He was curious – in fact, it was the first time he showed open curiosity about anything other than the opinion of a Human child. He asked Maris if she was going to speak to Cherta too, and she told him that she had spoken to all of the beta phocids, and had given Cherta in particular some extra guidance.

He did not take it well. The realisation that Maris’s time was not solely devoted to his needs was a source of distress, and likely another painful forced grouping with the phocids he feared. He would not participate in Maris’s sessions as he had before, and appeared afterwards to despise Cherta in a way that seemed quite targeted and personal.

Maris was forced to lie – she told Ishmael that she also spoke to the Human children, thus drawing him back under the umbrella of Humankind. In the following sessions, Ishmael revealed that he had greater knowledge of the beta phocids—and Cherta in particular—than anyone had previously guessed.

“Why do they look like that?” Ishmael asked. “They don’t stand up. They’re like animals.”

“They’re adapted to move in the water, like you,” Maris said. Her voice sounded nervous. “This means they had to have short arms and long, streamlined bodies. Like an otter. They’re very graceful in the water.” She had begun to introduce a less dismissive attitude towards the phocids, even praising them at times. Ishmael would tense every time she did.

“I don’t swim,” Ishmael said.

“Well, you’re not here to swim,” Maris said. “You have other things to teach us, so Dan didn’t wanna risk you in the pool.”

Ishmael was quiet for a long time. He rarely changed his facial expression, to the point that Maris often noted that she wondered if he heard her at all, or if his facial muscles had not developed properly.

“I saw Cherta playing with the floating ball at the bottom of the pool. In the water.” Ishmael sounded somewhat disdainful. “Like a child.”

“You’re all the same age,” Maris reminded him. “And I think you’re a child too. What’s wrong with having fun in the pool? Are you jealous?” She was fascinated by Ishmael’s sudden willingness to offer his opinion, particularly as discussion of the Human children never provoked this in him.

But Ishmael didn’t answer that one. At that point, he did not want to admit to any jealousy, and likely did not consciously recognise the feeling as such. Instead, he felt annoyance - he had to spend time in the lab doing work with Dan Loris, providing test feedback, having his organs scanned, letting himself be pawed all over by technicians who did not particularly care for him, only for what data he could provide. He did not endear himself to them, his quiet and obtuse personality proving difficult to grow fond of. But he still knew that it was work, he was producing data, and the phocids were just playing around in a pool all day, as far as he could tell. He was filled with righteous indignation at their laziness, at how easy their lives were, and wished that they knew what it was like to be him, so that they might stop looking so happy any time he peered in through the test pool windows.

I have recovered video footage of this behaviour, too. At odd hours of the day, with no real schedule, Ishmael would approach those windows. They were set in the side of the corridor outside the lab, affording an underwater view to onlookers. Access to the aboveground phocid enclosure was limited, so Ishmael only had the windows. He would walk there—painstakingly upright, though often with a hand on the wall to help support what was increasingly a difficult posture—and then sit on his tail and watch. The beta phocids spent most of their time in the water, as one might imagine. Ishmael would later learn that their lives were not as blissfully relaxing as he first thought, but it is true that they spent a lot of time playing in the pool, as teenagers will do. And he would watch them, until he heard an approaching Human, and quickly retreat.

The windows did not allow the phocids to look out. Cherta was unaware that they were the target of Ishmael’s most intense scrutiny. Despite a somewhat disturbing, moth-eaten childhood dream, Cherta was, on the surface, as lively as the rest of the phocids. They weren’t exactly easygoing, though, preferring to impress upon the others the importance of following rules, and of doing things the right way.

What Ishmael did not realise was that the phocids, as they swam together, built jigsaws and played card games underwater, were providing data too. They showed Dan Loris how their body plan could deal with the aquatic environment as easily as a Human could walk around on land. And so, when Ishmael and the phocids were fifteen, Dan Loris began to build his gamma generation of genetically engineered Humans, those who would be born on Siren without the use of a deep dream, and who could be introduced to the world outside.

Long days and nights spent in the lab occupied almost all of Dan Loris’s time, and his child Callum had nowhere to go after his classes but the lab itself. And with Ishmael and Callum once again forced into close proximity to one another, Ishmael would soon learn one of the most valuable lessons of his childhood.

*’nua’ is a form of currency

[indecisive-dizzy]

Alright the Gravity Falls brain rot is kicking in (aka I watched a 4hr video overanalyzing ATOTS <3 iykyk)

So have a loosely thought out concept of a hypothetical Welcome Home x Gravity Falls au with my "Hear me out!"s This is a long one, you've been warned <3

Wally - Dipper

Sally - Mabel

Julie - Stanley

Frank - Stanford

Eddie - Soos

Barnaby - Wendy

Poppy - Abuelita

Howdy - Gideon

Home - Bill???

Ok hear me out! (under the cut) Please ignore typos <3

Very quick clarification! For this au everyone is at least in their teens and I'm gonna add their ages as I elaborate. Ok? Ok!

