#which would translate to an 'accurate people reading' only if it's the people ey has been dealing with his whole life up to this point

[homeless202]

i just know this hurt Eunyung more than we're led to believe. he was absolutely convinced he was right seeing how quickly he agreed to the bet. him being wrong about a person's true intentions/ulterior motives must've stung bc 1) he's typically good at reading people so this is him basically failing at one of the 'few good skills' he has and 2) bc Haejoon's uncle being a decent upstanding person proves that good people do exist, Eunyung just never had the privilege of meeting them.

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 [𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 | 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐚𝐧 | 𝐃𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐠]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: Blade, Jing Yuan, Dan Heng x fem!reader

Warnings: just a little cute fluff.

Summary: by the will of fate, you both found yourself in a snow-covered Belobog on the eve of the New Year, and it seemed funny to you to offer your lover to fool around and play snowballs.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. Eve - 白雪

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

I hope these small sketches will awaken the New Year mood in those people who haven't yet been overtaken by it! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳​ˋ)੭✧

✦ Blade

The Stellaron Hunter didn't understand at all what you were offering him and why you were crushing snow in your hands. He decides to just ignore you, continuing to walk back to the walls of Belobog to return to the room and warm up, which, of course, doesn't suit you at all, and only encourages you to catch your brazenly indifferent lover by surprise.

Blade sighs in displeasure when your footsteps fade behind him, forcing him to turn around.

— Y/N, are you coming or…

What an accurate hit! Blade's grumbling is drowned out by a clod of snow flying directly into his face, and you both freeze for a few seconds, but each for a different reason. You suddenly realize what just happened, because you were aiming at Blade's back, and now the only thing you can do is just pray that he doesn't get too angry.

— Oh… S-sorry, Blade… — you cover your lips with your hands frozen from the snow, muttering your apologies uncertainly and watching the lumps of snow slowly fall off Blade's face.

The Hunter himself froze only because he was thinking in his head what he should do with you.

You step back when Blade raises his hand, brushing the snow from his eyes, which instantly open, fixing his menacing gaze on you.

— Hey, you're not mad, are you? I didn't mean to, I just wanted to scare you, and you turned around, that's it.… You wouldn't kill me right before such an important holiday, would you?

The Hunter didn't say a word, silently closing the distance between you and abruptly wrapping his arms around your waist. You only had time to squeal when the gate of Belobog turned upside down in front of your frightened eyes, and the body plopped into the nearest snowdrift.

— What the fuck, Blade?! — you are indignant, but you can't help laughing when you raise your head, meeting the stern gaze of the man looming over you, in whose hair and cheeks there are still snowflakes that have not had time to melt.

— I thought you should cool down your childish ardor a little.

— Oh, come on! — you giggle, throwing another hastily made snowball at Blade's chest.

— I guess I'll just leave you here since you're having so much fun, — the Hunter sighs before turning around and heading towards the gate, leaving you behind.

— Hey! — you're floundering in the snow in a pathetic attempt to get your ass out of a snowdrift, but you're only burrowing deeper. — Blade, wait! Help me up!

Although you can't see it, when Blade stops, the corners of his lips lift slightly, and a smug grunt leaves his chest. Let's see what you can offer in return for his invaluable help.…

✦ Jing Yuan

— Hey, look, he looks so much like you! — you giggle, running up and sitting down in front of a lonely sleeping bear in the snow.

— Ha-ha! And what do I have in common with him? — Jing Yuan chuckles, stopping behind your back and watching you gently poke the nose of a sleepy little animal.

— Whenever I come to your place of work, you always look exactly the same.

— Oh, honey, do you really think I'm such a bum? — the General awkwardly rubs the back of his head as you straighten up and turn around, standing on tiptoe to get a closer look at his shameless honey eyes.

— It's not just my opinion, believe me. You really are a bum, Jing Yuan!

— Unfortunately, I can't agree with you, honey. I can prove that I'm conscientiously fulfilling my duties, but do you have any evidence of my idleness? — the General smiles softly, tightening the scarf around your neck.

— Oh, I have a thousand proofs! A whole gallery of photos of how you shamelessly sleep at work! But I left my phone in the room.…

— Well, in that case, we won't be able to figure out which one of us is right now.

— How about a duel? — you squint, smiling slyly.

— Duel?

— Yes, let's play snowballs, whoever wins is right! Or was the General afraid to lose to a fragile girl? — you gloat, poking your finger into Jing Yuan's chest, ripping another velvety chuckle from his lips.

— Okay. Just don't complain when I win.

— Okay. In that case, don't even think about giving in!

The teddy bear lazily opens its eyes, twitching its ears at the loud sound of laughter and unfamiliar voices coming from somewhere near the place where the animal decided to take a nap. The little heart flinches when a snowball flies in front of the bear's eyes, falling clearly into the fluffy hair of the smiling Jing Yuan.

— Now you are exactly the copy of this bear!

— Oh, really? — the General grins, brushing snow off his shoulder.

— Yes, and you also seem to be losing.

Jing Yuan examines his clothes, which are completely covered with snow, and pretends to sigh in resignation.

— Well, then I'll have to even the score.

— What do you mean?.. — you're muttering to yourself, engrossed in sculpting another snowball, when Jing Yuan slowly sneaks up from behind, grabbing you by the waist with his big hands and dumping you with him into the snowdrift behind which you were hiding. — What are you doing?!

You writhe in the General's arms, feeling the snow seep under your jacket and into your boots, to the sound of a man's loud velvety laughter tugging at your snow-covered hair.

— Now we're both in the snow, how are you going to keep score?

You gently slap your palm against Jing Yuan's chest in mock annoyance, while he refuses to let you out of his arms, pressing you even tighter to his body.

— You!.. If I get sick before the New Year, it will be on your conscience!

✦ Dan Heng

— Play what? — Dan Heng looks puzzled as you collect a small pile of snow in your hands, forming a small ball out of it.

— Snowballs! Defend! — you cheerfully throw a lump of snow into the chest of an incomprehensible man, pausing and freezing for a second when he just silently stares at the snow spot on his jacket.

A doomed sigh leaves Dan Heng's throat, and he looks up at you, adjusting the red scarf around his neck.

— You're acting like a child, Y/N.

— And you're acting like a bore, — you shake your head disapprovingly, resting your mittened hands on your hips. — If you just keep standing like that, you'll soon look like one of these snowdrifts!

— Okay, okay, I get it, — Dan Heng's turquoise eyes roll up under lazily lowered eyelids, but he still bends down, picking up some snow under his feet, clumsily crumpling it into a snowball.

— And how many conversations there were!

Although from the outside it might seem that you are the only one having fun of the two of you, the corners of Dan Heng's lips still slightly lift as you mercilessly bombard him with small snowballs, the attacks of which he reluctantly tries to resist.

You just look so happy and carefree that Dan Heng is unable to resist your infectious playful mood, gradually, unnoticeably for him, joining the duel into which you forcibly dragged him. Although his throws are obviously not as strong as they could be, because he is afraid that bruises may remain on your body, still some excitement wakes up in the man, to which he unknowingly succumbs, hitting one of the snowballs in your head.

— Oh! Y/N, I'm sorry! — Dan Heng immediately runs up to you with a pronounced concern painted on his face, which you only meet with a puzzled look.

— Come on, it didn't even hurt me. I'm okay, — you smile, noticing how prettily the tip of Dan Heng's nose and cheeks have turned red, and take off the mittens from your hands.

— What are you doing?.. — Dan Heng's words melt on the tongue, as does the cold on his cheeks when they are unexpectedly touched by your warm palms.

You giggle, pulling his face down to yours to leave a short kiss on his nose, which is flushed from the cold.

— I'm so glad that I can celebrate the New Year here with you, — your lover's emerald eyes widen when they meet your gentle gaze, and you could swear that you noticed how Dan Heng's face turned even redder after your words. — Shall we go back to the hotel?

— Y-yes…

You pull the mittens back on your palms, which have absorbed some of the cold from Dan Heng's face, and grab his hand, carefully stepping over the snowdrifts under your feet to return to the path you originally walked along.

«I'm glad too…» — these words are spinning on Dan Heng's tongue, but he only tries to bury himself deeper into his scarf so that you don't notice how embarrassed he is.

— And by the way, this time we will consider that we have a draw, but I'll wait for a rematch!

p.s. Part 2?... |･ω･)

[carriedawatermelon]

Ronance kinktober ficlet, the second. Used a random kink generator and couldn’t not do role play for the DND show, so here’s some college Ronance, in which Nancy finds that Robin’s DND swagger really fucking does it for her. As always, soft filth only for these two.

Thanks for being so kind about the last one, y’all. I’m having fun with these and it makes me happy that maybe you are, too.

Prompt: Role Play/AU

She’s supposed to be reading. She has an essay due in a week and a half that’s worth a third of her grade, and she needs to finish her outline by Tuesday, which means she needs to finish The Bluest Eye this weekend. It’s not long, and it’s not tedious, and Nancy actually gives a shit about this paper and this professor. 

She’s supposed to be reading. 

She’s not reading. 

She’s not reading because she is, somehow, at the age of 22 and years out of her parents’ house, back in their basement watching her little brother and his friends play Dungeons & Dragons. More accurately, actually, she’s watching Robin and her little brother and his friends play Dungeons & Dragons. 

That, of course, is the problem. Because Nancy is in love with Robin, and she knows this about herself, the same way she knows that Robin can turn anything into something Nancy cares about. Scallop farming? Sure, yep. The minutiae of the latest debate on the translation of a passage of The Iliad? Absolutely. The evolution of lighting in horror movies? Fascinating. Never mind that Nancy doesn’t watch horror or keep up with Homer or that scallops make her throat swell.

It’s the Robin effect, and Nancy’s three years into it with no intention of stopping. Almost four years if you count the denial and pining, which Nancy doesn’t for the sake of anniversaries but does, mostly, for considering how long Robin has had Nancy’s heart and brain and everything else, really.

Nancy should’ve known better, is the point. Nancy should’ve known better than to come down here with her book like she could be in the same room as Robin doing something that required her to talk and think and interact with other people and not immediately become distracted. This isn’t the two of them on Robin’s couch working together. (Not that that doesn’t sometimes end with Nancy getting distracted.) This is Nancy trying to work while Robin impresses a table of disgruntled teenage boys and makes Eddie laugh and plots to defeat some kind of tentacled monster with a scheme involving a slingshot (Lucas is thrilled) and a lyre.

This is Robin the Bard, apparently, and Nancy is deeply, embarrassingly, into it. 

Robin’s spot at the table means Nancy can see the profile of her face perfectly, but that Robin can’t really see her unless she turns at an awkward angle. She does a few times, just to smile at Nancy or, once, to wink like a massive nerd, and god help her, that did it for Nancy, too, her stomach flipping as she pretended to go back to reading for about ten seconds. It’s impossible, though, Nancy’s eyes always finding their way back to the table, back to Robin. 

She just got a haircut, the shag now above her ears, and she keeps running her hand through it like she can’t quite believe there’s not more. It looks good, looks amazing, which is exactly what Nancy told her before using it to guide Robin’s head between her legs before she could even make it past the entryway to Nancy’s place. The hair’s not helping things, anyway. Nor is the way she sits, legs spread as she strategizes intensely, her knee and part of her thigh exposed by her ripped black jeans. Nancy can’t look away, not that it would help if she did, because she’d be left with Robin’s voice and laugh and then she’d look again, and, well, it’s a vicious cycle, really. 

Nancy knows Robin plays at school sometimes; the queer art kids have a running game she dips into on occasion, but Nancy’s never seen it before. She knows now she’ll have to go, because she wants to see this again. Robin’s invested, her cadence shifted to match her character. She talks and jokes and helps plan but she does this thing where she makes space for the others when it seems like someone has been quiet for too long. 

She does it for Will, especially, leaves these intentional gaps for him to fill with suggestions or thoughts, makes sure he doesn’t sink into the background. Eddie’s good at that, too, but he’s so much, almost all of the time, a force, and Robin isn’t anything less but her energy feels less like a hurdle to clear and more like a lift, like cupped hands at the start of a climb. It floods Nancy with fondness and with admiration and with the desire to do things she absolutely cannot do right now. 

They break, eventually, Nancy having made about three paragraphs’ worth of progress, and Robin comes to kiss her quickly, both of them flipping off Mike as he makes a disgusted noise, before running to the bathroom and the snack supply upstairs with the rest of the boys. She turns to her book, desperate, but the cushion next to hers sinks and a tattooed arm reaches across her shoulder. Nancy sighs and slots her bookmark into place.

Eddie’s grin is shit-eating in the extreme when she turns to him, and she knows she’s caught but she still has some dignity, at least when it comes to people who aren’t Robin, so she raises her eyebrow expectantly and asks, “Can I help you?”

“I think you’re the one that needs some help, Wheeler.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His eyes flash, delighted. “Oh, you definitely do. You’ve turned exactly one page in the last hour. And you smile every time Robin says anything. It’s disgusting. It’s amazing. I’m obsessed.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be paying attention to the game?” She manages to sound bored and fights the urge to tuck her hair, a tell he’ll sink his teeth into. 

He waves her off. “I’m paying plenty of attention to the game. Everyone’s having a great time. Which you know, because you’ve been drooling over the party bard’s every fuckin’ word. Got a thing for musicians, Wheeler? Thinking about playing her lyre?”

“Classy,” she says, and he looks like she’s given him a present. “Oh, shut up.”

He cackles, removing his hand from around her to clap loudly. “Oh, I definitely won’t. I’m gonna get her to make you play next time.”

The her in question nearly stumbles from the top of the stairs, grabbing the railing with one hand as she tries to balance a plate of cookies and a can of Coke, a bag of chips dangling from her mouth. It’s a disaster waiting to happen, but before Nancy can intervene, Lucas has plucked the soda from the crook of her arm. Whatever she says, or tries to say, through the cargo in her mouth makes him laugh. 

Eddie pokes her bicep. “Incredible.”

“This is nothing new.” She tries changing tack, bored tone still in place. It’s not new. He knows her. He knows them. 

“No,” he concedes, leaning closer to keep their conversation from drifting. “But I’ve never gotten to see it like this. Does she know she has super powers? Turning the Nancy Wheeler into mush?”

“She doesn’t,” Nancy says, fondness taking over. “Even though I’ve told her.” 

“Disgusting,” he repeats, fondness in his own voice. “Try not to fall out when your girl kills the big bad.” 

And then he’s up and headed back to the table, hands clapping and rubbing together eagerly. “And we’re back.”

Nancy’s girl does kill the big bad. Her plan works, and the boys cheer, each standing to receive some applause for their role in the fight. Eddie bows in concession and then suddenly, they’re cleaning up, and Nancy doesn’t even know how long she’s been sitting there, but she hadn’t even bothered to open the book back up for the last part of the session. 

Robin makes her way over, grinning big, and falls down against the opposite arm of the sofa, her feet tangling with Nancy's where they’re tucked up beside her. Sighing, she throws an arm over her head and says wearily, “Hard work defeating an ancient eldritch being. I might need a nap.”

“Very impressive.” It’s affectionate and teasing and Nancy’s grip on Robin’s ankle is equally soft, thumb pressing in just slightly. “I especially liked the part where you danced at him.”

