#why am I on tumblr when I should be writing

[rekino2114]

[Me checking tumblr this morning]

Oh hey neat I have 500 followers now

WAIT I HAVE 500 FOLLOWERS NOW?

Genuinely, I never thought this would happen, and to think I started this blog just because I was sick and bored one day.

I cannot express my gratitude for all the support you've shown me. It means so much that you like my stuff and every like,reblog request and follow is very much appreciated and means a lot. Thank you so much. I'll definitely continue writing stuff for you.

And here's to another 500

So I have an announcement now. To celebrate this milestone I'll add two fandoms to the masterlist, one of which I'll let you guys choose(because as a yttd fan there's few things I like more than a good old fashioned majority vote)

The first fandom is gonna be from one of my favorite things to write for:fanganronpas. I've narrowed the choices down to three of them and I wanted to let you choose which one you'd like to see me write for the most

Don't worry I will still add the fangans that don't win the vote later, probably when we get more chapters or I reach more milestones

I'll leave you with some small drabbles/incorrect quotes with the main girls from the fangans you can choose from for today's post.

Thank you so much again for the milestone and hope you have a great day

Cancel(drf:sh)

[You and cancel are making out on the couch in your dorm]

Y/n:usually you're never this affectionate, what's up?

Cancel:What? Can't I show you my love once in a while?

Y/n:awww, you love me?

Cancel:yes, don't I say it enough?

Y/n:definitely not

Cancel:uh, just shut up and kiss me

[You continue making out until enigma walk in the room]

Enigma:Hey cancel have you see-

[She immediately pulls out while blushing intensely]

Cancel:Why are you here? Do you not know how to knock?

Enigma:geez sorry I didn't mean to-

Cancel:you still did, so go away

[He walks out as cancel looks away, still embarrassed]

Y/n:......guess you couldn't predict that

Cancel:[blushing] s-shut up

Akira hayasaka(dr:hd)

R/g/n:Call me, cutie~

[She says while handing you a piece of paper with her number]

Y/n:.....I actually-

[She walks away before you can even finish]

Y/n:[sigh]

[You throw the paper away and approach akira, who's still glaring at the girl]

Akira:what a bitch, she didn't let you finish half your sentences

Y/n:Yeah,you're way better

Akira:Did you really have any doubts~?

Y/n:[giggle] no

Akira:Good.......by the way, do you know what her name is?

Y/n:No, she didn't even tell me that can you believe that? Why do you wanna know anyway?

Akira:..........no reason

Y/n:.....Kira, you're not thinking about killing her....right?

Akira:No,I'm a hitman, not a murderer

Y/n:Oh good

Akira:.....that being said, I wouldn't mind someone putting a hit on her

Y/n:.......

Anko hibana(bdr:cp)

Anko:[gasp] How can you tell such things about me, hiro!? and I thought we were friends, I am not clingy with y/n!

Hiroto:.......

[You suddenly walk into the room]

Y/n:Hey babe do you wanna-

Anko:[gasp]

[She immediately runs to hug you tightly

Anko:Oh,how are you, my sweet and cute pookie

Y/n:....g-good thanks

Anko:I bet it's better now that I'm here riiiiiight~?

Y/n:y-yeah

Anko:[giggle] good answer

[She starts peppering your face in kisses]

Hiroto:You seriously don't see what I mean?

Anko:hm? What were we talking about again?

Hiroto:........

Anko:sorry it's just that y/n takes up all the space in my mind when I see them, in fact, we're going out now

Y/n:w-wait we are?

Anko:so call me if you need me ok hiro?

Hiroto:.......

Anko:I'll take that as a yes

[She grabs your hand and drags you outside]

[ponytailzuko]

apologies, i literally just saw this because i haven't been on tumblr at all. i'd probably change the entirety of season 5 to be honest. before that even. but definitely everything that happened in season 5. its 4 am so sorry if im being really mean to ml. i actually really love her guys im serious. miraculous ladybug is my pookie. anyways i suppose here are some of my grievances:

marinette's main civilian conflict that drives almost every episodic plotline is the fact she just absolutely sucks at confessing to adrien. shes just truly dogshit at it. so one would think that if the first season set this up as her main Problem, she might change on this subject by the end. perhaps she would either learn to move on, or she would learn how to confess. no, the show makes adrienette the side that is canon and also marinette isn't the one to confess! adrien is the one who does it. at least adrien has some development here where he reevaluates his feelings in some way, but adrien confessing is absolutely nothing new for his character. i have been watching adrien confessing his love for ladybug for seasons. it isn't a conflict for him.