Gonna Start with Poppy and Eddie. In this hypothetical au Poppy is Not Eddie's grandmother. Originally I thought of assigning Poppy the role of Lazy Susan but I wanted her to have a closer connection to the rest of the cast. And Abuelita fit the role well enough for me! She's just a sweet homebody who wants to knit and bake in peace. Eddie tells her all about work and Wally and Sally visit. <3

So Poppy and Eddie live together as Roommates/Family. Poppy took Eddie in as a teen (16ish) when she was in her early 20s (22-23?) He views her as a big sister. And she views him as a little brother. Anxiety siblings <3 (yes I hc Eddie has anxiety) Eddie started working for the shack soon after being taken under Poppy's wing. He's a tad forgetful and clumsy but is a very reliable handy man and a good friend! He's got a big heart and worries about Julie sometimes.

Currently, as in the time the au takes place, Eddie is 24 and Poppy is 30-31.

Julie and Frank would in fact make a Fantastic Mabel and Dipper. Tbh I think I've seen the comparison before. Which is exactly why I'm not doing it! They're not twins here but they are childhood friends and very close in age, Frank being slightly older. Currently, Julie is 57(?) and Frank is 58(?). (Ages aren't confirmed, all I know is I want them to be A Bit younger than the Stans. Currently this would put them in their late 20s at the time of the portal incident)

I feel like people sometimes forget that Frank is not against resorting to violence lol. Which is great for post portal Ford (and maybe Paranoia era Ford. bbg was not afraid to use that crossbow.) And Julie is a girl bossing business woman! She's scamming people selling breen to the tourists! Whatever that is! Tbh Big inspo for this decision is Relativity Falls, like I said these two make for great mystery twins.

So! Wally (15) as a teenage Dipper! It's just Wally but his curiosity is bumped to 100. Still the same lil guy but he's got a hyperfixation on the supernatural and cryptids. Maybe he hasn't quite figured out his style yet, maybe he's a bit more awkward, I dunno.

He kinda didn't want to spend his summer here but ends up enjoying himself as he makes friends and gets to over indulge his curiosity.

Sally (15) is Wally's adopted sister! By sheer coincidence they have the same birthday but Sally always points out that she's older because she was "born at sunrise!" She's very adventurous and is often the one leading their escapades. I imagine she meets this aus equivalent of Candy and Grenda at the local theater. Very much wants to be her own person, separating herself from the Adopted Twins thing. Not in a bad way! She loves Wally very much but wants people to see her as Sally! Not just "Wally's Sister."

Barnaby (22) is very laid back and so is Wendy. Yeah I don't actually have a lot to say? Um. He does the bare minimum work but is a good friend to Julie. He's real observant and can tell she's not always as bubbly as she seems But she's also his boss so he doesn't pry. Instead just offering a distraction or a rare bit of advice..

Oh! There's a parallel with him and Wally and Wendy and Dipper. Except Wally just wants to be friends with Barnaby but doesn't quite know how to communicate that. Maybe he just kinda follows him around the shack hoping to figure out what to say?

Thinking their relationship is literally the recent quote from Clown's Q&A: "Barnaby meeting Wally felt like business as usual, and Wally meeting Barnaby felt like meeting the whole world." yeah that's it. Sums it up Perfectly <3 Wally thinks Barnaby is really cool and friendly. And he wants a friend who treats him like he's mature. Like he's 15, not 5. And Barnaby does that right out the gate. Calls him kid but obviously doesn't treat him like a small child.

Ahem. Capitalism. Howdy's (21) a filthy capitalist and wants the shack for Profit. I don't think he'd resort to literal breaking and entering to get the deed? Can't make Profit from jail if he gets caught. But he's definitely trying to buy the property off of Julie. Maybe we stray further from Gravity Falls canon and say he gets an early redemption bc I'm a sucker for this goof. It would be sometime after taking the shack (and losing it.) Oh but he does summon the Evil. Can't break the law if the law doesn't account for Interdimensional Demons!

On that note, Yes Howdy could be Stanley. But again. That's the easy way out! Also in my brain that would make,, idk Barnaby? Ford. And I couldn't do that.

Ok final (wh) character. Home. So I'm on the side of Home Isn't Evil/The Antagonist. He's just a guy (house)! A sassy fella! But someone's gotta be the Eldritch Horror and Unfortunately, Home,,, well he's a lil quirky!

But idk How to incorporate Home. They speak in onomatopoeias! They're a house! Is Home now a Vague 2D House Shaped Demon? Do the have Limbs? Wear a top hat? Do they talk now? Home speaking words feels cursed. But I genuinely don't what else to do? Maybe we suspend our disbelief and they still talk through banging shutters. Everyone just understands them bc Cartoon logic pffff maybe they have subtitles projected into your brain that only you can see idk lol.