“Were you watching?!” She’s propped up now, blue eyes big and attentive.

“I might have been.” 

“She was!” Eddie calls, like an asshole, and Nancy feels her cheeks go red.

“It was gross. She smiled, like, the whole time.” Mike’s got his patented scowl on, but it’s the mostly kidding version. “Weren’t you supposed to be reading?” He rolls his eyes at her as he moves toward the stairs. 

“You’re just jealous that your sister bags hotter girls than you. Maybe if you smiled every once in a while you’d get a date.” Dustin calls before looking guiltily at the couch, eyes moving between Nancy and Robin. “Sorry?”

“You’re just telling the truth,” Nancy says, and Mike’s scowl deepens while the others laugh, loud footsteps carrying them upstairs. 

“Ladies,” Eddie says, hefting his backpack onto his shoulder. “Have a lovely evening.”

“Don’t be a pervert,” Nancy says, at the same time Robin says, “Thanks.”

He laughs loudly and tips an imaginary hat before he leaves. 

Robin’s biting her lip now, obviously delighted, and Nancy rolls her eyes even as she crawls across the sofa and braces herself against the arm, looking down at Robin’s smile. 

“Might have been watching, huh?”

“A little.”

“A little,” Robin repeats, looking smug, which Nancy finds unbearably attractive. 

“You’re very cute,” she says, lifting a hand to tuck some of Robin’s hair behind her ear and trace over her nose. “My bard.”

Nancy sighs into the kiss, Robin’s hand splaying wide over the small of her back while the other wraps around her forearm. 

“Adding ‘DND does it for Nancy Wheeler’ to my list of ‘Things I Never Would Have Guessed.’”

“More like Robin Buckley does it for Nancy Wheeler.”

“Also on the list,” Robin says proudly, scratching lightly at Nancy’s back in affection. 

“Are you interested in further evidence?” The question comes with a kiss to Robin’s jaw, and Nancy can feel her nod her head, the dork. 

“Always. Um, super important actually, because what if it’s on the list and not true, you know? Like, it needs to be accurate, and-“

Nancy kisses her jaw again, takes her earlobe into her mouth and sucks gently, and Robin’s hips buck just the way she knew they would, which makes it no less rewarding. Her hands move to clutch at Nancy’s hips, a whimper escaping as Nancy kisses and licks at her throat. 

“Fuck,” she breathes out, and Nancy smiles, nips gently at the skin above the collar of her t-shirt before slipping a hand underneath it. 

“Yeah, baby? Feel good?”

“Yes.” She arches into the teasing route Nancy’s taking with her fingers. “So good.”

“Good,” Nancy murmurs, palming her over her sports bra before pushing it up, rocking her hips forward at the feeling of Robin’s nipple pebbled in her hand, again at the noise she makes when Nancy takes it between her fingers. 

“Nancy,” Robin gasps, and that’s all Nancy can take, her self-control worn to nothing after god knows how long sitting and watching her girlfriend in this fucking basement. She tugs roughly, the way that makes Robin lose it, and then pulls away, breath heavy as she sits back on Robin’s legs. 

“Sit up,” she says with force, and Robin does, immediately, going exactly where Nancy puts her, which is against the back of the sofa, without any kind of fight. 

When Nancy settles, straddling her lap, she takes Robin’s hands and puts them just under her shirt, pressing until Robin gets the hint: stay. She does, fingers flexing hot against her skin as Nancy works her way back under her shirt and bra, pulling and grasping at her eagerly, tongue licking at the back of Robin’s teeth. 

When she shoves her shirt up, bending to take a nipple into her mouth and suck, one of Robin’s hands flies to the back of her head as she cries out. Nancy pulls away for long enough to kiss her, whisper, “Shh, baby. Be quiet so I can make you come, okay?” 

Robin nods, almost pained, biting her lip, and Nancy’s chest burns, hot with want and affection. “So good for me.” She knows what she’s doing, knows she’s made it that much harder for Robin to stay quiet with those words. She doesn’t care, loves the way Robin shakes with want, the little noise that escapes as Nancy lets her smile be sharp. 

Her own hips roll when she takes Robin’s nipple back into her mouth, teeth grazing lightly, and Robin bucks into her. She sucks a mark into the soft skin under her collarbone, fills herself on greedy, inelegant touches across her tits and stomach, her mouth and hands roaming and taking, lingering where Robin makes a pretty noise in the back of her throat or grips hard at Nancy’s waist. 

“Nancy, Nancy, Nancy,” she chants eventually, desperately. “Please. Please.”

Nancy pushes herself back, stares at Robin. Her head’s thrown back, chest heaving, and when she whines and meets Nancy’s eyes, her pupils are blown, dark pools in blue. Nancy wants to take her, wants to keep her, and she slides to her knees easily, settling between Robin’s spread legs and moving immediately to undo her button and fly, pressing kisses to the skin of her belly. 

Robin’s hips lift to assist as Nancy pulls her jeans down her thighs, past her knees and off of one foot with a kiss to her ankle because she hates feeling trapped. A hand plants itself in her hair, barely tugging, and Nancy smirks and kisses her calf, her knee, the insides of her thighs. 

“Nancy, please.”

She mouths over navy briefs, moans at the sharp sting of Robin’s desperate encouragement and the smell of her through the cotton. The briefs come down quickly, and Robin’s legs spread that much wider, and Nancy looks at her, at the sharp line of her jaw where her head’s tilted back, the red mark blooming on her chest, still visible where her shirt’s caught in her sports bra, a tangled mess made of want. Robin’s hand smooths through her hair, and then Nancy’s placing a kiss below her belly button, over the dark hair that covers her, to the crease of her thigh.

A whine escapes Robin, a plea, but Nancy’s already answering, licking into her and moaning at the taste, tongue dipping into wet heat and then coming up to lap at her clit. Robin tugs her t-shirt into her mouth, biting it to keep quiet, and Nancy brings two fingers up and presses into her, her own hips moving at the feeling of Robin tight around her. 

Fingers tighten in her hair, Robin’s hips rolling to meet her thrusts, and Nancy can’t help but slide the fingers of her free hand into her own jeans. It’s too tight, and she’s uncoordinated, but it’s enough for the moment, a temporary relief as she works at Robin, adding a third finger and flattening her tongue to let Robin rut the way she wants to. 

It doesn’t take long, blue eyes looking purposefully down at her as Nancy makes a show of sucking at Robin’s clit, and then Robin’s arching, eyes slamming shut, clenching around Nancy’s fingers. When the shaking stops, her hand tugging Nancy away, she goes reluctantly, pulling her own hand from her jeans as she stands. 

Robin’s breathing hard, pulling her shirt from her mouth and tugging Nancy into her lap, shoving her shirt up and the cups of Nancy’s bra down so that she can get a nipple in her mouth. Nancy undoes her pants, Robin’s hands busy on her ass and tits, and pushes them down with her underwear. Before she can even reach for her, Robin’s got two fingers curling into her perfectly, mouth still sucking eagerly. Her other hand rocks Nancy’s hip in suggestion, and Nancy takes it gratefully, too gone to start on her own. 

She rides Robin’s fingers slowly at first and then faster, hand holding her to her chest. “More,” she says, close to begging, and Robin gives her more, a third finger slipping in with ease as Nancy slides a hand down to circle her clit. It’s quick after that, Robin moving with purpose, and Nancy falls apart above her, hand moving to brace on her shoulder. 

Robin wraps her arms around her waist, pulls her close and kisses at her neck and jaw. “God, I love you,” she says into the air by her ear, making her shiver, and Nancy melts against her further. “So fucking hot. Jesus, Nance.”

“Evidence,” Nancy says, and Robin laughs, pulling them both back against the sofa. Nancy is inordinately glad she’d spread a blanket earlier, is absolutely going to have to sneak it in with her wash. 

“To be clear, is this evidence for the Robin pile or the DND pile?” Nancy swats at her shoulder. “I’m not above getting tights and pointy ears, Nance, honest to god, and how hard can a lyre actually be, like, I have my guitar, right, so-“

Nancy kisses her into silence.

“Maybe the ears,” she murmurs into the space between them a few minutes later, and basks in Robin’s laugh. 

[hobivore]

Mission 111: The Timebreaker | JYH

— Jeong Yunho x reader (f)

Prompt: "Hey, did you fall from heaven when you hurt—fuck." & "If you're trying to manipulate me us, it's not working." from this prompt list. AU/Trope: science fiction-y angel!au, coworkers to lovers (or partners to partners or whatever the angel equivalent would be) Warnings: Django!Yunho but give him wings, apocalyptic levels of violence and a little bit of blood (nothing too explicit) WC: 2.2k A/N: Surpriiiiiise, your local writer cryptid has risen from the 10th circle of hell called Adult Responsibilities! This short story draws inspiration from Ateez’ delightful space-cowboy concept, biblically accurate angels and a spoonful of Welcome to Night Vale (which I used to obsessively listen to back in 2012). Shout-out to my lovely friend @augustbutwinter for kicking my ass into gear and beta-reading this piece. I love your galaxy brain! © hobivore Do not repost, translate, edit or otherwise use my stories without my permission. ateez masterlist | ask box

“Are you trying to get us all killed?” 

The timebreaker sneezes into his elbow. He’s covered in a fine layer of dust. The chains strapping him to the seat didn’t survive the crash, but he won’t get far either way: his timepiece remains safely hidden in your pocket. 

You ignore him and survey the wreckage in front of you. There’s very little left of your spacecraft. Dawdling will only cost you precious time, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the flames at bay. 

A few crumpled feathers stick out from under the rubble. You pull with two hands, using your weight to unearth your equally crumpled associate. 

“It’s not like I can actually die, of course. I think. Not really. I’m not afraid of death anyway,” the timebreaker continues. “He looks pretty damn done for, though.”

You turn around and fiddle with what’s left of the control panel. Your partner coughs up thick globs of blood. He wipes his mouth with the back of one wing and straightens his glasses. "Hey, did you fall from heaven when you hurt—fuck." 

“Welcome back,” you mutter. The control panel lights up once and fizzles out again. 

“Have you seen my hat?”

“This, here?” The timebreaker lifts one foot and your partner snatches the weathered cowboy hat from under his boot. “Sorry, I thought it was just a piece of debris. I didn’t mean to step on it.”

You snort. “Yunho’s awfully attached to that ugly old thing.” After a repeated bang on the control panel yields no results, you give up and grab your pocket pulsar. “Didn’t they go out of style over 600 billion years ago?”

“Real fashion is timeless,” Yunho says. “Besides, it's a keepsake from Earth.” 

You roll your eyes. “Ugh. You’re such a romantic.”

He winks at you. Behind you, the timebreaker coughs. “I’m still here.”

A glare shuts him up. Your many eyes tend to have that effect on people.

“Which way do we go?” Yunho asks. 

You check your pulsar. “We should head southwest for about 11 kilometres. We’re not that far off. You did a decent job crashing the ship.”

“Thank you.”

“You think you can walk with that leg?” 

“I’m fine, but it might take us a bit longer. Do you still have time?”

You nod. “I do. But the big boss won’t like it. You know his patience runs thin.”

“We’re bringing him a timebreaker! He ought to be happy with that.” 

Your eyes drift towards the man who’s still staring at the wreckage, appearing to be lost in thought—no doubt mourning what might’ve been his only chance at escaping.

“You’re right. Let’s go before the weather gets any worse.”

Above you the glittery storm clouds gather. With just your pocket pulsar left, navigating will be a lot more difficult if you don't cross the Great Plateau before the first rain falls. 

“So… you two are angels, then?” The timebreaker asks when the silence drags on for a bit too long. 

“Damn right,” Yunho says. “Ever met an angel before?”

The timebreaker shakes his head. “Can't say I've had the pleasure, no. They—I mean you, sorry—don’t exist in my universe.”

You grumble. He's awfully polite for a man who killed half a planet of innocents. “Just because you've never seen one doesn't mean we aren't there.” 

The timebreaker’s face turns sour. You don’t care if he doesn’t like you. There's more pressing matters to worry about: right now it's the unshakeable sizzling in your ears, the sound growing stronger with every step.

You rub your temples but the gesture brings no relief. Yunho watches you closely, rummaging through his coat pockets. After some fiddling he extracts a small bottle and hands it to you. He always seems to know exactly what you need. You down the liquid and make a mental note to thank him for that after you’ve finished this job. 

“Why does he have wings and you don’t? And what’s up with all the eyes?”

Your nostrils flare in annoyance and you’re thankful for the sudden crack of thunder that makes your captive jump. “No more time for existential chit-chat,” you say. The taste of ash lingers in your mouth. 

“If you give me my timepiece back I can get us off this planet,” the timebreaker offers. He almost trips over his feet in an attempt to keep up with you and Yunho. “Another universe maybe, just for the two of you? Something beachy? Sun, Martinis, a nice big bed, a few slaves to preen those pretty wings?”

You laugh and look at Yunho’s tattered feathers, still covered in dried blood. "If you're trying to manipulate us, it's not working." 

“Are we still heading in the right direction?” Yunho asks. He looks mildly flattered but not at all phased by the timebreaker’s implications, so you narrow your eyes at him. All he does in return is smile. If you weren't in the middle of a job you'd use his own wings to wipe that smug grin off his face.

“We’re slowly getting there," you sigh, handing him the pulsar.

“We’re heading away from the capital. The only civilised place on this planet.” The timebreaker glances past Yunho’s shoulder and points his cuffed hands at the device. His voice raises an octave when you start walking even faster. “Hey! What did I do wrong anyway? Since when is breaking time a crime? And who are you, the space police?” 

“You didn’t tell him?” Yunho asks. 

You shrug. “The less he knows, the better.” It’s a lie. It doesn’t matter: you just didn’t feel like talking to the man.  

“I’m sorry for my partner’s lack of proper protocol,” Yunho starts, and you close your many eyes for a moment to collect yourself and tune out the other angel’s lecture. The situation is starting to get on your nerves and you wonder if the flames have ignited by now. They probably haven’t—neither of your companions seem to perceive a sudden increase in heat. 

When you open your eyes again, the timebreaker’s face has gone blank.

“And that’s how we ended up here!” Yunho smiles and claps his hands together, as if he didn’t just give a detailed account of why the man will spend the remainder of his life in chains. “Any questions?”

“I—what the fuck,” the timebreaker says, “have more questions now than before.”

Yunho opens his mouth but you cut him off. Unlike the other angel, God didn’t bless you with the patience of a saint when They created you. “No one cares about obnoxious fools who run around universes breaking time. Killing innocents however? The boss doesn’t like that.”

The timebreaker tilts his head towards you. “Who’s this boss you keep talking about? God?”

You laugh. “So you’re a fool and uncultured.”

He looks ready to murder you. You’d like to see him try; it would spice things up a bit. 

Your partner shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “God died a long time ago. No, we call him the Captain.”

At the mention of his name the storm clouds rupture and shimmering glitter falls from the sky. You blink up at the sudden burst of colour. 

Suspicious.

“Dammit,” you curse, “we’re not even close.” You shake the pulsar, which buzzes sadly in the steady stream of luminescent sparkles. You huff and a small puff of smoke escapes your nose.

