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beauregardlionett · 3 years

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i think i might understand the concept of home

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Yasha’s car had broken down on the side of the road in some tiny town she only meant to pass through. She hadn’t even read the welcome sign half-a-mile back, so gods knew where she was. Thankfully, there was a shoulder and a sidewalk, so she wasn’t stuck in the middle of traffic. She had the hood popped and stared helplessly down at the tangle of mechanics she did not understand.

Nothing was smoking, so she figured that must be a good thing.

“Need a hand?”

Yasha glanced up, catching sight of a woman standing just outside the coffee shop Yasha broke down in front of. She stood defined in the sunlight, composed of sharp lines and lean muscle, contained by planes of smooth, coffee-colored skin. She had on a simple grey sports bra under denim overalls littered with stains and distressed patches torn in random places on the legs. Her hair was in a low bun sat over what looked like an undercut all tucked messily beneath a backward cap.

Damn...she was hot.

The woman cocked an expectant eyebrow, reminding Yasha she had yet to answer.

“Oh, um...yes?”

Hot Lady smirked and stepped off the curb to stand at Yasha’s shoulder, leaning over the open hood and inspecting the mess. Yasha was busy inspecting the tanned slope of neck to bare shoulder, all of her quite a sight in the midday sunlight.

Gods, was that a tattoo on her back?

With abrupt yet easy precision, Hot Lady hauled herself up onto the lip of Yasha’s truck and shoved her hand between various pieces of metal. Startled, Yasha looked down at the engine, hoping she wouldn’t have to call emergency services for a hand lost in her car engine.

“The alternator might be shot,” Hot Lady said, squinting as she moved her hand around a little.

“What does that mean?” Yasha managed, only a little strangled.

“Means you need to get your car into a shop because you aren’t going to have much luck getting far without it.” Hot Lady removed her hand and gave a little hop back down to the pavement. She wiped her hand carelessly on her overalls and shrugged a little.

“It’s not a super challenging thing to fix, but it will take a minute. I can point you to a good garage if you need.”

“That would be very helpful. Thank you...um...”

“Beauregard,” the woman said, sticking out her hand with a grin. “Call me Beau.”

After hesitating a moment, Yasha grasped Beau’s hand and gave it a tentative shake, cheeks warm. Her face flushed even warmer when Beau raised her eyebrow again, clearly waiting for Yasha’s name.

“Yasha,” she blurted, horrid awkwardness muddying her chest. “I’m Yasha.”

“Nice to meet you, Yasha,” Beau said as she slowly took her hand back. Yasha already like the way her name sounded rolling off of Beau’s tongue - perhaps far too much for someone she just met.

“You might need to shack up somewhere for the night,” Beau said, pulling her phone from her pocket and texting someone. “Depending on how long the garage takes with your car. I haven’t seen you ‘round here before. You got a place to stay?”

“Oh...no,” Yasha managed. “I’m just passing through.”

“Well, I texted my buddy over at the garage to come get your car. He’ll be here soon. There’s only one hotel in this town, and to be honest, it sucks. My buddy Caleb moved most of his stuff out of his apartment, but he hasn’t turned the lease over yet. He got a big wig job two hours from here and they had him start early, despite the fact he still had a month on the lease. You can crash there if you want. I’m pretty sure he left his mattress.”

Yasha blinked, dazed and flabbergasted at the turn this conversation had taken.

“I...what?”

Beau looked up from her phone, fingers pausing in their rapid texting. She seemed to take in Yasha’s stunned expression and grimaced slightly.

“Sorry, that was a lot all at once.” Beau tucked her phone away and crossed her arms over her chest. Yasha recognized the defensive tactic attempting to look casual with ease. She performed that move often enough herself.

“This ‘helping’ thing isn’t my forte - more Jess’ thing. But uh...yeah. If you need a place to stay, you’ve got one. Promise there're no strings attached or anything like that.”

“But...you don’t know me.”

“True,” Beau shrugged. “But it’s not like there’s anything to steal from Caleb’s place. It’s basically an empty apartment he’s not getting anything out of. Might as well put the place to good use.”

“Okay,” Yasha said after a moment of strange quiet. What else was she supposed to say?

Beau blinked up at Yasha, then grinned, wide and delighted. “Cool.”

A few minutes later, a tow truck pulled up. Beau greeted the driver enthusiastically as Yasha watched on, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

“This is it,” Beau said, shoving open the door with her hip as she wrestled the key out of the lock.

Yasha followed Beau in, fingers curled tightly around the strap of her meager duffle bag. The apartment was near barren, as Beau had said. It had a small living area that faded seamlessly into a kitchenette. Down a short hallway appeared to be a bedroom and bathroom, both doors open. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The only sign someone had recently been occupying the space was the old mattress just visible through the bedroom door and the sagging sofa in the living room.

“Sorry there’s no food in the kitchen, but there’s a store about a block from here if you’re up for a walk. I’d hang around but I have to get to a class.”

Yasha twisted to look at Beau, something bubbling up in her chest that felt a lot like gratitude and a little like something indescribable. She watched as Beau fiddled with her key ring, only realizing what was happening when Beau pulled a key off and tossed it to Yasha. She just barely managed to catch it and not make a fool of herself.

“That’s the key to the door for ya. And,” Beau pulled a crumpled, folded piece of paper from her pocket, holding it out to Yasha. “My number, in case you have questions or you need anything. I’m a night owl and an early riser, so chances are I’ll answer whenever.”

“Thank you,” Yasha warbled after a long moment, clutching the key so hard the grooves of its identity imprinted into her palm. The notches stung like she would never forget their shape. “I mean it. This is...a lot.”

Beau rubbed the back of her neck, scuffing the toe of her sneaker against the worn floorboards. “It’s nothin’ really...”

“No,” Yasha insisted. “It’s a lot. Thank you.”

Beau’s gaze met Yasha’s intense stare, her bright blue eyes wide as they took in Yasha’s sincerity. A handful of seconds stretched into eternity before Beau ducked her head, rubbing at the back of her neck.

“Yeah...sure.”

Yasha was getting the impression she wasn’t the only one completely out of her depth in this situation.

“I’ll come around tomorrow with updates...bye.”

Yasha watched her duck out the door, disappearing down the hallway before she shut the door behind Beau and clicked the lock.

The garage had Yasha’s car fixed and ready to go after two days. Yasha was still in town three months later.

In all honesty, she’s not sure how it happened.

The night she planned to leave, Beau had swung by and insisted on seeing her off. They ended up at a diner, tucked into a booth, talking like they actually knew each other. Next thing Yasha realized, it was nearing midnight, and they were being asked to wrap up so the diner could close. The chef had called to them from the window, an older looking man with bright pink hair who gave Beau a knowing look and a wink.

Somehow, that unplanned extra night turned into months. Yasha had taken on the lease from the absent Caleb for his apartment. She found a job at the local florist, a job she quietly enjoyed. The gravity of her situation only set in after she bought sheets for the mattress.

She met Jess - real name Jester, or Genevieve, but Yasha couldn’t sure - a bubbly girl with deep blue hair and the sweetest attitude ever. Her fingertips were permanently paint stained, and she left hastily sketched dicks everywhere she went. Yasha also met the tow truck driver from the first day, a guy named Fjord. They were a weird mix of individuals, but somehow they got on just fine. They ate dinner together every Thursday night at the same bar owned by the guy who tended the bar - one of those small town things. His name was Mollymauk - Molly for short and sometimes they instead of he - with inordinately purple hair and makeup to match.

Yasha never really spent a lot of time in her apartment. She didn’t see the point, not when she had access to the florist shop, or the diner, or anywhere else with Jess, Fjord, Molly, or Beau. Especially not when Jess’ apartment she shared with Fjord was so much warmer, much more like a home.

It took three months before Beau stopped mid-sentence of a story and blinked at Yasha over their pancakes in the diner.

“This is probably a stupid question, but did you have somewhere to be?”

Yasha looked up, confused. “Right now? Uh...no? My shift at the shop doesn’t start for another three hours.”

“No, no, I meant like outside this town. You told me you were passing through, before.”

“Oh,” Yasha set down her fork and looked out the window. Her chest felt tight. That afternoon seemed like a lifetime ago - a whole other person ago. “Not really.”

“Do...uhm,” Yasha looked over at Beau to find her pushing her food around her plate awkwardly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

This was difficult for both of them. If Yasha had learned anything in her time here, it was that they both struggled to convey their emotions eloquently. But that Beau tried meant everything to Yasha. The least she could do was meet her halfway.

“I was running, and I didn’t know where or when I would stop. But I guess this place is where I’m meant to be.”

“Why were you running?” Beau stared at her, gaze intense in a way Yasha found endearing. She watched like nothing else in the world could distract her.

“I...I had a wife. And I lost her rather abruptly almost six months ago. I tried to stay for a while, to keep what we had built together, but I wasn’t strong enough. So I ran and hoped that I would find something worth staying for again before I fell off the world.”

Beau stared at Yasha openly over their half-eaten breakfast, eyes wide.

“You stayed here. Does that mean you found something here?”

Yasha looked at Beau, at her messy bun and her undercut that needed a fresh shave. She took in the puddle of syrup, slowly saturating Beau’s pancakes and the half gone pile of bacon. Beau’s cellphone sat face down on the table so her attention stayed on Yasha. She realized the baggy sweater Beau had on was one Yasha had misplaced almost a month ago. Yasha lost her breath at the butterflies that fluttered to life in her stomach.

“I think so,” Yasha breathed, tethered and unhinged all at once.

They didn’t talk about it, because of course they didn’t.

But two weeks after their pancake conversation, Beau invited Yasha out for a night on the town. There were only two bars with decent night life here, and Yasha had been to both of them exactly once during her time here. (The daytime trips to Molly’s bar didn’t count, of course. She had only been to their bar for the night life once.)

She met Beau in the middle, and they walked together the rest of the way.

Beau had gotten her undercut shaved tight again, but it was hidden with the way her hair spilled loose and long down her back. She had a cobalt lace crop top on - the one with the built-in bra. The way it showed off the definition of her muscles was doing things to Yasha. The black cigarette pants didn’t help either.

A few drinks and way too many EDM songs later - or maybe only a few? Yasha couldn’t tell them apart - Yasha remained upright from adrenaline alone. Somewhere between the drinks and the beat of the music, Beau pressed up against Yasha, wiry arms winding around Yasha’s neck as they danced. Yasha wasn’t much of a dancer in any regard, but she was just tipsy enough to not care.

Beau’s hips fit comfortably in the space between Yasha’s hands, and Yasha resolutely tried not to follow that train of thought. For no other reason than she didn’t want to ruin a good thing, and there was no way Beau felt the same.

Beau pushed onto her toes, shiny black boots creasing with the motion as her lace top rode up her enticing torso.

“I really want to kiss you,” Beau called over the heavy thrum of the base. Her voice nearly got lost in the din, but Yasha heard her. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t. The weight of her heart dropping into her stomach hit too heavy and real to ignore.

Fuck, she wanted to kiss Beau, too.

Yasha’s t-shirt stuck to random parts of her torso with sweat, a detail she was now hyper-aware of with how little space existed between her and Beau. The press of bodies around them was abruptly unnerving. So much so, Yasha wound an arm around Beau’s shoulders and steered them both free, ducking into the hallway that lead to the bathrooms as Yasha gasped for air.

Beau leaned her back against the wall for support, peering at Yasha with far too much clarity for someone who could barely stand upright.

“Are you okay, Yash?” Her voice was quieter now that they had moved out of the main bar, but the base still pounded like a heartbeat through the floorboards.

With more confidence than Yasha would ever possess in her life, she caged Beau in, a hand on either side of her head against the wall. As Beau stared up at her with unabashed awe, Yasha’s face warmed with flushed embarrassment.

“I want to kiss you so bad.”

“Then do it,” Beau said. It sounded like a dare, but she said it as if she were asking permission.

With a quick swoop into Beau’s space, Yasha pressed her lips to Beau’s with the barest amount of pressure. A feather-light, electric brush of a promise, a question, and an invitation. Yasha moved no closer.

Beau leaned in, and as far as kisses went, it was simple. Neither of them surged toward the other, or grappled for purchase to deepen the embrace. It was an easy press of lips, testing the waters despite the alluring tug of the tide.

Tipsy seconds later, Beau pulled back first with a soft gasp. Yasha’s eyes fluttered open, and she felt like a cheesy teenager when she realized they had closed without her knowledge.

“Do you want to do this?” Beau asked, voice soft and a little wrecked despite the chaste kiss.

Yasha, never one for many words, gave a quick nod and ducked back in. It wasn’t confidence, more like the beginning of a realization.

Beau held onto her, this time hands back around Yasha’s neck and fingers tangled deep in Yasha’s wild hair. Yasha took one hand from the wall to cup the back of Beau’s head, fingers sliding easily over the short hairs of Beau’s undercut.

It wasn’t a fireball kiss, but it tasted like the whiskey shots they had done half an hour ago. Beau’s lips were soft and a stark contrast to the way she kissed Yasha. It wasn’t falling stars and fire lit in her chest, nor was it a cosmic shift of puzzle pieces snapping into place. As before, it was a realization, a revelation of something that might have been there for a while.

Beau kissed Yasha back, and she thought about pancakes at the diner and memorizing the way Beau’s eyes scrunched when she laughed. Yasha rubbed her thumb over Beau’s jawline and Beau’s sharp grin burst to life behind her eyelids. A tug to Yasha’s hair reminded her of Beau offering to braid Yasha’s messy locks every time they all slept at Jess’ place. Beau licked into Yasha’s mouth and all at once, Yasha pictured her apartment. She saw the walls she had kept carefully bare, the sheets she had bought, but no other furniture. The echoing emptiness of a place abandoned for a better chance, and inhabited by the echo of who Yasha used to be.