So obviously there's Way more GF characters than there are WH characters. insert characters [(y/n)] aren't my thing for aus so that's a no go for me personally. I imagine the town is filled with characters we've heard of outside the neighbors (Ma Beagle of course lives in town.) Maybe some of Howdy's family is here who knows. And the rest would be randos or ocs I guess! Tho I don't believe Julie's siblings are in town.

Anywho this is all hypothetical and I made it up and retyped things as I went along. I wanted to ramble some nonsense so I did! If you read it, Awesome! You sure did that!

[eri-pl]

Ok, so I have a very silly and probably barely applicable question, but what with Morgoth-canary and I think I remember a post where you said you had very strong opinions about Maglor's voice (I don't remember them, it was one of those "blink and it's gone" posts of my feed ! But I'd like to read them if you feel like it - although I don't know the first thing about music so it's just really sheer curiosity), so I was wondering if you had thoughts about Morgoth's voice ? What could Ainuric voices be like ? And did taking permanent physical form affect his voice ? Probably, right ? He wouldn't have been able to modulate/change it quite as much as before, maybe be stuck with a classically villainy "evil" one ? And then in the void he would have no voice anymore.

Ooooh! Thank you for this question, it's great!

First, Maglor. He is a bass. Well, not really, because I'm certain that Elves have wider vocal ranges, but his speaking voice is rather low, and his singing voice is varied, but can go super low, vibrations-in-your-bones low, and his songs are generally low on pitch. Like the sea. The sea does not squeek.

This is one of the headcanons I will argue about. I am rather strong in my opinions about Maglor. I would rather agree on "Maglor in the Darkness Everlasting"* than on tenor Maglor.

Oh, so now to the king of fools, lord of nothing, Melkor in his various iterations. Starting back when he wasn't such an idiot yet. Standard Morgoth content warning: we'll be doing a short recap of his history. No details, just allusions to events.

So, Ainulindale. which is my favorite chapter. Melkor was the greatest of the Ainur, which means, I think, he had a relatively wide vocal range, well wider than all the other Ainur.

But also, he was a little bint (word thanks to dfw), and taking into account all the band kid stereotypes… OK, tbh I know exactly one professional soprano, who also plays violin, and she's really nice and the only other things she's got in common with Melkor are the fear of spiders and cool hair. But, this being said, the personality stereotypes say that Melkor should be a soprano.

The Ainur's voices aren't gender-coded, I would say. If they even had the idea of gender at that point.

So, he can do many things, but he generally sings in a high pitch, because this makes everyone notice him.

Also, musically... so, this is that thing called chromatic notes. It's a think that jazz does (and I love jazz, I have mental associacions with jazz that would make tolkien chase me with an axe, but let's not digress). Like: when you compare Chopin to Mozart; Chopin is way more chromatic.

So, Melkor doesn't do it. He sings his own dumb melody, which is in a dissonance to everyone else initially (which means it is chromatic in the context of the whole Music), but internally it is simple. It is fifths, lates I would say he just repeats one note on and on, just in many octaves. And the note is probably B. Or maybe G flat.

OK, in non-musical terms: imagine someone is playing a piano (in a normal, mostly-white-keys way), and someone else is banging on the black keys, and then only on all the Gb keys. It's loud but primitive. And doesn't fit until you go Chopin and everything becomes lyrical and so sad, and then he can't really break it, I can't explain it well.

TLDR: Extremely simple harmony, but loud and not in the normal key.

Also, I wanted to talk about power chords but I don't think you want another musical tangent. (They're not as cool as they sound, they're empty-ish inside but it kinda works in the context)

Then they all go to Arda and at some point begin speaking properly. Iirc it's only after the Elves, but I assume the Ainur did have some sounds associated with them even before.

So Melkor's general sound landscape would again be empty inside. Some very loud tones, because they feel majestic: thunder rumbling, ice grinding, earthquake and the murmur of volcano, you can feel it in your bones and it's terryfying. Some very high tones, because they are effective and hard to miss. Evil screeching. No middle tones, because he's an idiot he finds them boring. Empty shell, like an epic movie soundtrack compised by a first-year student of music school and played on a midi. All the trappings but none of the actual work.

His voice, during the Black Rider phase would be similar. Low and rumbling and terryfying, but everytime he gets emotional it becomes high-pitched and has this infuriating timbre of when people talk with a very tense throat. It makes him sound insecure. Because he is. And when beaten by Tulkas he screams like this.

Then we have the parole and I do hc that he actually meant to be better, only he imagined it like "I stop breaking your stuff, and messing with the little beings, and you start listening to me like you listen to Manwë (= you do all I want you to do)" and was not really interested in putting in the effort. So the whole idea broke at the first problems (the city is so pretty, not everyone likes me, Feanor).

Anyway in his Aman phase I imagine Melkor with relatively low voice, but not so low it's weird. He fits in the nornal Elven spectrum. Baritone? Getting higher with the pitch when needed, but rarely he would let his emotions show enough to go very high.