Yunho squeezes your shoulder. “Do you think you can do it here, if needed?” 

“It’s not ideal, but I can manage. The harvesting will be a pain, though. The soil is too muddy.”

“We can work something out. I trust you.” Yunho’s hand drops to his side and you miss its warmth already. Then he jumps in front of you, causing you to nearly barrel head-first into his chest. He spreads his wings and grins, “This is the skin of a killer, Bella.”

“Shut up.” You push him out of your way, suppressing a smile and trying not to look at the pretty glitter covering him from head to toe. Some of your eyes steal a glance anyway. “Vampires aren’t real.”

He’s still laughing. “For someone who pretends to hate Earth you sure know a lot about it. Who’s the romantic now?”

You don’t respond and push past him, aiming the pulsar at the glittery sky. Yunho doesn’t seem to mind your feigned disapproval and falls back at your side, his comforting presence grounding you like always. As annoying as he can be, you need him there. You’d trust him with your life. 

“I miss humans sometimes. It’s a shame they went extinct.” Yunho turns towards the timebreaker. “She was there, you know. During Armageddon. It was angels versus demons… pretty cool. I wasn’t old enough to join the fight yet. I’ve only heard the stories.” He elbows you in the side. “Tell him about it.” 

You groan. “There was a lot of fire. The end.”

The timebreaker raises an eyebrow. “What happened to the demons?”

“They were wiped out.” 

“That seems to be a recurring theme.” 

You turn your head and grin at him. “You could call it our… speciality.”

For the first time since you’ve dragged him from his universe, the timebreaker looks afraid. A shiver runs through him and his sharp teeth clatter. “I thought angels were supposed to be harbingers of peace. Chubby babies chanting glorias to God and all that stuff.”

“We were tasked to maintain the cosmic harmony of all universal laws,” you shrug, “but no one ever told us how to mete out divine justice.”

“You could say we’re just winging it.” Yunho grins. “Get it?”

The timebreaker doesn’t laugh. The crease between his brows deepens. “So let me get this straight: when you wipe out an entire planet it’s fine, but when I do it—” he huffs, an indignant sound, “—I get thrown in jail?”

You shrug again. “Collateral damage. It happens.”

“Fuck this,” the timebreaker says. Then he starts running. It only takes a few metres for his form to completely disappear in the downpour of glitter.

“Took him long enough.” Yunho takes the pulsar from your hands to save if from melting and sticks it in his pocket. “Are you ready?”

His glasses reflect an orange glow and you laugh. You know he loves this part of the job as much as you do. He can have this. “Go get him, partner.”

The angel spreads his wings and points at you. “I’m taking you out for dinner after,” he says. Then he disappears into the void. 

You draw patterns in the fallen glitter with one smoky foot and start counting. People tend to underestimate your partner by virtue of his angelic aura. They’re always wrong. 

It doesn’t take him long to return. The timebreaker shrieks when he sees you. “What the fuck happened to her?” He trashes in your partner’s arms. “I’ve got a family! Friends! They’ll come looking for me!”

“26 seconds. Not bad,” you comment dryly. 

“They will come!”

“Over there would be perfect.” You point at a spot a few metres away. “Thank you, Yunho.”

Your partner puts the captive down and pats him on the shoulder. He doesn’t run this time. Where would he go, hands bound, without a timepiece and with two angels on his heels? Maybe he wasn’t as foolish as you thought. Some of them keep running. 

“It’s going to be okay,” your partner says. It won’t be. “I’m sure you’ll be dearly missed. I can already picture the memorial service. Lots of flowers, sad piano music... it's going to be beautiful.”

The timebreaker pales. It appears he’s finally caught up on the plan. “What happened to jail? A proper trial?” He blinks twice, then recovers some of his rage and spits at Yunho, “You’ll regret this. My family will hunt you down and kill you both. They'll rip out your feathers one by one until there's none left.”

Yunho pushes his glasses higher up his nose. “‘I’m not afraid of death anyway’, you said.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Don’t worry, death doesn’t have to be temporary. Some of us believe in reincarnation.” Yunho lowers his voice, knowing you can’t hear him over the roaring fire around you. “Not her, of course. She believes in total annihilation.” He gives the man one last gentle pat on the back before stepping away. 

“No one but you has mentioned jail.” You have to raise your voice because of the ringing in your ears. “And your family will find a shipwreck, remember? Such an unfortunate accident.”

“Extremely unfortunate,” Yunho agrees. 

The timebreaker doesn’t answer. His skin has turned the colour of grey mud. You feel the flames rise even higher, inching closer to him.

Finally. 

The last thing the timebreaker sees before the flames engulf him is the sky breaking open. You wrap around him and burn until there’s nothing left but a heap of sand and glitter.

Yunho retrieves an empty hourglass from his pocket and crouches down to fill it with sand. “The Captain’s gonna be happy,” he says while he pours more grains in the glass. "Look at the size of that pile!"

You suppress a yawn and shiver. You always get a little cold after the fire has gone down to a simmer.

“Chinese sound good to you? For old time’s sake?” Yunho hands you the hourglass and wraps a wing around your shoulder. “I know a place.” 

You elbow him in the side and smile. “Romantic.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this story please reblog, leave a comment, tell a friend, send me a pigeon, launch a mars rover. Your encouragement fuels my inner writer cryptid 👾

[imab00kwh0r3]

babel, and why i love it (SPOILERS!!!!)

ok im terribly late to reading it, for its not sold in many places where i live, so i found the pdf luckily.

babel is a book about colonialism and racism and oppression, it is about revolution and battling your inner conscience (in my opinion at least, i'll elaborate later). it tells the story of robin swift coming to the prestigious royal institute of translation or better known as babel, where during his yrs there he discovers that the glamourous oxford university isnt such a righteous place. his loyalty is tested, blood is shed and tears fall which leads up to a revolution to stop an incoming war.

there are many reviews regarding how its racist to white ppl (which is astounding to even think about) and that its not accurate as women werent allowed to go to university in the 1830s but im not going to talk about that, that much. i wanted to speak on the actual translation/language aspect of it.

throughout the book, translation and language r some of the main themes (obviously) but the impact it has on the people, both in the book and irl is smth i havent seen anyone mention. language isnt just a form of communication but it is part of our culture, it is part of our identity, and during colonial times many languages suffered, they were being erased as they were "barbaric" or "strange" they were banned and anyone who spoke them was punished like in victoires chapter. robin, ramy and victoire all can barely speak their native languages, robin has almost fogotten cantonese, ramy has very basic knowledge of bengali and victoire is never given a chance or is permitted to speak in haitian creole. they lost one of the main things that connects them to their motherland, they only have their appearance left. they will never be able to talk to their ppl properly.

victoire was frustrated that haitian creole isnt recognised as a proper language like how in their exams, her match-pair wouldnt be counted properly as haitian creole wouldnt be used much hence its "useless" in the eyes of prof. leblanc. she was beaten when she would speak haitian croele in her house in france. when she first came to babel she was correcting herself from "kreyol" to "haitian creole" and was unsure if she could even study it.

robin realised that prof.lovell actually knew more than him about his own language, his mother tongue. he could barely stand being back in canton and he felt isolated in a way as everything changed and was new and so was the language even though he was born hearing and speaking it.

not much is talked about this with ramy except that he barely knows bengali, even though hes fluent in english, latin, greek, arabic, persian and urdu. he knows 6 languages and in his chapter he is sed to "absorb languages like a sponge" and that he recited poems or writing in other languages he didnt know perfectly, even down to tone, only after having it read to him once but he barely knows his mother tongue.

this relates to modern times as many languages of previously colonised countries rely on english words like in india u will barely hear the word pathshala, instead u will hear school. in mauritian creole when people speak they will slip in english words, like "netwai whiteboard la" which means clean the whiteboard.

we dont know our language fully because of the erasure of them.

theres also 1st gen immigrant children where their mother tongue is smth they barely hear or they forgot after a while, they feel so incredibly disconnected once they realise. this is how robin is and this is how i am too, i was born in europe, then at 7 i moved to england and now im somewhere entirely different, i dont remember my mother tongue, i dont dream in it. which ultimately makes u lose ur voice in a metaphorical way.

u cant speak because u dont know how.

another important thing is the purposeful mistranslations and burning of books, thats not fully discussed in the book although it would have been a nice touch. colonisers purposefully mistranslated things to control the masses because when they burnt our books, they burnt our language, knowledge and people. and the exploitation of our languages like the statue at univ of william jones sitting at desk and 3 hindu sages on the floor infront of him exists, and how missionaries were taught our languages to help in conversion.

now onto the 1830s inaccuracies and racism:

its the fucking 1830s do u think white ppl were nice to poc at this time, like slavery just ended in the eyes of the law for britain but still continued in other places like america. reverse racism doesnt exist, white ppl can be prejudiced against but u lot r not oppressed and never will be, u lot wont be killed for being white, so stop crying. and about the women wouldnt be at university in the 1830s thing its fiction, r.f. kuang took some liberties.

and that is all i have to say, dont start an argument, anyways babel is great, go read it!!

[nightghoul381]

Clavis 3rd Anniversary Event

A Beast's Dream Realized by Beauty

Chapter 1

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Prince. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

In the Kingdom of Lelouch, ruled by Prince Clavis, in the corner of the country lies the only bookstore.

The bookshop, which was set up for me by the man himself after talking to the owner, continues to attract many people today.

However, due to the immigrants and the diverse population, many of the people cannot read.

In order to popularize books, it was first necessary to teach reading.

Boy: “… Someday, I want to learn to read and become a bureaucrat.”

One day, while teaching reading and writing to people gathered at the bookstore,

A young boy not yet old enough to read, spoke his dream with sparkling eyes.

Emma: “Wow, what a wonderful dream. Why do you want to be a bureaucrat?”

Boy: “It’s rewarding and well paid! Plus, I hear it’s really popular with girls.”

(Oh, it was a more sinister motive than I thought.)

Emma: “I see… Who did you ask, by the way?”

Boy: “Prince Clavis!”

???: “Haha, you’ve got potential don’t you?”

Emma: “…Gah!?”

A warm breath caresses my ear and makes me jump.

When I whipped around, there stood Prince Clavis, who was supposed to have left that morning.

Emma: “Please don’t surprise me like that! You almost made my heart stop.”

Clavis: “My God, that’s terrible! We must take care of it right away.”

Clavis: “Most fairytale princesses can be cured with a kiss, but—”

Emma: “No, thank you!”

Boy: “Why are you here Prince Clavis?”

Clavis: “Ah. Wherever my fiancée is, I will also be. Remember that.”

Clavis: “But there is quite a crowd.”

Prince Clavis knew that I was teaching the people in the bookstore how to read.

The rows of desks and the materials that everyone was using were all gifts from Prince Clavis.

(…You’re supporting me.)

His pouting lips didn’t last long.

Emma: “It’s all thanks to the great publicity you’ve given us, Prince Clavis.”

Emma: “Everyone seems to have something they want to do by learning to read.”

(It’s not just the boy who has a dream.)

By learning to read, there become more jobs to choose from.

Perhaps because so many people visit with that hope in their hearts, this place is full of dreams.

Boy: “I’ll definitely become a bureaucrat one day. Prince Clavis, hire me!”

Clavis: “Of course. If you become a man who’s funny enough to make me roar, I’ll have to consider it, won’t I?”

Clavis: “But if you’re satisfied with only one dream, then you’ve still got a long way to go.”

Boy: “What do you mean?”

Clavis: “The more dreams you have, the better.”

Clavis: “You only live once. It would be a waste if your only dream was “I want to be a bureaucrat.” wouldn’t it?”

(That’s one way of thinking.)

(It’s true that your not only allowed to have one dream, and it would be fun to have many.)

Emma: “Did you have any dreams, Prince Clavis?”

Clavis: “Oh, do you want to know? You want to know don’t you. Okay, I’ll tell you.”

(As usual the pressure is strong…)

Clavis: “As a child, I wanted to be the best gentleman on the continent. I also wanted to be an excellent butler.”

Clavis: “I wanted to set up a shot and sell what I liked, and I wanted to be a chef.”

Clavis: “Also, I wanted to be a doctor, and I aimed to become an unprecedented trapmaster.”

Boy: “…That’s too many.”

Clavis: “But I made it all happen in the end, didn’t I?”

Boy: “Really?”

Emma: “Yeah. Aside from the chef, the rest might be true…”

(He’s a tremendous gentleman, he organizes the servants, he runs the shop…)

(he’s as bright as a doctor in medicine, not to mention a trapmaster.)

He’s also become quite skilled at cooking these days, if only he focused on how it looked, his dreams would come true.

(It’s really amazing that you’ve been able to achieve these results while working behind the scenes.)

(…he’s cool, after all.)

Clavis: “What do you think? Isn’t it amazing? You’ve fallen in love with me all over again, haven’t you?”

Emma: “I’m in love, I’m in love, Prince Clavis is so cool.”

Clavis: “….”

Emma: “…I really respect you, you know?”

(I just can’t say it without making fun of it because I’m too embarrassed…)

As if running away from the questioning gaze, I turn my heated face away,

Clavis burst out laughing.

Clavis: “Well now, is it Miss Grumpy day today? My fiancée is as cute as ever.”

Boy: “Hey, how can I make so many dreams come true?”

Clavis: “Hahaha, that’s easy!”

Clavis laughed loudly and for some reason hugged my waist—

Clavis: “Do you want to know?”

Emma: “But first, move your hand!”

I tried to shake him off and run away, but I was no match for his strength.

Clavis: “If you won’t make eye contact with me, surely I can at least enjoy your body heat?”

Emma: “Not you can’t! Not in public—”

Boy: “Yeah, yeah I know you’re in love, so please tell me.”

(Hey, you look so unaffected…!)

I’m the only one who’s flustered,

The people gathered as an audience around us were reacting like “Here we go again.”

I was embarrassed to be the only one making a fuss, so I decided to obey and settle into his arms.

Clavis: “Look, take action now.”

Boy: “Right now?”

Clavis: “Mmhmm. From the moment you have a dream, think about what you need to do, and start doing it.”

Clavis: “I’ll do it tomorrow, I’ll do it when… The moment you think that, your dream will remain a dream.”

Clavis: “You don’t have to do anything spectacular. If you take action that leads to your dream, even if it’s trivial…”

Clavis: “It all adds up and naturally, your dreams will come true.”

(Clavis’s way of life is really cool.)

(…ah, I thought he was cool again.)

When I casually look up to see his expression…

Clavis: “…”

(Huh? Why does he look so sad…?)

Clavis’s expression clouded for just a moment, but was quicky replaced with a suspicious smile.

The other people didn’t seem to notice anything unusual, and the boy’s eyes lit up when he heard the story.

Boy: “Well I’ll start studying letters even more now. Miss Emma!”

Emma: “Ah… Yeah. Okay, looks like we’ll be hanging out a lot.”

Emma: “And look, Clavis is here to help too.”

Clavis: “Haha, temporary teacher? Fair enough.”

Clavis: “Emma will cover all of the tuition fees. Everyone, call me Professor Clavis.”

Boy: “Hooray!”

