#girl the number of spellings that exist for this word.........
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behold! peanutbutter.
#animation#procreate#artistsontumblr#dungeons and dragons#griffin#gryphon#gryffin#sketch#girl the number of spellings that exist for this word.........#chicken scribbles#peanutbutter#full of soup
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General stuff I wish more cis people knew:
Being trans is a situation one is born into. No, trans children are not cis kids who are being manipulated or abused by parents because it's "trendy". That shit is just a modern reworking of the "gays are recruiting kids into homosexuality!" bullshit from the 70's and 80's.
Trans women are not "biologically male" and trans men are not "biologically female". Transition causes massive biological changes; trans men who are on testosterone and have had a hysterectomy have far more biologically in common with cis men than with cis women, and trans women who are on estrogen and have had reconstructive surgery have far more biologically in common with cis women than with cis men.
The existence of trans people is not a recent phenomenon, and the number of trans people is not increasing. Trans people have always existed; there are just more out trans people now.
Trans women are not gay men who attempt to become women in response to homophobia, trans men are not women who attempt to become men in response to sexism, and trans people would still exist and still need to transition even if both homophobia and sexism were eliminated.
Many trans women are bi or lesbian; many trans men are bi or gay (attracted to other men) (see p.28-29)
Allowing trans women and girls to use the same public facilities as other women (e.g., restrooms, locker rooms, etc) does not put cis women and girls at risk
That there are not more trans women than there are trans men.
Most trans people are not visibly identifiable as trans
Being trans and/or transition is not biblically condemned, and being trans/transitioning is not universally condemned by mainstream religious organizations
Spelling and grammatical notes:
It's transgender, not "transgendered"
It's dysphoria, not "dysmorphia". Dysmorphia is an unrelated anxiety condition on the OCD spectrum.
Transgender is an adjective, not a noun. So there are transgender people, but nobody is "a transgender".
The word cis is a Latin prefix, not an acronym, so there's no need to capitalize it as CIS. Cis is short for cisgender, which is the opposite of transgender. The prefix cis- means "on this side/on the same side", while trans- means "across/beyond/on the other side". E.g., cislunar vs. Translunar orbits
Faux pas to avoid:
Don't ask about our genitals unless you're our doctors or there's mutual interest in sex. Don't ask about "the surgery" either, which is still really just asking about our genitals
Same goes for the graphic details of our sex lives. Unless we're already in the kind of relationship where we casually discuss these matters, it's none of your business
When talking about something a trans person did before they transitioned, refer to them by the name and pronouns they use now unless they have specifically told you otherwise. It's like talking about someone who used to be married to an abusive asshole, but has since divorced him and stopped using his name. Even if talking about something she did while still married, I really hope you wouldn't call her "Mrs. Abusive Ex". That would be spectacularly tactless. That's not her name now and not how she wants to be known.
Never out someone unless they have given you explicit permission to do so. Don't assume that because they're out to some people that they are comfortable having others know that aspect of their medical history
If you accidentally refer to someone by the wrong pronouns, just correct yourself and move on. Don't dwell on it, just make a serious effort to not do it again
#mtf trans#scp mtf#pre op mtf#mtftm#mtf#mtf positivity#actually mtf#transsexual#transgirl#transgender#mtf pride#mtf trap#girlslikeus#trans mtf#ftm hrt#ftm#ftm bottom#ftm dom#gay ftm#ftm ns/fw#ftm cnc#ftm ed#trans man#transmasc#ftm mlm#trans boy#trans ftm#trans guy
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NA JAEMIN: ALWAYS BEEN YOU (sequel to Lee jeno : choices)
Genre: 🔞 minors dni, jealous jaemin, possessive jaemin, jaemin just doesn't care
Word count: 3,478
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You were on cloud nine after your little night with jeno and you even exchanged numbers after, sneaking him out of the house before your parents noticed he'd stayed the night and you thought you were in the clear.
Unfortunately you were very wrong.
A tug on your arm has you stumbling into a nearby closet and you gasped as the door shuts, leaving you in the darkness.
You knew it could only be one person that would do this to you, in broad daylight.
Jaemin simply just didn't care.
"Good morning baby"you heard the sultry voice only belonging to the one and only na jaemin.
"Jaemin, what are you-"his lips are on yours in an instant and you gasped, closing your eyes and he deepens the kiss.
You get lost in the kiss, only something jaemin could make you do and you're both moaning into each others mouths with your tongues intertwined.
You missed this, you missed him. All of him.
You're broken out of his spell the moment he parts from the kiss, panting heavily and leaning his head back.
"I needed to see you"he said and leaned his forehead against yours.
"You see me all the time"you said and he hums, shaking his head.
"No, really see you"he said and you bit your bottom lip at the insinuation.
"I don't think that's a good idea"you spoke softly and he turned on the light, eyes taking you in after months of ignoring you and pretending you didn't exist.
"Why not?"he asked and you ran your fingers through your hair, you looked down in fear of meeting his eyes.
"We promised not to meet up like this again"you told him and he traps you between his arms, both hands resting on either side of your body.
"I miss you"he said and you shook your head.
"Did something happen? Is that why we're here?"he scoffed at that.
"Everything is fine, I just need you"he said and you looked up at him, concerned.
He loved seeing that look in your eyes, you looked so innocent and honestly it stirred up a sadistic part inside of him everytime.
He wanted to completely destroy you, devour you until there was nothing left.
"Do you need a release? You have other girls that can do that for you"you told him and he balled his hands into fists, trying to control his temper.
"I don't want them, I want you"he said and brushed his lips against yours before whispering in your ear.
"You know how cranky I get when i don't eat your pussy at least once a day"you gasped at that and stumbled over your words.
"Jaemin- i- why-"
"It's been months"he stated simply and breathed in your scent, if he could purr he would.
You smelt divine.
"Way Too long"he mumbled and grazed his lips along your sweet spot and he licks his lips.
"Jaemin-"he cuts you off.
"I was so mad when I heard you moaning last night and someone elses name"you froze at that and you gulped.
"You heard that?"you said.
"Every single moan , you should really be more careful y/n"he chuckles and couldn't help but let his tongue lick a wet stripe up your neck, you shiver and he blows air over the wet patch.
"Our parents could've heard you"you placed your hands on his shoulders and whimpered softly, he sucks your earlobe into his mouth.
"I- jaemin-"you let out a broken moan.
"Shut up and kiss me"his lips are back on yours and you moan into the kiss again, he groans softly and presses his body against yours.
Your hands also grab his shirt and pull him in closer, whispering curses into the kiss and he sucks on your tongue.
"Jaemin please"he licks your jawline and sucks on your sweet spot, you swear you could hear him growl once his mother called for him.
"We should go before they catch us"he said reluctantly and pulled away.
"You first, you have to deal with your little problem"you told him and he nods.
"I'll see you later"he placed one last kiss on your lips before retreating to his room.
-------
"I am going to defenestrate my laptop-"you spoke as soon as jaemin walks into the house later that day and he raised his eyebrows.
"Finals?"he asked and you rubbed your temples.
"More like final braincell-"you said and he moves around the couch.
"You need a break"he tells you and you sighed as his hands move to your shoulders, working out the tense muscles with his hands.
"I know but I can't afford it right now"you told him and he hums, fingers moving up to your neck and massaging there as well, fingers digging into your skin gently.
You let out a surprised gasp when his fingers wrap around your neck, he leans down and whispers into your ear.
"I said take a break, I'm not going to ask again"he said and you bit your bottom lip, moving your things to the side and he lets go of your neck.
"Come with me"he said and takes your hand, pulling you into your room.
"We've got to re sound proof your room"he said as he pulls you back into him and sucks on your sweet spot.
"I forgot we never finished"you said and he hums softly, closing the door and turning you around.
"That's because you were a needy little slut that day"he kissed your lips with so much passion and ferocity, you felt your knees getting weak as you cling onto him and whimper into the kiss.
"Jump"he whispered against your lips and you push your tongue into his mouth, he stumbles back against the door and grunts.
You jump and wrap your legs around his waist, he catches you easily and walks you towards your bed.
You scoot back on the bed once he sits you down and he climbs onto the bed, removing his shirt and you bite you bottom lip.
"I can't believe we're doing this again, we promised we wouldn't"you told him and he shakes his head, pecking your lips.
"When it comes to you there is no promise I won't break"you don't know whether to swoon over his statement or be worried.
You're interrupted by your phone ringing and you pull out your phone, gulping before glancing at jaemin.
"Is that jeno?"he asked, he could read you like a book.
"Yeah"you said and he grabs the phone from you, you let out a shreak.
"Don't answer it!"you exclaim and he shushes you , answering the phone anyway.
"Jeno? how'd you get this number?"he asked with a smirk and leaned back in for a kiss.
"Yeah sure, she's actually pretty busy right now but she can definitely call you back later"he said and bit your bottom lip, drawing out a whimper from you and you're pretty sure jeno heard that.
"Yeah talk to you later"he said and hung up the phone before setting it aside, deepening the kiss and you whimpered into the kiss.
"Why did you do that?"you asked once he pulled away and trails kisses down your neck.
"I'm giving him something to think about"he states and he uses one hand to pull up your shirt, his lips moving down to your tummy and pushing your shirt past your breasts.
"Jaemin what if he tells our parents"you said , worried. You had a good reason to be worried.
"Jeno is a lot of things but a snitch isn't one of them, now enough about jeno"he said and turned his attention back to getting you out of your shirt.
"You're so pretty, my adorable kitten"he coos as he pulls your breasts out from your bra.
"You're mine right?"he asked, placing kisses all over your breasts and you nod your head.
He shakes his head with a tsk, tugging on your nipple with his teeth.
"Use your words princess, you know I hate that"he said once he finally let up on your nipple.
"A-All yours"you stuttered , fingers in his hair and he hums , whispering a good girl before taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking softly.
"Fuck, jaemin"you arch into his mouth before he forces you back down and switches nipples, his tongue doing wonders to your areola.
"What did you see in jeno, anyway?"he asked and you looked at him, shaking your head.
"We are not talking about this"you knew you fucked up as he looked at you with dark eyes, you gasped once he slapped your breasts and gripped onto them immediately after.
"You fucked my best friend, I deserve an answer"he said and
"He was always nice to me...when you weren't"you said and he hums, soothing the spot he just slapped with his tongue.
"That's sweet and all but does he touch you the way I touch you? Fuck you the way I fuck you?"he asked and you said nothing, further proving his point and that earned you a grin.
"Mm, yeah, didn't think so"he said, there was just something different about sex with jaemin. He was definitely a lot more vocal than jeno, a little possessive and he had no problem with causing you pain. Only because he knew you loved it, see jaemin opened your eyes to the different pleasures the world had offered.
He morphed you into his perfect little kitten, made only for him.
He was devastated when you called it quits and that lasted for a few months, now that he had you there was no way he was letting you go.
So when he laid beside you and slipped his hand into your underwear, his eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head at how wet you already were.
"All this for me?"he asked, turning your head to look at him as his fingers run through your folds lazily.
"Yes, all for you"you whimpered, jaemin smiled at that.
"I bet you're extra sweet tonight"he said and you whimpered, his fingers circling your entrance teasingly.
"Jaemin-"he cuts you off, lips smashing against your own and you buck your hips as you tried to get more friction. You're only met with him stopping his movements and pulling back from the kiss, your lips brushing against his lips.
"Bet you thought about me when he was fucking you, don't you?"you moaned against his lips and shook your head, your brain fuzzy from the feeling of his lips being so close to your own.
".. That's not true"you mumble and he grabs your neck, his grip tight around your neck once he was seated up straight but still leaning over your body.
"Admit it"he demands and you gasp, his fingers finally entering you with a delicious stretch. Your legs wrapping around his hand and his fingers curled inside of you, pulling a moan out of you once he started to thrust them into you slowly.
"Okay, yes!"you cried out and he loosens his grip a bit, still pumping his fingers into you slowly and he leaned down to you.
"Yes what?"he asked, pressing his forehead against your own.
"I think about you"you admitted and he chuckles, licking at your bottom lip and suckling your lip softly.
"I know that, silly"he said with a laugh and kissed your lips deeply, hovering over your body as he moved between your legs.
"Let me in"he whispered against your lips and you opened your mouth slowly, his tongue enters quickly and you suck on the soft muscle.
"Jaemin"you flicked his tongue with your own and his hands come up to brush your hair out of your face, pulling back from you completely and kissing his way down your body.