Also, the sweet manner of talking that Sauron had as Annatar or in Numenor, but not so self-deprecating. Less of a "I'm but a humble servant" and more of "I am pretty cool, hey, want to do cool things with me?" The general vibe of a bad boy in a teenage romantic drama. Elongated syllabes, using all the most recent and fashionable Noldorin mannerisns (sa-si all the way!). Also, a lot of whispering, when he spreads the gossip and what not. "Sexy voice" but with his lack of understanding and respect for bounduaries it often feels creepy.

Then he grows more and more sinister, more focused on revenge against the Noldor (well, Feanor) and the Valar. His voice becomes more like a low-key Disney villain. The pitch is unchanged, but the tone is full of suggestions of subtext. It's never clear, but a lot of insinuations are hanging in the air. this kind of slithery, musical intonation in a sentence, elongating of wovels, slightly question-like tone too often. (I can't give you a good example, Scar would be a good example, but only in the Polish dub)

Then he does the Ungoliant business and gets stuck in his Dark Lord form. So, I would say low, booming voice, but flat (=not many overtones, the voice sounds shallow). Loud and with echo, but somehow not as majestic as he would like it. And when he gets scared or lusty or anyhow agitated, he starts talking faster and in a higher voice and with clenched throat.

And he gradually deteriorates, due to Silmarils and general awfulness, and his voice becomes more raspy, more noisy. At the end it's impossible to ascribe a set pitch to it, just like to white noise. Still it doesn't have tones in the middle, but the highs and lows are a mess, and closer to each other, the lacking middle is more narrow. And he doesn't speak much near the end, he's not that interested in any communication. Especially after trying to talk (ekhm) with Lúthien ended like it did. His voice rusts.

And at the end it's just panicked screams that sound more like ….not even an animal. More like a mindless dark creature than like a person. Switching between threats and pleading and pure panic, always full of hatered and disdain. Loud but always so very flat.

And then, upon hearing all those screams, Manwë realizes that the brother he remembers is gone, and that he can't do anything about it— how can you do a reprise without one of the main singers? And even if you could, how can you be happy forever missing someone you love? He doesn't know. I don't know. I am sad.

On one hand the very idea of Second Music is so wonderful and answers so many questions and Aegnor and Andreth and Elrond and Elross and all that and more— and I can't imagine Manwë thinking about this idea and not thinking at the back of his head "my brother won't be with us" and not being sad. I am not saying it's not possible. Just that I can't wrap my mind around it. Or my feelings.

Yes, this is one of my attractors, one of the topics I usually land on. Because. Reasons. Which I will not ramble about because they are personal. But it does make me sad. A lot.

I have some scenes in my head when people Valar talk about this, Nienna obv, she doesn't get it either, many people would probably say she would get it idk

Anyway that's it. That's the post. Sorry it's not more concrete.

[kny-agere]

Omega, Cg! Tomioka & Little! Nezuko

Tbh this isn’t very omegaversey but I still enjoyed it! So I hope you guys do to :)

★彡☆彡★彡

Giyuu felt nervous being left alone with Nezuko. Everyone seemed to have some unfounded faith in him that he could do a good job caring for the girl. Even Tanjiro said he wouldn’t have to worry if Tomioka was there.

It was fair to say that he certainly wouldn’t let Nezuko be harmed, not intentionally, but the man didn’t know much about children. In fact all the knowledge he had was from his own childhood.

Currently the girl seemed content to lie on the floor and stare upwards. She had immediately crawled out or her box upon arrival, spreading out on the tatami soon after.

Giyuu thinks about calling someone for help. Mitsuri or Rengoku or Shinobu would be much more suited for a job like this. Though he already knows what the most common response would be. “Lean into your Omega side and let your instincts guide you!” Which he does try for a moment. Giyuu closes his eyes and attempts to feel some sort of urge tugging at his heart.

It’s a silly thought and if anything he ends up even more confused. Nezuko doesn’t look like she needs anything at all. Tomioka ends up sitting on the couch behind her, standing by in case he is needed.

For a long time she does not. In his stillness the man nearly falls asleep. The couch is comfortable and he’s fallen asleep in worse conditions. Though just as his eyes sink shut there’s a loud ‘clunk’ sounding from below.

Nezuko has sat up too quickly a bumped her head on the table. The bruise forms and immediately fades but the girl still starts to whimper. Tears well in her eyes and she shuffles towards Giyuu.

He is still a little lost and doesn’t move until the girl climbs onto the couch. Hesitantly Giyuu pats the young girls head and smooths back her hair. She seems happy with the touches and nuzzles into the man’s side, eventually climbing into his lap. From there she locates his scent gland and inhales deeply.

Tomioka is not scented often. Since the death of Sabito and departure from Urokodaki it’s only happened once or twice. People often say he has only a faint smell of salt and earthy rain. It’s not the traditional soft scent an omega would have.

Still little noises begin in the back Nezuko’s throat until she’s purring and attempting to burrow into Giyuu. Her whole chest vibrates.