Clavis finally let me go and entered the applauding circle of people.

(I hope that was my imagination…)

That night—

Emma: “—So, this is how I cover the tuition fees?”

Clavis: “Ah, that’s right. My fiancée doesn’t take a bath with me very often.”

(I mean… Do all lovers in the world do this?)

(I feel like my heart is about to explode.)

Clavis, who sank into the bathtub in good spirits, embraces me from behind.

At first, I took refuge at the edge of the bathtub, but I half-heartedly accepted his invitation when I couldn’t stretch my legs.

Feeling restless and fidgety,

The fingers around my waist begin to trace the line of my breast.

Emma: “Ngh, watch where you’re touching!”

Clavis: “You don’t like it?”

Emma: “Don’t do that, it’s making me feel hot!”

Clavis: “Haha, that’s tough. But don’t worry, if you get hot, I’ll treat you well.”

Even though he was talking suggestively, he didn’t touch me any further, typical of Clavis’s gentlemanly behavior.

(…But, how that it’s quiet, it’s uncomfortable.)

(That’s it. Now’s the time to ask.)

Emma: “Clavis… Are you concerned about something?”

Clavis: “Are you concerned?”

Emma: “Earlier, during the day, I noticed that you looked sad for a moment…”

Clavis: “……”

Clavis: “Right, you’ll understand.”

Clavis took a long, drawn-out breath and tightened his grip on me.

Clavis: “I just remembered a lot of things.”

Clavis: “I’m a man who has made all my dreams come true—but there are still many dreams that haven’t come true.”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

[dailydemonspotlight]

Since we're keeping with the theme here, how about one for Loki? A silly little guy that may have started an apocalypse and can transform into anything he wants, be it animals, genders, or animal genders? That's prime Pride Month material

Loki - Day 51 (Request)

Race: Tyrant

Alignment: Dark-Chaos

June 10th, 2024

Trickster gods are a rather common sight in most mythologies- people always love an underdog story, stories about characters who rise from the depths below and strike out their own niches through their wits and manipulation of coincidences- and this one is no exception. Commonly cited as the archetypal trickster deity, though highly debated as to his very existence, today's Demon of the Day is one of the most famous members of the Nordic pantheon, a god who needs little to no introduction- Loki. This deity appears back and forth in pop culture, no matter where you look- from Marvel movies to spotlights in podcasts, sitcoms, and video essays, it's not hard to see why he's such an infamous figure throughout. As the Æsir of chaos, a shapeshifter, and a perpetual underdog, he's a common sight in stories regarding Norse myth... but not the mythology itself.

As mentioned before in my Idun spotlight, Norse mythology is frustratingly archaic to research- there are precisely two sources to work off of, neither of which truly being primary, as almost every primary source has been lost through either the eternal game of telephone history is, actual fragmenting, or a simple inability to read runestones. As such, the only two sources most contemporary scholars have to work off of are the Prose Edda and the Poetic Edda, a pair of tomes who are strained, to say the least. Both collections of tales, rather infamously, have been bastardized due to the fact that their authors were both Christian, and cared little for historical accuracy- instead, they rewrote as they saw fit, giving way to frustrations such as the insertion of a 'one above all' god that was never mentioned in any actual stories and is almost purely believed by scholars to be a future retcon of capital-G God into the text. However, this issue only pervades the text in some aspects, and we can look at it as a relatively accurate collection. However, what this has to do with anything is that Loki is a... controversial topic in some areas in the scholarly world, which I'll get into later.

In the mythos surrounding Loki, he was the son of a jötunn by the name of Fárbauti and a hitherto unmentioned goddess by the name Laufey. Laufey's existence is also seen as somewhat controversial- while mentioned as a goddess, from what I can tell, she's only mentioned in reference to Loki, which could entirely mean she's only been added in the Edda's in order to explain away Loki's origins, or, in another possibility, she could exist purely on the fringes of the mythology. Either way, though, this is just the start of several reigning problems with the presence of Loki in Norse text, and one of the most glaring ones in my eyes.

An observation borrowed from Overly Sarcastic Productions' excellent video on Loki is that he is incredibly hard to research for a myriad of reasons- his name roughly translates to 'The Entangler' for a reason, as his mythology is a confusing web of contradictions and baffling ideas, even in the few sources we have to work off of. While I won't repeat her points wholesale, in short, Loki's existence is hard to even verify- it's entirely possible he was a later retcon to explain some unexplained aspects of the mythology, such as how Ragnarok would come to be. Speaking of... what the hell is the deal with Ragnarok and Loki? Aren't I good at segways?

Moving away from the debated existence of Loki, we should center on his role in the mythology from what we know from the Edda's, which is quite a bit. While Loki may be hard to research for a myriad of reasons (refer to the OSP video above), we have several confirmed sightings of this cryptic cryptid of Scandinavian stories, starting with his general role as a mixed practitioner of both being good and evil. While Loki is most well known for his role in perpetuating Ragnarok, the literal apocalypse in Norse mythology that it almost all circles around, he's not a wholly good or wholly bad figure- no, he's a wholly mischievous one. I'll save the Ragnarok talk for a future DDS, such as one on Fenrir, so we can focus on Loki in the day-to-day lives of the Æsir, which is that of being an absolute pest. As a shapeshifter, this genderfluid icon is prone to several bouts of mischief, including but not limited to:

Starting the entire bout with Útgarða-Loki,

Turning into a fly to bother the smithing dwarves,

Becoming a pregnant horse,

Eating a burning apple and becoming pregnant,

Causing the death of Balder, a major point in the start of Ragnarok,

and entering the god's banquet, crashing their party, and being an awful drunk.

Yes, the pregnancies are just... a thing. Don't ask. Overall, though, Loki served as a troublemaker in every sense of the word, stewing up chaos wherever he went. Which included the research of him. Again, as mentioned before, and to quote 20th century scholar Gabriel Turville-Petre, "More ink has been spilled on Loki than on any other figure in Norse myth. This, in itself, is enough to show how little scholars agree, and how far we are from understanding him." Even the exploits listed above are debated somewhat, and many of them don't appear in some canonicities, while others do. The hot debate regarding Loki has been smoldering for centuries, with some proposing him as the God of Fire, others proposing him to be a retcon of Lucifer himself, and still others believed him to be a trickster figure. However, the most interesting of the four popular theories to me has to be one about him possibly being a Hypostasis of Odin.

"Cool, what does that mean?" I hear you asking. Hypostasis is a hard to explain term, to say the least, but it effectively means something that exists to support something else. Think of the Holy Trinity of Christian myth- The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit all support each other in simultaneously being god and not each other at the same time. In effect, this means that Loki could, theoretically, be an aspect of Odin to support his own existence- without Loki, there would be no Odin, and vice versa. This theory, first proposed by Folke Ström, however, has been hotly debated- three others also have quite a lot of credence from around the same time. While I personally find the hypostasis theory the most fascinating, the other three have several credentials as well- Jan de Vries concluded that he may be an archetypical trickster god, while Anna Birgitta Rooth came up with the idea that he was originally a spider, a storyteller, and a weaver.

Hilariously, the fourth conclusion about Loki at the time, one written by Anne Holtsmark, says that no conclusion could be drawn about Loki, making a neat little bow over this entire debacle. Fittingly for a trickster god, research into Loki and his continued existence is incredibly difficult. It's almost ironic, in a way. A common consensus now is actually quite a bit more simple- the idea that Loki is one and the same with the creator of humanity in the text, Lóðurr. The main argument in support of this lies in the idea that, in the Edda's, a set of three Æsir appear often together- Odin, Hœnir, and Loki, who each appear together in Haustlöng, Reginsmál, and a ballad by the name of Loka Táttur. The idea this theory supports is that each of the three- Loki, Odin, and Hœnir- created different aspects of humanity. Loki made the tricky and cunning side, Odin the loyal and intelligent, and Hœnir the commanding and violent. Odin and Hœnir are well marked as being creators of humanity alongside Lóðurr, and it's entirely possible, given the similar pronunciation of Loki and Lóðurr, that it was another epithet for Loki.

Overall, though, Loki is confusing, and I don't even know where to begin on this past the damn Wikipedia article, so I'm cutting this short before I get a headache. Loki is well documented, sure, but those documents are so filled with blots of ink that it makes it hard to look into. So many leads about Loki simply head in circles upon circles, up to the point one may find their own head in their ass in their research- when even the scholars whose jobs are to investigate find this topic frustrating, you know it's bad.

Now, impromptu venting out of the way, how is he represented in SMT? Honestly, I'm not a big fan of his original design- it's cool, sure, but it feels too plain and like a Dragon Ball antagonist to really stick out in my mind. However, the other interpretations throughout the series stick the landing on this tricky trickster far better.

My personal favorite has to be the Soul Hackers design, but Persona 5's is far from bad either- Akechi's Loki looks demonic and cruel, while the Soul Hackers Loki looks far more tricky and conniving, painting well into his role as, well, a trickster! The long blonde hair and bat-like wings make him intimidating and mysterious looking all the same, plus I'm just a sucker for blue and yellow. Mostly appearing as a magic attacker, befitting of his role in the mythology as a tricky shapeshifter, he's a definite favorite of many in gameplay.

[chameleonspell]

HTDC commentary - 11: books & 12: silence

[Looking back at HTDC after nearly ten years: comments on lore, character notes, influences, art, whatever. May contain spoilers for later chapters.]

chapter text: 11: books & 12: silence

In which Iriel tries to read various different books in peace, without much success.

He’d been dreaming [...] Reu had appeared to rescue him, begging his forgiveness, and pledging eternal love.

Iriel's dream (and his reaction to it) is just a lyrical echo of "I Don't Believe You" by the Magnetic Fields, a song which reflects Iriel's view of Reuben in particular, and people loving him in general. Sounds fake.

I had a dream, and you were in it The blue of your eyes was infinite You seemed to be In love with me Which isn't very realistic.

The Balmora guild was really starting to wear on his nerves. Everyone was feuding with everyone else, and trying to make him take sides.

Ire knows he should make an effort to progress within the Balmora Mages Guild, but in his defence, everything about it is petty and ridiculous. And the apprentices really do sleep packed into bunk beds with no privacy, not even properly screened off from the main chamber! Barbaric.

He arranged his texts on a table: Chronicles of Nchuleft, The Ruins of Kemel-Ze, Nchunak’s Fire and Faith. Either his brain was damaged by the sugar, or none of them contained any particularly devastating insights.

Morrowind has hundreds of readable in-game books, and I'm obsessed with them. Of course I was going to let Iriel read some of them, and have opinions.

Fire and Faith is summarised, rather than fully written, but is allegedly a translated autobiography of a Dwemer evangelist of Kagrenac's theories. We don't get any actual theories of Kagrenac in the short summary, but presumably Iriel could have gleaned some from reading the full text. Since we find out later that the Dwemer language is currently unknown and untranslatable, who is supposed to have translated this book, and when? I have questions.

Chronicles of Nchuleft is a history, and we're given an extract concerning a rivalry between two Dwemeri Councilors. It depicts Dwemer getting very drunk and emotional over silly disputes, and was thought to have been written by an Altmer, as it's in Aldmeris. So, who knows where the writer was getting their information from, or how accurate it is! Were they translating from Dwemeris (how? when? the history is of events in the Merithic era!), or just making things up?

The trouble with these questions is that it's totally possible there are coherent answers to them that make sense within the historical setting! Lots of Morrowind books have unreliable authors, bias, translation issues, and we know there are "fake" Dwemer stories, eg those by "Marobar Sul". But it's equally possible that whoever was writing a particular in-game books made a mistake, because when you have a lot of writers and really complicated lore, that's gonna happen, too.

Of the three, Ruins of Kemel-Ze is the only one with a full ingame text, so of course, it's the furthest thing from an actual Dwemeri author, being an account of an expedition into a Dwemer ruin by an Imperial looter

archaeologist. Interesting stuff about the ruins, though.

Being relatively common texts, it's a bit optimistic of Iriel to think he's going to find the secret of the Dwemer's disappearance in these books, but at least he's getting a grounding in the field.

Ire understood the principles of Destruction spells. He had successfully conjured various elements under laboratory conditions, with accuracy, if not intensity.

Magic, as a metaphor, is about how a character is affecting the world. And being a mental discipline, it's very easy for it also to become a psychological examination of how that character feels capable of affecting the world. The sort of power they believe they have, and the source of that power.

Different cultures in Tamriel would probably have different opinions about the source of magical power. Some people might see it as a pure expression of emotion, or willpower. I think for Altmer though, it would be purely intellectual, rather than emotional. Spells are almost like algorithms, complex, but possible to understand, break down and reassemble, to target an application of magic extremely precisely. Perhaps they can be expressed numerically - perhaos this is why other races think of the Altmer as being obsessed with numbers.

(The Dwemer were very mathematical, too, and the Dwemer word for "power" literally translates as "mathematics". They were also often implied to be emotionless, and fixated on logic. Vivec says that love was "an emotion the Dwemer knew nothing about".)

Iriel finds some spell schools easier than others. This shouldn't really happen, according to Altmeri philosophy, because it's all the same underlying principle: a conversion of power, according to rules. Emotion and context shouldn't come into it. But we know Ire's terrible at healing, and apparently Destruction spells are also difficult.

It's easy to understand why Destruction spells might be scary, though - that's for hurting people! Setting things on fire! It's not just theory, it has consequences, possibly bad ones! If magic is about the sort of change you want to exert on the world, then Iriel not wanting to exert chaotic, irreversible damage on the world makes sense. Who would trust themselves, like that?

What's wrong with healing, though?

And... what about Ire's personal specialty, what does that imply about the sort of change he wants to exert? As an illusionist, is Iriel even changing the world at all? He had failed to decipher it several times, and was now trying to forget about it.

Having already successfully managed to forget what he was supposed to do with it. Anyway, he should really give it to Sottilde to decipher, she's the code expert. But I don't think he knows that about her, yet, and by the time he does, it's too late.

Sister Llathyno came bounding down a corridor at an alarming speed for her age, grey robe rasping against her skinny limbs. “Almsivi in every hour, my child!

Sister Llathyno is a one-joke character, and that joke is having her speak almost entirely in maxims from The Book of Dawn and Dusk. I am very easily entertained.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like them, just not necessarily in a theological sense. I mean… the one with Molag Bal and the, uh… biting. Are you sure it’s a religious text?”

She fixed him with an absolutely immobile stare. “Rumours flow from the House of Troubles, sinner. Sermon Fourteen depicts the Pomegranate Banquet, a powerful and thought-provoking allegory about the dangers to the Dunmer people.”

See, the terrible thing is that she's right. But Iriel is also right that it's about a big, Daedric cocksucking party. Sermon 14 is a lot of things, all at once. This is why I love the 36 Lessons - it's nonsense... till it's porn... till it's a reinterpretation of trauma... till... ah, shit! It's a spiritually significant religious text that's deeply expressive of Dunmer relationships with the Daedra and how Vivec obtained power from them!

Iriel is not yet on Llathyno's level, however, and the Pomegranate Banquet appeals for what she considers to be the wrong reasons. "Appeals for the wrong reasons" is going to constitute a lot of Ire's relationship to the Sermons, honestly. I may not approve of Llathyno's judgemental angle on it, but Iriel is rather missing the point. (I could say missing the wood for the trees, but missing the wood is the one thing he isn't doing.)

