#and I mean exactly. it is mla formatted and everything

[rovermcfly]

little update on that endeavor: the reason I'm taking so long is the mountain of secondary literature I want to get through and a trip I was on. also it's currently a baker's dozen of pages long and certainly not finished yet

[metalichotchoco]

The similarity and differences between Peter Parkers in these movies ( ones specifically named ‘Peter Parker’) is wildly fascinating to me

Welcome to the Peter essay (sorry no mla format)

The most obvious connection the movie wants you to make is between Ripeter and Pb. They are introduced one after another, they are one of miles’ biggest relationships in the film and both have their faces shown and out during most of it. Pb’s nickname literally is a reference to a -b list actor. He’s the second, not as good one.

Neither of the two meet but I’m so burningly curious what they’d even say to each other. It’s like staring at a warped mirror, your own face reflected back at you but it’s off.

We will never get these answers because this isn’t Peter’s story or movie and that’s a good thing. But that’s exactly what fanfiction is for. Anyways let’s talk about the other Peter that shows up in itsv.

Spiderman noir himself, in contrast to the first dynamic this one is barely even grazed. Mostly because noir doesn’t take off his mask besides one flashback and two they are so wildly different in comparison to Ripeter and him. He’s not standard spiderman all that but he also lives in a completely separate time period so it’s hard to see him as a Peter if he just did things differently or lived a bit longer but rather as his own entity entirely.

For the record I’m not going to be talking about lizard Peter as he’s got so little screen/ reference time in these films but it is important to note his insecurity, his vulnerability and the fact that this is most Peter’s experiences in highschool without powers. He’s an origin point but he is his own character as well.

Pb is jaded that is the best way to describe him, he’s self centered, self destructive, a cynical burn out who’s world weary, emotionally compromised and sarcastic especially before he gets his life back together. We don’t get much of Ripeter but the directors made him to be as competent as possible, snarky, determined, heroic, quintessential spider stuff, but he is tired, he’s trying but it’s not enough, he literally breaks down on a Christmas album he’s recording.Noir is “hard boiled, he’s rebellious, dramatic,hardworking but fight happy,chaotic and quick to adapt,genuine but suppresses his own emotions. He’s meant to be a love letter to those films but he’s got so much more to him than a couple gimmicks. The way he so freely says I love you and means it isn’t a trait either of the other spiders would do. It’s not indicative of the genre either.

The thing that connects all these people besides their names is the trait of being weary, ranging from being exhausted Ripeter to a straight up burnt out peter b. Noir is tired too but he’s not constrained the same way the others are, he’s tired of the tragedies that go on not the repetitive nature of being a spider for a long time,he’s angry. He loses everything but he lashes back at the world. The tiredness he feels motivates him in a way. Pb shuts down when the people he loves leave or die, he essentially regresses to being that same weird nerdy antisocial kid all those years ago. Ripeter doesn’t have any of his family and loved ones die or leave so he ends up being the one to leave them but you can see how he could very well be pb if that were to happen to him.

Lastly I wanna talk about their relationships to miles, being the only character to have interacted with all of them

Ripeter’s relationship is also interesting to look back in hindsight since the news that if he hadn’t been bitten, Peter wouldn’t have died hurts miles the most out of all the things Miguel says to him. Miles was a fan of Peter, not to the extent ganke was but he looked up to him and throughout the film he spends the majority of it trying to make good on Peter’s last wish/ words. He literally tries to emulate him, seen in the fact he buys a Halloween costume of his outfit when told to hide his face. Peter for his part is so relieved and happy to know he’s not alone, this event is likely what would’ve stopped him from being pb. He recognizes that there’s danger and doesn’t expect him to do things alone like he did, he wants miles to not have to go through what he had to. Miles ends up having to go through what he had to very intentionally ironically. But the way that Ripeter is and what he represents to miles is why Pb is setup for disappointment. The arc is wrapped up when miles uses one of his old suits and spray paints something new with it. Becoming a hero in his own right but having his legacy being the thing that backs it. The suit being critiqued in spider society is interesting because it can be read that he’s just a pale imitation, crudely painted over top of something he was never a part of. Something perfect that he ruined.