chat noir not being at the main fight with hawkmoth is actually crazy. im sorry. i don't care the justifications everyone has. "it has more seasons." it is just genuinely unsatisfying to set up a magic system with yin yang powers built around the romance/partnership where the whole point is that they're equals, and then allow one of them to wield both of them?! when the whole point is that hawkmoth is WRONG for wanting both of them, to want to use the wish at all. wielding both of them at once, quite frankly, should have serious consequences. they just shot every theme they ever set up in the foot. ignoring the fact chat noir is also hawkmoths son, it just doesn't make sense for him to not be there.

honestly they just wasted every potential fun dynamic they ever could have milked out of gabriel and adrien by killing gabriel before adrien OR gabriel learned anything about each other. there were so many avenues for interesting storytelling, but they decided to go with two au episodes to say "if gabriel learns adrien is chat noir, adrien is akumatized and the world ends." why do an au! why not ACTUALLY akumatize adrien in the main timeline, and make him possible to defeat? the world did not have to end, that was a writing CHOICE. how fascinating would it be for ladybug to assemble a superhero team because her partner was akumatized? or chat blanc to be a multi-episode or even a season antagonist. or use the sentimonster aspect in an interesting way. or vice versa, have adrien learn gabriel is hawkmoth and be genuinely conflicted about what to do. literally ANYTHING other than both of them never learning anything until gabriel kicks the bucket. every drop of that conflict was wasted. big L.

this is a nitpick but the entire point of the love square is that it is a subversion of the love triangle so why did they introduce two love triangles and then not even commit. why did they break up lukanette and adrigami in one episode. they ruined the subversion of the trope for shit that didn't even last. sorry that is so small but it makes me so mad for no reason.

uhhh develop the class in some way or cut them. i cannot take ladybug's entire squad its just too many of them and they're all archetype and one-note. and their superpowers are eh. spending a bunch of episodes giving the class jewelry was not fun for me. sorry.

Tell me, is there anything about Miraculous Ladybug that you wish had gone differently?

everything

[spookieloop]

Fighting for my LIFE to not write a fic where Durge and Ascended Astarion approach Enver Gortash to join their world domination polycule.

[skrunksthatwunk]

you go to a lesbian blog and find it says women only!! no men allowed!!! and go oh! excuse me, um, what about other lesbians? plenty of lesbians are genderqueer... and they go well, okay, go fuck yourself tim chop off your sweaty dick and stop calling yourself a lesbian. you do not have a dick, actually. you think about that fact often, even though it does you no good. you do not tell this person that.

you go to another lesbian blog and it says women only and you try again, and this time they change it to wlw + nblw only (non-men who love non-men :D). and you'll say hey i appreciate that but gender's not really that cut and dry for a lot of people. someone could be both a man and nonbinary, for instance. i just worry that you're looking at nonbinary as a generic third gender, or an extension of womanhood. i mean yeah you include nblw in your tags but all your posts are about pussy-havers exclusively. what's with that? and they say go fuck yourself you pervy man pretending to be a lesbian. you tried to sneak in but i won't let you.