“Gather no seed in the fields of Hell! Fate, monstrous and empty, the whirling wheel of evil! Consider your end, mortal! How black my heart, roasting fiercely!?”

Which doesn't go down well. Iriel is encountering the great contradiction of Dunmeri religion: Vivec's writings vs. official Temple dogma. The first of these is mercurial, iconoclastic, homoerotic, cryptic, a treatise in radical ambiguity, of being "the letter written in uncertainty". The second is conservative, dogmatic, authoritarian, censorious, concerned with avoiding sin and blindly following the rules. How does anyone rationalise this? Ire doesn't really get it, but he also doesn't really care, at this point.

I do wonder what exactly the Temple mean, when they use terms like "Hell" and "sin", though. It's repeated and deliberate enough that it can't just be a rogue writer imposing an inappropriately Christian view, surely? "Hell(s)" sometimes refers to the Daedric realms, so that seems possible. And maybe "sin" is just whatever the Tribunal disapprove of. In their followers, at any rate.

In Sermon 14, after the spear biting, Vivec writes: "This has since become a forbidden ritual, though people still practice it in secret." Is that a condemnation, or not? Combined with Llathyno's reaction, Iriel takes it to mean the Dunmer's gods are hypocrites, forbidding their followers from homosexual acts that they themselves engage in. Theologically speaking, I think it's more complicated than that, but I also think a lot of regular clergy like Sister Llathyno use it as an excuse for homophobic condemnation.

Edwinna had noticed his affinity for illusion spells, and decided to make use of them to “borrow” a book from a colleague in Vivec.

More books. Stolen ones, this time. Iriel didn't need to join the Thieves' Guild to get assigned thieves' jobs, mages are just as happy to disregard the sanctity of personal property. Which includes Iriel, since the minute he gets the book, he decides to run off with it himself, instead of giving to to Edwinna.

he had cast Silence on himself.

Next chapter, and Iriel's using another illusion spell, though this one isn't usually self-targeted. Silence is used in battle, to prevent an enemy from casting spells (so presumably, Ire would have to let it lapse before recasting it, each time?). We know from the ingame skillbook, "Silence", that it works by removing sound, though, so it can also be used as personal earplugs. In the book, the great illusion master, Erer Darothril, teaches a warrior how to use the spell:

"He explained what it truly meant to bend sound, creating a cone of silence as glass can bend light. He had Silverthorn close his eyes while he tapped the side of his glass, making him picture the sound as the physical entity it was, before it was extinguished."

The warrior then uses it to defeat a mage, who is rendered helpless without his voice. So... it's not enough to speak the magic words, you also have to hear yourself say them? OK, but... in TES games, the player's spells don't seem to have a verbal component. Is that just a limitation of the player-voice lines, are we supposed to think using the voice is required for all spellcasting? I can't remember if casting a spell breaks Invisibility, in Morrowind. I might have written myself into a plot hole, here, because I think Iriel sometimes casts via hand positions and mental discipline/willpower, not always words. Curses, this what I get for close-reading my own work! Iriel casting chameleon spells silently and automatically when stressed isn't a plot hole, though. He's allowed to do that, because it's supposed to be Weird.

He had greasy black hair to his strangely-embroidered collar, and prominent eyebrows, which he was using to punctuate his enthusiastic monologue.

It's him. The Ashlander. This isn't where you meet him in the mod, though. I changed a lot of things - not about the character (though I did adjust his speech register to be on the more casual side, so his voice would be more strongly distinct from Ire's) but a lot of technical and practical aspects of mod, and also things that... eh, fuck it. I wasn't going to state this openly, but we're on tumblr in 2024, underneath a readmore, and I'm sure all of the three people reading this either already know or couldn't care less, so I might as well go ahead and talk about it - that's my mod, I wrote it. So, yes, Julan's my character, but the reason I didn't mention that here, is that he isn't just mine. As a character I made to be part of other people's games and stories, I consider him theirs, too. He's public property, at this point, the Vvardenfell bike, if you will. I didn't want anyone to think HTDC was in any way canon for him, or more canon than anyone else's story. Because it's very much not. I changed things, I intensified things, and I made some things a lot worse, in ways I wouldn't ever have done, in the mod. Sometimes, I tried out alternative plot options, to see if they worked better - the original mod was released in 2006, so obviously there are things I'm not happy with, and some are a lot easier to fix in text than in code.

Above all, in a fic, I had the freedom to write Julan reacting to a specific main character, and write that relationship very deeply, which you don't get to do in a mod. There, you never know very much about who the player character is, so all dialogue ends up being restricted by that. But I didn't want to upset anyone who felt HTDC disagreed with their idea of Julan in their own game, so I wrote it under an alias. Because it really is just another player's fanfic possibility, it's not any more significant than any other interpretation of the character! Julan was always intended as a very psychologically malleable character, who reacts to and moulds himself to whoever he's travelling with. This is just one possibility.

Anyway, if you're here reading this, I'll tell you this stuff because I'm happy you're interested enough to read my commentary, and I want to talk about things I reworked from the mod, but I still don't really want tarhiel=kateri to be public record! This is just between us, okay? Open, kinda obvious (not like I ever tried to disguise my posting style), secret, but still secret. Sshhhh!

At one point, I considered writing HTDC as a full dual-protagonist thing, with Julan chapters. But only very briefly, because it was clear it would be a lot stronger and more cohesive, if I focused on Iriel. Still, it would have been interesting to follow Julan's movements, during the weeks before he ended up at Ghostgate, because they were, to put it bluntly, wildly unhinged. Which is hardly surprising, given the way he left the Grazelands, in a storm of arguments with no supplies and barely any equipment. He'd never been far from home before, had no map or directions, and it's a wonder he survived long enough to get to Ald'ruhn. By the time he's there, when Iriel encounters him in this chapter, some part of his brain has realised he's fucked up, but he can't face going back, either. So, in lieu of an actual plan, he is DRINKING.

“No, no, you have to hear it, it’s great! Let me start again. It’s really good, you’ll see. Hang on, I need to do the serious bit first. Serious. OK. Serious now. Right. Starting again… now!”

Julan sketch by @sanguith, looking suitably animated.

And because Julan gets really extroverted and manic when he's drunk - and he spends this entire scene incredibly drunk - he comes off as lighthearted comic relief, and honestly, like a totally different character to the one Iriel meets later, at Ghostgate. Which is probably a silly thing to do, for a character introduction scene. But I did it anyway, because a.) I think it's a sad kind of funny, even if the reasons aren't clear until later, and b.) drunk!Julan is, in some ways, a more accurate characterisation of who Julan really is, under all the stress, guilt, anger issues and paranoia he's drowning in, when sober. Which, y'know... would be part of why he drinks.

“You’re not aware of it, but right at this very moment, an Ashlander child is dying.

Probably some people are too young or online to remember the charity donation adverts that used to be on TV, with a very serious man doing a very serious and guilt-inducing speech over footage of babies with flies crawling on them, but they were all like this.

“HEY.” A warning finger was waved, unsteadily under his nose. “Don’ you dare tell me I don’ care about my people. I care about them, and, I also care about drinks. D'you see any reason it can’t be both? Do you, n'wah?”

In Julan's drunken head, this whole strategy made sense, and wasn't insincere bullshit. Because he does care! And yes, his whole Ashlander speech is kind of ridiculous and played for laughs, but everything he says is also true. He's ridiculous, but he's still right! He can be both, ok, n'wah?

“Well, I was just wondering… what’re you reading, there?”

Unfortunately for Iriel, he is currently presenting an irresistible target to Julan, since he completes the cheap temporary rebellion trifecta: books, booze and boys. And while Julan's not flirting or even consciously aware of any attraction, he's definitely all about the distraction of temporary rebellions, right now.

“Go get a drink and stop bothering me!”

Iriel could not be less interested, even (especially) if there had been flirting involved. His experiences with Dunmer men have been deeply negative, and this particular one, while not actively antagonistic, is being nothing but annoying. He's not Ire's physical type, or at least, he's a type that Ire conflates with Altmeri stereotypes about "bad" foreign men, the swarthy villains in cheap, racist novels. Iriel critiques these depictions, but still doesn't think of himself as being "into that", tending to prefer a more clean-cut, good-noble-boy aesthetic. And this is all on top of the fact Julan's spent weeks sleeping rough, and days throwing up mazte behind Ald'ruhn taverns.

Ire realigned his papers, opened the book and tried to find his place. “A Dwemer of eight can create a golem, but an eight of Dwemer can become one.”

Chimarvamidium is a story about a Dwemer tricking the Chimer by pretending to be an automaton, or golem, and it's said to be an authentically Dwemer story. The line Iriel quotes is a literal translation of one line, and the odd phrasing makes him wonder if it's significant.

“This was the number of bottles I could get for all the gold you gave me!”

It's simple maths, Iriel, aren't you supposed to be the educated one?

The Dunmer looked nonplussed. “We’re in a bar,” he said. “Anyway, four’s lots, so I thought I’d share them with you!”

You exchange all the gold for all the beer, what's not clicking? I love drunk!Julan logic. Especially that he ended up with too many beers for him to keep track of all at once.

Julan, crying over his multiple beers.

“…there is a suggestion that the Dwemer race as a whole had some sort of silent and magickal communication. [...]

"I don’ see how that could have anything to do with it,” the Dunmer was saying, “I mean, some of our wise women can do that too, but it wouldn’t help them make everyone vanish!

The reason I had Julan make this remark is that I was laying groundwork for his mother making a telepathy ring, later on. But I ended up throwing out that part of the mod, by the time I got there. The telepathy ring only exists as a necessary companion-control gameplay device, and from a plot/lore point of view, it's silly. No overpowered magical artifacts, we talk to each other like men! (wait. shit.)

Anyway, I didn't edit the line out, later, because even without the ring, it works. Telling Julan that she had telepathic powers is absolutely something Mashti would do, come on. She's not stupid enough to claim she can read his mind all the time, because that's easily disproven, but seeding the idea that maybe she COULD, y'know, SOMETIMES get into his head, if she really, really wanted to? He can't rule it out completely.

Ten minutes after that, he was yelling at a young couple

Iriel's two social modes get even more magnified, when he's drunk. He's either totally zoned out and falling asleep, or he's incredibly loud and zero-filter. It's 50-50 which mode he gets, so he doesn't usually drink much, because neither mode produces positive results. Today, he's in loud mode.

(I must have had some kind of mod that added a drunken visual effect, because I have all these screenshots of Ald'ruhn looking really blurry, like this one from on top of the Skar.)

“You can’t lie down, you’re in the street!” “Sssss fine. Jusss leave me.”

This particular drunken behaviour is taken from an ex who used to do this to me, and it is so annoying. Iriel doesn't know how lucky he is to have feather spells.

His gaze fell on the Dunmer, who, in sleep, looked far younger than he had before. What was he doing here, apparently alone and penniless?

Even through his own self-absorption and Julan's affable, drunken nonchalance, Iriel still picks up the sense that something is really not right with this boy.

Seconds later, he crept back in, left 50 gold on the bedside table

Enough to provoke some charity on his part, if only to assuage the guilt of not hanging around to find out what the actual problem is. I can't really blame him for that one, though, he's got enough problems of his own.

next: 13: legs & 14: plan & 15: claws & 16: door previous: 9: sanctuary & 10: outside

[ach-sss-no]

(In response to @victoriapegacorn's response to my post- the original post is getting really long so I decided to make a new one)

It's neat to hear what you pictured reading the book- thanks for sharing!

But probably you are right about literally silver/grey eyes

Ah, well, maybe! I'm not sure there's a 'right' way- that's just what I ended up liking to see in my own art

I perceived grey not as color but as his eyes being not as vivid as always.

That would also make sense and fit how it's described!

Tolkien is honestly not always very clear about how characters look which is how visual depictions of Gollum have ended up with no clothing. (I complain about it, but to be fair, the books never mention what he's wearing, only 'pockets'. But also to be fair, I wouldn't expect to have to specify a humanoid character is wearing clothing either, but now I know I have to! Thanks for the heads up, Professor)

So there's a lot of room to interpret with this character. I tend to focus in on areas where something is very clearly described and never used- in official stuff, not in fanart, to be clear; fanart is very personal and it's done for somebody for fun and for free, no one is obligated to look at it, so there's no 'wrong' way to take something. But if it's something like, hypothetically, a movie that tons of people will see without having read the book and they expect it to be somewhat correct to the source material, you can't just do whatever you want, right? And it's like- we're told 'this character looks like ??? ??? ??? oh and he has webbed feet and wore clothes' and then he is never depicted with webbed feet or clothes. Ever.

But don't let that distract you from the fact that Gollum (and many characters described only through evocative hints in prose, to be fair- this is a style, and it encourages imagination, and that's yet another reason why LOTR is so hard to adapt) is essentially written as an invitation to imagine something of your own based on a few prompts, and most people who read the book will probably come away with vastly different ideas of the character.

I find it a fun exercise to try being book-accurate as much as that's possible because it stretches my brain and relieves my frustration that certain licensed properties didn't do certain things that are not left up to interpretation, but I'm not trying to say 'this is correct', exactly. More like, 'if you also want to try the exercise of being accurate to the book, this was how I did it, and I expect you to notice areas where you disagree with how I did it and to want to do something different'

Thank you for sharing about what your translation was like! It's so fascinating how words change like that.

My book described Gollum's eyes as yellow (not pale) and his skin as black…

Pale is a very vague descriptor so I'm not surprised that changed, but it is interesting that something vague turned into something more concrete.

It sounds like the latter part of that description may have come from this bit in the English version of The Hobbit (chapter 5) (or at least been inspired by this):

He was Gollum — as dark as darkness, except for two big round pale eyes in his thin face.

Elsewhere, in LOTR, he's described as pale-skinned. The awareness that 'oh he's supposed to be dressed in dark clothing' makes that make sense, the character's skin is pale and he's wearing a dark hoodie (the fantasy version of a dark hoodie), got it. So what you see is a dark shape with pale bits sticking out. And he's lurking in the dark and his eyes glow so sometimes you only see a silhouette with eyes.

To someone reading this who has already mentally decided Gollum does not wear clothing, you end up with- well, something like what rankin/bass did where he has a pattern on his skin.

Not to mention they translated his name as Gorlum… goRlum!

That's super interesting! I know that words used to describe sounds* do in fact change in different languages, sometimes wildly. Here's a list of different ways to describe a dog barking.

The difference of course is that "Gollum" is an invented word + sound, and there's no existing sound to phonetically map it to, so that is a really interesting choice!

May I ask, did your translation change any other character names or was it only Gollum? (And if other names did change, was there a need to change how things are conveyed due to a difference in alphabets between the languages, or was it more of an intentional choice?)

I would also be curious to know what language this was but you don't need to tell me if you don't want to!

I am by no means a linguist and I am sadly monolingual but I find language fascinating and love hearing people talk about it.

*We have a word for this but the word for this is 'onomatopoeia' which is clunky and different to spell and I don't like it and we need an upgrade

[the-blind-assassin-12]

20 Questions for Writers

I was tagged by the lovely @maggiemayhemnj - thank you!!