His hands hastily remove the rest of your clothes and he pushes your legs apart but you cover yourself, shy all over again and his eyes soften.
"Remember our first time"he said and you nodded your head, the atmosphere changing in the room.
"Take my hands baby, I promise I'll take good care of you"you felt your heart melt at that, those were his exact words the first time he brought you to an orgasm with just his tongue and fingers.
You both never lose eye contact with each other as your fingers intertwine and not even when his tongue licks a stripe up your heat, your eyes only fluttering once he sucks your clit into his mouth.
Your trance broken once your eyes close and your back arches, his tongue moves a bit faster than before and then he's flicking your clit before sucking on it again.
"Jaemin-"you whimpered and he continues his ministrations, rubbing your clit with his unoccupied hand and pressing your back down to the bed once you arch your back at a particular suck to your flesh with your hands still intertwined.
It felt a little too intimate for you and that's the overwhelming part, sex with with jaemin felt too much like making love during foreplay. It felt too good and the look in his eyes as he watched your expressions change with every movement of his tongue to your most sensitive part, it drove you over the edge.
This time was no different and once he sped up his movements as his tongue slurped your juices up like a smoothie has your back arching, your body trembles as your climax crashes into you abruptly and he had to quickly come up to cover your mouth.
His fingers untangle from your own to slip into your entrance again and his thumb rubbing your clit slowly, guiding you down from your high.
"Jaemin-"you call out for him and he is kissing your lips , waiting for you to look at him and calling to you with a soft voice.
"I'm here, I'm here"he said sweetly, this is why you had to break it off. You were falling in love with him.
His mouth is back on your pussy and that alone has your eyes opening and back arching, whimpers falling from your lips and he continues to use his fingers on your clit but having his tongue join in to give you twice the pleasure.
"Oh fuck-"your fingers find his hair and he starts to pump his fingers into you again, fingers curling to hit that sweet spot that tore the sweetest sounds from the depths of your belly.
"You're gonna make me cum again"he hums at your comment but only speeds up his movements, stuffing his slick fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet and you moaned around his digits at the taste of yourself on his fingers.
You bit his fingers once you got to the edge and he pulled his tongue off your clit, fingers slapping against your clit as he thrusts his fingers into you roughly and his hand clamps down over your mouth to muffle the scream that rips from your lips as your climax hit again.
When you come back to your senses jaemin is sucking his fingers clean before taking your nipple into his mouth.
"Fuck me"you whimpered and he flicks your nipple with his tongue a few more times before pulling back , getting off the bed and stripping off the rest of his clothes.
"Yeah? Does my pretty girl want my cock?"he asked and you nodded your head eagerly.
"Need it"you answer and pull him on top of you once he was done kicking off his bottoms, he runs his tip through your folds to gather your slick and you whimpered at the feeling of him so close to where you need him to be.
"Please just-"
"Fuck me?"he finishes your sentence once he cut you off with his tip pushing into you ever so slowly and your gasp is caught in your throat.
"Breathe"he whispered against your jawline, licking your neck and sucking on the skin there.
You forgot how big he was and this was another reason you had to stop sleeping with him.
He was too fucking good.
"Oh God"you breathed out a cry and he bit his bottom lip, thrusting into you a little faster and watching your expression change before your legs wrap around his waist.
"Faster jaemin please"you begged him, you didn't care that you had yet to get used to his size.
"I know you haven't gotten accustomed to my cock that fast"he chuckles but he wasn't expecting what you said next.
"I don't care just fucking ruin me"his smile dropped at that, it was like you were ripping a bandaid off a bloody wound that hadn't healed yet.
"Are you sure?"
"Give me your worst, I can take it"you awakened that side of him he tried to hide from every other girl he dated trying to get over you, his hips pound into you suddenly and his hand covers your mouth again.
"Fuck , you could always handle me so well"he groaned softly and you moaned uncontrollably into his hand, his unoccupied hand pulling on your nipple and causing your back to arch as you cried out against his hand.
"You were made to be my little cockslut , isn't that right?"he moved his hand so you could answer with a breathless yes and his hand is back over your mouth again, fucking into you faster as he builds momentum.
He pulls your hips back against his hips once you started to move up the bed from his thrusts and hovers over your body, his cock fucking into you faster at this angle as he moves his hand and pushes his tongue into your awaiting mouth.
Your moans and grunts mix together as your arms wrap around his neck, you cling onto him and your tongue lolls out of your mouth once he pulled away.
"Gone cock dumb already baby?"he asked and you shook your head, not willing to admit it but it was no use. Jaemin knew it, the fucked out look on your face said it all and here you were losing your mind on his dick once again.
"Y/n dear please let my son know we went out and we'll be back later"jaemin gives you one particular hard thrust once you tried to answer and you covered your mouth at the squeak that almost left your throat.
"Will do!"you called out to her quickly and shook your head at her crazy ass son, smiling down at you and placing your hand against his chest as he moves your legs onto his shoulder.
You look at him in fear and he smiles at you with a mischievous look in his eyes, as soon as he heard the door close he was pounding into you again and this time his hand was no longer preventing any sounds from leaving your mouth.
"Oh fuck-"your head hits the pillow and you moaned uncontrollably, his hand holds your head up and he looks down to where he entered you immediately.
"Look at how well you're taking me, baby"he rasped and angled your head so you could see, your hands clinging onto whatever you could get your hands on.
"I'm gonna cum"you cried out, looking back up at him after swallowing the lump in your throat and he groaned deeply.
"Shit, I'm gonna cum too"he bites his bottom lip and snaps his hips into you faster, your lips collide once more and the kiss was a mess.
Tongues colliding and saliva being shared between both of you, hands gripping onto each other desperately as you both lose yourselves into the moment and each other.
You're both too caught up in the moment to hear the door opening and closing, someone has entered the house and you're crying out jaemins name like a matra.
Red lines litter across his back and chest from you clawing at him desperately, he pins you to the mattress as he fucks into you roughly and just the way he knows you like it.
"I'm cumming , holy shit I'm cumming jaemin-"
"Cum with me , shit"it takes a few more thrusts and you pull him into a sloppy kiss, you both moaning into the kiss as you both cum.
When you come back to your senses jaemin is still fucking his cock into you shallowly, still cumming. You whimper and push him off you and just as he moves to slip back into you, the door opens.
Fuck- this just got complicated really quick.
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Ranger Jaune walks towards a freshly raided village where the women are raped and the men and children who survived forced to join.
(Watched this video this game inspired me to have the idea for Ranger Jaune.)
https://youtu.be/4Tj-tcZi4Q8?si=waBFmthVctPu6yXq
Yikes, this is dark... but I'll do what I can
XXX
Jaune walked into the newly raided village, one that was clearly raided by the Branwen Tribe, the literal bane of his existence. However, this time, his eyes widened with horror at the carnage before him.
The men and children were being lined up and forced to join or die. Those who refused to join had their bodies piled in one spot where he saw the bodies of men, young boys and girls, and even infants, however, the sicking horror didn't end there.
Some of the women were being tied up and forced to be slaves whole some... some were being used for the bandit's own pleasures, being forced to pleasure one or multiple bandits.
Everything around Jaune fell silent, all he could hear was ringing.
All he could feel... was rage.
"WHAT A DAY BOYS! HAHAHAHA!"
Jaune's eyes turned to see none other than Shay D. Man, Raven's 2nd lieutenant, walking out of the town's front entrance, as if he was a king.
Shay's eyes landed on Jaune and knowing he was a ranger, Shay smiled. "Well, well, well! Lookie here boys! we got ourselves a Ranger!" Shay cried, "A little late to the party ain't cha?" Shay said with a chuckle.
Jaune glared at him, "I'm going to kill you," Jaune said. Unsheathing his Sword and dagger.
Shay laughed as he saw the lone ranger preparing to fight him and his men alone.
"You've gotta be dumb as rocks kid!" Shay cried. "We're the Branwen tribe! We're a damn army, and you're a single guy!"
Jaune walked toward Shay and the rest of the bandits who prepared to fight the young ranger. However, a small ethereal green glow surrounded Jaune's weapons and his eyes.
Suddenly, thousands of humanoid figures began to appear, each glowing green much like Jaune's eyes, they two also had their own weapons. Their numbers grew and slowly, they outnumbered the entire raiding party.
The Bandits were shocked to see what was happening and even Shay was shocked.
"I may be one... but we are many," Jaune said as he walked to the bandits.
Shay stepped backward, "What the hell!? What is this!?" Shay cried.
Jaune stopped as he looked at the bandits and his large ethereal army stopped behind him, awaiting his order.
"I want them brought to me alive... they wanna act like animals... I'll slaughter them like animals!" Jaune seethed.
With that order, the ethereal army ran at the bandit, intending to follow Jaune's orders.
XXX
Raven awoke to the screaming of some of her tribe lookouts and when she asked what they were screaming about, they showed Raven and her eyes widened.
In the front of the Branwen camp, were the bodies of her fellow tribe members spelling her name, and then she saw the body of Shay on a large pike, a makeshift sign with the words "Animals" written on it.
Standing there alone, was a single young man, covered in blood and looking at her with a glare that sent shivers down her spine.
"You leave this camp... and I'll slaughter all of you like I did them," He said before vanishing.
Raven glared and looked at the Lookout and ordered them to gather some men and search the forest for Jaune, but despite them searching... they didn't find him.
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"Trying to define yourself is like trying to bite your own teeth." (Alan Watt)
I pronounce it Tyoosday.
I’m usually the first to text.
I haven’t worn underwear since the tenth grade.
I like to make situations awkward when given the opportunity.
I always say hi to dogs and moo at cows.
I’m a courtesy flusher, wicked awesome steering wheel guitarist, and I open chip bags with my teeth.
I believe in chivalry, ghosts, manners, manifestation and using my turn signal.
I’m a girl drink drunk.
I have zero energy for liars.
Sleestaks, Ogopogo, Witchy Poo, Linda Blair, and boiled brussels sprouts terrified me as a child.
I think vulnerability, a woman’s confidence, and conversations that last for hours are incredibly sexy.
I have 7 scars, some are visible.
When I laugh hard, it turns into a wheeze and the back of my head throbs.
I am vulgar. Like a lot.
I wasn’t a fan of Fifty Shades of Grey; preferred Topping From Below.
On the rare occasion, I actually finish a book I’ve started reading.
I have never eaten at Olive Garden.
The first album I bought with my own money was KISS Alive II.
I’m stupid stubborn.
I’ve been to eleven weddings and half as many funerals.
I don’t buy birthday cards or Christmas cards, I make them.
I’m secretly still a LEGO maniac and will always be a neighbor of Mister Rogers.
Chances are, I’m up before you every single morning.
I don’t like cilantro or olives.
I’ve been a teacher longer than I haven’t.
Nine is my favourite number.
Over the years, I’ve been thelandlockedmariner, withouthaste, and various shades of asshole.
Like Anthony, I’m a cheap, nasty, low-down, trailer park, burger slut.
I have never traveled in Europe.
Hopeless Romantic/Filthy Mind.
My reputation has been tarnished over the years, but I’m proud of who I am.
I still can’t tell the difference between a sweet potato and a yam.
I’ve bumbled my way through speeches to a four grad classes and a thousand or so unimpressed family members.
I met Dave Grohl and Jennifer Lopez in the same day.
I had my first tattoo at 19 and its now covered over.
I am private and yet a completely open book.
I lost my virginity to the song Rocketman.
I broke the same collarbone twice.
I say fuck too much. Like a fucking lot.
I prefer not to make reservations.
I am ferociously loyal to a fault.
Creativity is my catharsis.
Most days, I exist in two places.
I have three equally spaced moles on each side of my belly button.
I use voice to text when I can’t remember how to spell a word.
I overthink far too often.
I have a very unhealthy frame addiction.
I’d rather show up in person than online shop.
And after nearly half a century, I finally found my home… and her name is Jaime.
@daily-esprit-descalier
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Editing Tips for Beginning Editors
This is a guest post written by Adrian Harley.
Congratulations! If you’re reading this, I’m willing to bet you already have a lot of the skills you need to be an editor. Even among full-time professionals, a lot of editing skill comes from reading a ton—you get an “eye” for when a sentence just doesn’t look right. The more you read professionally edited work, the better you get at it. (Fanfiction is incredible, obviously. But fanfiction has its own quirks, and the grammar and punctuation can vary, so I’m not confident recommending it as a way to brush up your instinctive grasp of when a sentence “looks right.”)