The man’s arms move on their own until he’s clutching her tightly. When she lets out a pleased hum he feels less guilty about the sudden attack. The girl still has the unpresented pup scent of milk and baby powder. It’s untainted by her demon nature.

Cautiously the man undoes the ties of her bamboo muzzle. He doesn’t fear her fangs and the wood is uncomfortable pushed into his neck.

As Giyuu places the mouthpiece to the side Nezuko pulls back to give him a wide smile. Her dagger sharp teeth are cute rather than threatening. She opens her mouth a few times, getting used to the free feeling. Though once her curiosity has been satiated the girl goes back to curling up in Tomioka’s lap. Giyuu relaxes slightly and spends him time combing through her hair. With the length and sheer volume of it some parts have gotten rather tangled.

His hands move without thinking. Tomioka isn’t entirely sure how much time passes while he works. Each knot is carefully undone. A few times Nezuko grunts when his fingers pull too hard but mostly she is happy with the attention.

Once her hair is compiled into a single smooth sheet Giyuu still doesn’t stop. He weaves her hair into delicate braids. His skills are rusty, he hasn’t braided since he was a pup, helping Tsutako get ready in the mornings. While the man moves slowly he’s still able to remember the intricate fashions from his youth. As he finishes the plait Giyuu undoes his own hair. He uses the tie to secure everything. The thin braids hold themselves together, though the large piece they morph into is tied with the band. The twist shortens her hair as well, rather than dipping down past her waist the gathering stops mid-back.

Nezuko sits back up and touches the finished result. Another smile graces her features. While she can’t offer words of approval she claps her hands together. Another loud purr sounds from the girl. The praise makes Giyuu’s chest rumble as well. He isn’t aware of the action until the noises reaches his ears. The subtle feeling draws Nezuko back in to enjoy the soft vibrations.

With the soft feeling of Tomioka’s arms around her it doesn’t take her long to fall asleep.

Giyuu feels frozen at first. He worries any shift or hiccup will wake her. Eventually however lying in the same position drags him into slumber as well.

[rashomonss]

“I would sell my soul for a bit more time with you…” with Barbatos, please!

I mean, it fits kind of perfectly with him, amiright?

omg it so does fit, and tbh if it’s one thing i love more than smut with barbs is angst with him (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

So sorry for the late reply to this I’ve been going through it lately but I’m finally good now! (I think) anyway enjoy! ♡

just a few more moments of your time…

Humans were fascinating.

Barbatos knew that much. However he never expected himself to get attached to a human; let alone the exchange student his lord brought to the Devildom.

So just what was it that was drawing him to them? It could possibly have been the persistence they had, to develop a better relationship with him, or maybe just sheer curiosity on his part, as to why everyone adored them so much.

No matter the case, Barbatos soon found himself swept off his feet by their presence as well.

He can’t recall the exact moment he started developing a fondness for them, but he can recall how his heart felt.

Whenever they’re near he can’t help but feel slightly nervous. Slightly more conscious of how he presented himself. It’s been so long since he ever felt such a way, so in a sense he enjoyed these giddy emotions you brought on.

At this specific moment in time he was in fact, truly happy, which of course shocked him at first. He had always prioritized Diavolo’s life and emotions above his own, so in turn he never felt the need to prolong his happiness. But of course, that all changed when you had come into his life.

He had truly enjoyed every moment he could spend with you. Ranging from you helping him in the kitchen to tea dates in the human realm, and especially intimate moments privately in his room. Barbatos wanted more of your time, he wanted more of your touch, and he wanted more of you.

He was content on spending more time with you, and he was overjoyed when you felt the same. So because of this a conversation arose and it was only then did he realize how truly different humans were from demons.

It was a subject he never thought would bring up a topic he wasn’t fond of but here you both were.

“Those tea leaves are truly divine. They’re absolutely perfect, down to the aroma and even flavor. I’d love to make some for you if I had the chance” Barbatos explained, as he ranted on to you with a small smile across his face.

You had laid your head peacefully on his lap as ran his gloved fingers through your hair and talked to you about tea and whatnot. There were times when Barbatos was talkative, and now happened to be one of those moments. Once you got him started with tea he ended up having a hard time trying to stop himself, it’s not that you minded though. Since you found his voice to be very soothing in general.

“I’d love to try them, but honestly any tea you make will always taste lovely” you smiled, letting your face fall into his thighs.

Barbatos smiled at your response and brushed a piece of hair from your face. “I promise to make you a cup when the next petals are harvested.”

“I can’t wait, when will that be?” You replied looking up towards him.

“In about a hundred years or so, the leaves are of high quality so they take time to be produced. However, the longer and more patient the tea leaves take to be made, the more exquisite the taste.”

This time you hadn’t replied to his statement. Instead your eyes fell on his beaming smile and you sighed in response. “Yeah I’d love to try them…”

The second the response left your mouth you wished to take it back, to tell him that you wouldn’t be able to, and he probably knew that as well. Barbatos was so caught up in the moment and the true excitement he felt to introduce you to something he loved that he hadn’t realized you wouldn’t even live to see it.