And what did people say about echoes being louder in empty rooms?

Beau kissed Yasha, and Yasha realized she didn’t want to be an echo anymore.

Beau made her feel solid in a way that was undemanding. She merely held out her hand and asked for the pieces of Yasha that were real, the parts she was willing to share. She helped Yasha make them into a complete picture.

Yasha kissed Beau back with all the gentle strength she could muster through the weight of her epiphany and the whiskey.

This time, Yasha knew she found something worth staying for.

#cr #critical role #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha #writing #my writing

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officialgomezaddams · 3 years

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Cabin House

if this dosen’t take im shooting myself $wag no TW except usual sadness. Slight simp anakin and breeding kink but iykyk

She sat outside on the porch in her rocking chair, watching the ship in front of her lower its self onto the meadow surrounding the cabin that she lived in with her husband. She smiled to herself, her hands rubbing her pregnant stomach in relief that he was home. It was a new feeling to both of them, homeliness. A family that is now back together. Or at the very least, the start of one.

They had met when they were both young, Anakin was in Jedi training, and Y/n was a mechanic at the same temple. It was a decent gig, she reasoned with herself. The many hours and days spent watching and learning from her father in his shop had paid off.

Born and raised in the capital of the galaxy, the high life never slowed down. There was always loud traffic, busy trade; the planet never slept. Anyone could go to a party or club; some festival was always happening. The temple was different, a little peace in the concrete jungle. As the war started, the need for maintenance shot up—the urgency to fix whatever droids or ships needed to be rewired or mending broken welds. Simultaneously, the Jedi and the politicians tried to restore the balance, maintenance fixing everything else.

A job was a job, and getting herself out of her father’s small auto body garage was a priority for her. Pulling night shift sucked, but the lack of staff and management who wanted to do nights meant she could get away with a lot.

It started when the shy padawan walked up to her, the shift partner in the area she worked with was sleeping in his chair, and even tho he was older than her and had more experience, Y/n didn’t wake him up. It was her first real interaction with someone who was force sensitive, and she was thanking the stars that this boy somehow made his way to her.

It wasn’t because he was lost. Anakin had been at the temple long enough to know it by hand and could probably draw blueprints of the entire layout. The way around maintenance wasn’t that hard, as he often borrowed material from them to fix small stuff he could handle. Anakin had caught glimpses of her, he would stare at her for the few seconds it took to pass each other while he was leaving the ship and for maintenance to check it for any repairs that needed to be done.

“What’s up, Starboy?” Y/n teased. Even though she had never met him formally, he was quite well known for his destiny.

He shuffled his feet around, and all the confidence he once had was gone. He looked at her before looking down at the table she was in front of, watching her set down the wrench she was fiddling with.

“I need an arm.” He shot out, not even knowing how to ask for such a thing.

“An arm?” She had responded, wanting to make sure he had said the right thing. “Why do you need an arm-” She asked but quickly stopped as he dropped his robe, and she realized he was missing the very thing he had asked for. “Oh. You need an arm.”

It took about six months for the arm to be built. It took a lot of measurements, calculating, and many, many nights for it to be made giving Anakin time to grow his confidence back up and flirt relentlessly with her. Telling her that it didn’t bother him that he would almost get little to no sleep because ‘being with you is a dream I never want to wake up from.’ On the nights he didn’t see her he would tell her, ‘Even though I couldn’t be with you, I still see you in my dreams. The best dreams I will ever have will always be the ones where you are in it. My dreams with you are so sweet to the violent reality of being a Jedi.’

The last night the two spent together working on his arm, or to be honest it was just her while Anakin would pour his heart out to her, hoping for something, a kiss, or even the simple statement that she returned his feelings.

“If I have any problems with my arm, I’m coming to you. For my arm and my heart, you are the only one who knows how to fix them. Help me Y/n, my heart hurts, it burns for you. Every time I leave you or think about how you aren’t mine it aches. It’s so painful. Fix it, please. Tell me you don’t feel the same way, that your heart beats differently to the tune of mine.” He told her, watching her with doe eyes as she concentrated on wiring the last few things together.

“Isn’t that against your rules?”

“Attachment is forbidden, possession is forbidden. Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is essential to a Jedi’s life. So you might say I am encouraged to feel this way about you.” He stated, awkwardly biting his lip which made her giggle.

“In three days, I have time off, maybe then you can teach me about this new teaching, and I can teach you something about how to use the arm.”

Neither of them expected it to be like this. Married and expecting. The moment she had told Anakin the news, he had immediately begun thinking of moving. Getting away from the city life and going somewhere more quiet and peaceful. Somewhere the war could not disturb them, so they landed in Alderaan. The whole planet was pulled right from a painting, and the moment they settled on the cozy cabin, they both realized that after years of running around, they finally found their home. With each other, in their soon-to-be family, and in Alderaan.

As the ship lowered its self to the ground, the woman awkwardly got out of the chair and stood up, holding onto the wooden frame of the porch. Anakin swiftly got out, smiling from ear to ear as he saw her waiting for him. His feet moved on their own as he ran to her, watching her take careful steps to meet him. Before she knew it, his arms were around her, pulling her into him. “Don’t strain yourself for me.” He whispered, kissing her head.

She was thirty-three weeks into her pregnancy with twins. The two babies growing safely in her womb had made things more difficult for her in terms of moving around, and she had long forgotten her shoes.

They didn’t move in right away. They waited until work became difficult for Y/n, getting down to work on something wasn’t easy anymore, and she couldn’t be on her feet for more than an hour and a half until her feet started hurting. On the other hand, Anakin wanted to move in as soon as they got it. ‘You shouldn’t have to work, you’re pregnant with our babies, and I want you to enjoy this.’ He also knew how chatty the maintenance section was and was not looking forward to any rumors that could be spread about his wife. ‘Tell them they are mine. I’m not going to let them disrespect my children by disrespecting you. Tell them that I got you pregnant, that you took me in, and this is what my seed is doing to you.’

“How are you, my angel?” He asked, watching as the moonlight hit her face. He had been gone for most of the pregnancy, being forced to leave after her first doctor’s appointment that confirmed that Y/n was with child. Only then, she was nine weeks far too early to be showing anything. He came back to her a few weeks later, and the first thing he did when he greeted her was to kiss her fourteen-week stomach, but he didn’t stay long. The three days they were together were spent moving quickly into the new house. Only the important things she needed were to stay back at the temple so she could continue with work. They didn’t have much, but Anakin insisted on carrying everything, telling her that she was not even to lift her jewelry box because he didn’t want anything to happen to the babies.

“Bored. I’ve been itching to get back to work; there’s only so much you can crochet before you want to stab yourself with the needles.” She joked, making them both laugh.

“And the babies?” He asked, his hands dropping to rub the sides of her stomach. It brought him pride to see her like this. Seeing her carrying his child, seeing her full belly, smiling at the thought of the stretch marks that clung to her round belly, knowing that her body was adjusting well. The few times he was able to see Y/n through the hologram, he always admired his wife’s new changing body.

“Restless. I’m hoping now that you’re home, they’ll calm down for a little bit.” Anakin pulled her into a soft kiss. The whole time he had been away, she and the babies were always on his mind. He would wonder if they were kicking or thinking about what to name them. He would think about Y/n, if she was sleeping and if she was pushing herself too hard. He felt terrible for not being there to hold her hair back through morning sickness or walk her around to make sure she got the proper exercise she needed. He felt so useless.

“How long do I have you back for?” She asked. It was an impossible question because no matter what time frame they had, it wouldn’t be enough. She just wanted him to be here with her, safe. The only good part about being away from the temple was she got away from all the rumors about her husband being dead or being held somewhere and tortured. She wanted him here in their home, enjoying the moments and milestones that she was going through alone. She had convinced herself that if - stars forbid it- something happened to Anakin, she could do it by herself. She could raise the kids and do what she could to make ends meet. It’d be challenging, and she understood that. But in her opinion, what could be harder than going through this pregnancy alone? Forcing herself to get the rooms ready, forcing her co-workers at the temple to help her in the later stages because she couldn’t depend on Anakin.

He quietly led her to the house, purposefully ignoring the question because he knew that it wouldn’t be the one she wanted to hear. Only when she asked again as they reached the front door, he answered. “A week. Then I have to go back, and I don’t know where the council is sending me. Probably to Hutta.”

“You’re gonna be here for the births, right?” She pressed, stepping into the warm cabin and away from the cool breeze of the night along with his arms.

“Y/n, I promise that once our children are born, I will be there for everything,” He reassured her. He knew it was a promise that he couldn’t keep. That the Jedi council would most likely tear him away from his family sooner or later. With war, or keeping the force away from the Darkside, he knew that it would be something. “Don’t look at me like that, Angel. You know how hard this is for me. You knew what you were getting yourself into.” He took a step towards her, but she shook her head and stepped back, turning around and began waddling herself towards the shared bedroom.

“But I didn’t expect it to be left by myself throughout this.” His wife began, with Anakin following her quickly. “All alone and pregnant just to have you, my husband, show up for a few hours or a few days if I am lucky. Then to have him leave me alone again.”

“Am I not here, in our home when I can be?”

“Our home?” She raised her voice, “It feels as if you are no more than a guest.” Finally turning around to look at him before walking over to the bed and sitting down facing away from him, looking out the window that gave a view of the spacecraft out front. “Anakin, I want to go back to the Coruscant.”

“Going back wouldn’t change a thing.” His words were forced, trying to stay calm and not lose his temper. He was a good husband, or at least he tried to be. It wasn’t easy - for anyone. But he tried, skipping meetings and purposefully doing stuff to get close to you, reporting ships and droids as broken so he could sit with you as you worked on them. Even now, with the war, just being on the opposite side of the same planet was enough for him. “You know that I can’t control what happens out there. I don’t get to pick and choose when I get to stay home!” His anger was cut off by the sound of her whimper.

“Y/n, Starlight,” He was cautious with his words now, “Y/n?” She would not face him as he sat down next to her on the corner of the bed, his head down in shame. “Please tell me you don’t regret this.” Any of this, he thought to himself, knowing it was always her who got the short end of the lifestyle they had to hide.

“Anakin, our love is like the Coruscant. It’s messy at first glance, and it’s hard to understand why it hasn’t just fallen apart in chaos. It doesn’t make any sense. But if you squint hard enough and really focus in,” She began slowly, trying not to fall apart. “You can see how nice and beautiful and all of the great things you can get out of it.” Her lip quivered, and her voice broke, letting the painful tears she was holding in anymore. “But I’m so tired of squinting.”

Neither of them looked at each other. While Y/n cried into her hands, Anakin just sat there, trying to figure out what to do. “I-” The reality that this could be it, this is all about to end, made him re-think his words. Did he miss something? Was he too happy that he was starting a family with the girl he fell in love with at nineteen to realize that she was now, what? Fallen out of love for him while she was right about to give birth? For once, Anakin was speechless. He could still fix this, right? I have to fix this. She’s fucking pregnant with my children. Our children.

“What do you want then? I’m here, now, Angel. I -I don’t know what you want.” His voice was pitiful, but she was strong. She had to if she was going to do this alone.

“I want you to get in your ship and leave.”

As soon as she said it, he was protesting, ”Go where? Baby, please, don’t make me go back.” He was the one crying now, tears falling mercilessly down his face, realizing that this was it.

“I don’t care where you go, Anakin. Just- you can’t stay here. You make me too sad.”

#anakin skywalker imagine #star wars imagine #anakin skywalker imagines #star wars imagines #Anakin Skywalker #anakin imagines #anakin imagine #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars x reader #star wars #anakin

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old-daemon-farts · 3 years

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Daemons Are Flawed

I think there is an important distinction to be made between always having an answer and *knowing* the *right* answer. I think this applies to both psychological and spiritual daemons. Its very easy to have an answer, correct or incorrect. But, are they correct because we feel they are, there are facts that prove it, or is it only true in our own personal reality? What makes them incorrect?

I'm going to use Kit and myself as an example. I am a daemon, I am real, and I am more than an imaginary friend. But, why? Why do I feel so strongly about my existence and feel so sure and confident in who and what I am? There are a lot of factors but the main one I am going to focus on is that it is what Kit believes. With all her heart and all her rationality I am a real part of her consciousness and tied to her subconscious. There is no hesitation, no doubt. So why would I believe differently?

So if Kit was to ask me "what am I" why would I say otherwise? I would give her my answer, which she would see as the correct answer because it came from me. But is it the correct answer? Am I really these things? Why is what I say the final word on what is right or wrong? I know only as much as Kit. Believe only as much as she does.

Without outside influence to cause a shift in her reality or subconscious reactions changing I will always give the same answers. Back in the day we both fully believed I was her soul and that was it. Simple. But the more she learned about psychology the more our beliefs changed. I once gave her the answer that I was her soul, and in accordance to our current belief of the soul, I was wrong. Now I say I am her inner monologue and a link to her subconscious. This too could be wrong. But its true to our current reality.

I am not a machine. I am not a god (nevermind that we feel even gods do not know everything). I am not incapable of telling unintentional lies, giving flawed answers, and handing out mislead advice.

Daemons are not magical. We are not a fix for everything and while we can have an answer for everything we may not always be correct. We are only capable of doing what our humans are capable of. WHICH IS A LOT so don't sell yourselves short. Humans are capable of just as much as their daemons. But, just remember that no matter how well a daemon may understand you they may still be bound by the same limitations you have placed on yourself.