The specifics of what you do as an editor can vary a lot depending on what you’re editing and who you’re editing for, so in this post, I’ll be covering some of the basic principles that I think will be helpful no matter what type of editing you do. Broadly, I’ll be going over language-related tips and profession-related tips.
Language
I won’t be going over the nuts and bolts of grammar here, as a zillion good guides to it already exist online. Grammar Girl is my go-to free resource, and a lot of grammar and punctuation questions can be easily answered online or in a style guide from your library. I looked up the rules for commas a LOT in my first years of editing, and I still have to double-check them sometimes. A lot of the fiddly details differ between guides (how to write a.m. and p.m.; serial comma), but the nuts and bolts of grammar and punctuation stay the same across guides.
Professionally, those fiddly details are a big chunk of editing. Do you write out numbers less than 20? Less than 10? Do you capitalize titles like “President” all the time or only in certain situations? There’s no one right answer, which is one of the many reasons there’s no “right guide” to editing. A style guide will decide many of these questions for you. If you pick up editing as a profession, your employer will most likely have a style guide in mind. You may want to pick one for yourself if you do freelance editing. That way, you won’t have to re-decide on every job, and if you get repeat clients, you’ll be sure their text is consistent across all their documents. A “series bible” for fiction works on similar principles.
Whether you’re looking at those fiddly details or at the big picture, one principle of editing is to never take anything for granted. Someone says there’s five ancient orbs needed to defeat the dragon? You’d better count the orbs. Make sure every proper noun in the story (names of people, places, things) is spelled the same every single time. This is the kind of thing you’ll get quizzed on if you ever apply for a professional editing gig. Every editing job I’ve ever applied to has an “editing test” of at least a page, and it usually has at least one of those errors (if not both).
Another major thing to watch out for is colloquialisms, especially ones that mean multiple things. A short list of common errors I see:
“Since” should only relate to the passage of time; it does not mean “because.”
“While,” again, should only refer to time—two things happening simultaneously. “But,” “although,” “whereas,” and others are good substitutes for the other sense.
“Due to” does not mean “because of,” it means “caused by” (and I’ve seen some editors argue to not even use it for “caused by” and to only use it for when something is owed to someone).
“If” will often need to be replaced with “whether.”
Obviously with dialogue, that’s a whole nother story, but be careful about these in narration, even with a colloquial narrative. They can introduce unintentional double meanings.
When you’re moving from basic accuracy to style, you’ll often need to “tighten up” the language. This might be something you’re used to doing in your own writing. This doesn’t mean all prose should be sparse! But as an editor, part of your job is making sure that every word is contributing something, no matter whether the sentence is flowery or stark. One exercise is to go through and see if you can cut one word from every sentence. Depending on what type of editing you do, you’ll have different “filler words” to look out for. My personal demon is “just,” so I always do a search for that when I’m revising my own work. In my day job, the word “provide” often signals a clunky phrase that could be condensed into a single, better verb (e.g., “provides assistance” vs. “helps”).
You’ll look for a lot as you edit, so don’t feel like you have to do it all at once. A simple search can make sure you’ve caught issues like “while” and “since.” Other issues are best solved in their own read-through. For me, I try to do a read-through specifically for passive voice. I often skip over passive voice on my all-purpose read because, well, the sentence makes sense, doesn’t it? So my eye simply doesn’t catch it if I’m not on the lookout. As you edit, you’ll figure out what process works best for you.
And to wrap up the language section—checklists are your friend! I used to have a post-it of all the things I knew I struggled with, and I’d systematically search the document for those trip-ups after I did my first read. You can customize your own checklist with whatever snags give you trouble.
Professionalism
A huge part of editing as a professional is in how you interact with other people. Your whole job is telling people they’re wrong, after all, and you often have no control over whether they’ll listen to you. Everything you can do to make the criticism easier for them helps!
My favorite “one weird trick” that my first boss taught me is to turn every criticism into a question. If you’re suggesting a significant revision, “How about…?” is one of my favorite leads. If you have no idea what’s going on, do your best to figure out what might be causing the issue, then form a question around that. “Are there missing words here?” is kinder and more useful than “Huh?”
Essentially, your role as an editor is to advocate for the reader. This “reader stand-in” role can help frame critique as well. Will the reader understand this? If you’re in one of the more-technical editing jobs, that question may be completely necessary. As an editor for scientific research, I’m often editing documents meant for people who know way more about the subject matter than I do. The framing of “the reader” is also a useful tool in your toolbox for fiction. You may be editing something that you are not the target audience for. Or, on the other end of the scale, you may know without question that you’re reading something incomprehensible. The polite device of “the reader” helps add a level of depersonalization to the critique.
Unsurprisingly, for editing, communication is key before you even start work. “Editing” covers a huge range of possibilities. Make sure you and the author are on the same page. Do they want a proofread—only correcting glaring errors? Do they want you to improve the phrasing of sentences? It can go all the way up to practically rewriting the thing, if you’re working at a corporation and the authors aren’t professionals. This conversation beforehand will let you know whether you should make “artistic” suggestions as you read, whether you need to stick with nuts and bolts, or something in between.
If the author says they only need a proofread and you discover the whole thing is terrible, that’s when some tactful emails come into play. Never start doing a higher-level edit unless you’ve talked about it with the author first. You have much better odds of an affirmative if they feel like they’re collaborating with you–that you’re both in it together to make the best document possible. As far as the tactful emails go, be kind and be specific. If you have examples of what you’d like to correct, throw those in. It helps the author know what to expect and make an informed decision.
And sometimes the author says no, and that’s okay! You must wash your hands of it. It’s not your name on the thing, and if you don’t put it in your resume, it never will be (fresh out of college, I worked on a couple truly awful novels that nobody will ever know I worked on). Perfectionism is HARD to overcome, I know, but accepting the errors gets easier with practice.
And finally, if you’re still wondering, “Am I cut out to be an editor?” I would recommend the words of Neil Gaiman. In his excellent “Make Good Art” speech, he says that as a freelance artist, you need to do good work, do it on time, and be pleasant to work with. And then, he adds, “You don’t even need all three! Two out of three is fine.”I recommend the whole thing if you ever want to battle imposter syndrome, because the same tenets apply to editing. At least I think they do. You don’t need to be the perfect editor—nobody is. But I guarantee that you have most of what you need already, and I hope this has helped.
Biography
Adrian Harley, one of Duck Prints Press’s editors, has been a full-time professional editor of scientific research for 10 years. Their freelance and ad-hoc editing has run the gamut from books to blog posts to family members’ cover letters. They’ve been published in Duck Prints Press’ And Seek (Not) to Alter Me and the forthcoming She Wears the Midnight Crown, as well as OFIC Magazine.
Want to learn more?
Beware the Weasel Word has information and resources for “tightening up” language.
How to Ask for Feedback on Your Writing talks more about how, from a writer point of view, to help your editor understand what type(s) of editing you’re looking for.
Giving Quality, Motivating Feedback focuses on exactly what it says on the tin: how to give a writer feedback they’ll listen to.
What is an Alpha Reader? talks about what role alpha reader editors play and how to work with one.
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Five Minutes More
Summary: Dean may have developed a crush on one of the girls he plays his mmorpg with. When she comes to town for work, feelings take over.
Squares: Gamers spnfluffbingo
Words: 2413
Warnings: Fluff, sweet Dean
Credits: @princessmisery666 for looking this over ages ago. I'm lowering my expectations and posting it now.
A/N: This was going to be a very long series but it's honestly a lot and I can't handle expanding it but it's so sweet that I have to share it.
Likes are loved but reblogs are golden.
Patreon is gone. Tipping is available through Tumblr if you're so inclined.
Wednesday
“Alright guys, keep your focus. Another two percent,” the raid leader, Dean, better known in game as DWImpala, called over the voice chat. The only thing that could be heard over comms was the steady click-clack of key presses for spells and attacks. The numbers steadily decreased, chunks of the boss’s health falling off as the eighteen players gave their all.
The boss went down and everyone cheered, congratulating the lucky players who got loot and lamenting that they didn’t think the stupid horse existed since another week had gone by without a drop.
“Alright, I’m calling it here for the night,” he announced to his guild. “Next week we’re going to do a full clear, then go on raid break until we get new content.”
Players said their goodbyes and logged off the game and the voice server, leaving their officers alone.
“So, uh, I’m going to be out next week,” Scuttle announced. She was the healer lead and the few people who knew her well enough called her Y/N.
“Oh yeah? Hot date?” Demonfall, a DPS known as Ash, teased.
“Out of town for work, sadly,” she replied with a sigh.
“Anywhere fun, at least?” Dean questioned, disappointed that she’d be gone. She was great at her class, sure, but he’d also developed a bit of a crush on her.
“Not unless you count a tiny town in Kansas as fun,” she scoffed.
Dean’s heart skipped a beat when she said Kansas. He’d grown up there, hell, he still lived in Kansas. He knew the odds of her coming to his tiny town were slim.
But if he were honest, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to meet her. His crush was probably nothing; he didn’t even know what she looked like. But she was an awesome person from what he could tell.
He was vaguely aware of continuing conversation between the other two people but he wasn’t paying attention. His mind had gotten lost in fantasies and what ifs, trying to come up with a reason to find out more about what she did and where she’d be just to get a glimpse of her. He knew it was creepy to manipulate the conversation for information. So he kept his mouth shut.
The sound of a user disconnecting snapped his attention back to the present, his heart falling at the thought that he’d lost his chance to talk to her more. But when he saw that they were the only two left in chat, his mouth went dry.
“De? You still there?” she asked.
“Oh, uh, y-yeah,” he stuttered and cleared his throat. “Sorry, I kinda zoned out after you mentioned you were coming to Kansas.”
“Coming to Kansas? Is that where you are?” she questioned eagerly, anxious to get some kind of information from the private man she had started to have feelings for.
“Yeah,” he confirmed, “Lawrence.”
“You’re kidding,” she deadpanned, unable to believe what she was hearing.
“Uh, no,” he replied, confusion evident in his voice.
“That’s where I’ll be. If you have some time one day, maybe, if you want, you can show me where to get a decent burger?” Her voice held a lightness, a hope that he’d accept.
“I’d love to,” he answered enthusiastically. She’d been the first one to ask. She actually wanted to meet him.
“Really?! I mean, I’m there all week so it’s whenever you’re free but that would be amazing,” she babbled.
“So when are you getting in?”
“Sunday evening. I’m driving down and should be there somewhere around 5 or 6,” she informed, doing the math in her head about what time she needed to leave and how long the drive was.
“Okay, well how about we meet up Sunday evening? I can take you out for a late dinner,” he offered.
“That sounds great,” she agreed with a smile evident in her voice.
“Awesome. I’ll DM you my number and you can just text me when you’re close?” Dean suggested as he typed his cell into the chat box.
“I’ll text you from my phone so you can save my number, too. Just make sure your girlfriend knows who I am,” she chuckled.
“No girlfriend, sweetheart,” Dean clarified, “but you make sure your boyfriend is cool with it.”
“Yeah, about that,” she said softly, “we broke up two weeks ago.”
“What? Scuttle, why didn’t you say anything?” Dean scolded.
“I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like I was in love with the guy. So what if I caught him in his car with some redhead? It’s not a big deal.” Her voice contained a venom that Dean never wanted to be on the receiving end of.
“Where does this guy live?” Dean practically growled, anger at the man who treated her so badly burning in his chest.
She laughed then, a sweet giggle that doused the fire and diverted his attention.
“I’m serious, sweetheart. Say the word and I’ll take care of him,” he repeated.
“That’s sweet, De. But I’m fine, really. It’s getting late, though, and I have to work tomorrow and pack. I’ll see you Sunday?”
���Five minutes more?” he pleaded.
“Five minutes,” she confirmed.
Sunday
Five minutes turned into an hour. That hour turned into texting back and forth over the next few days, nearly all day long, and talking every night for hours. By the time Sunday came around, Dean was sure that he was falling for her.
As sure as Dean was that he was falling hard, so was she. Her ex had said that she cared more about that game and people she’d never met than him. In hindsight, he may not have been wrong. He was still a dick, though.
She texted Dean when she was leaving home and starting her drive. He smiled at his phone before slipping it back in his pocket and sliding back under his car, whistling as he worked. It was just a simple oil change and he was done in no time, deciding to wash and detail the car while he had time.
He sang along to Metallica as he dried the water, not realizing that he had a smile on his face until Benny walked over from next door.
“Wha’s gaht yah smilin’ like dat?” he teased in his thick Cajun accent.
“Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean quickly denied.