The conversation between the two of you continued however Barbatos soon realized you had become disengaged with the conversation long after the tea leaves had been brought up. He wanted to question you but couldn’t find the words to ask about your indifferent expression or the way your smile strained when he tried to cheer you up.

A few more moments of silence passed and Barbatos sighed moving a stand of hair out of your face again. “What’s wrong my dear? You seem to be upset in some way? Was it perhaps something I said?”

Your eyes went wide and you sat up slightly looking him in the eye. “No, no it’s not you, I assure you. It’s just…” you replied, then stopped yourself. Would he think you to be dramatic if you were still caught up on the whole tea leaves ordeal? You doubted it. This was Barbatos after all, he always understood, but a part of you really wanted to spend all the time you possibly could with him.

You had opted by beating around the bush about how to bring up the topic again, however before you could finish Barbatos picked up on what you were meant.

The thought stunned him for a minute but how could he possibly forget such an important factor? Humans have limited life span, that was just how they were created. He wanted to curse the shortened timeframe they had but nonetheless understood. That was the way of life, many different species have different concepts of time.

Yes he knew this, after all he deals with time itself.

Even with him knowing this factor why did it still create a hole in his chest when he pondered the thought of you leaving this world. What worried him the most was the thought of you leaving him.

Humans and demons grow older at different rates, with that in mind he couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving him alone. After it took him so long so find someone such as you.

If only you could stay with him. If only he could prolong your life slightly, even if it was just for another century. He didn’t want to think about saying goodbye just yet, not to someone he gave his whole heart to.

“I would sell my soul for a bit more time with you.”

Barbatos spoke, grabbing you softly by the waist. While moment was endearing you didn’t want him to give up a part of himself just so you could stay alive longer.

“I can’t accept that Barbatos. I don’t want you giving up a part of yourself for me” you replied, sighing softly.

“But MC if possible I’d like to prolong our time as much as possible”

You shook your head then looked back up to him. “As would I but I’m not going to let you do that for me. If we’re not able to spend any more time together then using the time we spend now I want to focus on the memories we make currently, rather then the ones we could possibly make in the future.”

“Even if we don’t have that long of a future left together I want to spend it like we have all the time in the world” you spoke, flashing him a smile.

The butler hugged you tightly without a word. If you wanted to spend the rest of your time with him then he couldn’t be more happy to spend whatever time he could with you.

Like you had mentioned even if you didn’t have all the time in the world it would be better to focus on what is in front of you rather then the future you both have together. He was going to make sure you felt as if you had all the time in the world, even if deep down he was terrified at the thought of saying goodbye.

[thesapphicdiaries]

an unhealthy obsession ;; ellie w. x abby a. x reader ;; pt. 1

and i'll get done for somethin' stupid like disturbance of the peace. | (ghostface au)

NOTES: this is entirely self indulgent tbh ,,, but fuck it !! we ball. future chapters will b linked here <3 reblg if u want to be tagged idk that's it. modern au btw. ellie might be a little ooc? for the sake of the au

TRIGGERS: murder but it happens offscreen + blackmail under the threat of violence n manipulation. there's also smoking wed

You'd be the first to admit your interests tended to ebb on morbid.

Maybe, you muse, it had to do with the source of your upbringing: Jackson. It was a stereotypical small town, where, cliché as it was, everybody knew everybody. The town's history was clean as a goddamn whistle. While places like Seattle— Abby's hometown— were a hotspot for crime due to the sheer amount of people making it slightly harder to get caught unless you were a goddamn idiot, with the close proximity of everyone within Jackson from Dina to Tommy Miller, any crime you could commit would be shut down by the local police force in a month at most.

At least— that was what you thought.

So, you indulged your macabre curiosity elsewhere: you binge watched slashers despite your parents' vehement protests and you researched the violent happenings that often took place outside your sheltered hometown. Hell, you'd even indulged in one of those stupid fucking murder mystery games with some of the allowance you'd managed to spare that wasn't spent on various branded paraphernalia... and the other kind, but nobody needed to know that.

You weren't exactly surprised at how others seemed to be creeped out by you: Friday the 13th wasn't exactly a commonplace interest. Even so, you'd managed to make a few close friends whom you considered enough to get you by.

You jolt as your locker slams shut beside your head, and Abby's cackling is all too familiar.

"Fuckin' dick," you groan, feigning your exasperation— you'd finished putting your stuff away, anyway. "What happened to 'hello'? 'How was your day, Y/N?'"

"Your day's always the same," Abby provides helpfully, and you roll your eyes. "You wake up, come to school, indulge the same 3 people—" Her, Ellie, and Dina— "in the same rotation of conversations until they leave, go home, get violently high, watch whatever weird slasher your fancying that night, and then go to bed."

You blink owlishly. "Got my schedule memorized down pat there, Abs. You been stalking me?" You smirk, playfully, but your brow arches when she falls suspiciously silent. "Uh... alright."