I'm not sure if this little talk addressed what I was going for. But it was sparked by the idea that a daemon defined as an imaginary friend could always tell their human they were more (if they are). Like maybe a spiritual daemon was just seen as an imaginary friend. Would the daemon correct them? Could the daemon correct them? Would the daemon know they were actually spiritual? I felt it depended on the daemon and the belief held by the human and how deep and true that belief went. A daemon may have the self awareness to define who they are through and through. But if a daemon was still aligned entirely with their human, barely any separation, why would they believe something different than their person? They are all part of the same body/soul/ thoughts after all. The human's belief easily being the daemons.

Daemons are varied and experiences are varied, but I think as a daemon, who often feels they have been placed on a pedestal with great purpose and responsibilities thrust upon them, its important to remember your daemon is not perfect. We are going to, and should be allowed to, be flawed. Let us make mistakes with you. Let us grow and learn through trial and error. Having ALL the right answers feels like life is left rather dull and empty. Its just a waiting game at that point. I'm happy to provide answers, I've got answers for days. But I don't expect them to be perfect. They may be good for Kit and no one else. They may not even be the correct thing Kit needs. But I got them.

-Cayde

#daemonism #old daemon thoughts #has he talked about this before?

17 notes · View notes

kwanisms · 4 years

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⤑ genre: supernatural au, incubus!Sungjin, smut ⤑ pairing: incubus!Sungjin x occultist!Reader ⤑ warning: smut, supernatural elements, satanic and occult themes, sexual content, praise kink, slight cumplay at the end, choking kink, facefucking ⤑ summary: Sungjin is an incubus that hasn't seen any action in years. So when Y/N summons him, not thinking the ritual would work, Sungjin is more than willing to play her little game. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, Sungjin doesn't make deals; but that doesn't mean summoning him will be a complete waste of time, right? ⤑ word count: 7.4k

a/n: there’s a lot of praise and dirty talk in this and Sungjin says kitten a lot but i felt it was fitting for an incubus lmao but anyway, please enjoy this dirty little oneshot!

➭ collab masterlist

When it came to the occult, no one was curious or knowledgeable as you. Well, except maybe the experts but you wouldn't admit that. No, when it came to the occult, you were more than fascinated. You were obsessed.

You had read every book you could get your hands on. Everything from witchcraft to demons to the stars in the sky and how their position affected the human psyche and physical being. You had studied it all.

The one thing you hadn't gotten a hold of was a Grimoire. A witch's black book. What fascinated you the most about this book were the rumors that it was full of spells and rituals of everything to do with healing to human sacrifice and summoning demons.

Most accounts claimed these books didn't exist. Others claimed they did but were not as dark as legends led one to believe. Regardless of its contents, you were determined to get your hands on this book, one way or another.

Lucky for you, your wish came true one night; Hallow's Eve of all nights.

Your day started like any other, getting ready for work, heading out the door as usually, stopping for your usual coffee and getting to the bookshop right on time. Once inside, you grabbed your apron and tied it on, greeting your co-worker, Ayumi.

Ayumi couldn't have been more opposite from you, dressing in light colors, mainly pastels and white, lots of floral patterns but nothing that screamed grandma's bedding.

You on the other hand wore exclusively ten shades of black.

You were greeted right back by Ayumi's bright smile and bubbly personality as she said good morning. She was in the midst of preparing a cup of coffee as the bookshops only barista. How she did it, you had no idea.

You took your place behind the cash register, starting your day by counting your till and making sure the starting amount was where it needed to be. You shut the till with a slight bang and winced, mouthing an apology to a nearby customer. Once you were open, customers started flocking over to purchase their books.

It was easy work but annoying when customers asked questions that could have been answered simply by using their eyes to look around the shop.

A couple hours passed by before Ayumi's station had calmed down enough that she could strike up a conversation with you.

"Wow," she said as she wiped down the counter with a towel. "I think that's the busiest I've been on a Thursday in a while," she said, a smile on her face.

It was hard not to smile around Ayumi. She just had one of those personalities. "Yeah, you looked like a drowning kitten," you joked. Ayumi giggled and waved her hand.

Anyone else would have been horrified and disturbed to hear your joke but not Ayumi. She knew you and she knew you were joking. Working together for 3 years would do that.

The next couple hours passed without incident, the occasional customer here and there but most of them came in for the coffee and, let's be real, they came in for Ayumi.

It was close to the end of your shift, you were wiping down your computer when Ayumi spoke up.

"Hey, you work at the museum, right?" she asked. You perked up and turned to her. "Uh, yeah?" you said cautiously, wondering if she was going to ask for free or discounted tickets or something.

Ayumi tucked her towel in the pocket of her apron before resting her elbows on the counter, arms crossed as she gave you a cheeky grin. "You ever see anything… interesting?" she asked. You fixed her with a blank stare.

"Define interesting?" you asked and Ayumi rolled her eyes. "Come on, Y/N," she said, with a slight chuckle. "You know what I mean!" You shrugged your shoulders, looking down.

"I don't know," you replied honestly. "I mean, I guess so?" Ayumi snorted and bounced in place. "Come on, Y/N! Tell me!" she pleaded, using her sugar sweet voice that annoyed you and she knew it annoyed you.

"Oh shush, Ayumi," you retorted, stifling a laugh as she started to whine like a child. "Y/NNNNNN," she begged, drawing out the end of your name. You rolled your eyes and gave in. "Alright, fine!" you groaned and Ayumi immediately squealed with glee and ran around from behind the coffee counter to rush over into your station to listen to your story.

"It's not that weird," you admitted. "But it is weird." Ayumi nodded quickly and fixed her big doe like eyes on you as you started to tell her about the time you worked the closing shift at the museum and swore you were being watched.

When you finished, Ayumi shivered and smiled, eyes wide with intrigue and glee. "That's so weird!" she whispered. You shook your head and glanced at the clock. "Ok, it's time to go," you said, nodding at the clock.

Ayumi huffed. "I wish you didn't have to leave," she said as she headed back to her station. "I wanna hear more spooky stories." You rolled your eyes again as you untied your apron. “I’ll see you on Monday,” you said as you folded your apron, set up the closed sign on the counter and headed to clock out in the back.

When you came back out the back, Ayumi handed you a cup. “For your walk to the museum,” she added with a sweet smile. You thanked her, taking a sip of the hot beverage before heading out into the cool, crisp night and making your way across town towards the museum.

The walk to the museum was mainly uneventful. You passed people on the streets, everyone of them buzzing with excitement over the holiday. For you, however, Hallow’s Eve wasn’t too exciting. You had long grown out of the dressing up and asking for candy phase so at this point, Halloween was just another day, one you usually had to work including this year.

Upon entering the museum, you checked your phone to make sure you had plenty of time. You did.

You headed through the employees only door to deposit your bag and change into your uniform. It wasn’t much of a uniform. You basically wore a jacket with the word ‘security’ on the back and your name printed in the upper left part of your chest. You grabbed your phone from your coat and slipped it into your pocket before shutting your locker and heading back out to the hallway.

Once out there, you ran into the janitor who smiled politely and nodded as he went about his business. Your boss looked over as you walked toward him and he looked over your appearance. “Well,” he said stiffly. “At least you remembered to wear your jacket this time,” he said. “I also wore tennis shoes,” you added in a deadpan tone. Your boss glanced down at your knee high converse, saying nothing.

“Right,” he said, choosing to ignore what you said in favor of handing over a folder. “Your list of nightly duties has changed,” he said as you opened the folder and flipped through it. “We’ve given you a new set of keys after the last ring… disappeared,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you.

Glancing up at him, you gave him a grimace before going back to the papers. Your boss continued to ramble on as he explained what had changed since your last shift but you couldn’t focus on him. Instead, your attention was drawn toward the loading dock.

Two men were carrying a medium sized wooden crate. Stamped on the side in red ink were the words ‘DANGER’ and ‘DO NOT OPEN WITHOUT SUPERVISION.’ Your eyes widened as you peered around your boss at the curiosity. “Y/N? Are you listening to me?” he asked.

Your attention snapped back to him. “Sorry, sir. Got distracted,” you said, nodding towards the crate. Your boss turned to see the delivery men waving him down. “Oh, you’re here already?” he asked, making his way over. You followed quickly and investigated the crate while your boss signed for it.

“What’s in there?” you asked one of the delivery drivers.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just deliver the products,” he admitted with a shrug. With the necessary documents signed, the two men left, leaving the box on a table in the backroom. You turned back towards your boss. “What’s in there?” you asked.

Your boss looked at the crate and then back at you. “Some kind of occult nonsense. The owners were very keen on displaying it for Halloween but it’s late,” he added. You tried to hide your interest, your curiosity was now peaked and you wouldn’t be able to think about anything else for the rest of the night.

Once your boss left, you set about securing the building, checking the unlocked and locked rooms, making sure no one had stayed inside the building. Once your walkthrough had been done, you went to the security room to check the cameras. You saw nothing so you settled down in your chair and pulled out your phone. You had a few notifications from tumblr but you ignored them. That hellsite was dead anyway.

Your phone notification went off, the notification bar showing you had a text from Ayumi. You opened the message to check it. She asked if anything spooky had happened and you rolled your eyes. You replied quickly but jumped when a bang caught you off guard. You looked up to see the janitor giving you a smirk. “Did I scare ya?” he asked. You let out a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah,” you admitted.

The janitor laughed and announced he was heading out and would lock the door behind him. You waved goodbye and turned back to the cameras to watch him leave the building. You were now alone.

The first hour of your shift passed quickly. Nothing to report, so you played a few games on your phone, mostly Among Us and then a coloring app. Another hour into your shift, you ordered pizza for delivery. It took no time to arrive and when your phone buzzed, the screen flashing with a call, you ran for the front door, unlocked it and handed the driver some notes. “Keep the change!” you said you handed it to him.

He thanked you and headed back to his car as lightning flashed overhead. You locked the doors and ran back to the security room to chow down on your pizza and watch videos on your phone. You were really getting into watching a new upload from Markiplier on YouTube when something on one of the cameras caught your eye.

Pausing the video, you glanced up at the screen in question. It was a camera outside the backroom where the wooden crate had been put. You watched a few seconds more before something dark flew past the camera lens, causing you to sit upright in your seat. You set your half eaten slice of pizza down, grabbed your flashlight and phone and headed out into the corridor.

You walked quickly but not too quickly as you shined your flashlight around, the beam falling over the shiny surface of the marble floors and bronze fixtures. You reached the hallway where you had seen the blur and found it empty before heading over to the locked door to the back room and peered in through the glass. The crate sat exactly where it was left. You tried the handle and confirmed the room was indeed locked.

You decided to forego entering the room, chalking it up to your imagination and turned to start the walk back to the security office before your pizza got cold. You had only walked a few steps when a loud crash from behind the door caused you to nearly jump out of your skin. You spun around and gasped when you saw a dark shadow looking at you from inside the room.

Shining your light in the window, the shadow disappeared. Your heart raced as you slowly inched forward. You peered into the room once more and decided you had to check inside now. Pulling the keys from your pocket, you identified the correct key and unlocked the door, turning the knob slowly and pushed open the door.

Inside the room appeared to be empty but you took your time, examining the whole room thoroughly and cautiously. You were certain you had seen someone but now you could see that the room was completely empty and the door you had come in was the only way in and out of the room.

You sighed and shook your head, chalking it up to your imagination as lightning flashed out in the hallway. You headed for the door only to step on something that made a slight clunking sound against the concrete. You lifted your foot and shined the light down to see a crowbar had been somehow thrown from its hanging spot on the wall several feet to where it lay now.

“What the fuck?” you whispered. You bent down and grabbed it, the smooth steel cold against your fingers as you clenched your fist around it. “How did you get all the way over here?” you asked the crowbar, as if it would explain its acrobatics to you just like that.

Shaking your head once more, you turned to hang it back up but stopped when you heard your name being whispered. Not out loud but more like… inside your head. You froze, eyes widening before you slowly turned to check the empty room. Your eyes darted around, looking for some logical explanation, the crowbar still in your hand when your eyes landed on the crate.

You looked at the crowbar in your hand and then back at the crate. ‘What if?’ you asked yourself before shaking your head. “No way,” you whispered, turning to hang up the crowbar. “I would so get fired for that.” You turned from the crowbar now hanging on its hook and moved for the door but stopped again when you heard your name being called from inside your own head. You turned to look at the crate.

Your eyes flitted to the crowbar and back to the wooden crate, the words 'DANGER' staring back at you before you made up your mind. ‘What is one little peek gonna hurt?’ you told yourself walking over to the wall and grabbing the crowbar once again. You walked over to the table, removing your jacket and setting it aside. You inspected the crate closely, running your finger over the wood.

Half expecting a splintered piece to become lodged in your skin, you were surprised by not only the smoothness of the wood but by how new it looked. It looked like a freshly constructed box. Not taking a moment longer to dwell on it, you found a place to shimmy the pry end of the crowbar into and started to loosen the top of the crate. It came up surprisingly easy.

Once the top was removed, you set the crowbar aside and grabbed your flashlight, using it to peer inside the crate to see what oddities lay inside. You were met with a surprising and annoying amount of packing. Pushing this aside, you reached further into the box until your fingers met the edge of something hard. You set the flashlight aside and reached your other hand inside to grab the object and lift it up out of the crate.

It looked to be a book of sorts. You set it on the table and grabbed your flashlight once more, shining the beam over the book. It read ‘Ars Goetia.’ Your eyes widened as you realized just exactly what you were looking at. In all the years of research, you had heard of this book but most accounts believed it to be either lost to the ages or have never existed at all. And yet here it was, in your hands.