“Who’z dah guhl?”
“What girl?”
Benny fixed him with a look, letting him know that he wasn’t buying it. Dean sighed and Benny smirked, knowing that he’d won that battle.
“Okay, so you know how I’ve told you about that girl I game with, Scuttle?” Dean started.
“Oh yeah, tha one you sweet on,” Benny replied.
“I’m not five, Benny. I’m not ‘sweet’ on her.” Dean rolled his eyes and Benny laughed before Dean continued. “Anyway, she’s coming to town for work and I’m taking her to dinner tonight.”
“You gonna tell Cher yah like her?”
“No. I mean, I don’t really even know her. She doesn’t even know me. And she just broke up with her boyfriend because she caught him cheating on her.” Dean returned to his work polishing the chrome trim on his car, pretending to ignore his friend standing behind him.
“Dean, she jus’ broke up wit’ her boyfriend. Don’ you think’ tha’ you should say somethin’ before some otha man does?” Benny chided as he shifted to see Dean’s face instead of the back of his head. “Girl like dat won’ be lonely long, brotha.”
“Jesus, Benny. Can’t I meet the girl before you give me the speech?” Dean whined as he stood up, his phone pinging in his pocket. He pulled it out without breaking eye contact with his friend, then looked down to see a message from her. He opened his phone quickly, finding a picture of a sign advertising Lebanon, Center of the Continental United States - 50 miles.
“How long?” Benny asked, not giving any other context.
“About an hour,” Dean replied without thinking, typing out a message and slipping his phone back in his pocket. He cringed when he realized what Benny had asked and saw the smug look on his friend’s face.
“Ah’m gonna go. See yah at work tomorrah. Gonna wanna hear all ‘bout th’date.” Benny strode away to his yard, leaving Dean to finish up the car and get ready to go out.
She texted Dean once she’d checked in and told him where she was. When he responded that he was on his way, her palms started sweating and her heart started pounding. She tried taking deep, calming breaths but nothing was helping the nerves.
A knock sounded on the door and she froze, panicked that he was already at the hotel. She was second guessing everything from her wardrobe to her hair to even meeting up with him. Another knock echoed through the room and she moved towards the door automatically, taking a deep breath as she turned the knob and pulled the door open.
Her breath caught in her chest when she laid eyes on him for the first time. There had to have been a mistake. There's no way this is…"Dean?" she asked as she met his gaze.
"Yeah," he confirmed with a wide grin. "It's nice to meet you, Y/N."
“Wow, I…you look nothing like I pictured,” she blurted out, quickly following up with “that’s not a bad thing! I just didn’t expect…you know…a model.”
He chuckled at her candor, ducking his head while the tips of his ears turned red. “You flatter me, sweetheart, but you’re the one who could be a model. I knew you’d be gorgeous but I didn’t expect to have the wind knocked out of me.”
“That’s sweet, De,” she giggled. “Do you want to come in? Five minutes and I’ll be ready,” she told him as she backed into the room.
“Yeah, five minutes. No problem,” he replied.
Dean took her to a small diner where they had burgers and pie, laughing and talking until they were the only two people left in the restaurant. It was still early so they opted for a ride around town with the windows down, the cooling air blowing around in their hair as Dean drove down quiet roads.
He kept stealing glances at her, drawn to the way the moonlight surrounded her in an ethereal light, making her glow. He pulled down a dirt road and turned off the headlights, letting the full moon be his guide.
“Is this where you kill and bury me?” she joked as he parked the car.
“Nah,” he chuckled, “this here is the best part of Lawrence.”
Dean stepped out of the car and walked around to her side, opening the door and offering his hand to help her out of the car. He kept a hold on it as he started to walk through the trees ahead of them.
She followed him quietly, trusting him completely. They stepped through the trees and she gasped at the sight before her.
Inside a quiet clearing was a small pond, barely big enough for a boat to float comfortably. Moonlight reflected off of the water, sparkling as the small waves moved in the breeze. A little dock led to a small gazebo over the water.
Dean took her to the gazebo and she looked around in awe; the roof was made of a clear material, allowing her to see the stars shining in the sky. Thick benches lined the walls of the wooden structure, a waist-high railing surrounding the edge, the rest of the space open, allowing the cool breeze of the night to pass through.
Dean watched as she took in the space, her eyes wide and her jaw slack. He knew this was the right spot. It’s where his brother took his wife for their first date, where Benny took his fiancee’, where his parents had their first date. The hope that something could bloom here lifted his heart and drove out the nagging thoughts of her leaving again.
She turned around to face Dean, finding him standing next to a pile of blankets and pillows that she was sure hadn’t been laid out when they got there. He reached out his hand and she accepted it, following his lead and settling into the soft mountain to watch the stars.
As the pair talked and laughed, they drifted closer to one another, lying on their sides facing each other when Y/N started to yawn.
“We should get you back to the hotel,” Dean told her quietly.
“No, no, I’m fine,” she insisted. “Five minutes more.”
“Five minutes then we head back,” he promised.
“Five minutes.”
Monday
Dean woke to sunlight streaming in his face and a heavy warmth across his chest. He stretched, thinking he was in his bed, only to be met with wooden planks surrounding him. Memories of last night came flooding back and his eyes fluttered open to find Y/N sleeping soundly on his chest, still in the gazebo over the small pond.
His gaze had found a home on her peaceful face and he stared unabashedly, counting the barely there freckles across her cheekbones, admiring the way her lashes brushed her cheeks, resisting the urge to trace the soft lines around her mouth and eyes. She began to stir and cuddled closer to him.
Dean prayed she couldn’t tell how fast his heart was beating beneath her ear in her half-awake state. His arm tightened around her, holding her close. He closed his eyes and wished for time to stop, to be able to stay in this moment forever. His hopes were dashed when his phone started vibrating in his pocket, the alarm he had set for work blaring through the silence.
Scuttle groaned and swiped towards the sound while Dean fished in his pocket for the offending device. He turned it off and gave his attention back to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“Hey, sweetheart, it’s time to wake up,” he coaxed, his hand trailing up the arm tossed over his chest.
“Noo, five more minutes,” she mumbled as she wiggled next to him.
“Five more minutes,” he agreed quietly, a soft smile gracing his face, the possibilities of the upcoming week shrinking under the impending end of their fling. He would enjoy the next five minutes of her in his arms as if it were the last.
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call me on the line, call me any, any time (julián álvarez)
a/n: hi peeps, my writer´s block is finally gone and i don´t wanna jinx it but i hope i post at least once a week. any feedback, suggestions, or comments will be gladly appreciated.
“Don’t call me when you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“Okay. Spell: handkerchief.”
“Shit, I can’t even spell that when sober.”
“So you are drunk?”
Pause. “Fuck.”
Julián turns over in the bathtub. The porcelain is cool against his warm cheek. He stares at the bottles lined along the edge. Shampoo. Hair conditioner. Three empty beer cans. Face-wash. A miniature red wine. Shave cream. Soap. Soda. He cradles a bottle of fernet. It’s half-empty. He can taste it on his lips. Bitter, sweet, herbaceous, and spicy. Perfect, like sticky barbecue ribs on a summer day. He remembers it:
Smell of sun lotion. Taste of beer. Her tangled hair sticking to her lip-gloss. The way she laughed at everything he said.
“Are you asleep?”
“What?” Julián jerks up. His eyelids feel heavy, like someone has taped them shut. He blinks several times. The world is still blurry. “Am I what?”
“I could hear you snore.”
“No.” Maybe. “It’s music. I’m at a party.” He holds his phone into the air, hoping to catch the beat. It echoes through the house. Dun-dun-dundun-duh. The DJ is making the floor vibrate. Even the bathtub quivers. It makes him feel sick. He suppresses the need to vomit. “Hear that?”
“I can hear you groaning.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Not in a sexy way, Julián. Like you’re dying.”
“I do feel like I’m-” Dying, yes, like I’m about to choke on my own spit. The world is spinning. Maybe if I moved it would counteract it. Oops, no, that definitely made it worse. Shit, am I about to be sick? I can’t be sick. Not on the phone to Sierra. She’ll block my number. She’ll block my number if I tell her how bad I feel. I can’t say I’m dying. But I’ve already started talking. I do feel like I’m what? Like I’m what? Flying. Dying sounds like flying. Genius. “-flying.” No, now I definitely sound drunk.
“Flying?”
“Never mind.” Julián lies flat on his back and stares at the ceiling. It´s white, just like the ceiling back at the flat they used to share. He remembers it:
Sierra washing his back, shampooing his hair. Him shaving her legs, Sierra giggling because he missed a spot. Whispers of: you’re the one that I want. Whispers of:
“I miss you.”
The silence is loud. Julián swallows. It’s like his words echo in the bathroom: I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you. But it’s just Blink 182 playing below. The DJ has gone rogue. Tom Delonge’s voice serenade his miserable existence:
Where are you?
And I’m so sorry.
I cannot sleep-
“Wow,” she sounds amused, “some soundtrack you’ve got going there.”
“Ha. Yeah.” Pause. “Did I actually-”
“Say that you miss me? Sure did.”
Fuck. “Right.” Fuckhead. “Cool.” Twat. Dick. Idiot. Julián has another gulp of the fernet. It settles in his chin like a coating of oil. Or maybe the showerhead is dripping. His whole body feels like liquid, like he can’t fully control it, just like he can’t fully control the question: “Do you miss me too?” Fuck. Fuckhead. Twat. Dick. Idiot.
“Julián-”
“Sorry. Don’t answer.”
“You know-”
“Unless it’s affirmative in which case: definitely answer.”
Pause. “Julián, you know that we-”
Sque-e-eak. Footsteps. Giggling and kissing. The door clicks shut. Someone says:
“I want to fuck you in over the sink.” Shuffling of fabrics. A moan, and then -
Julián battles himself up to peer over the edge of the tub. A young couple - girl partially undressed, man’s hand under her skirt - peers back at him. She screams, and he apologizes, and Julián says:
“Sorry, this one is taken,” as they’re already halfway out of the bathroom. The door slams shut.
Sierra asks: “What was that?”
“Someone walked in on me.”
“Where are you?”
“In a bathroom.”
“You’re calling me from the toilet?”
“No, bathtub, actually.”
Pause. “Why are you calling me, Julián?”
There are too many reasons. They swirl around Julián’s head, merge into one, then separate again. Hundreds of reasons. Thousands of reasons. Because I just wanted to hear your voice? Too soppy. Because I wanted to apologize? Too serious. Because I saw your recent Instagram photo and it made me really horny and I remembered when we used to - Too much - full stop.
Or maybe it’s because:
He misses the way they would dance, uncoordinated feet and all. Julian´s not a great dancer, and Sierra making fun of him because you´re Argentine, Juli, how don´t you know how to dance cumbia? Feet hurting, but not any more than their bellies hurt from laughing too much. Drunk kisses, hot touches, Sierra looking at him like he was the sun.
He misses the way they would travel, in the car, no map and no sense of direction. They would eat breakfast in Manchester and dinner in Plymouth. They would set up camp on the beach and find their sleeping bags soaked by the tide in the morning. They counted the days by the sunrises - and they never missed one. Her eyes would glow so bright and full of optimism. He wonders if they still glimmer.
He misses the way they would love, sometimes roughly and sometimes slowly. Always together - always in tune. Her body was warm and wet and welcoming. He could worship her curves every day and never have enough. He feasted on her sex, on her breasts, on her lips, on her moans and on her pleasure. They glowed in the afterlight. So full of satisfaction, and so full of love.
He misses the way they would -
“Julián.”
Julián goes quiet. He realizes he’s been speaking. There are pictures on his phone. From Buenos Aires, and from Manchester. And from his private album, of them, snuggled up in bed, duvet under their chins, cheeky grins on their faces. They’ve just made love, no doubt about it. But why did I have to say it out loud?
Julián swallows. He puts the phone back to his ear. He goes to take a swig of the bottle. It’s empty. He’s sticky with liquor. “Sierra,” he croaks. He wants to say more. Repeat everything that’s on his mind in eloquent, poetic ways. But it all comes down to the same: He misses the way they would dance, sing, travel, kiss, love, be.
He misses her.
I miss her.
“I miss you.”
Pause. “I miss you too.”