"Anyway, you're having a change of plans," Abby finally says, and your eyes widen as you pipe up to speak. "You'll still get violently high and watch a slasher, don't worry. You'll just be gracing me and Ellie with your company while you do." She finishes, and you fall silent.

'Alright," you mutter. "Do I get to pick the slasher, or are you gonna pick some cornball shit like Chopping Mall?" You huff. Abby begins to answer, but your phone suddenly chimes with a notification from your news app.

Local man found dead from apparent stabbing.

Your mouth falls open slightly as Abby reads the headline over your shoulder. You fail to notice her nervous expression.

"Huh," you mutter, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. "Something interesting finally happened in this town. Neat."

-

The choice in film, much to your chagrin, was Chopping Mall. Fortunately, you were too far gone to care.

Your head lolled of the side of the bed, your back strewn across Ellie's legs as you barely manage to register the words spewing from her mouth as you take another hit from the blunt she'd rolled.

"I just don't get how you like these," she complains. "I mean, it's the same damn formula every time. Does it not get boring?"

"That's the pointtttt," you groan. "The more formulaic they are, the better. Sure, some newer takes can be good: but sticking to the classics is a good play. Better safe than sorry." You wave off her concerns.

"Well, look at this little flim critic," Ellie teases as she stares at Abby, who's staring blankly at the ceiling. You'd never fail to find her lower tolerance hilarious.

"I mean," you and Ellie wait patiently through Abby's long pause. "They're right. Formulaic can be good. Patterns are more predictable— easier to keep up." She says, and you notice her and Ellie share a look.

"But they can also suck," she hisses. "Because if you're predictable, it makes it easier to connect. Like, in these movies how they're always killing off dumb, blonde bimbos— you can tell they're all copying eachother." She complains. You squint at the both of them, but don't comment on the subject.

"There's no right answer," you shrug. "I just find the middle ground. Sure, it's predictable, and boring. But it's also the safe call to make. People criticize these movies, but they make fuckin' millions. The original ones get better reviews, but they end up falling flat in the box office."

You don't realize Ellie and Abby's argument isn't referring to movies in the slightest.

"You sound way too fuckin' smart for the both of us," Ellie says, and you snort.

"It's because I am," your eyes flash toward Ellie's clock. "Shit. I gotta go. Parents will kill me if I'm not home soon." You shoot upward, trying to adjust to your surroundings. You cannot come home looking high out of your fucking mind. "See you guys later."

You watch as the two of them give you a halfhearted wave, and once you shut the bedroom door, you chalk up the strange shuffling to... something you don't want to know, honestly.

You don't realize it's much worse than you thought.

-

You surmise the punishment for being late is slightly lesser than the punishment for coming home inebriated, so you take the risk to sober up in a nearby alley between a convenience store and a small restaurant.

The alley is lit up by string lights and decorated with a few benches— perfectly habitable, and it's not what scares you— what does set you on edge is the unchecked darkness of the forest beyond the alley.

You elect to ignore the unease in your stomach, instead taking a hearty swig of the water you'd bought from the convenience store before coming outside. The tension in your shoulders almost releases, then—

You hear a scream.

A bloodcurdling scream.

Every nerve in your body tells you to run the opposite direction of the plea for help, every goddamn slasher you've watched over the years telling you playing the hero always gets you killed, but it's not heroics that lead you toward the source of the noise.

It's that same morbid curiosity that gets you watching slashers in the first place.

The noises grow louder as you draw nearer, and your eyes widen as you stifle a gasp when you see the bloodied body of Nora lying at the feet of two masked killers. You sigh in relief when you realize the treeline obscures you from view, but the noise comes out far too loud.

It hits you just how fucked you are.

You've made a few essential mistakes in the laws of survival so far, but you're not stupid enough not to run: you make a mad dash, but in a sick (and ironic) twist of fate, you trip over your abandoned water bottle and wince as the solid trunk of a tree collides against with your head with a loud thunk.

Through the blurry haze that is your vision, you see the two killers standing right in front of you. You prepare for the worst, when—

"Y/N?"

Oh, shit.

"El?" You hear the panicked rambling of another woman. "Abs? What the FUCK!?"

You almost kick out when Abby covers your mouth with a gloved hand, but know better than to get violent with the woman twice your size with a fucking hunting knife to boot.

"Ellie, El, this is bad." Abby's voice is shaking. "What the Hell do we do, man?"

The forest falls painfully silent.

"Well," Ellie finally begins. "The best course of action? Kill the witness." You whimper, and mentally hit yourself for showing any vulnerability. "But," she continues. "On the other hand, I kind of like this one."

You will Abby to take her hand off your mouth with a pleading look.

"So," you hiss. "What's your plan, here? I don't have all night. Either get this over with and slit my throat or hurry the fuck up."

Ellie grins. "I've always liked that you were a little feisty, Y/N."