so you go to a lesbian blog with a dozen or so posts about queer people needing to be more weird about it and you sigh in relief. but you still see the men dni. that's odd. hoping for the best, you say hey! i know you mean well but please maybe don't put men dni at the end of the lovely posts on your lesbian blog bc some lesbians are men. and they'll be like ok!! well you're allowed ;) and you say no that's not. no. some men are lesbians not just me. you think about your own dicklessness and wonder if that's why you were given entry. and you add that even if male lesbians are allowed, there's no indication of that. how would anyone know without asking? and they're like ohh gotcha gotcha well men dni + this is for sapphics only!! and you'll be like ok well that treats the concepts of men and sapphics as mutually exclusive identities and i just told you that's not true and you agreed with me so.. i don't think that solves our problem. and they're like. ok. fine. men dni but genderfluid and multigender people are allowed! and you're like no see that's. that's still the same thing.. you're saying the same thing just with different words. if you don't want men to interact but you're fine with multigender/genderfluid/etc ppl interacting then you either don't see them as Real Men (because they don't reach a standard of Full Manhood) or Complete Men (because they're only Part-Time Men), both of which suggest that they are, in some way, not men or less-than men, which is invalidating and defeats the point of the exception in the first place (accommodation) OR that you don't really mean the dni which is confusing and inconsistent and makes guydykes feel weird and uncomfortable and excluded from the lesbian space you're trying to cultivate. and they're like um. ok. so. cishet men dni? and you're like well i think that makes more sense, but what if someone identifies as both a cishet man and a sapphic? again, if we're trying to accommodate the genderfucky populace then that has to be a possibility that is considered. and they say god you people are never happy. what do you want me to do? what am i supposed to say to keep the right men out? and you pause. you empathize with the need for a space free from dudes trying to fuck you straight and feminine. dudes who watch lesbian porn and joke about what they'd do if they were allowed into girls locker rooms. who look at you like a piece of meat, and like someone who looks at women like pieces of meat in the same way he does. you get it. you know. you want a space where you can be sapphic, too. that's why you came to these blogs in the first place. you brace yourself and you say well i don't know that there are "right men" to keep out. i don't know that there's any single label that would accomplish whatever it is you're trying to accomplish. you could go for "sapphics only" or "queers only" and i think that might be the closest thing to what you want, but it's never going to be perfect. creating any exclusive space is going to shut out people you didn't account for, and the broader the label, the more people will be shut out that you didn't want to shut out. and what about people who don't know if they're allowed? what of questioning transbians, where are they supposed to go? and, frankly, i think i might rather my dykey posts get read and appreciated by a gay guy who sees me as a man than a woman who only sees me as a sacred womb, pure from male perversions or violence or whatever. i think community might just be more complex than a dni can handle. and they look at you and say i don't want to not have a dni. i think you're too permissive. you can't just "what about" or microlabel your way into everything. go fuck yourself, i bet you're not even a lesbian anyway. go find a real problem to get mad about.

you go to a lesbian blog. you ignore the men dni because you know you probably don't even count to them. or maybe you do count and, out of respect for your manhood, they'd shun you accordingly. you try to feel okay about that. you scroll past dozens of posts about mediocre men and gagging at straight friends' boyfriends and how gross and undeserving men are of the beautiful women they couple up with and how all women should be gay so they can get treated right and and and and and. you finally find a post about curling into someone you love and feeling at peace and try to lose yourself in it. you know that feeling is what unites you, what makes you belong. you try to focus on it. you think about carding your hands through a butch's hair or lacing fingers with a femme and feeling warm and loved and more yourself than you ever have before. like this is who you're meant to be. you read about lesboys and butch boytoys and genderfucky dykes and big hairy deep-voiced wonderful women (like you want to be someday, like you wish you could make yourself) and you try to ignore the men dni underneath each and every post. and you daydream about meeting someone kind and earnest at a lesbian bar even though you don't think any such bars exist within three states of you and you can't drink and don't want to drink because you need to be in control of yourself at all times so you don't fuck up like you're always about to and here in the nonexistent lesbian bar you feel wanted and safe and in good company. you picture your ideal, happiest self. it is a mistake. ideal-you has a goatee. not the mascara one you smear on and call drag even though you know it's not drag, not really, the beard you call drag because you think everyone would look at you sadly if you told them it was just to pretend you had something out of your reach. a beard that's soft and that you grew and that cannot be smudged away if you get too comfortable with it. the dream shatters. your people pull away from you, their scoffs mixing with the mind-numbing gay girl bedroom pop you learned to settle for just to have something that almost resembled you, they all pull away and turn their backs and do not look at you. you're too close to being a man now, even though you're the same amount of man as before. and they know you're not supposed to interact with men, not as you would with dykes, at least. and it sours. it's all your imagination, all in your head, but it sours.