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

Ten. I was cross-posting everything for a minute there, but I lost steam and now I only post here - except for Aphelion, which I am co-writing with @something-tofightfor. That still gets posted in both places.

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

68,449 - not counting Aphelion. My tumblr word count is... a lot higher.

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Right now just Pedro Pascal characters.

4. top five fics by kudos?

Gonna go by notes on tumblr instead because that's where most of my stuff is:

Bes'laar Din Djarin x F!Reader (based on artwork by @stealyourblorbos!)

Survivor Blues Joel Miller x F!Reader

Forever Din Djarin x F!Reader

The Cold Offends Me Oberyn Martell x F!Reader (The Viper & The Wild Thing universe)

Point of No Return Ezra x OFC Clara

5. do you respond to comments?

I try to respond to all comments because I appreciate them SO MUCH MORE than I can accurately convey. I love hearing from people about what they liked or what shocked them or what made them feel things, and I really love the chance to sort of have a micro mini chat about it in the comments. That being said, sometimes I completely check out and miss a whole batch or a whole fic worth of comments goes unresponded to for far too long. And I always feel bad when that happens, which sometimes results in me responding to things WAY after the comments were left, to the point where it wouldn't surprise me if the person has already forgotten the fic/what they wrote... but I haven't forgotten how much it meant to me that they read and commented on my work. So even if it's 6 months to an eternity late, I intend to respond to them all.

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

It Pours From Your Eyes Joel x Tess

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I feel like most of them have happy endings, but we'll go with A Little Christmas Magic - Frankie x F!Reader as perhaps the fluffiest happy ending.

8. do you get hate on fics?

I have gotten non-fic specific hate directed at my writing before, but that was a few years ago and it hasn't happened since. Which is cool because the fewer people wasting their time and energy on being unnecessarily mean about things - let alone about stories about silly little fictional guys - the better.

9. do you write smut?

I do, but I do not consider it one of my strong suits, and I typically only include it if it fits with the overall story though a few times I have written smut just to be filthy as a challenge... and as a treat.

10. craziest crossover?

I've been slowly spinning a True Detective x Tim Rockford crossover like a rotisserie chicken for months but I've only managed to jot down a few unconnected snippets thus far. And a title. It's gonna be called (maybe, if I ever actually write it) Flat Circle, Twisted Game.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, but if I did I would be absolutely PISSED. And I can't say I'd be nice about it.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope, but that would be cool AF.

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

Yes! I am currently co-writing Aphelion with @something-tofightfor and it is so much FUN.

14. all time favorite ship?

In all honesty it's probably Leslie Knope and Ben Wyatt. I was straight up ready to stop watching Parks and Rec if they didn't end up together.

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

lol what kind of passive aggressive, self-doubt feeding question is this? I'd like to finish them all and I try like hell to believe that I will.

16. what are your writing strengths?

I think it's probably describing natural settings? But maybe dialogue. Idk.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Smut. Also keeping the momentum to finish things in a timely fashion, but mostly smut.

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I try to only use it when it makes sense or when it benefits the story and not just as like... a novelty or an afterthought.

19. first fandom you wrote in?

Teeeeeeeeeeechnically? Like first one I ever made content for? I guess that would be the Twilight series. But I will not be sharing where to find that here. And if you find out where it is, you take that knowledge to the grave with you, you hear me? DO YOU HEAR ME, FRIENDS?

20. favorite fic you've written?

Even though it's nowhere near done, I love and am so very proud of Survivor Blues. But then again, even though it's a few years old now and I feel like my writing has grown since finishing it, Point of No Return will always have a very big piece of my heart.

Tagging: anyone who sees this and wants to play! Please tag me so I can see your answers!!

[namorslut]

NAMOR / PEARLS OF JADE

SUMMARY: you're a marine biologist sojourning in the Yucatán Peninsula and stumble upon an underwater cave in the clearing of a dense rainforest. expecting to make an amazing scientific discovery you're swept into a spell down the abyss into the reach of a loveless serpent feathered god who will go to any length to claim you as his.

WARNING: yandere!namor, body worshipping!namor, gift giving!namor, thigh gripping, sub!namor (if you squint) hc!siren!entrancing!namor, human!reader, dub-con (i think)

NOTE:  after reading @jottositto 's post i've included some yucatan maya using a translator although it's not 100% accurate. if this came across a native speaker could you maybe give me corrections as i'd like to be as respectful and accurate as possible. ofc the people living in the peninsula will be speaking spanish as this area was colonised and y/n only has an understanding of spanish. thank u and enjoy!! ps: namor?? more like "mi amor" that man had me kicking my toes and twirling my hair in the cinema on friday. this is dirty af i feel like i'm teasing y'all. might write a part two laterrr. no beta so there are 100% spelling errors which i'll check when i got time.

"Me gustaría ayudarla pero en el tiempo que he vivido en ese pueblo, los que se han atrevido a salir de la seguridad de ese pueblo y dentro de la jungla nunca más fueron vistos. Estarías en mucho peligro si te fueras. No creo que tu proyecto de ciencia valga la pena el riesgo.” The short Mexican woman explained.

Her thinning, silver hair was pulled down into two long braids down her protruding collarbones. Her brows were pulled in a frown, revealing creases running the length of her forehead and the outer creases of her beady, mud-brown eyes.

You pleaded with her, your coffee stained research folder clutched in one hand, as you made contact with her elbow gently.

"Pero señora, forma parte de mi trabajo. Fui enviada para investigar los ecosistemas marinos de esta península."

She considered you for a good minute. Searching your unwavering eyes. She sighed and leant toward you, dropping her wobbling voice to a whisper.

"Has lo que deseas, Cariño. Pero que tengas cuidado." she warned, using her eyes to signal you in the general direction to take to enter the forbidden forest. You trailed her eye line and saw a wooden bridge not so far off camp. You bowed to her as a sign of respect.

The journey through the rainforest was an arduous one as the way was shielded by a mass of coiled, everlasting lianas, strangler figs and long, shallow buttress roots along the soil of the shrub layer of the forest which you tripped over several times. You had to slice through the layers of tropical plants in your way with a machete you "borrowed" from a fruit cutter that was left around camp, making your hiking backpack even considerably heavier than it already was. You didn't stop once to admire and take in the smells of passion flowers or orchids as you moved through the brush; you knew better than to let yourself become the prey of the several species of venomous snakes and amphibians native to this rainforest.

It looked to be late afternoon when you stopped by a tributary, crouching over the crystalline water, you followed the stream with your gaze to check for growths of algae when you noticed a dark entrance. You stood up rigid as your breath stilled, you noticed the eerie silence of the clearing. The sounds of bushes rustling, frogs croaking and flapping wings had died down entirely.

There was utter tranquillity. 

You heard a low, rich brassy voice hum a melody from the rocky cave, the sound reverberating to your spot on the damp soil. You dug the heels of your mountain boots as you felt your body being tugged slowly to the body of water, your heartbeat drumming in your ears, your breaths becoming shallower.

The song sounded like one you would hear as a premonition for bad things taking place in urban legends told around campfires, it spoke of men searching to mine riches out of foreign land to find fool's gold instead and meeting their demise at the hand of otherworldly things. Despite the warning behind the unspoken lyrics, you felt your body lull into relaxation.

You saw him rising from the dark aquamarine pool beyond, his eyes glistening a tawny shade of brown. You didn't miss his long ethereal pointy ears and his full lips. His tanned muscular body was slick with droplets as the rest of his body appeared from out of the water. He was adorned in golden bangles and a thick necklace dating from an ancient civilisation, encrusted with what looks like azurite and pearls of jade.

He floated above the surface and toward you. You felt your mouth dry and heart drop to your stomach as a human-looking man flew slightly above the land slowly in your direction. You fought back a scream as the soles of his foot made contact with the ground, and still towered over you despite that. He scrutinised every detail of your face with an unreadable expression.

You breathed in, mustering the courage to speak.

"What are yo-"

He raised a large hand over your face, your vision darkening and body tumbling forward.

You awoke in what seemed to be an underwater cave with overhanging stalactites, you sat up abruptly from the makeshift bed out of bamboo. You noticed the absence of your backpack beside you. Remembering your phone in the jean pocket of your shorts and pulled them out. Scrambling to get a signal.

"Teech ch'íijsajil despierto." a female voice enunciated in a foreign tongue. You flinched, your pocket phone nearly flying out of your reach. Your eyes landed on a blue skinned woman. A respiratory mask covered her nose and mask.

She wore indigenous print robes and held a spear encrusted in emerald jewels. You noticed how her mouth didn’t move, her voice seemed to have come from inside your head as she stood alone in the middle of the rocky cavern.

"I don't understand" you thought, testing your theory out.

A female voice penetrated in your brain again, speaking to you in what sounded like an ancient Mayan tongue.

"Kukulkán in tu k'áataj a buscara. Búukint le, ku leti'. '' the woman seemed to lecture as she crossed the round room and reached into a clam basket by the foot of your mat and pulled out folded sheets of cream coloured linen, extending them to you. You accepted and forced a small smile to show gratitude.

You put the robe on and the beaded necklaces of jade over the dress, which ran up to your mid thigh and was sleeveless. The material was comfortable and baggy over your body but you felt uncomfortable at the lack of bralette you had underneath, leaving your breast exposed. You found a pair of golden strappy sandals at the bottom of the pile which you put on as well.

The woman from earlier came back for you and beckoned you with her hand out of the round room and past hung tapestries depicting ancient Yucatan gods and monsters. She stood behind you, ushering you to go into the room.

"Cha' k" a familiar voice spoke out. The man from the cave turned from his spot facing the painted mural, his back shifting as he smiled at you as you shivered in fear.

"Teech wilik ki'ichpam yéetel a prendas, a wilik ti' beyo' utia'al in reina” he flirted, in a deep, suave tone advancing toward you, you took a step back. Your eyes caught a glimpse of his rigidly sculpted chest, welded in the image of a divinity and the sleek look of his tanned copper skin. 

"Look, I don't know where I am or what you want with me but I certainly didn't mean any harm by stumbling on your cave. I'm not a threat to your people but I wish to be let go." you raised your hand to your chest, gesticulating as clearly as possible your words, shaking your head. The mythical man let out a boisterous laugh at your words, startling you. He grasped your hand in his firm one, raising it in front of him.

"Oh my little angel, I do know that. But I haven't taken you for that reason." he admitted, speaking to you in English as he interlaced your fingers together.

Fucking bastard.

You shook your hand out of his.

"You can speak my language." you pointed, growing irritated with the man.

"Of course, a dutiful ruler needs to be educated of the world around him." he boasted proudly.

"What is your name?" you asked as politely as you could muster

"My people praise me as Ku'kul'kan but my enemies call me Namor." he tucked a strand of your hair behind your head as his eyes traced your figure, wandering down from your budding breast to your legs.

"Why did you take me? What is it you need?" you defied. He cupped your chin gently with his smooth thumb, inclining your head up to his.

You shrugged against him but felt another hand slithering to your lower back, his touch cementing your body in place. His brown irises dilated as his gaze softened.

"Well if it isn't obvious, I want you. I want you to rule beside me and light a match that will burn the world from underneath their inconspicuous feet. Be my queen and I'll give you all that which your heart could desire."

You shook your head frantically.

He's insane.

His eyebrows quirked at your lack of cooperation.

"I see it in your eyes, that spark of passion and resentment. You've been underestimated your whole life. Your life's work is meaningless to the people around you, you're not getting the recognition you deserve." you grunted, bothered by his assumptions. 

"You know nothing about me or my life.” you stated. 

“I hate to disappoint you my angel but you can either bend to my desire of your own will or we can do things my way.” he remarked as he traced his thumb over your lips, pressing a chaste kiss to them. You felt as if every inch of your body was set aflame at his touch. You reclined your head in disgust.

“St-” 

Your mouth betrayed you as it parted open to receive the soft ones of the God before you as his palms felt their way treacherously down your body to the back of your thighs and your nape. You felt your knees buckling together, the flesh of your upper thighs pressing together as you felt heat pulsating from between your legs. You bit back a moan of pleasure as his imposing form bent down to kneel before you. Your eyes widened as his lips pressed against your vee line. You saw a flash of green in his eyes as he looked up to you. You pressed your eyes tightly shut. 

No. 

Suddenly you pushed against the invisible boundaries around you, stumbling backwards out of whatever spell Namor had put on you. You breathed out painfully. 

“Fuck you.” you whispered. 

“Oh?” he enquired, surprised at your incredible amount of resistance. 

She has the spirit of a warrior queen, he thought. I must bind her to me forever.

Namor arose, striding to you. In a single movement, he coiled his arm around your throat; putting some pressure down onto your windpipes as you clawed at his hand. 

He moved you easily against the wall rubbing his nose onto yours, turning his face toward your ear as he whispered:

“We’ll have to go for that second option then.”

[goofysimpleton]

Keith Howell

Main Route Chapter 10

~This translation is not 100% accurate. Just here for you fellow impatient friends.

N=Narration

⬛️=whenever the next text showed up

I have the characters address Belle as MC for main character

Italics for flashback scenes

Choices are bold. The 4+/4+ is blue.

Scene 1

N: The day after Sonia’s party…

Keith: “Regarding refugee protection, which I spoke about earlier, it looks like some of them will be accepted into Vis’ territory.” ⬛️ “He also said he wanted medicinal herbs for the development of new medicines, so as soon as I received the application form, he said, ‘Tell me.’”

N: Keith gave instructions to Liam who was sitting across from him while being shaken by the carriage. ⬛️ he single-mindedly read through the pile of documents.

Keith: “Also, it seems that the embezzlement of taxes in the Southern Earldom has been resolved.” ⬛️ "However, for him, he was very good at listening. Just to be sure, please continue to monitor him. Then..."

Liam: “…”

N: Unable to endure Liam's piercing gaze, Keith smiled wryly.

Keith: “You're still thinking about last night." ⬛️ "Thanks to him, it was good to know that MC was in the court as 'Bell'." ⬛️ "It would have taken me longer to pull that information out." ⬛️ "...But the death of the king honestly surprised me."

Liam: “Are you going to do anything?”

Keith: “No way. It has nothing to do with why we're here." ⬛️ "I know that the information I obtained could also be used as a weapon to put Rhodolite in a predicament.” ⬛️ "But I don't want to be in a country where people's deaths are used as a bargaining chip." ⬛️ “…”

N: A shadow falls on his face for a moment, but soon he smiles again.

Keith: “For the time being, I’m glad that the rumors going around in Jade have nothing to do with MC.” ⬛️ “Ah. So we don't need to get involved with her any more?" ⬛️ “Liam. Thank you for your help last night." ⬛️ "And I'm sorry I made you do this all the time." ⬛️ “Don’t worry about me. My physical condition is as usual, to the extent that I am shocked.”

N: Keith looked out the window as he spoke so quickly that he didn't even give Liam a chance to talk.

Keith: “No matter who I hurt, I’m used to it.”