Peter b and Miles’ relationship is essentially the entirety of the first film, and to a certain point it’s half of the second too. Peter’s advice aren’t things you really wanna know as a superhero but they are valid. It’s boring and practical, not the flashy excitement miles was hoping for. In the end he does seem to take hold of it though judging by miles’ baby powder sponsorship. From initially ditching him to being his biggest advocate, Peter’s opinion shifts quickly for the kid. It’s an arc that resolves in the second movie when he literally has fixed his relationship and had a kid because of miles, one he’s absolutely crazy for. He becomes a pseudo father figure to him in a sense. One with a completely opposite approach to it than his actual father, miles in turn learns from both, the boring parts too. It’s why Peter’s betrayal hurts more, we don’t know his exact reasons but we know he doesn’t hold any actual malice towards the kid and he doesn’t agree with the chase either, their relationship will need repaired but I believe these two can do it.

Noir and miles don’t have a ton of one on one interactions but we do see the dynamic they have which is more than some. The way he regards miles and his situations are very interesting. The most obvious scene is when we get “surprise attack!” Where he is sparing with miles in order to get him ready for what kingpin has in store for him. There’s a clear difference between this scene and one where noir is fighting someone else or even miles fighting another spider, this isn’t noir beating up miles and taking his lunch money this is a warm up. He encourages miles even when he’s asking if he can close off his own feelings so that he doesn’t have to bear the weight of his morally ambiguous actions. He wants miles to be ready to be a spider, with all that entails. There’s a lot of unpleasantness that comes with it which isn’t something either of the other Peters truly bring up. When they all huddle together Peter brings up they are doing this right in front of him, sorta confused. I think it’s fun to see that noir personally probably would’ve just said the things he was thinking and concerned about to miles directly. His poor kid line from pb and miles argument sounds like he can relate to his feelings of frustration of wanting to do more but not being ready to. His reaction to miles freaking out over the fact that the prowler is his uncle is to say that’s a pretty hardcore origin story, not realizing that’s insensitive before peni elbows him. It’s like telling a kid that a scratch will heal into a cool scar. Making good out of bad. The last one is when he leaves, he in no uncertain terms, tells him that he loves them all. There’s no caveats to it, there’s no conditions there’s just unconditional support. Nothing in the second movie complicates this either, he is not in spider society. He never chases him,he never lies or sells him out and he is one of the first responders when miles is in trouble. It makes sense since he’s not in a lot of movie but miles’ relationships to other characters with similar screen time are actually wildly different.

Most of the Peter’s in this movie are dead, like half. Technically more than half of you think noir has been revived already in this canonicity. They’ve also got really confirmable ages. Pb is 38 in itsv, Ripeter is 26 when he died. To me noir is tricky but I always draw him in the 21-35 age range it’s funny if he’s young .

Tell me if I missed anything I have severe brainrot for this series in general

[cakesunflower]

a court of golden shadows: elain archeron and azriel endgame

so this is like an 11 page paper i wrote on why i think Elain Archeron and Azriel from Sarah J. Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses are endgame. i made a joke on twitter that i’d write a proper MLA format styled paper on them because i love them so much and a bunch of my moots convinced me to do it so here i am.

this is for the Elriel lovers like myself. if you read it, which you don’t have to, please refrain from commenting anything negative. everyone is entitled to their own opinions, and this whole essay is just my opinion on it. so if you read, i hope you enjoy!!

keep in mind, it’s LONG.

         A Court of Golden Shadows: Elain Archeron and Azriel Endgame

Sarah J. Maas’s fantasy series A Court of Thorns and Roses displays epic, world-shattering love stories among the thrilling action and fantastical elements present throughout the novels, as seen in the romance between Feyre Archeron and Rhysand and, most recently, Nesta Archeron and Cassian. Two sisters have already accepted and embraced the (so-called) rare mating bond with their respective counterparts, yet the question remains on what is to happen with the middle sister, Elain Archeron, who apparently has a mating bond of her own with Lucien Vanserra, but has not, for two books and a novella, made any indication of accepting it. However, Elain, in her quiet, gentle way, has shown to be more attentive towards the Night Court’s resident Shadowsinger and Spymaster, Azriel. Who, in turn, has notably started to move on from a five-century long love harbored for another female and gravitating towards the last remaining Archeron sister.