Julián sits upright. He’s too quick - the world spins and spins around him. He grabs a hold of the edge of the tub. Shampoo bottles and beer cans scatter across the floor. The DJ is playing Bad Bunny, Coco. The lyrics seem to penetrate his brain:
No puedo escuchar cancione' dе romance (I can't listen to love songs)
Me cansé que dе pensar en ti no me canse (I'm tired of not getting tired of thinking of you)
El último pétalo me dijo que aún hay chance (The last petal told me that there's still a chance)
No sé si e'verdad, pero si va' a volver, avance (I don't know if it's true, but if you’re coming back, come forward)
“You do?”
“Of course I do.”
“Wow.” Julián stares at the wall tiles. They have not been done well. Some are askew. Two of them have been placed the wrong way, disturbing the pattern. He can’t seem to look away from them. “Wow,” he mutters again, “Sierra, I never-”
“-knew? Why would you. We never talk. Unless you’re drunk.”
“I’m not-” Julián takes a deep breath. He can taste his breakfast. He slowly settles back down into the bathtub. The ceiling looms above. A fly is crawling across it, quivering in the flickering orange light from the lamp. “Maybe I am a bit drunk.”
“Oh!” Sierra laughs. “Oh, you admitted it.”
“A bit,” Julián empathizes. He’ll have a banging headache in the morning. He will feel crippled for days. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Her voice soothes him.
“I’m also a bit drunk.”
Julián barks a laugh. “You are?”
“I guess we’ll both regret this in the morning.”
No, Julián thinks, but he doesn’t say it. He lets the silence wash in over them for a bit. Drip-drip-drip. The showerhead is leaking. He blinks water out of his eyes. He croaks: “Why did we split?”
“You know why.”
“I don’t. The arguments? It doesn’t matter really, does it?”
“We’re just too… dissimilar.”
“No, we’re similar. We are very similar.”
“Sometimes that’s worse.”
“Sometimes that’s better.”
Sigh. “See? We are arguing again.”
“No, Sierra, we are communicating.”
“When did you become such a therapist?”
“After my second shot of tequila.”
She laughs. It’s a beautiful sound. It seems to echo through the room. As if it travels with the music downstairs. It’s slow now. Slow, and romantic. He remembers:
“Do you remember when we went to Anto and Leo´s wedding? They were playing that song. Ah, what’s it called… listen-” he waves the phone, tries to catch the music, “hear that? It’s- Adele, that’s her name, yeah, Adele. There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do, to make you feel my love. They were playing that, do you remember? And they were dancing. And we sneaked outside, and we were going to fu- make love behind the barn, but then you saw that falling star, and we ended up just sitting in the field making wishes.” Pause. “Do you remember?”
There’s a long wait. For a moment, Julián thinks she’s hung up. When she speaks: “I remember,” her voice sounds wet.
“Do you know what I wished for?” Julián asks.
There’s an even longer wait. “What?”
“You.”
“Don’t be daft.”
“Why?”
“We were already together then.”
“Aye, and I wanted to keep it that way.”
She laughs. “Well, that didn’t work out.”
“No,” Julián admits, “it didn’t.” It’s kind of funny, he supposes, it’s kind of not funny. He wants to laugh and be casual about it, but if he tries to smile, he’ll start sobbing, and if he starts sobbing, he’ll start crying, and if he starts crying, then she’ll definitely hang up on me. He buries his face in his arm. The darkness soothes him. He could sleep - forever, and forever, and tomorrow will be a new sunrise. But it won’t be with her.
Sierra asks: “Do you know what I wished for?”
He mutters: “What?”
“For you to fuck me.”
He laughs, and it makes him sob. Just fucking typical - very sexy of me. “You wished for me to fuck you?” He can’t believe it.
“You were just so fascinated with the stars. Like, you wouldn’t look away from them, and so we just sat there as you talked about the constellations and some Greek guy-”
“Ptolemy,” Julián remembers.
“-and all I wanted was to get bent over the haystack.” She pauses. “See, dissimilar.”
“Dissimilar,” Julián admits.
“All those cheap dates in Manchester, when I just wanted you to let me pay for cinema tickets. But you were too proud. And all those car-rides, oh God, Julián, the car rides. I just wanted to jump on a train so we could both enjoy the journey and not constantly get stuck in traffic.”
“Huh. I remember it rather differently.”
“Of course you do.” Sigh. “That’s what I like about you, you know? You always remember the fun.”
“It doesn’t sound like you had fun.”
“I did.” Pause. “But it would’ve been nice to do things my way sometimes, you know?”
“I know,” Julián realizes. I know. Fuck. Fuckhead. Twat. Dick. Idiot. Of course I know.
“Could we try that?”
“Try what?”
“Doing things my way.”
It sounds like a proposition. His heart leaps in his chest. “You mean-”
Sque-e-eak. Footsteps. The door opens and shuts. Julián battles himself up to peer over the edge of the tub. He stares at Sierra - wet cheeks, small smile on her lips, mobile pressed to her ear - and she stares at him as she says:
“I mean: no more calling me when you’re drunk.”
Pause. “Roger that.” Julián hangs up. He slowly puts his mobile away in the pocket of his trousers. He’s still peering at her, apprehensive. His body is liquid. Or maybe just his eyes. They seem to drip-drip-drip like the showerhead. “What are you…?”
“What are you doing,” she returns the question. She kneels next to the tub, picks up the miniature wine, shakes it in her hand. “Empty.” She pulls the bottle of fernet out of the tub. “Empty.”
“It’s mostly in my chin.”
“Charming.” She rests against the tub, her cheek squeezed, perfectly round and peachy in her hand. She looks at him, an expression of exhaustion and content. “What am I doing here?” she asks the question for him. “Didn’t think I’d miss the world cup celebration, did you?”
“World cup…” Pieces start coming together. His mind wanders of, what DJ at a party would play Blink 182? “Some shitty DJ they hired”.
Sierra laughs. There it is again: the perfect sound. It soothes his aching head.
Julián manages to reach over and grab her hand between his own. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“What for?”
Pause. “Everything.”
Sierra nods. “Me too. I’m also sorry. About everything.” She looks at his hand. She looks at him. And her eyes send him back to the sunrises: glimmering violet, full of warmth and optimism. A new day. A new chance.
A new kiss.
It is gentle, almost a peck, but it is there. On his lips. He tastes of fernet. She tastes of wine. The air is thick with perfume and aftershave and memories. When she climbs into the tub, she fits perfectly into the crook of his arm. As if they were always there, together, resting in a bathtub, watching the white ceiling, listening to the DJ announce:
“Everybody hit the dance floor!”
Aquella feroz sesión de testosterona
en que las hormonas formaron parte del bello arte
del beso al cuello, le puso el sello que aquella noche,
después del coche, todo iba a ser fenomenal
“Fucking hell - how romantic!”
Sierra laughs. She wraps her arm around him and closes her eyes. “Let’s head down in a second,” she suggests.
Julián too closes his eyes. “Yes,” he agrees, “in a second.” It seems like seconds. Seconds of memories:
- First kiss as the fireworks set off at midnight, and
- Skinny-dipping in the lake behind the house, and
- Arguing about what TV show to watch, and
- “Delete that photo, I look awful!”, and
- Long, long walks up and down the pier, and
- “I’m sorry, this isn’t working,” and
- Solo dinners in front of the TV with nothing to watch, and
- Drunk texts, drunk calls, drunk everything, and
- I wish I could do things over, and
the party has long finished by the time he wakes up, bleary-eyed, thirsty, in the need of a piss and breakfast.
But first things first, he dials a number.
Sierra stirs next to him. She’s frazzled - hair sticking out everywhere, sleep in her eyes, dress crinkled and marked with spots of wine. She picks up her phone. She mutters: “‘ello?”
“I’m sober,” Julián says.
Sierra looks up at him. “Spell: handkerchief.”
“H-A-N-D-K-E-R-C-H-I-E-F.” Pause. “Am I right?”
“I don’t know, I’m not a dictionary.”
They laugh. They laugh so much it hurts, and Julián’s head swims, and his knees ache, but he feels good. So, so good. Like he could take on the world. After a good, greasy breakfast. He smiles at her, and she smiles back at him, and when she asks:
“Do you want to try again?” and offers him her hand, he takes it and says:
“With you? Always.”
a/n: i´m begginggggg you guys to not be ghost readers! please let me know what you think here and read the rest of my works here.
#julian alvarez#julian alvarez imagine#julian alvarez fanfiction#football imagine#football fanfic#football fanfiction#neymar jr imagine#kylian mbappe imagine#football blurb#jude bellingham imagine
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had an insane dream about TUMBLR so i thought it was my obligation to share (warning for murder and horror movie like stuff i guess)
so there was this old tumblr creepy pasta that was really popular back in the day and it took place on a blog called “cortney’s blog” spelled exactly like that. it was weird because it was the only blog that had a space and apostrophe in the name.
the main antagonist was this tiny really ugly wrinkly pink creature that looked like a 3D puppet of that one shrimp character from smiling friends, and it’s name was The Numbler. iirc Cortney was i think the stereotypical popular high school girl but in secret she was the only one who could see and talk to The Numbler (or the only one The Numbler allowed to see and talk to it) and basically carried out murders for it. she had pale skin and long brown hair and wore a heavy metal band t shirt
(also like halfway through the dream, i realized it was a dream and thought i’d wanna write it down and post about it when i wake up LOL so the way i thought to remember The Numbler’s name was thinking about the word “mumble,” “number” and “the riddler” all combined into The Numbler. and it worked)
also it’s weird because the dream kinda kept going back and fourth from present days and flashbacks, so it’s kinda hard to get the timeline right. so i don’t know exactly how The Numbler started or came to be, because i didn’t see that far back yet before i woke up. i also don’t know how the dream ended either
anyway from what i can remember, the stuff put on cortney’s blog years and years ago was in the form of really well drawn webcomics that told the story of each murder Cortney committed, most of them involving her luring people away from their friends and murdering them. but people didn’t exactly know or think it was real because they were just comics. somehow, people caught on that the stuff the blog was posting was actually based on real murders taking place at the same time, but nobody could find the bodies or the person running the blog, so it was kinda just left as a creepypasta and forgotten about as time went on and it stopped posting.
and when i say forgotten about, like really forgotten about. nobody really knew it had existed unless you were on tumblr like a decade ago and saw the whole thing go down yourself, otherwise the posts became kinda lost to time and were never talked about.
years later, i was at my grandma’s house just kinda hanging out lol and i went upstairs to this really weird room we were never really allowed in. the room was dark and looked like a concrete basement and there were all sorts of writings on the walls that looked written out of dried blood or black paint. there was a giant rectangle slab in the middle that was basically a bed i think but it looked more like a tomb or coffin. apparently this was where cortney committed her last murder (which. apparently was my grandpa LOL???) and after that, her spirit became trapped in that room for years until the door was finally opened by ME. oops
now cortney’s spirit is loose and i’m freaking out and trying to find out soo much lore about her blog to find a way to stop this. i looked through all the cortney’s blog tumblr posts and read all the comics. it was a weird moment because suddenly, everyone on tumblr was coming across those posts again and reblogging them saying they were part of the tumblr greats and stuff. as i was binging the comics, i also reblogged them to show my mutuals because they were genuinely interesting and a good story and thought they’d like it. apparently there had also been a horror movie adaptation of cortney’s blog back in the day so i watched that movie to find out more.
the movie didn’t reveal much except i think it’s how i figured out where The Numbler was left. anyway during all of this, cortney’s blog had started posting AGAIN and people were really excited because they thought it returned for some kind of arg creepypasta and they didn’t think it was actually Real.
my time was limited to find The Numbler and destroy it before Cortney came back and killed me, so i began my search. here’s the part where it gets confusing and i feel ends very abruptly. i went outside by the woods that don’t exist irl and found three wooden crates that looked like they had been there a really long time. they were all weathered down and had plants growing around them and stuff.
anyway me and my friend (dunno who it was they kinda showed up outta nowhere) opened the crates and found some stuff. the first one had a red piece of yarn in it and and ohhh shit i think i forgot something else important. so! sometimes i get these weird lucid deja vu dreams where during the dream, i realize im dreaming and that i’ve actually had the same exact dream before! but that’s a lie, i’ve literally never had those dreams before but my brain made me think i did? so i knew some extra information that was just given to me at the start i think. that information was that The Numbler had more friends. there was a red piece of yarn that could take shape of a little stick man person and stuff. then there was a rag that was also a little guy idk. they were just little fucked up creatures that were part of the cortney’s blog lore and were The Numbler’s companions.