N: He says it’s nothing. ⬛️ However, only the last words sound like they are telling themselves strongly... ⬛️ His eyes peeking out from his heavy bangs had the danger of collapsing at some point. ⬛️ The shop where Sonia's party was being held deep inside the floor…

~~~

N: Keith and MC, who were chatting on the balcony, sat side by side on a sofa in a room.

Bad Keith: “MC.”

MC: “…hm?”

N: After noticing that my name was called, I slowly looked up. ⬛️ MC’s expression was so different from what she had on the balcony, she was euphoric and empty.

Bad Keith: “Say your name.”

MC: “…MC.”

Bad Keith: “What is my name?”

MC: “…Keith?”

N: Instead of his usual politeness, a bit of abusive words were said. ⬛️ Keith squinted as if he had found a new toy...

Bad Keith: “Well then…”

Scene 2

MC: “Uh….”

N: He stroked the rim of my ear with his fingertips and tickled the bottom of my chin. ⬛️ My sensitive body trembles a little and I catch my breath. ⬛️ My eyes were more watery than before.

Bad Keith: “How did it feel?”

CHOICES:

…It felt good

•••••• It tickled

・・・It was embarrassing

MC: “…It felt good.”

Bad Keith: “You’re an obedient and cute girl. I want to try many other things."

N: He picked up a glass by his side and looked at the pale pink liquor that remained at the bottom.

Bad Keith: “It's pretty good considering it's made with only plants."

MC: “…”

N: He lightly shakes the glass in front of me, who shows no reaction.

Keith: "This is alcohol, but it's not alcohol."

MC: “…”

N: I tilt my head not knowing what he means. ⬛️ Placing the glass on the table, he grabbed my wrists with one hand and threw me onto the sofa. ⬛️ It's like a small animal attacked by a beast, with its body completely hidden behind its large body.

Bad Keith: “A drug that makes you want to tell the truth. It makes it harder to lie." ⬛️ "You’re going to be in a state where you’re drunk with alcohol like now, and during that time you’ll honestly spit out what I ask." ⬛️ “Of course, you won’t have any memories of that time, and I tested safety myself, so there is no problem.” ⬛️ "As expected, it can't be made into a product."

MC: “…”

N: I shut my mouth and just look up at him. ⬛️ My eyes wavered slightly, searching for something, and Keith’s lips drew an arc.

Bad Keith: "If you have something to say, say it." ⬛️ "Come on, open that little mouth."

N: He grabbed my chin and forced my lips apart with his thumb. ⬛️ MC, who had been unresponsive up until now, moved her body as if resisting.

MC: “……Who… are you?”

Bad Keith: "'Keith', you said it yourself, didn't you?”

MC: “But... you’re different from the usual, Keith." ⬛️ "The scent, the eyes, the voice, everything...”

Bad Keith: “Which one do you think is the real me?"

MC: “Which…”

Bad Keith: “Is it the hesitant me who loves apologizing? Or is it the me who's pushing you down now?"

MC: “…”

Bad Keith: “Thinking? I like teasing, but I don’t like being teased."

N: When pressed his thumb to play with my lower lip, I turned away in rejection. ⬛️ I glanced sideways, my vacant expression tinged with caution.

Bad Keith: "The medicine is working, and your reason is still dead." ⬛️ “You're tough with a cute face, aren't you?"

MC: “…I don’t know.”

Bad Keith: “Mm?”

MC: “The normally calm you and the scary you now... are the same person, but they don't look the same.” ⬛️ “Neither look fake." ⬛️ "Is it strange that 'both' rather than 'either' looks like the real Keith?"

Bad Keith: “…”

N: The turmoil stifled his words, but an exasperated breath soon escaped Keith's lips.

Bad Keith: “Ah, that’s strange.” ⬛️ "It's strange that you've been holding on to such feelings and not trying to leave until now."

MC: “Uh…”

N: MC’S face distorted with a faint pain as her wrists were squeezed.

Bad Keith: "The pleasant chat is over. Let's get down to business." ⬛️ "Please hurt him a lot with that beautiful heart."

Scene 3

N: I heard the sound of pens writing in the distance. ⬛️ The next thing I heard was a small sound like something was being put down... ⬛️ It was after that that my consciousness was raised at once.

Keith: “Nn…” ⬛️ “…?”

N: Frowning his brows out of focus and blinking a few times, Keith realizes he's grasping something. ⬛️ Still unconscious, I traced my outstretched hand and gasped at the sight ahead.

MC: “…Keith?”

Keith: “…”

N: MC, who has a completely different expression than usual, is laid down. ⬛️ Both thin wrists are grasped together. ⬛️ Keith let out a frightened, trembling voice at the thought of doing all that.

Keith: “Ah… I…”

N: If I let go of my hand in a hurry, the white skin turns slightly red and painful.

Keith: “I… you… what happened?”

N: When he looked around the room with his dizzy head, there was a piece of paper on the table. ⬛️ It was full of scribbled letters about MC. ⬛️ "Bell'''Demise of the King" ⬛️ In two words, Keith understands everything. ⬛️ He immediately turned his gaze back to MC and called out to her while making a desperate smile.

Keith: “MC, how are you? I'm sorry, let me touch you a little."

N: He took off his gloves and timidly touched MC’s eyes, forehead, and neck to see if there are any abnormalities.

Keith: If you feel sick or have a headache, no matter how trivial, please tell me.”

MC: "I don't feel bad, but I'm a little sleepy."

N: MC’s eyes fluttered like a child, and Keith let out a sigh of relief.

Keith: “I see… That’s good.” ⬛️ "You’re not forcing yourself to wake up, so that's good." ⬛️ “If you're sleepy, just...just...just...”

N: Deep wrinkles form between Keith's eyebrows as if desperately suppressing feelings that have nowhere to go.

Keith: “Uh... what's good....." ⬛️ "... I didn't mean to know in this way."

N: A hoarse voice echoed in the quiet room. ⬛️ Keith's hand leaves MC’s cheek, but her hand grabs it to hold it back.

MC: “Keith, are you alright?”

Keith: “…Hm?”

N: MC looks at Keith worriedly.

MC: “You look in like you’re in pain. Did something happen?"

Keith: “…Nothing. Nothing bad.”

MC: “But…”

Keith: "You're sleepy right now, so that's what it looks like. Really, nothing."

MC: "But you look like you’re about to cry." ⬛️ “I saw a face like that on you before.” ⬛️ “I want you to have something like that—”

Keith: “Wait, that’s all there is.”

N: Keith's voice interrupted MC’s words, which she desperately tried to make while her drowsiness was trying to steal her consciousness.

Keith: “Don't say kind words to me right now." ⬛️ “…Please, MC.” ⬛️ “Please…”

MC: “…”

N: Hearing his earnest, clinging voice, MC hesitated but immediately nodded.

MC: “Okay. Then…”

Keith: “…”

MC: "When I wake up... let me worry a lot."

N: MC’s drowsiness had finally reached its peak, and her eyelids slowly fell, and he soon heard her breathing.

Keith: “…” ⬛️ “Those are… kind words, aren’t they?”

N: He combed his long bangs and let out a deep sigh. ⬛️ After a while, Keith twisted the corners of his mouth in a self-deprecating manner.

Keith: “What are you hurt by deceiving me from the beginning?"⬛️“…”⬛️ “It looks like it didn’t work out this time too.”

Scene 4

A few days after Sonia’s party… ⬛️ I was attending an evening party held regularly at the imperial court. ⬛️ It can be called a treasure trove of information, and the conversations that fly around are all informative, and one can't help but listen. ⬛️ Starting with Rhodolite, I turned my gaze to the bustling people while learning about the current situation in other countries.

(Amazing. In a blink of an eye, a wall of people is forming around Leon.)

N: One by one, the aristocrats who gather one by one have bright expressions, and anyone can see how popular Leon is.

(He’s like the sun.) ⬛️ (If Leon is the sun, Chevalier seems to be the moon.)

N: The other day, I participated in a meeting with Chevalier as a helper, ⬛️ I remember that it was so brutal that I had the illusion that I had come to a land of extreme cold from beginning to end.

(The nobles I saw at that time seemed to be in awe of Chevalier.) ⬛️ (Influence on others and ways of thinking are polar opposites. However, the feeling of thinking about the country is the same.)

N: I looked down at the glass I was holding in my hand.

(Pale pink liquor…)

???: “We found the young lady who passed out and returned to the castle while being carried by Keith."

MC: “!?”

N: When I hurriedly looked up, I saw Nokto with a smile on his face.

MC: “Nokto… What is it?”

Nokto: “Were the servants chatting with great interest?”

N: I suddenly felt dizzy. ⬛️ What crossed my mind was the morning after I went to Sonia's party...

Flashback N: What Rio told me was my failure that made me want to scream.

Rio: "Medicinal tea, I remembered Mr. Liam brewing it. It's good for the body to drink too much alcohol."⬛️ "You got drunk at Sonia's party and Keith delivered you to your room." ⬛️ “I was surprised because you rarely drink until you fall asleep.” ⬛️ "I thought you were forced to drink, but your complexion isn't that bad, so maybe alcohol just doesn't suit you..."

(I remember up to the point where we watched the stars together on the balcony and drank alcohol.)

N: My memory after that seems to have disappeared, and not even a fragment can be found. ⬛️ The thought of being so drunk made me feel dizzy again.

Leon: “Ah, so he told you.”

N: Leon, who finished talking with the nobles, came over with a deep laugh.

MC: "When did you find out, Leon?"

Leon: "The day after you came back from the party.”

(Now I feel like I could happily fall into Clavis’ pitfalls.) ⬛️ (No, I want to apologize to Keith before than that)

N: A heavy sigh spilled out of my mouth as nothing but guilt welled up in me.

Nokto: "Hey, Keith, hasn’t been here since the party. Have you seen him?"

Scene 5

MC: “Yeah…I can’t quite remember.”

(Unusually the guide is several days later and he is always absent when I go to his room.)

N: Neither an apology nor a word of thanks have yet been conveyed, and the party has yet to see his face. ⬛️ Just seeing it every day made my heart swirl with anxiety.

(Did I get drunk and do something to Keith…?)

Nokto: “Well, it's only natural that we haven't met." ⬛️ “If I remember correctly, it was related to refugee protection, exchanges with plant collectors and pharmacists, and training tours of various knight orders.”

MC+Leon: “…”

Nokto: “…what”

Leon: “I didn't think you knew that much about Keith's plans."

Nokto: “I happened to talk to Licht, and he asked me about it at the time, so I just did some research.”

MC+Leon: “Heh… for some reason.”

(Maybe it's because of Licht... I rarely see them together, but they're really good friends...?)

N: Nokto furrowed his brows with a somewhat uncomfortable look at his naturally relaxed cheeks.

(Does that mean Keith is busy now?) ⬛️ (…I probably shouldn’t go see him.)

N: The next guide is in 3 days, so just wait until that day comes. ⬛️ Yes, I can wait, but for some reason I feel restless, like I'm complaining, "I can't wait." ⬛️ Amber eyes drew close.

Leon: “Are you missing Keith?”

MC: “Eh…”

Nokto: "I heard that you've been seen in the infirmary and training grounds."

Leon: "Me too. It's a difficult place to pass by by chance, isn't it?"

N: Their mean smiles warmed my cheeks, and at the same time, I was taken aback.

(This feeling of restlessness is more than wanting to apologize as soon as possible... Is it because I miss seeing you?)

N: It fell on my chest as if telling me it was the answer.

MC: Yeah, I guess I’ve been lonely"

Leon+Nokto: “Definitely.”

MC: "I think you're always honest."

Nokto: “Oh, you mean it's easy to understand?"

(….I want to deny it, but I can’t.)

Nokto: “Good news for you.” ⬛️ “Keith, it seems he's already returned to the castle."

MC: “!”

N: The unexpected information made my heart jump.

Nokto: "I hope you enjoyed the party enough, should you go see him now?" ⬛️ “So, let's heal the tiredness of work with you." ⬛️ "It's a common practice, but isn't it the most honest and least costly strategy?"

Leon: “Is it honest?”

MC: "...I wanted to say thank you honestly."

Nokto: "Huh? Who was the young lady who said, 'You're always so honest'?"

MC: “"Thank you for the useful information.”

(Putting aside the strategy, I'll heal you from the fatigue of your work, huh...) ⬛️ (…That’s right.)

[I’m gonna try and get enough diamonds for the premium story since I’m very close. Hang tight!]

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

Addendum to the chapter 1 post that I thought of later:

“Not this afternoon—haven’t got time. I must mosey up to the North End to see a man who has got a lovely throat. Nobody can find out what is the matter. He has puzzled all the doctors. He has puzzled me, but I’ll find out what is wrong with him if he’ll only live long enough.” This is Eric's best friend, a well known doctor, cosplaying as, like, 1900s Dr. House. No concern for the patient's well being, just a Mystery that must be solved. No wonder Eric has such a low opinion of doctors!

(Sidenote: those of you who Anne, what is Gilbert like as a doctor? Because TBC didn't have a great opinion of them, and this book is not shaping up to be too complimentary either. Did LMM just have a fairly poor opinion of doctors in general that colors her work?)

On to chapter two, and we meet an actually sympathetic character! Larry West seems like a lovely young man, and I hope he recovers fully and that he and Agnes Campion are blissfully happy together. Unlike either Eric or David, Larry actually seems to care about the people under his charge, i.e. his students. I already want him to be our protagonist instead.

"The former looked more like a benevolent old clergyman or philanthropist than the keen, shrewd, somewhat hard, although just and honest, man of business that he really was." Kilmeny of the Orchard, sponsored by the Better Business Bureau! There is absolutely an interesting thread to tease out across LMM's life and work that connects Eric Marshall to Barney Snaith, but I want to read more of this book before I make further commentary on that. But it does appear that Maud's opinions on rags-to-riches businessmen, uh, Evolved over the years.

Actually never mind, I'm gonna girl who's only ever read The Blue Castle this book a tiny bit more. Compare:

"And then those girls were as pretty as pinks, now weren’t they? Agnes was the finest-looking of the lot in my opinion. I hope it’s true that you’re courting her, Eric?”

and

“Prettiest girl in Montreal,” said Dr. Redfern. “Oh, she was a looker, all right. Eh? Gold hair—shiny as silk—great, big, soft, black eyes—skin like milk and roses. Don’t wonder Bernie fell for her. And brains as well. She wasn’t a bit of fluff. B. A. from McGill. A thoroughbred, too. One of the best families."

Women aren't really people, they are trophies and objects to be collected and revered. Barney grows out of this mentality through his travels. Eric... well it remains to be seen about Eric, doesn't it?

"Perhaps I am. When a man has had a mother like mine his standard of womanly sweetness is apt to be pitched pretty high." So we're getting the standards by which Eric judges a future wife and the role she will be expected to play. He wants a society hostess, a woman who can step seamlessly into his mother's shoes. He wants her to be sweet and serene and, presumably, beautiful and delicate like his mother in her portrait. David and Mr. Marshall both basically want him to marry Ethel Taverse -- beautiful, well brought up, good lineage, of the Right Sort. Eric... honestly Eric has such fantasy standards for a woman that in a different book the resolution would be that he realizes that he's gay. He's doing that doesn't-realize-they're-queer-yet thing of, "it's not that I don't like [expected other gender], it's just that I haven't found anyone yet with [vague laundry list of impossible qualities]." I know that doesn't always translate into queerness, but it's an experience that definitely rings true to my baby ace teenage years before I had the words or knowledge to accurately describe my experiences.

"In all likelihood the worst thing that will happen to you over there will be that some misguided woman will put you to sleep in a spare room bed. And if that does happen may the Lord have mercy on your soul!” Go to PEI, but don't consort with the locals! The Wrong Kind of Woman might tempt you! This book is a great primer on how classism and eugenics go hand in hand, isn't it?

So our plot has been set up for us. Eric, a young man in possession of a good fortune, is off to Prince Edward Island, where he will soon find himself in want of a woman to be his wife. She will either be a commoner, whom his family and friends think isn't good enough for him but whom he loves and will stand up for, or she will be a secret aristocrat, whom he will pluck out of her shabby surroundings and return to her birthright in high society. I want this book to go with option a, because it's more interesting, but from what I know of it it veers closer to option b instead.

(What he needs is an Anne Shirley to whack him upside the head with a slate and tell him to stop being such a jerk, but I'm not holding out hope.)

[rockofeye]

I recently started noticing Haus of Hoodoo’s foreboding posts. It feels very heavy. I found your blog by searching her name. I read your entire post about her. All the lies & contradictions… Have you seen any of her new Instagram stories? I’d love to hear your thoughts. You mentioned that her past posts were like fear mongering. She has a lot of people passing these fears along.