It can be said that the concept of the three Archeron sisters all ending up with the three Illyrian males is a cliché, but if done right, they can capture the reader in their grasp—one that no one would want to get out of. Taking a look at the novels, particularly starting from the second book, A Court of Mist and Fury, since this is where Azriel’s character is introduced, it is difficult to ignore the fact that Maas has been laying the groundwork for Elain and Azriel—or Elriel, as I will refer to them throughout this paper—to be a couple from the moment they met, whether these hints are subtle or obvious. In chapter 24 of ACOMAF where Feyre, the Illyrian faes, and her sisters have dinner together, we see tentative interactions between Elain and Azriel, despite the two of them having just met and Elain, as a mortal who grew up with stories of the terrors of faeries, seems to look towards the spymaster more. The first glimpse of their interaction, no matter how small, is shown on pages 253-254 when “a faint smile bloomed upon Azriel’s mouth as he noticed Elain’s fingers white-knuckled on that fork”. Though this moment can be overlooked, it is only the first of many oncoming moments of Azriel noticing Elain and her actions, a subtle hint of the spymaster’s attention towards Elain. The focus of attention is returned when Elain then turns to Azriel a few pages later, wanting to know more about their ability to fly, even so far as going to say “That’s very beautiful” when Azriel describes Illyrians as being “born hearing the song of the wind” (256-257). Additionally, there are two moments in this particular chapter where Elain, in some semblance, looks towards Azriel as a way of relaxing herself. The first is noted when Azriel’s attention is said to be on Elain, and he offers her a “polite, bland smile”, and Feyre notices how Elain’s “shoulders loosened a bit” in response to it (256). Rather than looking towards Feyre for indicators during an unexpected dinner with faeries, Elain seems to be more drawn to looking at Azriel, which is shown once again in the following passage: “Rhys chuckled, Cassian’s wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel’s ease as proof that things weren’t indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well” (258). Elain tends to check everyone’s reactions to the circumstances to determine the levels of tension in the atmosphere, but she truly seems to be put at ease when she notices Azriel’s own relaxed state, once again indicating the attention she pays to him from the moment they met.

The first three books in Maas’s series are told through Feyre’s perspective, so it can be said that our perception of and desire for Elain and Azriel getting together is skewed because of the point of view we are given. I, however, consider this to be a moot point because Feyre’s character is the type to notice everything around her. She comes to grow close to both Azriel and Cassian, and with Elain being her sister, the reader can depend on Feyre as being as much of a reliable narrator to tell us exactly what she sees and how she sees it. With this in mind, some of the examples given will be from Feyre’s own musings, but it is important to note that she, more than once, groups Elain and Azriel together. This is shown when, in chapter 49, Feyre is distracting Rhysand as she tries to take care of his wounds and muses about her sisters visiting Velaris. There, Feyre mentions to Rhysand, “I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet”, before proceeding to think to herself—and the reader, “I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together” (487). Of course, this observation is followed by the acknowledgement of Azriel quietly loving Mor, as he has for centuries, yet what we don’t know, during this, that this wouldn’t remain an issue for long.

Moving on to focus on the third installment of the series, A Court of Wings and Ruin, there is a solemnity surrounding Elain, who, at the end of the second novel, was forcefully turned into fae against her will. After the transformation, Elain has become a shell of who she used to be, trapped in a state of deep mourning of the humanity she lost, of the love of her fiancé she inevitably lost, too. She doesn’t eat nor does she speak to anyone, an empty yet no less beautiful version of herself as her Cauldron given powers, unbeknownst to everyone else, manifest. But even in her state, in her indifference towards her mate Lucien and yearning for her human fiancé Graysen, Elain managed to acknowledge Azriel. He is gentle with her, much like everyone else, as he carries her into the townhouse, smiles, inquires if she’d like for him to show her the garden. And although he stands tall, intimidating in his fighting leathers and large wings, Elain does not recoil from him in fear or shyness. Instead, she takes the arm he offers her and, although it is unsure if she is looking at his Siphon or his scarred hands, she still utters “Beautiful” in response to him (254). Even when life has unexpectedly turned bleak for Elain, even when the world loses its color in the aftermath of the trauma she suffered, in that moment, there was a glimpse of who she used to be as she found beauty in nothing but Azriel.