You took a step back, breathing heavily. From what you understood, this book was filled with different rituals to summon demons and make pacts with them. You didn’t really believe that one could summon demons or spirits but the idea fascinated you immensely. You stared at the book for a few more seconds before approaching it and opening the cover.

The inside was written in Latin and you thanked yourself mentally for taking courses in Latin when you were in college. You flipped through the pages, eyes scanning over the texts and images before stopping on a page where an image depicted a young woman summoning a demon to make a pact.

You slammed the book shut, grabbed your jacket and put it back on before grabbing the Ars Goetia and tucking it inside your jacket. You headed out of the room, shutting the door and locking it before walking back to the security room. Once inside, you downed the rest of the slice of your pizza, washing it down with some water before logging into the security system.

Outside, thunder crashed and lighting struck while rain pelted the roof and glass windows of the museum. You disabled cameras 5 and 6 which led to an old store room. Once you finished, you grabbed the book and headed back to the back of the museum, using your keys to let yourself into the store room. You set the book on a blank space on the floor and headed over to rummage through the various cabinets and were relieved to find several old candles and surprisingly a set of sidewalk chalk.

You threw off your jacket and opened the book to the page you had seen earlier, you worked quickly and diligently, drawing the same ritual circle the woman in the book was using. Once you were satisfied with your handiwork, you set the candles around the circle and searched for some matches, luckily you found some in a drawer and struck it to light the candles.

Once they were all lit, you blew the match out before setting it aside. You read the footnotes of the page and set the book in the center of the circle. You read the incantation several times to yourself to make sure you had it correctly before you started speaking.

You weren’t sure exactly why you were trying this. Maybe the mood of the day as well as the storm setting in around the city might be fueling your curiosity. You started the chant, sitting at the side of the circle, facing the book as you held your hands out to the sides, palms up.

You felt a gust of wind hit you, the flames on the candles dancing quickly. Your words faltered you as you looked around. There was no way a breeze could be in the room. The windows were shut as was the door. You decided to ignore it and continued the ritual.

“Demon, I summon you,” you said loudly when you finished the incantation. Another gust of wind hit you, extinguishing the candles. You scrambled for the flashlight, turning it on and starting to look around the room, your heart racing. You tried to hold the light steady as you examined the room but saw nothing. You let out a sigh, starting to calm down when there was a loud boom outside and an electrical buzz. You let out a shriek, quickly getting to your feet and making your way to the door to try the light switch.

Nothing.

The power was out. You grabbed your jacket and opened the door to the hall. It was pouring outside, lightning flashing every few seconds, accompanied by loud claps of thunder. You stepped out into the hall, pulling your jacket on as you headed for the security room.

Peering in, you were relieved to see that the cameras were on backups. You were about to sit down when you remembered you had left the book in the store room. You hurried back to the room and opened the door, shining your flashlight in. You walked over to the circle but found that the book was not in the center anymore. “What the-?” you whispered as you looked around. You searched between stacks of boxes and on shelves, wondering where the book was when you finally found it.

It was in the back corner, through the maze of boxes and supplies. You sighed and reached down to pick it up. “How did you get all the way over here?” you wondered aloud. You were dusting off the tome when you were aware of another presence in the room. You turned slowly to look behind you where you saw a shadow standing in the corner opposite you.

You gasped, dropping the book to the floor and backed against the wall as the shadow took a step forward. “W-what do you want?” you whimpered. The shadow didn’t move. Suddenly, glowing red eyes appeared and you felt your blood run cold. ‘No,’ you thought. ‘It can’t be.’

“Don’t make me call the cops, buddy,” you warned, pulling your phone out of your pocket. The shadow took another step forward. “I’ll do it!” you yelled, unlocking your phone and getting ready to call the police when a voice spoke. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” it said.

You looked up from your phone at the shadow. With the tiny amount of light from your phone screen you could see more features to the shadow. It was tall. Impossibly tall, almost 6 and half feet. It had what seemed to be massive horns protruding from its skull and curling backwards against its head. You watched as it shifted and heard the sound of hooves against the concrete.

‘This can’t be real,’ you told yourself. The shadow figure tilted its head, looking at you quizzically. "Oh but it is real,” it replied. You gasped. “You can read my thoughts?” you whispered. The shadow figure nodded. “I can do so much more than that, Y/N,” it replied. Your eyes widened. “How do you know my name?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the rain outside.

“I know a great many things, little one,” the figure replied. “I know everything about you; your thoughts, your fears, your… desires,” it added. You stared at the figure, unable to move. “W-what do you want?” you stammered. The shadow figure chuckled in response. “I think a more accurate question is, what do you want?” he asked. You shook your head. “What do you mean?” you asked.

The shadow figure advanced another step. “Let’s not play this game, girl,” it said in a gruff voice. “You summoned me.” You looked down at the book and back up at the figure. “You’re a demon?” you asked incredulously. “Bingo,” the figure replied.

It all made sense to you now. The shadowy presence, the glowing red eyes, the horns, and the hooves. It really was a demon. A demon you had managed to summon. You looked down at the book. What did you want? All you really were doing was playing around with the book. You never thought in a million years that you would actually succeed in summoning a demon.

“I-” you choked out. The demon seemed to know what you were going to say. “You didn’t actually believe you could summon me, did you?” he asked. You nodded. “I didn’t think it was real,” you admitted. The demon chortled. “That explains it,” he said. “You don’t even know what kind of demon I am,” he stated. You shook your head. “No, what kind of demon are you?” you asked.

The figure moved forward and as it stepped into the light coming in through the window, it morphed, changing from a shadowy figure to a man. He was a tall man, nicely filled out with average shoulders. His body was neither too thick nor too thin. He sported a buzz cut and notched eyebrows that on the surface make him seem rough and sort of edgy but his eyes were something else.

While flashing glowing red for a moment, they shifted into a dark brown and they were surprisingly kind. Perhaps deceivingly kind but kind nonetheless. “I’m an incubus,” the demon replied, stopping a few feet from where you stood. You took a moment to look over him further and saw he was wearing a tailored blue suit with a black turtleneck underneath and a simple silver chain.

“W-what’s an incubus?” you asked, your voice shaking. The demon noticed this and his smile widened. “You really don’t know?” he asked, his head tilting to the side. “Did you not read the page you used to summon me?” he added, raising an eyebrow. You shook your head. “Not really,” you admitted.

The demon stared at you, his eyes now wide with concern. “So you just decided to pick a random page and read what was on it?” You shook your head. “No, I didn’t think-” you began but he interrupted you. “You didn’t think it would work, right.” The demon took a step forward.

“Well, shall I tell you what an incubus is?” he inquired, taking another step forward and stopping just before you. Cowering against the wall, you could feel his breath on your face as he looked at you, studying your eyes and expression. “Or,” he added, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a smirk.

“I could just show you?” he suggested. Your heart was hammering in your chest again. “S-show me? How would you show me?” you wondered aloud. The demon’s smirk grew as he leaned in close, his nose inches from yours. “Well first,” he stated. “Let’s set some ground rules.”

He backed away and started pacing slowly in front of you, fixing you with a stare that indicated that he was a predator and you were the prey. “I’m not like other demons,” he started. “I don’t make deals,” he added. “Wait,” you said, stopping him. You bent down to pick up the grimoire and flipped to the page you had been reading from and held it out to show him.

“Is she not making a deal?” you asked. The demon looked down at the paper and snorted. “No,” he remarked. “She’s begging,” he added before continuing. “Begging,” you whispered, looking down at the page. “For what?” you added in an undertone. “May I finish?” the demon requested. You nodded, shutting the book and standing still to listen.

“As I said, I don’t make deals. I don’t have some grand scheme. I don’t want your soul or the blood of your firstborn and I certainly don’t want your firstborn either. Children are nasty and I would rather have a thousand years of punishment in Hell than 18 years of looking after a child. You don’t have children, right?” the demon asked, stopping to look at you to which you shook your head.

“Excellent,” he answered, continuing to pace. “So,” you started before he could speak again. “If you don’t want my soul, what exactly do you want?” you asked, almost dreading the answer. The demon smiled at you and shrugged. “A good time,” he responded. You stared at him, confusion written on your face. “A good time?” you repeated. He nodded. “A good time,” he confirmed.

“And what does that entail?” you inquired. The demon advanced once more on you, reaching up to place his hands against the wall, caging you in between his arms. “You,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “M-me?” you stammered. He nodded. “Just you.”

“And what do you want with me?” you asked, eyelids fluttering as you raised your gaze to meet his. The demon smiled at you, leaning in just a little closer. “I think you know,” he said, his lips grazing your cheekbone. Your heart was beating incredibly fast and your breathing was coming out in pants. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” you mumbled, stumbling over your words.

“Oh, kitten,” the demon breathed. “Don’t play coy with me.” You felt his hand moved, his fingers skimming down your arm and tucking underneath the jacket to grab your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved along your jawline. “W-what are you… I-I…” your words failed you as you tried to form a coherent sentence. “What was that, kitty?” the demon asked, his voice filled with amusement.

“I don’t think I can do this,” you whimpered, trying to ignore the way the demon’s knee nudged your thighs apart and how his thigh was now pressed against you. “If you can’t,” he said, his breath hot against your skin. “Then I won’t force you,” he added. “But, I won’t be able to go away until you do.”

You moaned as his thigh pressed harder against you. “What’s your name?” you blurted out. The demon chuckled before giving you an answer. “Sungjin.”

“Sungjin?” you repeated, only to be answered by a hum against your neck. “You better make this worth my while,” you warned as his lips moved up your neck to your jaw before he pulled back. “Oh trust me, kitten,” he purred. “I’ll make you beg for more. By the time I’m done with you, you won’t want me to leave.”

A squeal left your lips as Sungjin reached down and lifted you, moving to the closest flat surface before catching your lips in a hurried kiss. You weren’t sure where to move your hands so you settled for gripping the lapels of his suit jacket as he pushed your jacket off you. You slid your arms free of the jacket without breaking the kiss and Sungjin tossed the garment away.

You moaned against his lips as his hands grabbed your thighs, pulling your core against him. “I haven’t even started,” he teased before pushing your skirt up to reveal the short black shorts you wore underneath. “Making me work for it, huh kitten?” he asked. You giggled as he tugged at and pulled the shorts down, tossing them on the ground.

You watched as he eyed you, hunger in his eyes before he looked up, licking his lips. “Lie back,” he ordered. You did as he said, lying back on the old desk he had set you on. Your cheeks flushed as Sungjin pulled you panties down your thighs slowly, maintaining eye contact the entire time before he pulled them past your shoes and tucked them into his pocket.

With your lower half now exposed to him, he wasted no time in leaning over, spreading your thighs and giving you one final look before he buried his face between your legs. You gasped as his tongue flashed out to taste you, one lick before giving you another and another. You tried to contain your moans as the demon licked and sucked at your clit, groaning at the way you tasted.

The sounds were so lewd and felt like something straight out of a porn video but at the same time, it turned you on more to know he was enjoying this as much as you were. You weren’t sure where to put your hands so you settled for gripping the edge of the desk to hold yourself in place as Sungjin continued to taste you, his tongue dipping past your folds and finding your entrance only for a moment before he pulled back. You whined at the loss of contact and propped yourself up to watch as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

He fixed you with a dazed stare as his hands moved to undo his belt and the zipper of his pants. He didn’t have to say anything, you knew what he wanted. You sat up slowly and slid from the desk, kneeling in front of him as he freed his length from the confines of his pants.

To say you were shocked at the size would be an understatement. You weren’t prepared for just how big his cock was as it stood before you. Not wanting to be rude, you cautiously took it in your hand, marveling at the weight it had. It would be a task taking all of this inside you but you were determined. If he wanted to have a good time, you would show him that.

Glancing up at him quickly, you opened your mouth and gave the head a short kitten lick, tasting the precum that was gathering at the tip. It was surprisingly sweet, perhaps that was a demon thing? You licked again, this time swirling your tongue around the tip. With your lips parted, you took the head of his cock in your mouth, feeling the fullness immediately as your lips stretched around him.

The demon said, nothing, only watched as you slowly bobbed your head, taking as much of him as your mouth would allow you. Using your saliva as lubricant, you started stroking the part of him you couldn’t fit in your mouth, meeting your hand with your lips as you tried to take more of him in your mouth. You looked up at Sungjin, expecting some sort of reaction from him but noticing nothing.

Trying not to get discouraged, you pulled his cock out of your mouth, stroking the entire length before taking him in your mouth again. This time, he reacted. His hands moved, fingers locking in your hair as he held your head still. “Relax your jaw,” he ordered. You did so, relaxing your jaw as much as possible.

“Stay just like that,” he breathed and slowly pulled back to thrust into your mouth. You gagged as the head of his dick hit the back of your throat. He pulled you off him, allowing you to cough and regain your composure. Again, he held your head in place as he guided himself in your mouth, thrusting a little slower and gentler than before. A soft moan escaped his throat.

“Good girl,” he panted, slowly speeding up, attempting to push further into your mouth. You tried to hold back your gags but couldn’t when he hit the back of your throat again. This time, he didn’t pull you off, instead, he continued, thrusting into your mouth. You put your hands on his thighs, bracing yourself as saliva spilled down your chin and onto the floor.

“Just like that,” the demon said softly, his grip in your hair tightening as he forced more of his cock past your lips. You gagged again but he ignored it, pushing further still with each thrust until the tip of his cock pushed past your uvula and into your throat, effectively cutting off your air supply. Your lungs started to burn from lack of oxygen and you started to tap his thigh to get his attention. Sungjin gave a few more thrusts into your throat before pulling you off him and letting go of your hair.