you sigh. you think about how small you are. how short, how narrow, how feeble. how your voice pitches up when you talk to strangers because it's easier to speak quietly when it carries more, and because you're nervous. because it's a chore to talk, like everything is. you think about testosterone. you think about how your family would look at you, the questions they would ask, your answers they would only pretend to accept. the uncomfortable glances and whispered questions they'd try to hide from you. you think about how small you are, and how small you will always be. how you don't know of a way to fix it, but even if there was one, no one would want you anymore. you'd be the only one thinking it made you a cooler dyke. you think about how you don't even want a T-voice all the time, how you'll never be able to switch it at will, because you don't know how and can't bring yourself to figure it out. you think about how your throat closes around every hint of your own attraction. how wanting is perverse, how wanting is invasive, how wanting is embarrassing and too vulnerable so it must stay anonymous, as an online witness, and how you can barely manage to form or maintain friendships because your brain makes you pull away, always spinning out and struggling to recover from the simplest of interactions. how they'll all leave you and you won't chase after them at all and how that will hurt them. how stuck you get. how it looks like nothing's holding you back, how that frustrates everyone who thought you were going to be more than you were. the people you love who understand except when it comes to being ghosted, being shut out. how you don't want to hurt them. how you can't tell them that because you're stuck. how you turn to stone when touched, how you never reach out, how you lose your speech and can't look at people, how your autism is fun and sexy until it becomes real and you never see them anymore, how much you longed for someone who knew everything without you having to explain, and who loved you anyway. how unreasonable you know that is to expect of anyone. you think about that not-even-real lesbian bar. you think about how you still can't drive. how you can't leave your home on your own, without dragging somebody into helping you. how you can't leave your body. how you can't leave your manhood behind.

you think about finding another lesbian blog and ignoring everything. about skimming it for the parts you can juice some meaning from. the parts men ignore and don't understand, and how typical of you it is to do so. or the parts where you're not welcome and you should accept that, because it's for lesbians only. how you are a lesbian anyway. how you're meant to choose lesbian or man, how each is a betrayal of some kind to yourself or your people, your family, your lovely strangers, your rare friendly acquaintances. about the parts that tell you you're not wanted, that you're ugly and lazy and gross and insert yourself everywhere without even asking. about the parts that tell you you are hated, and how lesbians are above it all by rejecting men. how lesbians are each blessed miracles. about the parts that say you should be ashamed of being whatever twisted confused freak you are, of everything, of looking and wanting or not looking or not wanting, of picking and choosing instead of taking it all in with a smile. after all, shouldn't you take it? or is your ego too fragile, as men's so often are? aren't you tired? good. we're not here for your consumption. and we sure as hell don't want your company or "community" or whatever. didn't you read the sign? no boys allowed. and if you want to come in you have to make up your mind. as if you haven't told them the only answer you have. you're both. you're both.

you know you broke the rule by interacting.

but it gets lonely sometimes. you wonder if they know.

[icarusdiesatdawn]

anyone else feeling kinda, i dunno, guilty? just for being alive. With everything going on in the world

[inevitablestars]

i just want to know what im doing wrong

[athenaareia]

watching a documentary and had the thought: "you could call a lot of people monsters. you have called some people monsters, and perhaps, according to your beliefs, they may deserve it. but the minute you say, that's a monster, you fell for it. you started believing in an ideology that preaches a fundamental human being less than human, or outright a non-human. and that right there? that's when humanity weeps. that's when your humanity weeps."

[psychesetra]

(i wish you weren't) not too tired to please; pov lily

* • + • *

lily was more attentive than people thought.

she noticed how alex would gain a competitive grin when someone brought out a chessboard, how bertrand would occasionally swear in french, and sadly how alice would sometimes flinch at certain words, then quickly act as if nothing happened.

she also was also good at reading people’s emotions from their eyes alone.

alex was always filled with motivated fire in his eyes, bertrand often had a tired yet content look with his half-lidded eyes, and alice was always alert.

setra was always tired.

her eyes were always energetic, but there was an underlying tiredness hidden so well lily fell for the happiness nearly every time.

at first, she couldn’t understand why setra was tired. she really seemed like a perfect housewife; up at five, breakfast at six, house clean and shining by noon and lunch a delicious feast.

all of their rooms and anything related to them had meticulous detail, such as the more modern technology in lily’s, alex’s more forest-y wallpaper, so on and so forth.

during breakfast, their preferences were met with great attention, not a single thing out of place. alex had sweeter foods, waffles or pancakes and some hot chocolate with just a tinge of caffeine in it. azine had cup noodles every morning, despite setra’s obvious dislike for ‘that processed slop they call food.’ sethine had his fried egg and rice, even when setra really didn’t know where to get rice- and lily always had her turkish delight.

always, always, always, her mind repeated, always perfect. everything given to her was perfect. as if setra knew everything and anything about her. as if she twisted and turned to do anything for them. oh well, she thought, she might just be nice.

no. no she wasn’t.