after The Numbler was abandoned all those years ago when Cortney’s spirit was trapped in my grandpa’s room, it and its friends were basically trapped in those crates and abandoned for years. my friend and i had now just opened them and saw the remains of those guys, now just the lifeless objects they were based on. the red yarn was just a piece of yarn and the wash cloth was just that. but The Numbler was nowhere to be seen. fuck
we ran back into the house after seeing a creepy fucking shadow man staring at us from across the lawn. it was creepy as hell and was now IN THE HOUSE CHASING US. this house was not my grandma’s anymore either it was just a random house i’ve never been in before, i think it was suppose to be my mystery friend’s house actually.
anyway i just stayed in the kitchen and my friend and their family were being chased by the shdadow man and allll of The Numbler’s friends. yep. they were back to life now, must’ve been playing a trick on us in those crates, and now they were like running in a circle around my friends doing some sort of weird ritual thing. all of a sudden they became humanoid and their personalities also reminded me of the starkid lords in black, both the weird monster forms and the human forms.
anyway i was hiding under a really small table and could see into the room were they were terrorizing my friends. i made eye contact with one of the creatures. shit
i was found, they all surrounded me, then i woke up. i have no idea what happened to The Numbler or Cortney but their friends were doing some sort of ritual on us and they probably completed it. Cortney probably continued her reign of terror and fed our bodies to The Numbler who knows. it was a crazyyy dream i hope u all found it entertaining :) now who wants to make The Numbler the new tumblr sexyman
#bluejay says stuff#tumblr#dreams#murder tw#i have the craziest most vivid dreams guys maybe i should write them down more often
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Jumping off of @zahri-melitor to categorize all of my titles (which now that I'm sitting down to do this is a lot...) I've also included series titles in here because that also involves agonizing and I quite like a number of them (they'll be marked with an *) In no particular order:
Tongue in cheek titles where I’m trying to be funny
Batman for Dummies
Fatherhood for Dummies
So, the Dragon of the West walks into a bar…
You Can’t Spell Kuzon without Zuko
Brothers Have the Worst Timing
Robins Don’t Make Great Roommates
Robins are an Invasive Species*
Bus Buddies = Pilgrimage Buddies (?)
Nobody has a good day (but it gets better)
Non-Existent Extradition Treaties
Song Lyrics/Titles
Let the Sunshine in
MAD World
Slightly MAD
World Gone MAD
Desolation Row
Why you wanna fly, Blackbird?
You Will Live Forever
The Rhythm of the Night
do you like the person you’ve become?*
A Fleeting Dream
Other quotes/stealing other titles
The Prince Who Runs Through the Night
Blood for Blood
The Kindly Ones
No Truce with the Furies*
Loved by the King [this is technically the name of a font I ran across in google docs while writing the fic and decided that it worked well enough as a title]
Misc Allusions/references
The King is Dead, Long Live the King
Thou Shalt Not Kill
See Spot Run
One Scar to Find Them
Stealing Fire from the Gods
Oedipus Regina
A Rose Bride by Any Other Name
Those who walk away from Ohtori
Let’s Steal a Fire Prince
Sing, oh Muse*
Truth, Justice, and Horde Politics*
Live Fast, Die Young
Emulating canon or other naming conventions:
Top 10 Secret Identity Fails
Remembering the End of an Era: Collected Media from the End of the Hundred Year’s War
The Fire Prince Job*
#Justice4Gotham
Turnabout Traitor!
One Word ‘What do you mean fics need metadata? I give up’ Titles:
Batgirl
Paris
Fathers
Madness
Orpheus
Homesick
Pretty Bird [This may be 2 words, but it belongs to this category in spirit]
Swords
Moirai
Titles that have been intensely brainstormed/Trying to be nice and thematic without a nice quote to steal
to fail, to fall, to fly away
Hot Girl Shit (The Feminine Urge to Die Young)
Neither Heir nor Spare (The Sole Survivor)
Red Threads and Distant Stars
Myosotis
Wild Seeds
Gotham: Hell on Earth
Man as a Living Weapon
Death: The Final Puzzle
Former Hopes and Future Scars
I just keep falling now that you’re gone
MAD (Mutually Assured Destruction)*
End of the Line*
Disarmament*
What it says on the tin
Bat + Girl [This one also feels in the spirit of the one word category, but I feel like it's a little more clever than most of those]
The Peasant Queen of Nohr
A Princess of Hoshido and a Prince of Nohr
Reunion on Beast Island
The Last Stop
Nana Lives in Connecticut
Death of the Endless
On Death’s Door
Holly, Afterwards
Tough Guy & Tiny Girl
A Second Chance at Love
The Definitions of Us
Distant Soulmates*
How do I tell you?
The Distance Between Us
Looking for You
After the Storm
What it says on the tin (literal version)
Various Batman AUs
No Man’s Land Timeline
Kwami Swap Week
Drabbles*
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SAGAU ft. twst PART 2
Alright, you guys got me, I’m a sucker for this so here’s part two.
Referencing this post.
After being taken into the heavens back to nrc by Malleus, they now had a few more problems. First off, they kidnapped borrowed Klee. Now that wouldn’t be a problem if the being that calls itself Lilia didn’t exist. Well he’s here and it’s time to fear that he will come by in the middle of the night and babynap your child. Also his cooking is atrocious and Klee is such a sweet girl, don’t subject her to that torment. Lilia now has a new baby and he is absolutely THRILLED by that. It doesn’t matter if Jean finds a way to get to her now, you are not prying Klee from his cold dead hands. What’s that? You wanna know what the second problem is? You only need one word to figure it out. Xingqiu. Yup. As soon as Chongyun hears he’s allowed to create a club he’s going straight to Crowley to form the ‘Victims of Xingqiu Alliance’ club. Absolutely no one can stop him. All you need to know is that Xingqiu is a menace to society and the entirety of nrc is about to find that out. Problem number three. Rook. Again, that wouldn’t be a problem if Itto wasn’t there. It’s chaos. Do you really think that Itto is gonna run from Rook when the French man is absolutely INFLATING his ego? No. No he will not. Now why would this be a problem? Itto can and will do everything possible to show off. Wether that be pissing off the entirety of Savanaclaw to show off his strength by fighting them, or by jumping off the peak of nrc to show how durable he is. Someone get over here with a sewing needle and pop this onikadumbass’ head so he doesn’t start floating off. Next problem. Razor. That doesn’t even need an explanation. Just think what would happen if Razor was thrown into school. Mans probably can’t even spell his own name how is he gonna get through potions class without being tempted to put anything and everything that looks tasty into his mouth. Another problem is Floyd. Not really Floyd in particular but Floyd with Xiao. You best know that Floyd is now bothering and teasing Xiao at all hours of the day. He’s just so short and grumpy and angry and he looks like a little emo. When Floyd sees Xiao he’s going think of him as one thing and one thing only. “No talk to me I’m angy.” And it’s that little cat with his back facing the camera. And don’t even get me started on Leona and Xiao. Leona is gonna meet Xiao and be incredibly unimpressed. What is that, a stick and a clown mask? (Saw someone say this with a Leona x Xiao!reader and it has been in my mind ever since) And then he gets hit. Doesn’t expect because he’s so short and tiny and emo. And he gets hit again. Benny is here and he is now best friends with Kalim but his bad luck carries over and he falls off the magic carpet and nearly gives Kalim a heart attack. (He’s okay now though, Kalim caught him). Now why is this a problem? Jamil is gonna now have to deal with two happy-go-lucky blinding rays of sunshine and now he has to worry about Bennett getting hurt (because if he didn’t Kalim wouldn’t shut up about it). Qiqi came along for the ride so we have Klee and Lilia the sequel. Aether (abyssal prince) is there too but he causes absolutely zero problems and is such a sweetheart. Childe on the other hand is a menace. Bothering Xiao and Riddle with Floyd. Literally getting into so many fights. (Has been banned from the Savanaclaw dorm). When he’s feeling extra petty you’ll see a narwhal off in the distance somewhere absolutely rocking some poor soul’s shit.
#twst wonderland#disney twst#genshin cult au#genshin impact#genshin impact sagau#genshin sagau#riddle rosehearts#sagau#twst kalim#genshin bennett#twst mc#twst yuu#twst malleus#twst lilia#sagau klee#klee genshin impact#floyd twst#xiao genshin impact#twst jamil#jamil viper#arataki itto#twst leona#leona kingscholar#lilia vanrouge#floyd leech#kalim al asim#malleus draconia#xingqiu#chongyun#childe
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Gone Girl 3- Missing Persons
Author’s Note: Here we go, down the Walker hole! My beta for this is Miss Cupcake (@petitegateau991 on tumblr)
Summary: Cordell goes looking for info on Y/n.
Pairing: none yet
Word Count: 1331
Story Warnings: not much just felonies to get info, mentions of death of a
~~~~
Cordell looked around the office before sitting down. He wasn't strictly allowed to look into the woman using Ranger resources, but Y/n was too suspicious. He put her name into the system, but nothing came up. No court records in any Texas court, no speeding tickets, not even a vehicle operator's license or state ID. Y/n Salama didn’t exist according to Texas.
He tried a few different spellings and anything that might be a long form of the name, but nothing came up.
So, he went to Google. The search site gave him no more than searching through official channels. She didn't seem to have an online presence, either.
"Who doesn't have social media these days?" he asked himself before pulling out his phone. The phone rang twice before it connected. "Hey, Geri."
"Cordell Walker. What in the world are you doin' callin' me at 7am?"
"Need a favor." He waited for her to get her moans and groans and complaints out before he continued. "New girl, Y/n, I need to know who she is."
"What? Why?"
"Just a feelin' I have. Can you get into the file cabinet in the office and get me some info?" He cleared his throat and looked around the office again. "Maybe her Social Security number?"
"Ranger, are you asking me to perform identity theft?"
"No. Not that far, just...gather information."
"Personal information. Wha-what's this feeling you have?"
"That she's not who she says she is. I mean, she says she went to one of the toughest schools in Dallas. White has, what, four gangs and some of the lowest test scores in the state and more kids that get locked up each year than graduate...but she speaks like a debutante? She's got tan lines on her left hand, but I can't find any record of her being married. I can't find any record of her, at all. So, maybe she's lying about her name for some reason and I can look her up based on that social yer gonna get me?" He didn't mention the way she treated his cuts and bruises.
Geri sighed heavily, sending static through the phone. "Fine. I will try to get in and get your information."
“Thank you ever so much, Geraldine,” he teased before slumping a little in his chair. “Seriously. Keep an eye on her for me, too. Something’s not right."
"Right," she responded dryly.
"What?"
"If you're doin' this because she's cute, you could just-"
"She's not cute. Jesus, just...let me know what you find out."
"Whatever you say. I'm goin' back to sleep."
Cordell rolled his eyes as he set his cell on his desk. He would investigate her more later.
~~~~~~~
"I've got a soccer game tomorrow. You aren't planning to get kidnapped before then, are you?" Stella asked as Cordell sat at the dinner table that night.
Auggie and Bonham chuckled but Abilene shook her head. "That isn't funny, Stella. Your father could have been killed."
"He's always almost getting killed," the teen sassed back.
"But at least he's almost getting killed in Austin," Bonham chimed.
"Thanks, Dad," Cordell said, picking up a roasted potato with his fork. "I have no plans on being abducted or almost gettin' killed between now and your next soccer game, Stel. I'll be there."
"Good, because I'm starting forward and I'm gonna kick butt."
Everyone except Auggie smiled, proud of the young athlete. "Of course you're gonna kick butt. Can't wait to see it." Stella smiled at her father's words and focused on her plate.
"So, they got all the guys who were running that fight ring?" Auggie asked.
Cordell's eyes went to his mother's. Abilene was blatantly unhappy with the conversation choice. "Yeah. Pretty sure. I mean, my head was a little fuzzy in the debrief but I think they did. How, uh, how's school comin'?" he asked to switch subjects. His mother smiled at him as she listened to Auggie talk.
~~~~~
"Okay, so she's not just awkward and uptight," Geri said, leaning across the bar closer to Walker. "I started askin' her 'bout her family...normal shit, right? 'How's yer mama an' them?' kinda stuff and she suddenly remembered she had to go clean the Men's room. I asked if she had any friends in town, she said 'not yet' so I asked her what kinda crazy she is to move somewhere with no job or support system waiting for her and she clammed up." Geri shook her head. "She ran out to get something from her car and didn't come back until we hit a rush and I was too busy to ask her any other questions."
Walker shook his head. The theory forming in his head was a sad one. "You get that information for me?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah, but...you didn't get it from me, cowboy." She dug into her apron pocket and pulled out a paper coaster, folded in half.
"Thank you."