You gasped and coughed, trying to breath normally. “You’re going to kill me,” you accused, looking up to see the demon was removing layers of his clothing. You gulped, ignoring the pain in your throat and watched as he tossed his coat aside before removing his shirt, allowing you to see his toned chest and arms. Something you weren’t expecting.

The demon walked over and held out a hand. You took it cautiously and were surprised when he helped you to your feet. “What are you doing?” you asked as he turned you around to face the desk and reached for the zipper on your dress. He pushed the material down past your hips, letting it fall to the floor before pushing his own pants down and discarding them.

Before you could say anything, he pushed you over, pressing your chest to the cold top of the desk and kept his hand on your back as he took himself in his hand and rubbed the head of his cock between your folds. “You might want to hold onto something,” he warned. Your hands fumbled, grabbing onto the desk as the demon pushed past your folds and into your core.

The stretch stung and burned with you letting out a slew of curses to which Sungjin chuckled as he slowly inched his way in bit by bit. He gave you a few moments in between to adjust before moving again. After a few minutes, he was in as far as he could go. “How does it feel?” he asked, leaning over your back. “Fucking huge,” you whimpered, almost in tears as you waited for the pain and burning to subside. Sungjin laughed lowly, taking that as a compliment.

“Now you know how big a demon cock is,” he added, his hand smoothing over your backside before he delivered a sharp slap to your ass cheek. You let out a whine, fingers clenching the edge of the desk. Your core clenched when he gave you another spank. “Someone’s enjoying this,” he said darkly.

He continued, giving each cheek a total of five slaps, smoothing his hand over the reddening skin in between each spanking. “Please,” you begged, tears filling your eyes. He had been sheathed inside you for nearly ten minutes now without moving and your body needed release. “Please what?” Sungjin asked, leaning over your back. “Please move,” you replied.

“That’s not good enough, kitten,” he murmured. “Maybe I should give you a few more spanks until you know how to use your words,” he suggested, his hand returning to your sore backside. “No, no please!” you begged. “Please, no more!” Sungjin squeezed a handful of your ass, giving it a shake before he released it.

“Then what do you want, kitten?” he asked, politely as if his dick wasn’t six inches deep in your cunt. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you found it hard to say the words that would give you want you wanted. “Ten more spanks it is,” Sungjin said, raising his hand over his head. “No, please!” you whimpered, moving your hand to block his. Sungjin reached down and grabbed your hand then grabbed the other and held your wrists together while he raised his hand.

“I gave you plenty of opportunity to speak, to ask for what you wanted. Until you learn to use your words, we’re going to sit here and I’m going to punish you,” he said. His hand made contact with your ass and you let out a scream, sobbing as he rubbed his hand soothingly over the spot. Leaning over he pressed his lips to your shoulder. “Just nine more, kitten, I know you can take it. Tell me you can take it,” he whispered. You nodded, tears streaming from your eyes and drool falling onto the desktop.

“I c-can take it,” you whimpered. “I p-promise.” Sungjin smiled, standing up to give you the rest of your punishment. “That’s my good girl,” he said. Nine more strikes were given, your ass was more than just red now it was extremely sore and your walls were tight around Sungjin’s cock.

“Now,” he said, rubbing both hands over your swollen backside. “What do you want, kitty cat? Tell me,” he added. “Please,” you breathed, nose running from crying. “Please what?” Sungjin asked. “Please fuck me,” you replied, hoping it would be exactly what he needed to hear to give you what you wanted.

“Of course,” Sungjin said, his hands moving to grip your hips. “What my kitten wants, my kitten gets,” he added. You let out a sigh of relief when you felt him pull back before thrusting back into you sharply. You gasped as he repeated this, controlling his movements very well and giving precise thrusts, just enough to give you friction but not enough to bring you closer to orgasm.

“Please, Sungjin,” you moaned as he slid into you with ease. “Yes?” he asked. “Harder,” you murmured. “As you wish, baby,” he said, thrusting harder into you, the lewd sounds of his movements filling the store room along with the sound of skin hitting skin.

Small grunts left his lips as mewls and soft cries of pleasure left yours with each thrust of his hips. “Oh, you feel so good,” Sungjin panted, one of his hands moving to press down on your lower back. His thrust took a sharper turn as he pounded into you repeatedly. You let out a shrill cry with each thrust and Sungjin leaned over, reaching around you to grab your throat.

“You sound so good like that,” he whispered in your ear. “So subservient and submissive for me.” You let out a choked sob as the pleasure overwhelmed you. “Are you gonna come for me, good girl?” he asked. You nodded, unable to speak. “Of course you are,” he said, his breath fanning over your cheek. “You’re gonna come for me and then I’m gonna come. Where would you like me to come?” he asked.

You shook your head, still unable to speak. “Tell me where you want me to come, pretty girl,” he said, his hand releasing your throat. “I d-don’t,” you squeaked. “You don’t care?” he finished your sentence. You nodded. “So I get to pick?” he asked. You nodded again, a deep moan leaving your lips as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm. “So many choices,” the demon said.

“I could paint a picture all over your back,” he stated standing up straight to run his hands over your back. “Or I could turn you around and come all over that pretty face of yours, maybe force my cum down your throat,” he murmured. A particularly hard snap of his hips was all it took for you to come undone, screaming his name as your body shook, your orgasm taking hold of you.

“But I think I just want to fill you up,” he admitted. “Want to stain your cunt with white,” he grunted as he took your hips and thrust harder into you, chasing his own high. “Do you want that, baby?” he asked. “Want me to fill you up until it spills out of you and leaves a mess all over the floor?” You nodded quickly as your second orgasm approached rapidly.

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” Sungjin said, ramming into you from behind, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room along with your cries as a second high hit you. Not long after, a third orgasm took over your body, your walls convulsing and spasming. The tightening around his cock is what drove Sungjin to explode, coming inside you with a loud groan as he filled you up.

You were surprised by the amount of cum that managed to fill you. A dull ache in your lower abdomen as the demon continued to pump his load inside you. “It’s too much,” you whimpered, unable to take the feeling anymore. “It’s okay,” Sungjin said, smoothing his hands over your backside. “You can take it,” he added. “You’re such a good girl. Only good girls take the whole load. Bad girls back out,” you let out a moan as Sungjin used his still hard cock to fuck his cum into you.

“You want to be a good girl, right?” he asked sweetly. You nodded. “Yes,” you whimpered. “Then you have to take all of it,” he replied. “You understand, kitten?” he asked. You nodded. “I understand,” you answered. “I have to take all of it.” Sungjin leaned over, his hand stroking your head. “That’s my good girl,” he added as your eyelids started to grow heavy.

You found it harder and harder to keep them open and before you could say anything, you were out.

You woke with a start, sitting up in your bed and looked around the room. ‘What the?’ you wondered. Grabbing your phone, you checked the time. It was 5 30 in the morning, November 1st. ‘It was all just a dream,’ you told yourself. ‘None of that happened.’ You laughed to yourself and pulled back your sheets, getting out of bed and going into your bathroom to relieve yourself.

As you exited the bathroom and headed into the living room, something caught your eye. A large black book sitting on the coffee table. You inched closed and realized with wide eyes what it was.

Sitting on your coffee table was the Ars Goetia with a little note that said ‘thanks for the fuck, kitten. Hit me up again if you want another go! XO SJ.’

‘It wasn’t a dream at all!’

#day6 scenarios #day6 imagines #day6 reactions #day6 x reader #day6 angst #day6 fluff #day6 smut #park sungjin #day6 sungjin #sungjin imagines #sungjin x reader #sungjin angst #sungjin fluff #sungjin smut #kwanisms #creature feature collab #the summoning - sungjin

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doctors-star · 3 years

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32 and/or 35 ?

32. not really paying attention, both doing something else, but still holding hands

35. grabbing the other's hand to pull them back to them

“What on earth are you doing?”

Will sits up a little too quickly and Noel has visions of him going headfirst over the side of the bank; she makes an abortive step forwards as though to attempt catching him, though she imagines it would not have been successful. “Mornin’ Ms - ah, Noel,” he says with his usual slight nervousness, and shuffles back to sit on his heels and generally try to look as though he hadn’t been lying in the dust on his belly, dangling his arms and head over the side of the bank to examine - something. There’s mud embedded into his good blue waistcoat, and in the points of his white shirt collar. “I’m looking at a kingfisher nest - would you like to have a look?”

“Thank you, no,” Noel says, smoothing the line of her skirt absently as she casts her gaze over the dirty ground under the trees. Of course Will has contrived to find the most awkward part of the creek and its little forest to spend his time in: the deepest density of trees, the highest rise of the bank, the shallowest pool beneath the waterfall. There’s a very pleasant pool a ways further downstream, deep enough to swim in with nice sloping sides where a man is not only unlikely to fall in, but certain not to break his neck if he should do so. Here, of course, Will would land in less than three feet of water and do himself a rather terrible mischief.

Noel lets a little of this disapproval settle in a pinched corner of her mouth. “And you can’t look in some way that ain’t goin’ to break your neck if you fall?”

Will has the grace to look embarrassed. He also shifts one hand to hide behind his back. Noel narrows her eyes. “The residents are...unfriendly,” he tries.

Noel nods like she understands perfectly and allows her gaze to rest gently upon the waters falling behind him. The cascade is nothing colossal, but it is a pleasant feature of the woods; the sound fills the space like music does a room and renders all calming and constant. It certainly seems to calm Will: his wrist relaxes under her inattention, and it is quite simple to snap her hand out like a snake, fix around his shirt cuff and haul the hidden hand out into the light.

He yelps and she tuts, running her finger over the red lines branded around Will’s right index finger. Something has clamped around the digit painfully tight and he holds it a little awkwardly - not so much that she is concerned for his ability to write or ride or work, but enough that she...feels badly for him. She has the strange temptation to fuss and scold her disapproval and concern, like how she remembers an extremely old and grumpy nun once doing when she had been ever so young and crying over a grazed knee. Noel hasn’t much tenderness to fall back on, in times like these.

“There’s a very grumpy snapping turtle in the pool,” Will explains without prompting, sounding put-upon as though she had scolded him indeed. She offers him a dry raised eyebrow - bitten by a snapping turtle? Will Williams, you astonish me - and he huffs and shifts like a sulky child, but allows her to keep hold of his hand. “I’ve named her after you,” he adds, a little prickly.

Noel bites her lip against laughter. Her name isn’t real - and it is, because all names are equally unreal, and she’s been answering to Noel more than almost anything else, at this point. But something about giving it to a turtle seems curiously to make it more her own than it had been before, magnified in the sharing. “Oh, you honour me,” she says, and doesn’t entirely not mean it. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re just looking at birds - Ainsel reckons you might be tryin’ to duck out of teaching a class, like they keep askin’ you to.” Ainsel is on a real extracurricular kick lately, though as Noel sees it they’re just trying to outsource as much responsibility as possible so’s they can retire, and she doesn’t blame them.

Will freezes, then smiles carefully. “No, I - I’m not doing that. I’d never, uh, never do that.”

Noel nods her agreement. “Me neither. There’s kingfishers in the bank, then?”

Will grins in delight - at the shared joke, and the opportunity to talk about animals both. “Yes - they live in burrows, like rabbits. Look-” He tugs on their joined hands until they’re both crouched carefully at the bank edge and peering over. Sure enough, there are small tunnels drilling into the earth. No birds obligingly emerge for her to look at, so she doesn’t immediately see the appeal - but then, Will has always been the most patient of them. “Both parents dig the nest and care for the chicks,” he explains, gesturing with the hand not wrapped around hers.

“Are they pretty birds?” she asks, for want of anything better. Will only needs a little encouragement to talk about his animals, and this is just as well; he is holding her hand like he’s forgotten he ever was, like it is perfectly natural, and it is curious, but-

When she and her brother were kids, they used to go everywhere together. They used to hold hands while doing anything, everything, as though they might lose one another if they didn’t. It had been a comfort to her to have him ever near by, unable to slip through her fingers, but it had been edged always with a peculiar desperation. A dependency; she hadn’t then known who she was without the defining shadow of her brother at her side.

Will doesn’t hold her hand like that. She could pull away and he would let her go with as much thought as he is presently dedicating to holding on. The contact isn’t needed like it used to be. It’s just - quite nice.

That’s all.

“Very pretty,” Will is telling her. “And the females are much prettier than the males. But they both have-” he spreads his fingers and places his palm against the back of his head to form a line of spikes “-a big crest, and blue-grey feathers.”

Noel nods, glancing at his notebook. “What are you writing about them?”

He makes a face. “I’m not, really - I’m no good at writing and leaning and looking all at the same time,” Will says ruefully.

And Noel could - “I could write for you,” she says, a little awkwardly, as though there should be some strange intimacy in offering which she cannot now take back.

But Will ignores all this to press the journal and pencil into her spare hand, grin in a flash, and then launch himself towards the edge of the bank. Noel is glad she still has his hand safely gripped in her own; it is only this that saves him in his earnest enthusiasm from tumbling into the water. She ends up kneeling, arm braced to hold him up by the hand, and Will is holding the edge of the bank in his other hand with his feet wedged in tiny crevices in the sandy side, and Noel is the only thing preventing his ignoble tumble to the water, and he is grinning like anything. “Oops,” he says, shifting his feet slightly.

“Will,” Noel manages, equal parts residual nerves and resigned annoyance. She tugs slightly. “Are you coming back up, then?”

He hums absently, already peering into the kingfisher burrow as though quite ready to stay where he is for the foreseeable future. “It seems to go back quite a way,” Will muses. “Maybe more than a foot-” he tips his head up and casts about, apparently looking for his notes, and Noel sighs.