one day, when lily had fallen sick, setra busied with her all day – chicken soup at her bedside, meds on the desk, crushed and mixed with water, room sparkling with how cleaned it had been, bed scented like flowers and blankets so soft it was like lily was on a cloud.

comparing it to when the others were sick or injured, they were treated much the same – and setra was the only exception.

despite how much she cared for the others like a mother hen, whenever it was her turn to be sick, no one really did the same. they tried, but setra insisted that she was fine, and on the surface, it really looked like she was.

but one must pay attention to details.

when sick, she was often more.. drunk, somewhat. lily can’t describe it any other way. setra was a little delirious when sick, losing the accent and talking in a southern drawl and sometimes even talking in french- bertrand refused to translate, however, saying some of the things she said were a little.. wrong.

back on track, however, after a little questioning, lily finally got her answer.

from what little she could understand, setra really was always tired. but the reason for her unfailing attention to detail was her determination to please.

apparently, she had an ‘obligation’ to, or else they would ‘go away.’

lily didn’t like what picture that painted.

so the next time setra was unable to do all of her normal tasks, lily decided she’d try and do the same.

she deserved it, anyway. maybe this way, her eyes would show some real happiness.

* • + • *

can you guys tell i don't know how tumblr works yet i don't know how to put italics and bold 😔😔😔

also as someone who wants to be a psychologist i pray my writing of trauma (when i do actually write more traumatic stuff like literal murder and su!c!d3) will be good 😭😭

oh i'm not telling who's unaliving themselves btw but i have a very long description in my head of how

[iridescentis]

i think the reason why i don't read/write my sapphic ships very often is because im just jealous it makes me mad😭

like with guy characters i absolutely adore them and their dynamics but with sapphics its all of that but also like. do yall need a third. im free whenever.