This same chapter is followed by an insightful conversation between Feyre and Rhysand, triggered by Feyre watching her sister and Azriel. Feyre notes how at odds Azriel looks sitting in the garden next to Elain in his armor, yet she still questions, “Why not make them mates?” (257). This spurs a significant conversation between the High Lord and High Lady, where readers are given some more history on mating bonds and introduced to the prevailing concept of rejected bonds. Rhys provides examples of ill-chosen bonds, such as his parents, who were mates yet their relationship was not ideal in the least. Here, we are told that sometimes fate, the Mother, whatever chooses two mates can be wrong in its pairings, and it is rare for the bond to bring together “true, paired souls” (258) like Feyre and Rhysand. It has been established that the female can reject the bond, and while the male may feel the tug of it, it’s their burden to push through it. Maas spends an entire page or so talking about the concept of ill-chosen or rejected bonds, so it would be naive to look over these details if they weren’t placed in the storyline for a reason. Elain and Lucien may be mates, and Azriel (at least currently within the book) may be in love with Mor, but the idea of free will is not something to be so easily dismissed. Elain already had the choice of her humanity, her mortality, ripped away from her—it’s doubtful she would let this pattern continue.

In chapter 24 of A Court of Wings and Ruin, when Elain is having her first conversation with Lucien, she states, “No one ever looked—not really” (252), and although here she is referencing Graysen, this statement comes around a few chapters later. In chapter 27, Elain walks in on a conversation amongst the Inner Circle, and Azriel was the first to step forward as he noticed something amiss. His observations and questions when he says to her, “[But] you heard something else” and “What did you see” indicate that he, unlike Feyre and Nesta, believes that Elain’s riddled musings have a deeper meaning and need to be heard. The scene ends with Feyre looking to Azriel, noticing that his “hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away” (287). Azriel didn’t brush off what Elain said, because while her sisters thought Elain had gone mad, Azriel listened to her—he looked. He looked past her “too-thin body” and read between the lines of what she said, and knew there was more than what meets the eye. He looked, which was exactly what Elain had wanted.

This is repeated in chapter 32, when Elain brings up another queen and no one is quite sure what she’s talking about, except for Azriel, who steps forward and gently prods Elain to elaborate. Even Lucien watches Elain warily, questioning if they need to help her, yet Azriel is firm in his assessment that Elain doesn’t need help, that they need to be the ones who need to listen, before ultimately determining that she does, in fact, have powers and is established to be a seer. So while Lucien “stared and stared at [Elain], as if he’d never seen her before”, it was Azriel who actually looked at her and saw what no one else was seeing, whose acknowledgment of her gift and the attention he brought to it from everyone else “freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in” (336).

The idea of Azriel truly looking at Elain transitions into him looking for her, too. But first, another example of the former is seen in chapter 63, when Feyre, Nesta, and Amren hear the call of the cauldron in the middle of the night. They wonder about it, question why they three heard it because they were Made, not noticing that another who was Made was missing from their group. That is, until, Azriel asks, “What about Elain?” (560), and he is moving alongside the sisters to inspect Elain’s tent, only to find her missing. Azriel notices Elain—whether she is present or not. And so the concept of Azriel looking for Elain is introduced when they are discussing Elain’s rescue from Hybern in the following scene:

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”” (563).