She tugs the notebook closer to her, wielding the pencil in her wrong hand, and raises her eyebrow at him in invitation. “In your own time,” she says dryly. In truth, Will is not very heavy, and a daily regime of chores, housework and bread kneading has built up her strength to an acceptable level, but still.

Will beams, brighter than sunshine, and goes back to peering at the burrow. “Looks like a foot and a half, maybe, and sloping slightly upwards,” he reports, touching the edges with exceptional care and gentleness so as not to disturb the slightest grain of sandy dirt. Noel scrawls awkwardly, his hand warm in hers, and despairs of her penmanship. “What’s, uh, what’s Ainsel got you teaching, then?”

Noel makes a face at the page. “Needlepoint and French,” she says, with disdain. It isn’t that she doesn’t like either, only that she does not have the patience to bestow that knowledge on one child, let alone a dozen. Few things have less appeal.

“Ah, n’avoir pas les shakes, c’est pas si tante pire,” Will says absently, squinting at the burrow entrance and carefully fetching something out.

Noel stares at him. “Les shakes is not French,” she tells him sternly. “And your accent is abysmal.”

Will sniffs defiantly. “It’s Canadian,” he corrects, and she snorts dismissively. “Anyway, you - you needn’t worry, the kids are alright.”

“I ain’t worried,” Noel snaps, tightening her grip on Will’s hand slightly. Will glances at her under his brows, but diplomatically says nothing. “I shall drop you in the damn creek.”

Will smiles slightly and swallows it, looking up at her. “Even - even if I give you a feather?” he says, proffering up a tiny scrap of fluff. She takes it carefully in the tips of her fingers and spins it gently, watching the way the colours blur from slate-grey to white to rusty red down its spine. “And I’m sorry for naming the turtle after you. You can change it, if, if you like.” And it’s not quite picking names with her brother for the next town, next con, next identity. But it will do, she thinks as she hauls on Will’s hand to help him scramble up and back to safety. It isn’t nothing.

“Mordred,” she decides, rolling her shoulder as Will shakes his hand out. “S’il te mordre.”

Will huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes. “Oh, très bien,” he murmurs, looking down into the water for a glimpse of Mordred the biting turtle. But Noel is looking at the little feather, with its shifting colours, and tucking it into the hinge of the brooch on her shirt, and trying to resist the urge to wrap her hand back into Will’s - just to see if he’d mind it.

#more animal shenanigans with will!#just a shortish one and only slightly french #can u believe i've nearly got up to date with my prompts at last. wild.#a town called danser #this is your captain speaking

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omoi-no-hoka · 4 years

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I read your post on how you got started in the translation industry and I was wondering if it is possible to get an entry/basic level translation gigs in Japan with N3-level proficiency or if even those want at least N2 proficiency. Also since you've been living and working in Japan for a long time, what advice would you give those wanting to work in Japan in regards to avoiding black companies?

Finding Translation Work in Japan

Hi there! Thank you for your ask.

To be honest, “translation” is so very broad that I can’t give you a simple “yes” or “no” as an answer. My answer is “Maybe” with the following caveats. For the sake of this post, I’m going to assume that your native language is English, or that you have native-level proficiency, and you plan to do English↔Japanese translation in a Japanese workplace.

Field of Translation

This is perhaps the biggest factor. I understand that in order to translate legal or medical things, there is a particular certification that you must obtain. This requires N1/native level proficiency in both languages. I have thought of attempting to obtain the medical one, but I’m not ready for it. I would need to study a LOT of terminology in both English and Japanese.

As for other fields, I think it really depends on the company and how much they are willing to teach you on the job. Also, depending on the field, many field-specific terminology may be katakana words derived from English, meaning that while they will be new Japanese words for you, they will not be entirely new words.

But if I were to work in, say, the banking industry doing translation, I would certainly have a hard time learning all the words, especially if I didn’t already have some sort of background in banking in English.

For example, I specifically work as a translator for a company that provides services to other very big companies that you have heard of. Technically, I work for an anti-malware software company and the technical support aspect of it. When a product is updated, I will translate internal manuals and things like that. I also translate the Big Wig conversations, which are done in English since the client and our company’s HQs are in America, so that our local guys know what’s going on. I also create/translate/edit/take minutes for presentations given to Big Wigs. I also handle all IT issues in our project, because our IT ticketing system is 100% in English. ANYTHING English-related is funneled to me.

Contractually-speaking, I do not work for any other clients. But since I’m the only translator in our company in Hokkaido capable of interpretation as well, I am often asked to assist under the table. (Translation and interpretation are two entirely different beasts, btw.)

While I don’t have a background in IT or computers or anything like that, since most of the terminology is in katakana and I’m not absolutely clueless about computers, my learning curve wasn’t too sharp. I struggled more with bullshit corporate acronyms and the formalities of Business Japanese (sonkeigo and kenjougo).

A person holding an N2 is considered capable of Business Japanese. Even if you have extensive knowledge in the field of translation, you will have a VERY difficult time adjusting to the Japanese-language workplace if you are not good with Business Japanese. From that standpoint, I cannot recommend someone at N3 to enter a Japanese company to do translation. It will be grueling. I was N1 when I joined the company, and I still had difficulty composing emails and other workplace-related words I hadn’t come across.

Start with Freelance Translation/Proofreading

There was a year or so where I had N1 but was still teaching English. I found freelance English-Japanese translation jobs online. Lots of them were one-shot things, like “translate this brochure about our little tiny town” or “I am a researcher who has written a paper on Persian-French relations during the 16th century, and I need someone to proofread my English.” Lol that one was pretty specific and paid very handsomely. By doing well on a job, I established a relationship with that client and I would get more work either from them or someone they knew. Prices are fixed before translation.

The average price for translation is 3-7 yen per character (if the original text is in Japanese) or per word (if the original text is in English). The price increases depending on the complexity of the material. The brochure about the little town was 4 yen per character, but the research paper was 9 yen word (despite the fact I was only proofreading instead of translating because it was incredibly complex).

Proofreading goes alongside translation. I didn’t really do much of that, but you can see a price range of 1-5 yen per character/word. If you are N3, proofreading is great way to get your feet wet!

NOTE: Do not take on proofreading or translation jobs for a language that is not your native language. No matter how good you think your Japanese is, it will not be good enough to proofread. Even if you have an N1, you will miss things. Even I, as a translator with almost 3 years experience in my field, always have a Japanese coworker proofread everything I translate into Japanese, and 9 times out of 10 they fix at least one thing.

How to Avoid Black Companies

In Japan, some companies are labeled ブラック企業 “black kigyou,” which means that they violate labor laws in some heinous fashion. Denying pay, benefits, or leave, forcing employees to do grueling amounts of overtime that can lead to 過労死 karoushi (death by overwork), etc. These companies will rob you of your sanity at best and your life at worst, and are to be avoided at all costs.

When I was searching for a position teaching English, I googled reviews of each big Eikaiwa school, like AEON or whatever else there is. Many previous teachers air their grievances on places like glassdoor.com. It was easy to learn which schools I should avoid.

Also, I applied online to many different big Eikaiwas. Three of them (sorry, I can’t remember which) immediately emailed me back and said I was hired, without an interview or anything. That should be a HUGE red flag to you right there. Why are they so desperate to hire that they’ll take you without even giving you an interview? And even if they do later say, “Your hiring is dependent upon an interview,” that means that their initial contact email was fraudulent.

Research the company as best you can. See if you can find someone who has worked for them. Beware of smaller, private companies. They tend to fly under the radar and are prone to be even shittier. Then again, there was a woman who died of death by over work a few years ago and she worked for the biggest advertising firm in Japan.

Here’s an article from Business Insider about karoushi and black companies.

A 2016 report examining karoshi cases and their cause of death found that more than 20% of people in a survey of 10,000 Japanese workers said they worked at least 80 hours of overtime a month.

The Health, Labor and Welfare Ministry defines the threshold for karoushi as greater than 80 hours of overtime a month. Since this article was posted in 2018, a new law regarding overtime has been implemented by the Japanese government. Now there is a legal cap on overtime of 100 hours per month (and 720/year) for busier months, with the general upper limit set at 45 hours per month (360 hours/year).

Even if a company isn’t black, be prepared for overtime. My company makes sure that every employee adheres to the 45 hours per month limit...as best they can. If you follow this blog you know that I have done 60 and 70 hours of overtime in certain months, because I am our only translator and when shit hits the fan I’m the only one who can handle it.

However, my company is very good about making sure that I receive all of my overtime pay. Every single minute of overtime I do is properly reimbursed. Sometimes this means that if I work 60 hours one month, I will only report 45 that month, and then report 15 extra hours the next month. Or I will take a couple days off but claim that I worked (with my bosses’ approval, of course).

I can’t speak for other companies for sure, but I fear that when this law was introduced in 2019, many companies did not change their business models and instead forbid employees from reporting overtime that exceeded legal limits, meaning they would be going without compensation.

So be aware that if you are going to work in a Japanese company, you are likely to have overtime. Some people don’t, and congratulations to them! But it is an extremely real possibility. Make sure that you can handle it physically and mentally, and that you are being properly compensated. After my first month of Big Overtime, my boss told me, “I’m surprised that you managed to do all that. I thought that Americans had a poor work ethic compared to Japanese people, but now I see that’s not true.”

kinda racist, but thx

If you have an interview and it goes well and you receive a contract, ask to take the contract and have time to think about it. Then, have a Japanese person you trust read the contract and make sure there is nothing shady hidden in there. Contracts and legalese are difficult enough in my own native language--I don’t trust myself to catch something in Japanese.

If your friend thinks that the contract is fair as well, and if you feel like the company has a good atmosphere, take the job. That is what I did, and I am glad I did.

Translation and Interpretation

A lot of people don’t know the difference between “translation” and “interpretation” and use them interchangeably, but they are actually entirely different tasks that require different skills.

Translation: the conversion of written text from one language to another.

Interpretation: the conversion of spoken word from one language to another.

You will most likely be hired as a translator, because translation is much cheaper than interpretation. However, if your company is like mine, you will have interpretation work to do as well. You may be asked to take part in meetings and facilitate communication between the English-speaking and Japanese-speaking people, or act as a guide to a client from American headquarters, for example.

With translation, you usually have the blessing of time. You can look up a word you don’t know, you can think about the grammar, you can think about tone.

But with interpretation, you need to be:

Listening to Speaker A’s English and mentally summarizing their words

Starting to say Speaker A’s words in Japanese while holding on to the bits that will come later because English and Japanese word order is so different

Continuing to listen to added speech from Speaker A as you concurrently are relaying their previous speech in to Japanese and retaining the parts that you can’t say yet because of word order.

Then do it all for again for Speaker B’s reply, and repeat.

Basically, your mind has to be doing three things at once. Does your head hurt? Mine does. If I have to do simultaneous interpretation like that for more than a couple hours I literally develop a headache.

I will NEVER recommend an N3 person attempt interpretation in a business setting. Nor N2 for that matter. It is hard and you do not have the benefit of time to think and double-check things.

Also, many people don’t understand exactly how difficult it is to do interpretation. I have to sometimes just say “Sorry, pause” to the speaker because my head can’t retain any more, especially if figures and data and dates are referred to. Thankfully my coworkers have come to understand my method and are just happy that I can facilitate communication for them.

If you have any other questions regarding job hunting, please let me know and I’d be more than happy to offer what advice I have! 💖

#Anonymous #work in japan #life in Japan #expat in japan #japanese translation #japanese interpretation #job hunting #job hunting in japan #japan #ask me anything #asks are open

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hoochieblues · 3 years

Text

100 Days of Writing: Day 70 + 71

Do you have an ending in mind? Is that ending fixed or can it change as you write? // & // Come up with a new ending.

for @the-wip-project

Uh... ending. Yes, I have one. It's a good one, too. No loose threads, nuh-uh. Completely makes sense. Satisfying, too. Honest.

Shifty furtiveness aside, this varies a lot. Sometimes I have a climactic point in mind when I start a story, and sometimes that works out. Sometimes it turns out I was desperately wrong, and that changes in practice, or in response to how a story grows or develops. Or, particularly, as my viewpoint shifts on some of the themes or motifs I inadvertently wrote and want to pretend I was smart enough to actually plan.

Case in point is Justice in Surrender, which is going in a very different direction to first intended. Spoilers, hypothetical and actual, under the cut.

Come up with a new ending? And potentially shift everything into an alternative version of itself where my magpie brain gets distracted by shiny new possibilities that require 100k of revisions?

Really, though, a great example of how I do this a lot is Justice in Surrender, which I originally planned out (I say "planned"...) as

[SPOILERS]

having Hawke challenge Justice in the Fade during Act 3, exploring all the Fade lore and the whole 'demons/spirits being defeated on their own turf' thing that's happened a lot in the DA franchise.

This was going to be a way to explore what Justice's corruption into Vengeance (per the DA2 canon narrative) actually means, and was partially inspired by that one bit of dialogue where Justice/Vengeance tells Hawke to fuck off as Anders "has no need" of them and they have "given in to sloth," which - coupled with Anders' response to that as a blackout - stuck out to me as one of those really interesting bits of combo lore/unreliable narrator/high concept stuff, per how their symbiosis actually works, and how Justice's "corruption" works, if that's what you really define it as.

The Gandhi quote that inspired the title of the fic - Justice that love gives is a surrender, justice that law gives is a punishment - kind of reveals the early building blocks I had in place from the start regarding what I wanted to happen with Hawke either restoring or killing Justice in the Fade, depending on how that played out (and how much extra torture I felt like putting Anders through....)

Trouble is, as time went on - and ofc there were hiatuses, though I was completely out of fandom during that time and not really mulling any of my writing over, just feeling bad about it being unfinished - and factoring for the years of Anders wank and Bioware's problematic discourse... I got about as radicalised on this issue as my protagonist.