[seenthisepisode]

~~~

[etchedstars]

hi i just wanted to drop a ss of the comments i wrote on my notion page for captured ghosts because im about to reread and i think this fic deserves all the recognition in the world it slays so hard and you should know the absolute anxiety and simultaneous joy you caused me!!!

HI OH MY GOD ?!?!??!?!? thank you asufaudsf this is so so nice the joy THIS brought me?????????? immeasurable ty <3333

(ps theres a lot of thoughts in the tags w captured ghosts spoilers for those who may or may have not read my will byers gets haunted multichaptered fic!!)

[eviltothecore13]

lots of people in this fandom CLAIM to love Gomez but when someone makes a post with Morticia as "Barbie is everything" and Gomez as "he's just Ken", it gets likes and reblogs

like...isn't that meme essentially saying "he's bland and boring/doesn't do anything interesting/is no good at anything and has nothing special about him, and no-one cares about him that much because he's just some bland generic guy with no personality beyond being a sidekick"?

do the majority of fans genuinely believe Gomez has no personality and no interesting traits?

[fragmentedblade]

They did the narrative threading thing again with going from the Artisanship Commission to the Alchemy Commission. They talk about new lives under new names in old flesh in the Artisanship Commission, and she mentions immediately later the Alchemy Commission, where Bailu is. What a nice lapse

[sisterdivinium]

It's interesting to stroll around Fanlore reading discussions that took place in 2007 talking about the fractured nature of fandom on LJ and people interacting without having enough context (as in commenting on a post they did not read by a user they do not know) when you're living in 2023 and people distribute likes without reading anything or commenting; when there's supposedly "drama" of unknown origins happening in more than one website at the same time because there's no real "home base" for fandom activity anymore; and we're all carrying on with our lives reblogging things without even looking at previous notes and reactions to that same post even if out of simple curiosity...

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

...wow, i’m really about to give myself an Existential Crisis about my Existential Crisis book, huh??

[dullahandyke]

Hi. Short story time. Is it coherent? Maybe ;) psychological(?) horror story abt prophecy trans name shenanigans w vivid descriptions of a corpse plus ambigious Christian visuals. So TW for that.

Adam

Decades before it was in anybody else's head, the name was entangled in mine.

One day the world woke up and everybody knew the story of a hero who would one day save society from collapse, a martyr heralded by the name. The martyr part was new. I found out about that part when I woke up to the sear in my chest fizzing a little brighter than usual. I turned on the news to see people discussing the astounding lack of scholarship for something that, surely, had to have always been this firmly lodged in their minds. Nobody gave the full details - why would they, when they all knew it? I picked it up from context clues.

For a second, I entertained the fantasy of phoning in to the talk show. I wanted to regale them with stories of years spent searching every mondegreen and minced phrase for answers. To tell them about learning the phonetics alphabet to piece together a pronunciation, only to turn around and find that every word I had used for reference no longer existed. I wanted to share the terror that ran through me when I heard even a sound of the name, and the terror that ran through me when I never heard anything approaching it ever again.

I didn't. I don't think they would have understood me anyway. I turned off the TV, unable to look directly at the name without its brilliance stunning me. It had spent eternity jailed within my mind. Not a suitable name for such a sweet young girl. Not like Eve. So Eve dusted off her skirts and she prepared herself for this new world, where the name littered every street corner.

It didn't die down. It never died down. The name was the new John. Boys bearing the name filled nurseries and morgues alike. There were a hundred stories written about the bearer of the name, and I read one and never another. They likened the forename to King Arthur and it stung to hear them get their hopes up. I met a young boy who chose the name to replace xyr old one and the heat in my chest flared through my nerves like fireworks. The sun bounced from this naïve mirror to burn a hole in me.

People began to realise what doom the hero was sure to save them from. The name took all the words around it, in every language that ever lived, until it was the only word like it. Whole paragraphs of books were blacked out where the name had seen the author coming too close. Analysts found that the name was eliminating all those with the same number of syllables, number of letters, syntax, even a single letter of any script in common. Projects and initiatives were abandoned when the notes were no longer legible. Negotiators lost each other mid-conversation. Ancient stories were pared down to the atoms. That was when they caught it.

I had caught it when my first word, months before I mumbled my mother's calling, was the name. It was fully formed and perfectly pronounced, my infant mouth layered with something more than me in aid of its deliverance. Despite its staged perfection, and my dogged insistence on repeating it, my mother and my father and the speech therapist talked over my head about this babbling. I watched from childhood as words were lost before my ears. Classmates looked at me funny as I repeated a phrase they had said, and then they never said it again. By the time the world caught it, I hadn't spoken in years. I was too tired to keep up with what words still existed.

I adjusted and I isolated but the cavern in my chest only ever grew sharper. I mollified it with boyish nicknames and hair cut short and watching the transsexual freaks from afar. The edge was taken off by every dress thrown out the window and every binding of my chest, but it only came back stronger. It reached a fever pitch whenever I introduced myself. I did not call myself by the name. I was Adam. The name broke my bones as it raged within me, so close that I could taste it on the bile. But Adam swallowed it down and set his bones and saw how dangerous it was to be just close enough for the name to reach me. So Adam went back to Eve and the name was kept buried with who Adam knew he was.

Twelve endless years after the name was known to all, a landlord found my body hunched forward in a chair. Eve looked old. Her floral skirts were stiff with dried blood, suspended in earthy crinoline. The bugs had found Adam, burrowing into his frigid remains. My skin was pulled taut until it tore over my bones, seams of muscle unraveling too easily. The landlord pulled the body upright. The chest, the chest of the body which bore the name, was gone. Flesh hung like ribbons from the gaping maw, a curtain masking the emptiness behind it. The landlord shifted aside the strips of meat to peer into the cavity, and the world saw it too.

The lungs had eviscerated themselves, lying limp in the thoracic cavity. They trembled in a horrific jitter, one that should have ceased after so long dead. The heart was gone. There was no evidence of its existence but the footprints leading from the ribs to the ajar window. The wall outside was streaked and stained with gore, tracks petering out as they headed towards the city centre. The landlord saw none of this. The landlord saw the ribs.

The sanguine parade had left the ribs untouched. They were a calcium white that stank of bleach. And branded to the very marrow of these bending pillars, in single-spaced text, were the words. The landlord saw millions of words stored on 24 ribs, words the landlord hadn't heard in years. Uncountable hordes of phrase unfurled from the bones as the body decayed, flesh sloughing off of the testiments. Every inch of the skeleton was scarred with overlapping and cramped knowledge of Babel.

Untold thousands attended the funeral. They watched as remains of the name were buried in my dress. All the words the world had ever lost were returned to them, but the name was gone. My headstone was not marked with Adam or Eve or the name. It was marked with the epigram of a cursed saint. The knowledge in my chest froze.

Centuries after it was in anybody else's head, the name is entangled in mine.