You know, this is similar to what I said about New Age apocalyptic vision and universalizing personal revelation with the last person engaging in practices that do not align with Haitian Vodou as a communal, collective religion. She takes what she represents as her dreams and conversations with spirits and presents it as universal truth when they are vague statements that can be interpreted any particular way.

She apparently is currently pounding on some pretty low bar 'the world is ending' stuff and 'predicting' earthquakes and blackouts and illness and whatever scattershot statements make sense. None of it is anything surprising to anyone paying attention to the state of the world for the last ten years, and none of it is anything exceptional...but it does make people scared.

Someone sent me this post specifically and I think it's an interesting example:

She reports having this dream, and then says 'now we have to worry about...' as if those dreams are inherently important to other people. The trick is that they are not, but folks who come from the standpoint of New Age thought, which is inherently manipulative and fear-based, don't see it like that because that culture is heavy on apocalyptic marketing as a way to draw in paying customers.

She also takes them literally which is...interesting. Vodouizan often have better insight than that.

She's not speaking to vodouizan with that kind of stuff because there are dozens of ways to interpret that from the framework of Haitian Vodou, with the first being that there is no inherent meaning for anyone but her. Part of the humility she talks about a lot is understanding that bit about personal revelation being personal.

Of course, that hinges on that she is reporting accurately and this isn't marketing.

This has sat for a minute because giving her energy is like feeding a vampire: the need for her to prove more and more how serious and spiritual she is only grows, because any threat to that is dollars not spent.

She's started telling people they need to flee the US before a great blackout that she has been talking about for at least a year comes to pass. I thought the next logical step from that would be the ask for cash for some product or special access that will mitigate the effects or help you navigate her coming apocalypse..and she did that too!

Now she is advertising an almanac and private group to share her revelations and tell people where they should flee to, etc. She says she can't share openly, so she's going private which means she can communicate these things to people who are vulnerable to this style of manipulation. It also means she'll say/sell whatever she wants without any critical eyes on it which means no checks and balances which is the same thing as telling folks they can't photograph anything in the fetes she says she holds. If you're acting above board and in good faith, there's no reason to hide, especially for vodouizan.

But she's not speaking to vodouizan, she's speaking to scared and overwhelmed folks who want to feel better and will part with cash to do so. It's a time-honored tradition of spiritual grift, so she's right in line with those type of spiritual communities and fits in with those marketing schemes that target vulnerable people.

So, of course those posts feel heavy! That's definitely the point. It drives engagement which she can translate to dollars in her private group with whatever paid plans and assistance cures she is going to offer, like mass produced bracelets for protection, crystals, a very expensive fixed candle, etc.

None of this is to say that the world is not a really tough place to be right now. It's all shit, but none of this is new and these have been things that have been a result of long and deeply entrenched systems of oppression and not anything specifically spiritual or magical in nature. From the perspective of Vodou, the lwa have seen all of this before. It's not new.

I will say that it is super interesting that someone who brings out the title of manbo when they want to assert authority has had almost zero to say about the continual disaster in Haiti. She's asserted no spiritual insight into that nor expressed one ounce of empathy for the suffering of folks she has claimed alignment with. But...she is also the person who wanted to talk big about the peyizan who live on the land she claims to own and how they would be punished if they cut a tree without her permission. How do you empathize when you barely see folks as human?

There are a lot more spiritually sound outlets available for critique and discussion about current events and what that means for spiritually aligned folks that don't involve insistence on a particular vision or apocalyptic supposed messages. Survival in a world based on inequality and white supremacy does not mean following a personality or their interpretation of what they believe their visions are. It's okay to leave that stuff to the side in pursuit of understanding our place in the world because survival is not predicated on ideas that inevitably come back to white supremacist conspiracy theories. She's already there with her most recent stuff.

So...take care of you and your own spiritual vision without buying into someone who wants to sell to you. Don't buy into collective fear where the solution comes with a price tag.

Those are my thoughts...I hope that they are helpful.

[racefortheironthrone]

So what was the historical theory of objectivism?

jasminewave asked:

So, what *is* the difference between the small-o objectivists and the Randian Objectivists?

It's more accurate to call them the "Objectivity" School of history, and this one goes all the way back to the very earliest days of history as an academic discipline in the mid 19th century. (This is something we covered in my Intro Theory course in grad school, and I remember it well.) At this time, American historians were really struggling with how to differentiate themselves from the plethora of amateur historians (a problem the disciplne still has), and like a lot of educated people in the Anglo-American sphere they turned to the Germans, because German higher education was the absolute cutting edge in the 19th century.

Specifically, they turned to Leopold von Ranke:

One of the OGs (he started university in 1814, not long after the universities had re-opened after Napoleon had closed them, and his first book was published in 1824), Von Ranke can arguably be called the father of academic history: the dude introduced source-based methods, archival research, seminars, and close reading of texts to the discipline. He's associated with a particular phrase that decribed how he thought history should be approached: "wie es eigentlich gewesen ist." This can translate to either history "as it actually happened" or history "as it happened in its essence."

In part because Von Ranke really hated Hegel (the feeling was mutual) and the whole concept of the "philosophy of history," his English-speaking acolytes used the former translation and committed themselves to a particularly austere version of empiricism in which the historian was to confine themselves to "just the facts" and refrain from any grand theories that sought to explain historical events through a teleological narrative of progress or the working out of an Idea through the dialectic. (Peter Novick argues that this was a total misunderstanding of Von Ranke's work, that Von Ranke was way more of a German Romantic than he was thought to be, and that for example Von Ranke believed that the 16th century had been set aside by God for the working-out of Lutheranism and German nationalism, which Von Ranke thought were basically the same thing.)

Combining Von Ranke's empiricism with Victorian positivism, the Objectivity School believed that (through proper academic methods) historical events could be understood objectively, as if the historian had actually been there at the time, observing with omniscient and impartial eyes. Once that had been accomplished, each historical fact could be added to the general store of knowledge like bricks being stacked into a great pyramid, until at some point in the near future the edifice would be complete, we would know the Past perfectly and completely, and the project of academic history would end.

Every generation and school of historians who followed screamed "bullshit" at the top of their lungs. Not only were historical sources always partial and incomplete, but they were also thoroughly biased so that their description of events couldn't be taken as objective fact but subjective interpretation. The same was true of historians, they argued as the brand-new field of historiography first turned the analytic eye back on the historical discipline, who all were products of their environment and who inevitably interpreted sources through the lens of their own beliefs and values. Rather than a scientific march in the direction of the pyramid of perfected knowledge, history by necessity would have to be a permanent revolution of revisionism, as each new generation and new school of historians reinterpreted the events and facts we thought we had known through new eyes and new ideas.

After a huge dust-up at the turn of the 20th century that saw more than a few younger historians banished from the universities for being godless communards, the Objectivity School faded away within the historical discipline and became merely an object of study, which I think is a fitting end.

So that's the difference between objectivism and Objectivism.

[can-i-see-your-passport-please]

(This was sent to my main but I'm answering it here @bring-onthe-rain)

Benrey's eyes are Weird™. If they're blue that generally means he's doing okay or chill or good, if they're yellow that generally means the vibes are Bad, if they're swirly it's conflict. His eyes are basically a mood ring

Tommy's Sweet Voice translations aren't fully accurate. Sweet Voice isn't just rhymes, it's pure thought, pure consciousness, pure emotion. Every color of Sweet Voice is a general emotion, every bubble of Sweet Voice is one or more thoughts. You can't really stop any thoughts from coming through in Sweet Voice- you can suppress some thoughts and focus some so they come out stronger, but then the thoughts you're suppressing just come out more like whispers. The only surefire way to make sure thoughts don't come out through Sweet Voice is to not use Sweet Voice. Which isn't very easy if your mind's full/you're overwhelmed/you're emotional

Tommy can read/hear Sweet Voice, and the rhyming system makes it easier for the others to remember translations. It's not fully accurate but it's easier to remember, so it works.

I just use rhymes and general stuff because it's easy djhsfkjhdskjfds

Pink to red basically means "I'm very attracted to you" because I have the image in my head where Gordon's like "Tommy what does it mean" and Tommy's trying to figure out how to make it rhyme and Benrey's just like "it means you're hot" and walks away and it takes Gordon a full five seconds to process that HANG ON

Once Gordon decides to try and get to know Benrey he gets kinda fixated on Sweet Voice specifically. Like, canonically he REALLY likes Sweet Voice, there's a scene in the full Act 2 stream where he's asking Benrey a LOT of questions about how it works (not to mention also in act two where he was like "your voice is beautiful"). So post canon he basically gets a giant notebook and starts writing down translations and how SV works

Gordon got "IT MEANS I HATE YOU" lodged VERY deeply in his brain and is convinced for a WHILE that Benrey fucking hates his guts

All these bitches AuDHD trans bisexuals

Gordon realized he was bisexual because of Benrey because it's funny

I saw this one post that was like "Bubby NPD" and it was based as hell I can't find it but they were so right so. Bubby NPD (dw it's not based on stereotype the person has npd themself and noticed things)

Gordon has anxiety AND depression (HE'S JUST LIKE ME FR)

*grabs gordon* WHAT THE FUCK WAS YOUR MENTAL STATE BEFORE THE EVERYTHING MENTALLY HEALTHY PEOPLE DON'T TRY TO KILL THEMSELVES AFTER THREE DAYS IN A WARZONE ARE YOU OKAY

Benrey has Very black and white thinking/morality - there's good guys, there's bad guys. Unfortunately it's very biased! (against himself)

Benrey is from Xen, but was raised in Black Mesa. And while pretty much everyone else (aside from bubby's for similar reasons) is in camp Fuck Black Mesa, Benrey's emotions towards it are more... complicated.

Coomer basically found Benrey in Black Mesa one day and adopted him he's his son now (he then introduced him to Bubby and they are famly <3 Benrey has not realized this)

Gordon, Bubby, and Benrey all became a tad agoraphobic post-canon. Gordon because Holy Fucking Shit Trauma, Benrey and Bubby because they were raised in Black Mesa all their lives and have zero percent experience outside of it

Most human to least human: Gordon, Coomer, Tommy, Bubby, Benrey

The betrayal was organized because the military told Benrey they only want Freeman, if you sell him out we'll let you and the rest of your team go free as long as you never say a word about what happened here. (They were lying because they assumed Gordon was the leader and the glue holding the team together and if they lost him, it'd be easier to pick them all off.) Benrey was under the assumption Gordon could respawn, and if they killed him, then A) the military would stop following the team, B) the trackers would be disabled, the piece of shit HEV suit which I hate with a burning passion and hope they tore to bits would need to go (meaning hand holdy real), AND it'd be really funny

The Xen Thing was because Benrey now knew Gordon couldn't respawn, so if he went after the Nihilanth it would permakill Gordon. But the Science Team needed to defeat a single powerful being to get out of Xen. They needed a final boss. So what does Benrey do? Kill the Nihilanth, supplant it as the final boss, get the team to kill him.

andalsotheresthisonelinewherebenreysayshewantedtheemergencyexitdoortokillhim so uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh make of that what you will

(If it's not a game, it's because if a Xen creature is powerful enough to kill the Single Powerful Being they just supplant it, if a human kills the Single Powerful Being during a Rescas it ends said Rescas. Canon is my playground)

Xen was an overstimulating nightmare for Benrey. He was 100% having a meltdown from the SENSORY HELL he was in, on top of a complete mental breakdown

The exact nature of reality in HLVRAI fluctuates in my head depending on what I want it to be and what'd work best for the story. If it'd work best as a game, it's a game. If it'd work best as not a game, it's not a game. But generally, I kinda think of it as "game but also real." Like it formed its own pocket dimension. It's a game to us, but to them it's entirely real, even if they KNOW it's a game. It's complicated ksjhfkdjhsjfhdsj

Okay think of it like this. To us, that game is just a game. The characters are just polygons and code. Their pasts are, if not outright given to us, nonexistent. Up to speculation. Everything they do is determined by a program written by a real person. But that's not how it is to them! To them, their worlds are entirely real! They're real human beings with fully fleshed out lives. They have pasts and relationships and lives that have shaped them into who they are now. They're people! And after the game ends, their world continues on like it always had. There are still game mechanics like respawning, Dr Coomer is still glitchy as hell, but their world keeps turning outside of the player's influence.

Gordon too is an AI. All the AI are kinda shaped by the player's decisions, but Gordon ESPECIALLY is. The player can't decide what the others say and do, but the player CAN decide what Gordon Freeman says and does. The player's decisions, actions, words, personality, body language, it all influenced Gordon and made him who he is. Surely this will not cause him an existential crisis post canon.

By Talos,

Coomer was supposed to die. The reason he's so glitchy and fucked up is he's the tutorial character, and he was supposed to be killed by the ropes after the Rescas started and he'd taught the player how to play, and Tommy was supposed to be the one giving advice afterwards. But he didn't die, so his code was kinda winging it. (The devs didn't spend as much time on his code as the others because, well, he was supposed to die! So that's why he's really fucking buggy)

Gordon was kinda terrified to sleep for a while after the clone fight. A) betrayal, but B) according to Coomer, every time Gordon sleeps, he's put through unimaginable pain. He does not fucking wanna do that to him because he fuckign lomves them :sobcat: so basically for ages he doesn't sleep unless he absolutely has to (or unless he passes out).

Coomer's unimaginable agony when Gordon sleeps stops after the game ends! Win

Gordon's love language is physical affection, Benrey's is acts of service

Benrey doesn't like being shocked by even like power outlets (the reasons will surprise you (it's black mesa that is the reasons)

Gordon's really touch starved. He was touch starved before canon, but due to the HEV suit being a horrible thing that I hope they ripped off of Gordon and burnt to a crisp, Gordon became Touch Starved+