There was no hesitation on Azriel’s part in being the one to get Elain back, but there was obvious rage, as noted, in his gaze at the very idea of Elain having been kidnapped. A silent, lethal aura surrounds the shadowsinger that can be so clearly picked out within that scene, showcasing Azriel’s unwavering determination in returning Elain, even if it meant slipping into the heart of enemy camps—especially if it meant that. And throughout the dangers and urgency of this particular mission, when they do reach Elain, Azriel takes a moment to be tender towards her as he “gently removed the gag from her mouth” (573) and asks if she’s hurt. Elain, in turn, is shown to be “devouring the sight of him, as if not quite believing it” before she says “You came for me” (573). Elain looks at Azriel in wonder and disbelief, and this reaction hints towards how she feels drawn towards him. In their very first meeting during the dinner in the Archeron house, Elain looks to Azriel for reassurance, for judgement of the situation, and in the event of her rescue, she finds that same kind of comfort on a far more intense level. Because here, he truly is her rescuer, appearing in front of her to save her from the dangerous hands of their enemies and bring her to safety. And Azriel, in this sense, is devoted to her, holding up his fierce promising of getting her back. Even when he was injured, Azriel held onto Elain, refusing to let her go even while getting shot at and chased, and when they landed in their own camps, the first thing he claimed was for someone to get the chains off of her, rather than even mentioning his own injuries. This just reminds us of ACOMAF when Elain was being dragged to the cauldron and Azriel wasn’t even conscious to witness it—there is no doubt that if he was awake—and uninjured—he would’ve done all he could to save her. Maas robbed us of that type of scene.

Furthermore, evolving from the concept of Azriel rescuing Elain, we get another significant scene between the two of them that displays the kind of trust these two characters smoothly and effortlessly developed. On top of Elain accepting Azriel’s offers of taking her to the garden, a silent indicator that his company was one she enjoyed, Azriel shows a great act of trust to Elain as well when, in chapter 69, he offered her the use of his beloved knife, Truth-Teller. This blade is Azriel’s most prized possession, and to offer it to Elain to bring her the same kind of comfort and safety that we have seen she finds in Azriel himself portrays the trust he has in her—and his desire to protect her. This is emphasized when Rhys tells Feyre, “Never. . . I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife” (610). Even Cassian was stunned that Azriel would let someone else use Truth-Teller, which is significant to note given that he has not let even Cassian nor Rhys—his brothers he has known for centuries—even touch it. And Elain, who had refused to take the knife Cassian had offered her, ends up accepting Truth-Teller—because it’s Azriel’s, and because through the short time she’s known him, he is someone she has poured her trust into and understands he wouldn’t lead her astray. And he didn’t, for it was Elain who “stepped out of a shadow” (653) and used that very same blade to kill the King of Hybern. A temporary gift, given from Azriel, that she used to put an end to one of the greatest threats to both the human and faerie realms.

In the post-war novella A Court of Frost and Starlight, Maas furthers the Elriel endgame agenda by continuing both subtle and blatant hints in their favor—and not just through actual interactions between the two. The concept of Azriel avoiding Lucien because of his mating bond with Elain is important to remember, for it will come back around later. But in this novella, we see it when Rhysand asks Azriel if he keeps an eye on Lucien, given that he is the spymaster. Azriel, in turn, informs him that he does not track his movements, because “He is Elain’s mate” and “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him”, which Rhysand, since this is shown from his perspective, notes is because Azriel does not want to be aware of if and when Lucien seeks out Elain, and what they do together—if they do anything at all, given Elain’s tendencies to utterly ignore Lucien (70). Rhysand questions Azriel’s motives on this, but doesn’t get a response, but there is an understanding of Azriel’s intentions behind it. Not only does he want to remain ignorant of the forced bond between Elain and Lucien, but a big motivator for him is also Elain’s privacy, which he doesn’t want to intrude on—ironic, given that he is a spy, and it’s his job to know of others’ movements and thoughts.

Another example of Azriel very subtly showing his blossoming feelings towards Elain is when he unforgivingly states that if Lucien were to kill Elain’s ex-fiancé, then “good riddance” (71). He was well aware of how Graysen treated Elain after finding out she was fae, is the one who sits with her in the gardens because he is a comforting presence for her in the face of mourning, so he understands her. This idea is repeated in Azriel’s bonus chapter in A Court of Silver Flames, when Rhysand catches Azriel almost about to kiss Elain—that is definitely to be unpacked later—and warns him that Lucien has the right to invoke a Blood Duel to defend the mating bond, and Azriel does not hesitate, is confident, when he retorts that he would easily defeat Lucien, would have no problem in pulling Elain out of a bond she doesn’t even want.