So the point I'm at now is that the redux of JiS is going to end up far more Justice-positive, and exploring a way more nuanced and multi-faceted understanding of what spirits/demons are. Yes, that's right. MOAR FADE LORE. More of everything. Oh no what have I done.

Long story short (ha... it's funny bc it's an epic length fic...) the "new" ending focuses less on the Anders-Justice psychological tension - though it may still involve a version of the original planned scene bc gd the notes were good even if I say so myself - due to Hawke's whole-hearted involvement in the Underground and failure to actually be Champion (let's be real... would anyone make Tobias Hawke Champion of a Wendy's? No.).

So that lets me do away with all the canon parts of the Anders romance that involve Hawke being a total moron who can't recognise a list of explosive ingredients when it is literally in front of his face, and instead focus on going pure 'fuck the Chantry' / 'anatomy of spirit symbiosis' / 'how to start a revolution' and answer my own personal question of why, if you're going to blow up the Chantry - which you know will cause Meredith to invoke Annulment - you don't hit certain other important targets in the city that will prevent templars being able to do that.

This is getting long and spoilery so I'll refrain from anything else, but suffice to say I feel good about where the redux is going, how much flexibility I've freed up in shifting the end a bit, and that I promise anyone who has the nerve to read through 200k+ of slow burn Handers and chaotic-disaster-Hawke will be rewarded with a very, uh, dramatic and explosive finale. I Have Plans.

That's all my coherent cognition for today, in my post-vaccine wibblyness. But I know there's a couple of people out there who liked the original JiS and, if anyone wants to throw suggestions, feedback, asks, requests for blatant fanservice, lore or other concepts my way, please please do. <3

#100daysofwriting #writeblurble

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askkrenko · 4 years

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Krenko’s Guide to Pokemon: Tyrogue Line ( Hitmon- )

POKEMON SHOULD NOT WEAR PANTS.

DESIGN:

I’m fine with how humanlike this looks. I’m fine with the bands on his wrists that look like bandages, and around his waist, but he’s clearly wearing shorts and shoes. I’d much rather a design that gave the illusion of shorts and shoes, like making his hip-section very furry and giving him hooves like a satyr. I accept the simple appearance in the early games, but it could really have used a redesign at some point.

I do love the way the side of its head looks like it’s wearing protection over its ears. Tyrogue is very clearly some kid ready to wrestle in school, and I’m totally on board with that... but actual clothes are wrong.

My other issue with Tyrogue is that it’s a male-only line without a female equivalent. See, female-only lines make sense because of how Pokemon breeding works. Sure, there’s no male Chansey, but that’s because every male Clefable, Wigglytuff, and Grimmsnarl is lining up to fertilize that egg. But with Tyrogue, there’s... nowhere for Tyrogues to come from other than Dittos.

Now, this may explain the relative scarcity of the Tyrogue, and maybe they are all the result of dittos, but it’s really weird to me if that’s the case. You’d think by now we could have a female Pokemon that could lay Tyrogue eggs the way Illumise can lay Volbeat eggs.

Now, Tyrogue has three evolved forms, and the first numerically is Hitmonlee. Hitmonlee is made of kicking, and its body really shows that. It doesn’t wear clothes, it doesn’t have a head, and those leg bands stretch for super kicks. Now, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this thing in various mythologies, the headless man with a face on its chest, but Hitmonlee’s just got eyes. It’s a pretty simple design when you think about it, but it’s cool and striking and looks like a monster that fights like a man but better.

Hitmonchan has boxing gloves, a skirt, and booties. Look, I’ll get on a lot of Pokemon’s case for being too humanoid or whatever, but HItmonchan is seriously just some dude. His shoulder pads don’t even look like part of him, they look like he’s wearing them. I can’t even begin to imagine what a Hitmonchan might be that it just looks like that in nature. Its Pokedex entry mentions it has the “spirit of a pro boxer” and while that seems metaphorical, but when you see entries like “A Hitmonchan is said to possess the spirit of a boxer who aimed to become the world champion” you have to wonder if this is one of those supernatural things like how so many Ghost pokemon are actually dead humans.

Hitmonchan is an interesting design for a creature in a video game, but it’s not a good design for a creature in a world, which is what Pokemon need to be. I just can’t accept that your Tyrogue grew up into this without you buying gloves and booties for it.

Hitmontop mostly fixes the issue of inexplicable clothes. Yes, it looks like it’s wearing some sort of V-Neck leotard like a professional fighter might, but as it doesn’t pop off the Hitmontop’s body in any way, it could just be blue fur which is pretty normal in the Pokemon setting.

I don’t particularly like Hitmontop’s design overall- I think it looks too toylike, and much less badass than Hitmonchan or Hitmonlee. It feels like something you could just avoid by taking a step to the side. But unlike Hitmonchan, nothing in its design actively offends my sensibilities. It just feels more like a middle form than a final form.

Art by MajMajor

EVOLUTIONS:

I mostly love the design of this evolutionary line. While HItmonchan and Hitmonlee were introduced in gen 1 as a matched set, Tyrogue and Hitmontop came in generation 2. Tyrogue is the best use of a Baby Pokemon, adding a pre-evolution to turn two previously unattached Pokemon into a branching path. They haven’t done that again since, even though there’s multiple paired lines that could really use it (most notably Tauros/Miltank and Cubone/Kangaskhan.) Also, Tyrogue evolves at level 20, but what determines its form isn’t some weird item or what time it is, but simply how its stats fall out. This means that to a novice it’ll seem random which one you get, but a skilled trainer can ensure Hitmonchan or HItmonlee (and a more skilled trainer can ensure Hitmontop.)

Also, with base stats of 455 each, Hitmonchan and Hitmonlee are much more deserving of getting a Baby Pokemon than things like Pichu and Jigglypuff, whose baby forms don’t do anything for gameplay but get in the way.

Art by IDunnoLawl

TYPING:

Unlike most Pokemon with multiple forms, all three of Tyrogue’s evolutions are pure FIghting type. Fighting is pretty evenly balanced offensively and defensively, and is notably super-effective against Normal and Steel types. The lack of a second type really hurts, though. Fighting is bad against six types, and that’s not something you want to see on all your STAB attacks.

STATS:

All three Hitmons are physical attackers with 50 HP and 110 Special Defense, but the rest of their stats vary. Hitmonlee has a mere 53 defense, making it the most fragile of the three, but its 120 Attack and its 87 speed make it the fastest and most damaging. Hitmonchan has a lower attack and lower speed, but higher defense, and Hitmontop has the lowest attack and speed of all three, but a 95 defense which actually compensates for its low HP.

None of these stat arrays are particularly impressive, but they all have solid attack stats, and their high special defense means their low HP is only a problem when confronted with physical attackers. Speeds for all three are about average.

Art by mcgmark

ABILITIES:

Interestingly enough, Tyrogue’s abilities are different than all three of its evolutions... but Tyrogue’s incredibly weak so there’s no reason to talk about building it.

Hitmonchan has Keen Eye (prevents accuracy loss) and Inner Focus (prevents Flinching and Intimidate) but what sells it as a Pokemon is Iron Fist, an ability that increases its punch damage by 20%. It’s not Earth shattering, but 20% on attacks is a very solid boost and Hitmonchan learns a lot of punches.

Hitmonlee can get Limber to prevent Paralysis, but nobody cares. Its other options are much better. Reckless adds 20% damage to any move with Recoil or a Crash chance. Unfortunately, Hitmonlee only has one of these. Fortunately, it’s Hitmonlee’s signature attack, High Jump Kick. Hitmonlee’s other ability takes a bit more work to use, but is even better in competetive battles. Unburden doubles Hitmonlee’s speed if its held item is lost or used. While berries are an option, a White Herb can be forced with Close Combat, turning Hitmonlee into a potent sweeper as long as it survives that first attack.

Hitmontop has the basically useless Steadfast (increase Speed when flinching), but has the ever-powerful Intimidate, as well as Technician. With Hitmontop already being the most defensive of the three, Intimidate just makes it a bit more survivable by lowering enemy attacks. Technician increases the damage of any moves with a base damage of 60 or lower, and Hitmontop has a variety of attacks that can take advantage of this. Most notably among these is Triple Axel, a three-hit move with an increasing power of 20, 40, and 60. With Technician, these hits become 30, 60, and 90 for a total of 180 power, albeit with problematic accuracy.

Art by Zilvan

MOVES:

Despite all three being physical attackers, all three use different Fighting type moves. Hitmonlee gets its signature High Jump Kick with Reckless, or can use Close Combat + White Herb with Unburden. Hitmonchan uses Drain Punch. Iron Fist bumps its attack to an effective 90, and the healing increases proportionately. Hitmontop, unfortunately, doesn’t have any great options, so Close Combat is generally the way to go. Revenge is an option with its slower speed and Technician fixing its ‘failure state,’ but unfortunately Revenge and Technician don’t stack if Revenge activates.

Coverage comes next. Fighting type is resisted by Bug, Fairy, Flying, Poison, and Psychic, and Ghosts are outright immune. Hitmontop’s Triple Axel is going to work just fine against all of those, even without Technician.

Hitmonlee has a decent lineup of options- Blaze Kick, Earthquake, Stone Edge, Poison Jab, Knock Off- but which you pick is really dependent on what you expect to face and what the rest of your team has coverage for. Earthquake’s the strongest, but it still doesn’t work against Flying or Bug types. Stone Edge covers them both, but is a much weaker move. Of course, Hitmonlee could take both.

Hitmonchan has great coverage options with Iron Fist enhanced elemental punches, plus the aforementioned Earthquake and Stone Edge, as well as Throat Chop. There’s no real right or wrong answer here, just be prepare for whatever you’re most worried about.

Tyrogue’s evolutions share a lot of utility moves. Rapid Spin, Mach Punch, and Bulk Up can be useful on any of them. For each of the three, I’d suggest a build of a fighting move, an off-type move for coverage, Rapid Spin for Rapid Spinning, and then whatever feels right to you of Bulk Up, Mach Punch, or another coverage move.

Art by birdmir

OVERALL:

Despite the three Pokemon here being very similar, they each have abilities and stat differences that give them different niches, with Hitmonchan’s being the best defined. I do wish Hitmonlee got more than one attack that worked with Reckless and Hitmontop’s signature attack were stronger (triple kick still only ends up at 90 power with Technician), but overall they’re not too bad, just a bit on the fragile side. A 10 or 20 point boost to each of their HP stats would make me feel a lot better, and small stat boosts between gens is something Pokemon occasionally does.

Hitmonchan and Tyrogue wearing clothes is really dumb, though, as are the ecological issues of a species that can’t reproduce without the help of a DItto.

In the future, I’d like to see a trio of regional forms for them, granting each a second element, but different from each other. Bonus points if the alternate Hitmonchan has Protean for his elemental punches. That’d be a cool Pokemon.

Little Asskickers by Aniforce

#Krenko's Pokemon Guide #Tyrogue #Hitmonchan #HItmonlee #Hitmontop

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psychicreadsgirl · 4 years

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Challenges of doing psychic readings

1. Inevitably no one's life is perfect and without any negative aspect. Even someone like Bill Gates or Kendall Jenner has negative aspects to their lives. It may not be known to the public eye or easily seen, like a chronic illness. A challenge with readings is knowing what you can say and what you cannot say. There are some negative things that you also see that unfortunately cannot be prevented. They must play out in someone's lives because that is just how it is and even if someone tries to delay it or circumvent it, the situation comes back in another form. I like to give this personal example when I explain this to someone. It's about a friend's relative who went to a psychic who told him that on this day he must not drive a car or else he would get into a fatal accident. He listened to the psychic's advice and he lived. A few years later he died due to a fatal car accident. His life in between was also filled with other problems as well. As someone who is giving a reading, you cannot act like God and stop someone from dying when that is their fate.

2. Career readings. These are by far the most difficult, in my opinion, to do. Many times people believe they are capable of doing something and are capable of changing their fate. Later they learn it the hard way when they do that. Often someone will come and ask me if they are suitable to be X. I can tell what would be the best for them to do and I let them know. Then they will disagree and say no, they want to be X. I can tell that X isn't what is suited for them and Y or Z would be better. They say no, they want to be X so what can they do to be X? In that case this is often what happens. They work to be X and either they fail to reach to be X or they do get to be X but with a heavy cost, lots of problems and much unhappiness. Guess what happens? They will come back and say . . . I got X but I don't want X anymore or I became X, but why is my life so miserable or hard? Well the short answer is you wanted to be something you weren't meant to be and that is why. If someone is suited for a specific career, they will find fewer issues with that job. That's just how it is. If you force things to happen, you may get what you had sought but then find it’s not what you wanted or it came with so many challenges.

3. Love readings. A lot of people are curious about who they will marry or be with in the long term. That's totally fine. The problem that happens is often people have to date others first before reaching to marriage with someone else.

Another problem is when some people who are already in relationships will ask whether they will marry their current partner and I see that they won't marry this partner. What do I do then? Tell them no, you won't marry them but you will still date them for X more months or years before then meeting your future spouse? Or do I say, yes, there is a chance that you will marry them, but it's not certain. To be frank, I do not recommend someone who is already in a relationship to go for psychic readings to ask whether they will marry their current partner or when they will marry them. If you will marry someone then you will marry them. Even if you don't that relationship was there to teach you something. That's important.

And is marriage the be all and end all? No. There are so many divorces nowadays that it is becoming more and more common for someone to have a 2nd or a 3rd marriage. Plus marriage doesn't define one's entire life.