"You'll tell me when you figure her out, right? I'm invested now."
.
Walker chuckled and nodded as he tucked the coaster into his pocket. "Yes, ma'am."
"You want a beer?"
He shook his head as he stood. "Nah. I'ma head back to the office and look this up. I'll talk to you later."
"Well, I'm off at 7, so if you don't make it back here before then, I'll call you tomorrow."
Walker figured he could make it to the office and back, checking the Social Security Number quickly in what was sure to be an almost empty office, so he just nodded and left. Dodging janitorial staff and the odd Ranger, he made it back to his desk and input the number into the search.
'Ann Maria Salama
DOB: 04/19/1986
Deceased: 08/11/1988'
"Seems Y/n's a dead girl. Interesting." He checked his watch. "Geri gets off in ten minutes. Dead girl should be on by the time I get back."
The trip back to the bar was spent figuring out the best way to approach the woman about her use of an alias and a dead girl's social. He adjusted his hat and headed into the bar. She flinched at the sound of the door opening, then smiled brightly. "Hello, Ranger! Those bruises seem to be healing nicely."
Walker nodded as he moved to sit at the bar. "Yeah, I think I can thank you for that."
"Well, you're ever so welcome. Thought you might be upset at me for makin' you drink Shirley Temples all night."
"Not as upset as I am about you lying to me about your name," he said nonchalantly. Her eyes went wide and snapped to meet his. "And where you went to school and probably that story about your great great grandaddy coming into Angel Island, since 'Salama' is a name that belongs to a little girl who died of leukemia at two years old." Her jaw dropped and trembled, and he could see her body tense as she debated fleeing. "Now, don't run. Pretty sure neither of us want me to chase you."
"Ranger, I...please, let me-"
"You're gonna explain," he interrupted. He made his expression soft, putting as much empathy in his eyes as he could manage. "Because you've broken some heavy federal laws here and I get the feeling it's not because you wanted to."
She broke immediately, sobs wracking her body as she dropped her elbows to the bar top and buried her face in her hands. "Please, don’t take me in! I had to! I didn't have a choice. I had to get away!"
Every theory he had about why she was lying was confirmed in that last sentence. He reached out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. I'm not gonna take you in...but I need to know everything."
She sniffled as she stood up, eyes red and lids puffy as she wiped tears from them. "Okay. I'll tell you."
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How do u feel about the “mysterious Nene” theory, the one saying that Nene might actually be a more mysterious character then we’re all assuming
I think Nene-chan might have more going on with herself than SHE'S assuming... I think she might even have more going on than Hanako is aware.... Nene-chan believes she is a normal girl
...but she obviously has capabilities beyond what makes sense even for her situation. (Teru as it is, already knows about Yashiro's lifespan, and being a kannagi to No. 7.... but he is still surprised by Nene-chan's purifying capability)
(^this happens in volume 8, so well after Teru is confirmed to know her associations with No. 7, and her lifespan. So her powers don't necessarily come from being a kannagi, or being on the verge of death. He doesn't even propose these powers as a solution to the kegare, or spirit withering, on his own; it surprises him. This is something Teru, with his own spiritual power, cannot do himself.)
You know me... I do have my own theories. I think Nene-chan is very special... but I suspect Tsukasa made her special, using some of his own power (which might explain why Tsukasa has become more screws-loose and unstable... it's suspicious Nene-chan is about to interact with living, 12 year old Tsukasa, before things seemingly go very downhill for the boys). My personal theory, so far... is that Nene-chan was chosen, by Tsukasa, to help save Amane...
Anyway, of course, my post mentions that Nene-chan's name has '8' (八) in it, much like every other mystery's name contains their mystery number somewhere alluded to in there. But there are only 7 mysteries.... unless the God being divided, were to split itself further ... making an 8th.
overall, names are very significant in this manga... and Yashiro's could not be more loaded. It is spelled with a different kanji, but homophonous with the word for Shinto shrine ...
Nene-chan's very lifespan is tied to the 7 mysteries... if they are dethroned, and the power is returned to the original God-- she, too, ceases to be. So her life hinges on the existence of the mysteries ... there's no reason a normal girl's lifespan should be tied to that... and she doesn't appear to be from a special bloodline, like Aoi. As we know, anyway.
Lots to theorize about! Anything could be true... Nene-chan, perhaps she was a girl simply destined to die young, normally. Perhaps she would have died much younger than even 15. Perhaps Tsukasa did whatever was necessary, to ensure Nene-chan could live just long enough to meet Amane, by attending Kamome... and by meddling with the rumors, maybe he ensured she would be provoked to go to him. I wonder even why Nene-chan loves the supernatural ... what stoked that? Maybe some fun stuff in her childhood? We've yet to see any of Nene-chan's youngest years, which makes me think there's something to learn there...
Anything could be true ... Tsukasa could even meet Nene-chan at some point when she's much younger, for all I can fathom. Crazier things happen, right?
I think she's a very blessed girl~
I think meeting Amane was her destiny, her fate. Set to happen, no matter what. Made to happen!
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This is me.
I say hi to dogs, moo at cows and gush over babies and kittens and puppies and grogu. I’m a courtesy flusher, wicked awesome steering wheel guitarist, and I open chip bags with my teeth. I believe in chivalry, ghosts, manners, manifestation and using my turn signal. I’m a girl drink drunk. I have no energy for liars. When it comes to exploratory cooking, I’m your test subject. Sleestaks, Ogopogo, Witchy Poo, Linda Blair, and brussels sprouts terrified me as a child. I think vulnerability, a woman’s confidence, and conversations that last for hours are sexy. I have 7 scars, some are visible. When I laugh hard, it turns into a wheeze and the back of my head throbs. I say fuck too fucking much. On the rare occasion, I actually finish a book I’m reading. I have never eaten at Olive Garden. I’m stupid stubborn. I’ve been to eleven weddings and half as many funerals. I don’t buy birthday cards or Christmas cards, I make them. I’m secretly still a LEGO maniac and will always be a neighbor of Mister Rogers. Chances are, I’m up before you every morning. Nine is my favourite number. My reputation has been tarnished over the years, but I’m proud of who I am. I still can’t tell the difference between a sweet potato and a yam. I’ve bumbled my way through speeches to a three grad classes and their thousand or so unimpressed family members. I had my first tattoo covered over. I am vulgar. I am private and yet a completely open book. I broke the same collarbone twice. I am most likely 67% of what you think I am. I prefer not to make reservations. I am ferociously loyal. Creativity is my catharsis. Most days, I exist in two places. I have three beauty marks on each side of my belly button. I use voice to text when I can’t remember how to spell a word. I overthink too often. I have a very unhealthy frame addiction. I’d rather show up in person than online shop. And after nearly half a century, I finally found my home.
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lonely hearts club [pt.3]
pairing: non-idol!wonwoo x chubby!fem!reader
word count: 2.8k~
warnings: reader comparing herself to her friends (more personality-wise than appearance). clothing mention (t-shirt + jean jacket) for reader. some self-doubt on reader’s behalf.
daisy’s notes: wonwoo’s tweet to come in the next part 💙
summary: With graduation fast approaching, Wonwoo only meant to vent about his feelings to an anonymous Twitter account known for giving people a space to vent and an anonymous way to express themselves. What happens when the person he has feelings for is the same person behind the account... and the same person who thinks he’s in love with their best friend?
< prev || masterlist || next >
You were wearing the shirt you bought.
Wonwoo couldn’t stop staring as he noticed it, band logo and cover art peeking out at him from underneath your jean jacket. The sharp jab of Minghao’s elbow pulled him back to reality. There were only a few people aware of how Wonwoo felt about you: Mingyu, who he had told outright early on; Minghao, who figured it out because he wasn’t blind; and Soonyoung, because Mingyu brought it up and Wonwoo didn’t deny it. That wasn’t to say the rest of his friends weren’t aware of all of his feelings, because they did. Those three were just... a little more aware of how deep they went. Everyone knew that Wonwoo liked a girl in his class. Those three knew who you were and exactly why Wonwoo liked you. He met her gaze, gave a shy wave, and then turned back to his open notebook. Shit, had she noticed he was staring at you again?
Minghao cleared his throat. “Subtle.”
But he knew it wasn’t as sharp as it could be. Minghao knew that Wonwoo was infatuated with you. Enamored, maybe. Not in love, because Wonwoo didn’t know you well enough yet, but there was something warm and fuzzy in his chest whenever he saw you or heard you speak or caught the pretty sound of your laugh. You had his attention without even trying, and he... admittedly was okay with that. Sure, maybe it was bad when he was trying to listen to a lecture, but he was okay with the grip you had on him. He was under a spell, and he’d never admit to his friends just how much he liked it.
You met his gaze during class and smiled at him. He swore he was going to die right then and there, especially now that he had your number and was starting to talk to you. It felt different. A step toward maybe him getting the courage to ask you out. All you did was exist and it tied his stomach into knots because you were just... cute. And smart, and pretty, and--
“You’re a little obvious,” Minghao had told him after class, waiting in the hallway for him to finally step out of the classroom.
Wonwoo knew that. How you didn’t was a different question, but he’d seen people be oblivious before.
“She gave me her number,” he said, walking ahead.
Minghao had stopped for a second, stunned at the news. “What?” And then he hurried to catch up, “That’s progress. You should invite her out.”
Invite you where, though? He couldn’t ask the group chat. They’d catch on and then he’d never hear the end of it. Wonwoo wanted to take things one step at a time with you, and then he’d start to introduce you to his friends if things got that far. Definitely not all at once, though. Never all at once. That’d be far too overwhelming, especially with how loud some of them could get. The only reason Jihoon’s current partner was never overwhelmed was because they’d been there for the building of said friend circle. You... You’d be a fresh face. A welcome one, most likely, but still new to the dynamics.
(And maybe you’d be fresh meat, too. No one was exempt from a little teasing between friends, but Wonwoo would protect you if any of those little jabs actually hurt you.)
Wonwoo dismissed the thought. He was getting too ahead of himself. He didn’t even know that much about you yet past what he knew before, except for the nickname he’d mentally started calling you after you insisted over text last night. Asking you out was a daunting task, to say the least.
“As friends,” Minghao tacked on after Wonwoo’s silence spoke volumes. “Get to know her. No one’s saying you have to marry her right now, but you do like her. You should at least talk to her.”
Wonwoo nodded. Right. He was... getting ahead of himself a little.
“If you need help, just ask us,” Minghao said. They both stopped at the intersection of sidewalks--Minghao had a psychology class in the science building next, meaning that this would be where they parted ways for the time. “We’ll help you.”
Wonwoo nodded. “Right. I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about me,” he said with a small smile. “Thanks, though.”
Minghao continued forward, waving him off with a promise they’d talk later--most likely in the group chat. Wonwoo veered off, making his way down the path toward the library. He’d meet up with the other seniors in his friend circle for lunch later, but for now he needed to study, maybe type up his notes while he was at it. His other classes weren’t until the afternoon, and maybe... if he was lucky... he could see you later on, joined back up with your friends for the study group the four of you had formed every Tuesday. He hadn’t realized it was a weekly thing at first (and, fuck, he never mentioned it to Mingyu because Mingyu might call him creepy for noticing when it was a simple fact of him showing up often enough and noticing you and your group in the same spot every time--nothing more, nothing less). It was a happy coincidence, just like yesterday was in the store.
Wonwoo found a seat up on the second level--the quiet level meant for people trying to study hard--and broke out his laptop and his notebook in order to type his notes. Yet he faltered as he opened up the document, thoughts getting the better of him. He opened a new tab, and started looking up different places. Museums. Bookstores. Flower gardens, coffee shops that weren’t the one Seungkwan worked at (god knows he’d never hear the end of it if he took you there while Seungkwan was working--he could keep a secret only for so long before he’d get curious... and Wonwoo remembered what happened when he asked questions without having all the details). Places that seemed casual enough for a small outing with you.
He paused, taking a deep breath. He wasn’t going to ask you on a date. This couldn’t be a date. It was just going to be something between friends so he could get to know you better. If he was going to ask you on a date, he was going to do it right and take you somewhere nice while treating you to something you love. Dates were... different. A different weight to them. More than a ‘get to know you’ and more of a ‘get to love you,’ in his opinion. Mingyu had gone on his fair share of dates and admitted to feeling things on the first date. Wonwoo didn’t think he could do the same--love took time and he was determined to take his time getting to know you before he fell fully. Never mind the way his heart’s tempo seemed to pick up, or the way he felt tongue-tied whenever you looked his way. That was infatuation.