The novella also includes some more obvious, sweet moments between Elain and Azriel, ones that show Elain’s own growing interest and feelings towards Azriel. Like in chapter 12, when Feyre notes that when Azriel enters the room, she feels Elain freeze at the sight of him, and then Elain proceeds to be almost in a trance when Azriel, after she greets him, moves towards her and takes the heavy dish of potatoes from her hands and says he’ll take care of it for her (105). This scene then continues when Elain hurries off to make herself more presentable, and rather than letting others dive into the food, Azriel stops Cassian from putting food on his plate and all but commands him to “wait until everyone is seated before eating” (106). Rhysand informs Feyre that this sudden reaction from Azriel stemmed from the treatment his mother received as a near servant, but it can also be tied to how Azriel keeps aware of Elain and the recurring theme of looking after her in any way. He notices her, just as she notices him, a subtle way of this being present in Elain’s solstice gift to Azriel. She doesn’t get a gift for Lucien, her mate, but does get one for Azriel, one that makes him laugh in a way that, Feyre notes, she’s never heard before. A genuine sort of joy breaking the cold, indifferent mask of the shadowsinger as he accepts and cherishes the gift Elain gave him—the extent of which we see in his bonus chapter, where it is revealed that he looks at the small vial every night before going to sleep, a not-so-subtle showing that Elain is the last thought on his mind before he descends into slumber.

This notion of the two of them looking after one another in their own ways is again repeated in A Court of Silver Flames in the following passage on page 221:

Azriel smirked. “You and Nesta are wanted down there.”

“Because of the shit with Elain?”

Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?”

Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened.

Throughout the friendship they have formed, Azriel becomes a kind of protector of Elain’s, deriving from her being a part of their Inner Circle as well as the notion of Azriel’s own personal feelings for her. He is so obviously shown as going on the defense at the news of Elain getting into any kind of fight, of Elain potentially being hurt. It’s repeated on page 233 when Elain and Nesta are arguing, and after Nesta utters a nasty comment that lands on Elain like a blow, there is an acknowledgement of the “shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike”. The shadows, of course, are Azriel’s, ready to jump between the sisters and defend Elain from Nesta’s verbal attack, to once again be her protector.

Of course, we can’t forget that Elain has a mate in Lucien, and how it seems to offer the enticing forbidden love trope between her and Azriel. We see a hint of it in A Court of Wings and Ruin, when in chapter 24, Lucien can scent where Elain had gone off to and who she’d gone with, in this case having it be Azriel, and he’d nearly snarled until Rhysand assured him that Azriel wasn’t the “ravishing type” (254)—although I think we can all agree that he most likely is, but wouldn’t even dream of it in terms of the state Elain was in at the time. Maybe it is the mating bond or maybe it’s both Elain and Azriel’s quiet personalities—or perhaps a combination of the two—but the shyness that has them looking at each other and then looking away continues. On page 467 of A Court of Silver Flames, Cassian notes how Elain nods shyly towards Azriel, who in turn offers her a small smile that she quickly looked away from, prompting Cassian to be puzzled as he wondered, “Lucien was certainly not here to snarl at any male who looked at her for too long”. Elain doesn’t look away from Azriel because of the bond, but perhaps because she is well aware of her feelings for him and, for the moment, is too shy for them to be known, especially by Azriel.

The mating bond between Elain and Lucien does serve as a barrier between her and Azriel, though. This is particularly present during the Winter Solstice, when a layer of Azriel’s character specifically has been peeled back to show his feelings for Elain. Like on page 597, when Elain is laughing at Nesta, the older Archeron sister notes that “Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it”. And if that wasn’t enough, Nesta watches as Azriel’s “gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting”. This is perhaps the most prominent moment of both of their feelings being reciprocated by the other, because Nesta notices the way they look at one another, as if they both see past the person they put in front of everyone else and truly see the other. And even Nesta understands that there is something deeper between the two, even if they themselves haven’t figured it out yet, when she approaches Azriel where he stands by the doorway and, when asked why he doesn’t sit, responds with a “pretty lie” of his shadows not liking the fire. But Nesta looks to where Elain is the one sitting by the fire, and why Azriel chooses to stand as far as he can, because it is “his secret to tell. Never hers” (600). Just like that, Nesta is aware of Azriel’s feelings for her sister and, perhaps, her subtle way of comforting him was her showing her approval.