Another one that should be mentioned is when you deal with people who think they are “twins” or “spouses” of certain celebrities. If you tell them the truth they will just say that you are not a believer. They are too stuck in their imagined love bubble.

Honestly the chances of someone (a non celeb/non socialite/a person not even working in the same industry) marrying a celebrity are very low and marrying a kpop idol when you’re not even living in Korea and don’t know Korean makes your chances even lower. We can approach this logically, without even predicting. People usually marry people within their community and sometimes these days through online methods. The chances of a kpop idol being on an app to find marriage and then marry a foreigner with no working knowledge of Korean are very low. Kpop idols aren’t “woke”. They are, as harsh as this is, “products” of their company. Whatever they do, post, or say are targeted for the fans, not a specific someone living in the other side of the world who has no physical/real connection to them. Their actions are rehearsed and approved by the company too. They take on “personas” within a group; if you haven’t realized, each group generally have fixed personas. There’s one that’s cooler, one that’s like a mother, one that’s really gentle and sweet, one that’s super goofy, one that’s playful and naughty etc. Some parts of the persona may be part of their actual personality too but they are “exaggerated”.

4. Celebrity readings. To be honest most people who are celebrities or kpop idols have quite similar qualities. They generally love to be in the spotlight/be known. They are charming and charismatic. They often are self centered, determined, and stubborn. They are good at faking their real personalities because they are public figures and need to maintain an image. They are generally beautiful or handsome and because of this they often get treated better or they often can get away with many things. Many of the most beloved celebrities actually are very toxic and have done many terrible things. Will those be revealed? Mostly not.

Even if I were to say them, there'd be no actual "proof". So some may be wondering then how these toxic celebrities are still able to live the "good" lives? Well it depends on what you mean by "good". Many celebrities suffer from very similar problems: toxic relationships/no "real" love, significant health problems including drug addictions, suicides, freak accidents or sudden deaths, having children that cause significant problems to the celebrities' lives or having children who have significant health problems, or toxic relationships with their parents. Many of these negative aspects are well hidden from the public, such as love problems or health problems, until the celebrity dies and then the memoirs come pouring out or the autopsy reveals this or someone starts blabbing now that they’re dead.

5. Reading someone including a celebrity who is going to die soon. Sometimes you will come across people who you see will not live long. Then what do you say when they come for you for a reading? “I see that you will die soon.” No one wants to hear that even if that’s the truth and even if you say it aloud people will likely not believe you. The best is not to say it. You shouldn’t delay death because when you do the death you will face will be worse than the original death set for you.

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redantsunderneath · 4 years

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I’ve Never Seen David Lynch and George Lucas in the Same Room at the Same Time…

The thematic parallels between David Lynch and George Lucas are something I keep coming back to again and again, but their careers and evolution have a lot of overlap too. They were born in the earliest Boomer cohort (George Lucas in May 1944, David Lynch January 1946) and had experiences growing up that were colored by the idyllic 1950s, but shifted into a distrust of authority structures that was common for many of their age cohort in the 1960s. They both came of age wanting to do something physical with her hands that felt creative to them in large grimy spaces - fixing cars for Lucas, and painting and installations with a fascination with organic materials, industrial metal, and rot for Lynch. They both fell into film because they were looking for something that satisfied their artistic bent (although film was never a primary aspect of her life to that point). They wound up making a handful of short films over a 3 year period, culminating in a longer short-film that would eventually get them noticed at roughly the same age (Electric Labyrinth THX 1138 4EB [1967] and the Grandmother [1970] for Lynch).

These films netted both of them a patron (Francis Ford Coppola for Lucas, the American Film Institute for Lynch) and started filming their first feature-length film two years after those films. They both got their biggest name recognition bump by films released in 1977 and pulled away from the power of the studio system in roughly 1984. Famously, Lucas offered Lynch a chance to direct what would become Return of the Jedi in about 1981 ( I prefer the story where Lucas does this by picking him up in a Lamborghini - I’ve heard a phone call version too, but it’s not as perfect) and Lynch answered something like “it’s your movie George, you direct it.” They both spent the mid 80s in movie jail, and although they took very different paths in general after (I’ve been emphasizing the similarities) there are still things that jibe in the history - they both reminded people of what they liked about them with a late 80s movie, spent a lot of the 90s on TV projects, did one project around classic radio, returned to theatrical notice around the millennium, all the while generally keeping their own council and disappointing a lot of fans.

There’s obviously a world of difference. Lucas is a left brained technologist who equated freedom with an owning of the means of production. Lynch is it right brained impressionist seeing freedom-as no one ever being able to tell you what to do, acting as a solo artist with collaborators who merge with his sensibilities. Lynch is a production lone wolf, depending mostly on people believing in him and funding him, and losing out in the popular consciousness by making uncompromising art that may not be what the audience wants, meaning funding is sometimes hard to come by. Lucas is like the Democratic party controlling the Congress and presidency - having total power but unable to turn that into what he really wants to make, somehow. The idea of Lynch selling his body of work to Disney is absurd.

But the correspondences in this are telling and help to explain the thematic similarities and divergences. Plus, the differences often relate to the similarities - Lucas identifies with corrupted controlling paternalistic power as a horror of inevitable capture of the individual by larger structures, while Lynch sees the corrupted masculine influence as an archetype, the call coming from inside the house, agency coopted by a collective taint in the universal pattern . But on some level these are the same thing - what is this person I am capable of becoming seeing as I am in control but yet not, doing horrific things? Lucas’ constant commentary on slavery is about hegemony and a systemic oppression he is complicit in, while Lynch has whole pantheons of beings that turn people into vessels that oblate the self and make them act on subconscious programming. Neither probably think the word neoliberalism too much but tend to communicate similar things about it is almost diametrically opposed ways.

The thematic similarities are rooted in a few areas that unpack in to a variety of subspaces which overlap – patriarchal structures as psychoanalytic dynamics (more Freudian father fixation for Lucas, Jung for Lynch), boomer generational failure as socio-first-but-economics-ultimately, the artist as in struggle with larger forces (largely of the self), and an eastern religious metaphysics that is American Christian in flavor. The major line of difference running through this is gender/sex/desire, Lynch being on main with a lot of spiritual overtones of sin, guilt, and “the fall” and Lucas finding this kind of guilt and sin as a secondary phenomenon that is mostly actively suppressed and unconvincing when it shows up; yet both wind up often finding physical consummation at direct odds with art in a gendered creation way (that also links Eraserhead to Age of Ultron and the original Frankenstein). Try doing a psychosexual reading of Howard the Duck sometime.

Lucas’ developmental through line is this: dude in love with 50’s culture but informed by 60s counterculture makes a movie where the young granola-ish revolutionaries win against the fascists in an effort to rewrite society but, having secured rights for “independent spirit” reasons now finds himself in control of something huge and immediately starts making art about boomer men becoming their controlling fathers and then moves on to movies where powerless freaks are the real focus. After a creatively fallow period, he comes back to make a sequel/prequel trilogy that is one of the most misunderstood complicated statements about people becoming what they hate as an eternal cycle at the level of the personal, the societal, the political, the spiritual, the artistic, you name it!

Lynch’s developmental through line is this: dude in love with 50’s culture but informed by 60s outsider/art counterculture makes a movie where the young artist struggles with the idea of a regular life, initiated by fatherhood, which attempts to destroy the artistic spark, after which he enters the Hollywood system and makes an artist as freak movie and a movie about plucky rebels conquering space authoritarianism (that the future of is books about that ending in messianic authoritarianism) and then disavows that system. He then proceeds to make art about subject and object as a supremely gendered thing, in a land that has fallen from grace, moving inexorably towards the idea of eternal cycle at the level of the personal, the societal, the political, the spiritual, you name it!

They both have an idea of the father-artist identified with the abject oppressed, under siege as figure, resentful from being kept from creation, over a career realizing that their “self” is the horrific villain of their own story. For Lynch, this is psychosexual, then spiritual, with a resisted toxic masculine urge to control and overwhelm, often in a violent way. It is the artist’s own urges that get in the way of making art, of desiring in the universe that has an unbalanced power structure from some far off echoes of an original symmetry breaking inherent to the archetypal gender dynamic. For Lucas, it is the realization that the artist in control has a tendency to become the controlling dad and sexual relations are inherently problematic in a political and spiritual way. Real art seems impossible if the artist has control, identifying with the downtrodden is a bit of a lie, happy endings can’t happen not because of the happiness bit because of the ending bit. For both, there is a fundamental flaw in the cycle, which is patriarchal in nature, but Lynch just approaches this much hornier.

The boomer part probably requires the most discussion, but the TLDR is that they are both are crawling out, through Vietnam, from the 50s social order, and grappling with how badly the 60s idealism failed. Lucas does this in the prequels as a big canvas critique of how the social revolution was co-opted by the generation not being able to see its own flaws, of not seeing the system taking over again, an Empire calling itself a Republic. An inability to look in the mirror and really see. The wisest oldest hippie is the only one who sees what’s happening, but is powerless as his apprentices are inevitably spit out, and the next generation has to be raised not by a skeptic but a true believer in “liberal” “democracy” (cynic quotes theirs).

Lynch is interesting here in that he most directly addresses this only in Twin Peaks, but we see more naked reflections, divorced of contemporary politics, in his other works. In Twin Peaks, Ben Horn is the Palpatine figure, who winds up a sweet old man buying off the harm his life’s work and progeny have produced while ignoring the poor and next generation personally. Jacoby the neutered, fried Yoda that eventually slides into Alex Jones territory (the canonical Boomer ethos in a nutshell – “what me” neoliberalism and change the world ideology going crackpot). All of Twin Peaks except for Fire Walk with Me is directly socioeconomically generational (Bobby Briggs becomes a young Republican in season 2, the mill, the trailer park), but the other works are full of class issues informed by Lynch’s age. From Blue Velvet’s suburban kid exploring his darker side by going to the poor part of town through a career of classist low-life encoding (Bob is a denim jacket wearing homeless person, all the covered in grime by the dumpster/trailer park characters, Ronette as the factory floor version of Laura, etc), culminating in Inland Empire and Twin Peaks the Return chronicling the fall of man as partially an (generationally specific in TP) economic fall into a unequal class defined world of needing an opening and leaving the house to labor as where evil is born. TP OS is about how boomers turned out just as bad, the Return is about how we inhabit the world of their ideological blindness.

All filmmakers seem to, at least to a certain degree, bring the question of creation of art directly into their work via distant or close metaphor. In Eraserhead and Elephant Man, Lynch values the spark of art which the downtrodden protagonist is trying not to lose. In Dune, the visionary with a big project that seeks to upend the system (but that we know eventually become something even worse) is a project that fell apart due to studio interference. Blue velvet is about the act of watching awakening something uncomfortable in us that is incompatible with normie life (it wouldn’t be weird to say it was about porn). Twin Peaks is about television, FWWM about movies, and all at least partially about closure being a death act in art. Lost Highway is about the artist tortured by desire, Mulholland Drive about desire being central to be eaten alive by the Hollywood system. Inland Empire is about filmmaking as a way into understanding the world on a deeper level (as is its unofficial sequel Inception) to cure its ills. All of this is art’s struggle against power, with an element of the major powers being subconscious forces that control us leading to desires that ablate the artistic impulse.

Lucas' projects have over time been about a young upstart independent filmmaker, losing his soul by becoming successful, and becoming the system, man. He then tries desperately to identify as really not the one in charge, until he admits to what he has become. He consistently dips back into filmmaking as an adventure or a good fight, but he has to set these in a time period before his birth. As in Lynch, having a child is equated with not being able to fulfill the kind of artistic destiny, but Lucas goes further in equating it to an excuse for why the powerful artist goes bad and needs redemption. He had a naïve or-is-it canny motif focused on the short inhuman outsider, often related to music or primitive settings (often with wooden cages) as a recurring thing for a while. These characters are often wise, or at least no filter tell-it, and are similar to the Elephant Man. This is a trope, sure, the wise different wavelength other, but there is also an identification of the artist at knowing and right yet impotent and a clue to the author’s metaphysical system.

Lynch is the mainline protestant in upbringing and very much influenced by a kind of proto-eastern religion (you can just say the Vedas for shorthand). Lucas is not very religious, but was brought up Christian, influenced by Christian symbolism and became interested in world religion as narrative via figures like Joseph Campbell. Hence, they both gravitate towards some kind of Gnostic Proto Christian, So-Cal zen, Thomas Aquinas “gets” Plato kind of amalgam, which informs their work. Lynch has veered towards an eternal cycle framework, and the very physics compatible idea of something in the past breaking and causing consciousness/suffering, through which we can achieve joy as a counter only through letting go of the self, and the recurrence of ruptures on all scales demonstrating a fractal pattern of hurt and redemption. Lucas also sees a big cycle, but it is one more of human existence as narrative that has a tendency to return, with a little bit of Nietzsche and movie eastern spirituality thrown in. Both believe in a recurring pattern that plays itself out in a way that is terrible, but hopeful, as the struggle is where hope derives from. Both have inherently Christian ideas and symbols in their work but lean back on non-Christian ideas that the Christian ideas have a history with. Lynch has his virgin Mary as the real Christ figure female angels that show up, while Lucas has turnt space Jesus.

Suffice it to say that the tree trial scene in the Empire Strikes Back and the lodge sequences in Twin Peaks are a very good place to start looking for how the two auteurs meet. Compare Anakin/Luke Skywalker to Mr C, look at the 90s turn they both made, register their seeing the “sleeper must awaken” of fiction being terribly fraught, compare the force vs. the universal field, the way their relationship status and partners carve their work into eras, and their continued existence as mainstream experimental filmmakers.

#george lucas #david lynch

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