Maybe it was silly to put so much weight on a date... but it felt more comfortable to think of those as separate from what he was doing in getting to know you.
He opened up his Twitter in his browser, clicking back onto the messages. He’d messaged lonelyhearts on Sunday... maybe he’d message them again. It helped, after all. Even if he was flustered speaking to you, he didn’t feel the same amount of pressure. Something about expressing his feelings to them put him more at ease. After a quick glance around, Wonwoo closed the tab--luckily in time because Seokmin had spotted him and made his way over.
“Can I sit?” He whispered, nodding to the empty space across from him. Wonwoo reached out, immediately pulling all of his things back onto his side, thankful he’d closed those DMs. “You seem happy,” Seokmin said as he settled in, unpacking things from his bag. “You saw her this morning, right?”
... Okay, so maybe his friends knew a little more than they let on if they could tell just by looking at him that he’d seen you. They didn’t press him on it, at least.
“Do I always look happier?”
Seokmin shrugged. “Sometimes,” he said. “What are you working on?”
Wonwoo welcomed the change in topic, closing out the other tabs before returning to his notes document. It was easy enough to answer the question and fall into a quiet work ethic alongside Seokmin, who had put on headphones a few seconds later and began working on reading a play for whatever class he was taking for his major. Script analysis, he thought--he was pretty sure he’d heard Seokmin mention it before. He mostly ignored the way you lingered in the back of his mind, sparing only one moment to write down to look up places with sunflowers one day. It was just a dream, but dreams were nice to believe in sometimes.
And if it could become a reality, like his friends tried to push for? Then maybe that’d be nice, too.
Wonwoo ended up messaging that account that Wednesday while you were having dinner with Jiyoung and Eunji--another part of your friend circle who you rarely had the chance to see since she was typically busy with class and work and volleyball. Junghoon had been too busy to come over, leading the three of you to just enjoy takeout with one another and the bit of downtime from work and life itself. It was nice: Jiyoung’s presence always put you at ease, and Eunji almost always had something interesting to say about what was going on in her life. Drama between other girls on the volleyball team (which, you’d learned, was rare but always particularly juicy when it did pop up), or a shitty freshman she tutored without naming her name because she was more interested in whatever guy she was flirting with than passing her algebra class. She was blunt with her feelings, and you could appreciate that.
Except when Wonwoo was messaging you--or, rather, lonelyhearts. You excused yourself to hide out in the bathroom, already opening up your DMs when you pushed the toilet lid shut and sat down. You didn’t want to risk Jiyoung and Eunji finding out about the account, and you’d already had a few close encounters in the past.
jeonwonwoo: i’m excited to see her again tomorrow. is that bad?
jeonwonwoo: i know you’re going to say that it’s not, but... i can still barely talk to her. every time i see her, i feel like i don’t have any words.
jeonwonwoo: sometimes i think it’s because i’m too scared to.
You pushed a little: was he? If he was, then... that was something you could work on, right? Jiyoung wasn’t scary in the slightest, but if he was as far gone into his feelings as he sounded, even talking to someone could be a monumental task in its own right.
jeonwonwoo: i think i am.
jeonwonwoo: people think that i look cold, and maybe i do. it’s not intentional. i’m worried i’ll scare her away, or that i’ll slip up and say something that makes her think i don’t want to actually speak to her.
jeonwonwoo: i do. it’s just hard sometimes to find the right thing to say.
lonelyhartsclub: What about “hello”?
lonelyhartsclub: It could be as simple as that, if you really want to try talking to her. It’s okay to not know what to say.
lonelyhartsclub: But I feel like things will work out if you try.
jeonwonwoo: i guess i’m just scared
jeonwonwoo: my friend thinks i shouldn’t be. all of them do, actually.
jeonwonwoo: it just takes time, but i don’t know how much time we have left. we’re graduating soon. what if i lose my chance? it’s hard.
lonelyhartsclub: I know. But if you want to talk to her... then I think you should. Saying “hello” can be the hardest part, but I’m sure it’ll lead to good things if you try.
lonelyhartsclub: I believe in you. I’m sure she’ll like you if you try talking to her.
jeonwonwoo: maybe
jeonwonwoo: i’ll try
jeonwonwoo: thank you
lonelyhartsclub: Of course! 💕
jeonwonwoo: do you still want a tweet?
lonelyhartsclub: Do you? I’m happy to post one if you feel like it, but I’m not going to force you to. I’m happy just being here.
jeonwonwoo: okay. i wrote it in my notes today. let me find it.
With that, you shut off notifications and washed your hands to make it look believable when you came back to your friends. You’ll post whatever he sends you later. It was your turn to do the dishes tonight and you didn’t need Jiyoung thinking you were trying to find a way out of it when you’d been fine minutes ago. So you busied yourself when you came back, collecting everything and getting to work with washing them as Jiyoung and Eunji continued their conversation about another kid Eunji had to tutor the other day. While most of her students were good, you’d heard plenty of stories of the bad ones over time. She was... a lot different from you, and maybe that was because of the subject matter. While your official tutoring gig revolved around helping people build their essays, Eunji’s work was all numbers and logic and steps that could frustrate people to no end. She’d shut down people who snapped at her, shoving aside that anger and telling them that they shouldn’t get mad at her because they’re struggling to understand--so sit down and let her figure out how to make it make sense, because that was her job. You’d just try to de-escalate before working out problems with the way they understood their material, or you’d find other sources with them instead. But you marveled at how much she stood up for herself. You wished you could do that sometimes. While you were capable of doing it, you preferred the softer method of taking care of things.
Eunji continued to talk about the guy she had tutored the other day, saying that he’d gone waaaay over time but was at least polite about it and paid her extra. He’d been chatty as hell, easily getting off subject one too many times. She’d have to watch out for him in the future and make sure she didn’t schedule any meetings for the immediate hour afterward.
Your phone dinged with a message from Junghoon. Eunji immediately looked up, watching the way you glanced at it before setting it aside.
“Is that Wonwoo?”
You looked back at her. “Huh?”
She’d been sitting next to Jiyoung still, one knee drawn up into the chair. “Jiyoung said you’re going out with Jeon Wonwoo.”
Immediately, your roommate smacked at her arm. “I said they’re talking!”
Eunji gave her a look, “You implied they were flirting.”
“We’re not flirting,” you corrected, turning your attention back to the bowl you were rinsing sauce out of the bottom of. “We’re literally just friends.”
“Sure,” Eunji said. “That’s why you haven’t introduced him.”
“Jiyoung already knows him--”
“I’m not Jiyoung. And neither is Junghoon,” Eunji said. “If he was really just a friend, you’d at least tell us something about him.”
Jiyoung giggled, the traitor that she was. “He couldn’t stop staring at you yesterday,” she said. “Didn’t you say you bought that shirt at his store?”
“He was probably staring at you,” you countered. “It’s not the first time people are entranced by your beauty.”
Another giggle. “I mean it!” She brushed her hair over her shoulder when you looked back, and she smiled. “His friend had to get him to stop staring.”
Eunji rolled her eyes. “You’re always so oblivious about these things.” Jiyoung smacked her arm again and Eunji leaned away, rubbing the spot. “She is!”
That... admittedly fucked with your mood a bit. You looked down at what you had left and half-assed it, making a mental note to maybe sneak back out later after Jiyoung went to bed and finish it properly, before you dipped from the room. You had reasons to be doubtful, after all, and all of your friends knew them. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to believe Wonwoo would look at you like that, you just... knew he didn’t. He liked Jiyoung.
You shut yourself in your room and pulled up your DMs with him, just to smile at what he’d written. It made you melt a little bit. Sometimes messages were sad, but this... was its own story, to be honest. A little poetic, even if it ended off sad. You copied and pasted it, and posted the tweet before falling into bed, and sent him one last message thanking him for the message. He sent you back a purple heart in response.
When you fell asleep, you fell asleep feeling comfortable for once. You would help him. Things were going to be okay.
taglist: [ask to be added!] @yoongischeeksluv @rebelspy @mystiicturtle @hwashiningstar @x-veex @nothingbutadeadesceane
#wooahaes.fic#seventeen imagine#seventeen x reader#seventeen x you#svt x reader#svt imagine#svt x you#wonwoo x reader#wonwoo x y/n#jeon wonwoo x reader#jeon wonwoo x you#wooahaes.lhc
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A heavy missive is personally hand-delivered to Lord Enver Gortash’s desk early on a spring morning. The stoic tiefling who has brought it does so without a word — unsurprising, as she had a violent parting with her tongue many years prior. She stares for a few long moments with unblinking emerald eyes before she takes her leave. Admittedly a strange girl, she is Sorceress Iraestra’s sole apprentice, and the only soul she would likely trust with the task.
The heft of the package is made up primarily of an ancient tome, kept in good condition with a clever spell or two. Although written almost entirely in a mix of Undercommon and a corruption of dwarven script, many of the passages are painstakingly translated by a looping scrawl that Gortash is likely to recognize. The book’s contents quickly reveal themselves to be fractured musings on the alien nature of aberrations, their history, and the Far Realm.
A few pages of vellum contain a letter by the same hand. Incense and iris-scent still cling heavily to the parchment. As she is wont to do, Iraestra does not bother with a greeting, starting into the body of the letter with little pomp:
Hjalrik Grimpride of the Dueregar clan Breitbarth considered himself a scholar. You and I would likely classify him as a madman upon first, or maybe even second reading of his “works”. Indeed, you would be hard-pressed to find his writing in any mother matron’s library outside of my own house. That, however, is the dangerous trappings of an egotistical mind. Our friend Hjarlrik may have his ranting passages seemingly without end, but they are a result of a lifelong fascination he held for his people’s natural enemy: the mindflayer. So enamored was he that he sought out a colony to live amongst the creatures, and was a thrall for many years. Whether he was of an unsound mind before this, I cannot say.
He direct contact with them provides an illuminating view of the illithids, their hunting and reproductive habits, and goals that precious few ever live to tell the tale of. I have transcribed for you only that which you will find of interest, and spared you the rest. Do not ever say I am not fond of you.
The letter continues to further discuss the merits of lived experience, and how much of Hjalrik’s words she thinks are trustworthy. She elaborates her point with the dangers of extended psionic use often manifesting with signs of madness if done so foolhardily. At this, she makes a rare mention of a younger sister, who she compares to a rabid dog that she regrettably had to put out of her misery. There is only a little sorrow in her prose; Iraestra seems mostly detached from the event as she clinically describes the early symptoms of her sister’s insanity that she should have noticed.
Upon the last page she turns to more personal matters.
I trust the gate is still as unwashed and unpleasant as ever? I can never seem to discern if you speak of your city with adoration or disgust; it could be argued that one cannot exist without the other, for you must have intimate knowledge of your subject either way.
Strange, that in all the years I have been on the surface that I have never gazed upon her infamous visage. I would have come myself I think, to see the gate with your guidance and commentaries, but I must keep watch over the subjects here at Moonrise. With the latest batch I managed to delay ceremorphosis for nearly a fortnight before they succumbed to their cerebral passengers. They did not posses their senses for most of the time they were still themselves, but progress is progress. Preservation of the mind remains my primary goal.
The assistants Ketheric provides me with are dull company. A fair number of them would be more useful as test subjects. How many times have I turned, seeking your counsel, and found you are not there these last few months? Dare I say it, I almost would admit to missing you. Or at least, the abyssal turn of your thoughts and your wit. For who else am I supposed to debate the nature of godhood or morality with for hours upon end? Words upon page are a poor substitute. You have few equals, Enver.
The bloodwine you brought upon your last visit was decadent. Please do so again.
Take heed with the vials I’ve included, and do keep it away from light if you intend for it to have any effect. Drow poisons are not made with the vile heat of your blighted sun in mind. You’ll find a selection of three of my favorite tinctures, for use however you desire. Blindness, deafness, loss of the senses — I trust you already have their use in mind as you read these words.
I have also attached my latest research notes. Your criticism would be welcomed.
May you walk the hallowed path of our Dark Masters,
Mistress Iraestra Oblodra, Magus of Myrkul
@fatewoven
#I'M SORRY WE KEPT TALKING ABOUT LETTERS AND I JUST!! really wanted to write a letter.....whoopsies....#i tried to strike a balance between professional & magical interest and her fondness for him#you do NAWT need to respond to this it is just a little treat for you! and i had a lot of fun writing it#if you see me doing this instead of my drafts no you didn't#fatewoven#☾ verse 3 ! ❛ —— ( cultist )
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