"I said," you grit your teeth. "Hurry up."

"Here's the deal, darling," Ellie tilts your chin up with the hilt of the knife. You look away. "You help us out. And we don't kill you." She wrenches your head forward, just enough to look her in the eyes. "You say no, or you rat us out," she mutters, lowly. "And we slit your throat. Deal?"

It hits you there's not a lot of options on the table. You glance over at Abby, clearly the more emotionally charged of the two, and wonder if you can bargain with her. But, you decide, she's probably just as crazy as Ellie or too scared to say no if her going along with this in the first place was any indication.

And, a darker part of you whispers, you wonder how it must feel, if they're willing to do such heinous things.

Finally, you assent with a shaky nod.

"Alright," you wrench your gaze away again.

"I'll help you."

WC: 1.5K

[nickeverdeen]

Could I request an Arcane match up?

I'm a 5'0 trans guy, studying creative writing and with a diploma in childcare. I love writing, making collages and baking when I'm able to. I also love playing video games, even if I really suck at them.

I'm pretty badly chronically ill, I essentially have the flu 24/7, and I'm severely mentally ill with complex ptsd, which mainly means I can't control my emotions at all and have a tendency to overreact and I struggle with hella nightmares. I also have autism, adhd and just a niiice long list of shit going on! But it's okay we ball

I love pink, sanrio and generally soft things. I used to do taekwondo and love running before I got sick, and I also used to paint and love studying before I got sick too, though now I can't do any of the above since I'm in a wheelchair if I leave the house and I struggle to retain new information.

I have a real deep love for CaitVi tbh.. only thing that could get between me and my bf is a poly with them 🙏 so scared for the next season tbh

I've been described as the human version of fluttershy, but I've also been described as very stubborn and sarcastic. I generally have to be reliant on others due to my health, but I love people very very deeply

I'm looking for romantic match ups, out of sheer curiosity, and also because I have arcane ocs I ship with certain people and I'd be curious to see who they'd be matched up to.. I just feel a bit weird asking for my ocs to be matched up LOL

Your Arcane match is…

Viktor

Viktor would love hearing about your creative writing and would often ask to read your work, offering thoughtful feedback

He’d see your words as a window into your soul and cherish them deeply

Aware of your physical limitations, Viktor would design small gadgets to make your daily life more comfortable

He’d do it subtly, ensuring you never feel pitied

He would encourage you to take breaks when your health limits your activities, reminding you that rest is an act of strength, not weakness

Viktor might initially be unfamiliar with your love for Sanrio but would grow to adore it

You’d catch him researching characters to surprise you with themed gifts

He’d make sure your shared space is filled with cozy blankets, plush pillows, and calming lights, creating a sanctuary for both of you

Viktor, though reserved about his own struggles, would find solace in opening up to you about his insecurities, knowing you’d never judge him

After a nightmare, Viktor would hold your hand or softly hum while you ground yourself, offering quiet, unwavering support

Your stubbornness and sarcasm would amuse Viktor, and he’d counter with his dry wit, creating playful banter that lightens heavy moments

When you feel overwhelmed by your emotions, Viktor would remind you that it’s okay to feel deeply, offering calm words and a safe space to process

Your love for collages would inspire Viktor to collaborate with you, combining your artistic touch with his meticulous design to create something meaningful

He’d eagerly join you in baking, even if he’s not particularly skilled

His attempts at decorating cookies would make you laugh until your sides hurt

Despite being analytical, Viktor wouldn’t excel at video games either, but playing together would become a beloved pastime filled with laughter and learning

Knowing you love running and taekwondo but can no longer participate, Viktor would find ways to bring the joy of movement back into your life, like scenic wheelchair strolls or virtual fitness games

Viktor would notice your needs before you voice them, from fetching water during a coughing fit to gently guiding you to rest when you’re overexerted

Both of you have faced significant challenges, and your relationship would thrive on the mutual recognition of each other’s resilience and determination

You’d spend evenings cuddled on the couch, Viktor engrossed in his work while you write or make collages

The quiet companionship would be a balm for your souls

Viktor would integrate subtle pink elements into his workspace to match your aesthetic, from a pen holder to small Sanrio-themed decorations

Your love for learning, though hindered by your health, would inspire Viktor to create innovative ways for you to absorb information, like audiobooks or interactive tools

Viktor would fiercely advocate for your needs, whether in a medical setting or navigating daily life, ensuring your voice is heard and respected

Despite both of your struggles, Viktor’s love for you would be steadfast, rooted in admiration for your kindness, creativity, and determination

[wordholic]

out of sheer curiosity,

given that it’s a physical fight (magic allowed) and the mcs have their own squads to back them up. i feel like TE mc and pend pals is pretty op tbh

[stylecouncil]

the one peter/libertines book I’ve never bought is the one his mom wrote because it just makes me feel dirty tbh like even secondhand I’m like I don’t want this in my home. but maybe I’ll cave out of sheer curiosity/to make myself upset who knows.