We get a deeper insight of this scene in Azriel’s bonus chapter—an entire chapter that allows readers to see exactly how he feels about Elain, and that she returns those feelings, too. It is confirmed that Azriel stands by the doorway, away from Elain, because Lucien is in the same room, and the sight and scent of their mating bond is one that Azriel cannot stand. Because the female he feels deeply for, according to fate, “belongs” to another male and he needs to put distance between himself and the two of them when they’re in the same room. Yet, the mating bond doesn’t prevent Azriel from thinking of Elain, from fantasizing about her every night. He goes from being shown as relieved when Rhys tells him he doesn’t have to buy the sisters presents for the Winter Solstice in A Court of Frost and Starlight, to actively buying her a beautiful flower necklace that she would no doubt love. Their secret exchanging of gifts leads to an epic, steamy, full-of-yearning almost first kiss that shows so clearly that Azriel’s feelings for Elain aren’t unrequited, that she, just like him, is desperate to give into what’s been brewing between them for so long. Yet it’s all cut short when Rhys interrupts Azriel, reminding him of a mating bond that Azriel’s painfully aware of—and confidently willing to pull Elain away from if Lucien decides to invoke the Blood Duel. Azriel’s questioning of the cauldron, wondering why it picked three sisters and had two of them end up with his brothers while the last remaining one was mated to another, is not him declaring that he has a right to Elain. This is him questioning the powers and forces that no one truly understands, this is him questioning from a place of heartbreak, wondering why, yet again, he was the one left behind. It happened when his father imprisoned him, forcing Azriel to delay in his training as an Illyrian, it happened when the female he spent centuries loving never once returned the same kind of love, and now it’s happening again. Azriel does not believe he deserves Elain—it goes against his character, because he is self-deprecating, does not think he truly deserves anything good and worthy. He is simply questioning why his choice doesn’t ever seem to matter, and why Elain is yet again left having her decisions being taken away from her.

Because the matter of choice is a prevalent, significant theme for the two of them. For Elain, she was never allowed to truly make a choice in her life. Her mother’s death, her family falling into poverty, turning into High Fae, losing Graysen, the mating bond, her father’s death—these were all huge, significant life changing moments that she had no say in and was forced to endure, completely upending who she was and how she lived. But there is one choice Elain can make, and that is to reject the mating bond with Lucien. There are so many examples throughout the books where Elain turns away from Lucien; she doesn’t express any interest in him—it’s like he doesn’t even exist to her. There is utter indifference on her end, despite any effort made by Lucien, and that in itself is Elain choosing to all but formally reject the bond, however that may come about. There is a moment in A Court of Wings and Ruin in chapter 54 when Elain, while pleading with Graysen, claims, “I belong to no one. My heart belongs to you” (498). Of course, Azriel has nothing to do with what Elain was saying at the time, but her declaration of this speaks to her character and how dearly she holds onto the idea of being with someone of her own choosing, with someone she loves. This can further be developed into the idea that although fate, the cauldron, the Mother may have chosen Lucien for Elain—a pairing that can, ultimately, be ill-chosen—Elain would not give it the time of day unless it’s what her heart wants. And from what we have seen so far, her heart wants Azriel. She chooses Azriel over Lucien, and that holds significant weight to her and, I imagine eventually, to Azriel as well.

Azriel, who has not been other people’s choice. Azriel, who was imprisoned by his own father, who was rejected by the Illyrians. Azriel, who has spent five centuries loving Mor, who will never love him the way he did her. And it’s saying something, isn’t it, that he has finally stopped yearning for her, and that it was Elain who he is enraptured by? Even Cassian noted that the way Azriel used to look at Mor have become few and far in between, telling the audience that the spymaster has finally begun to move on, or already has, from Mor. And Elain wanting to kiss Azriel confirms to him, in particular, that he is her choice as well. And she is his, as further confirmed when Azriel tells Rhys he has no problem engaging in the Blood Duel with Lucien if it means freeing Elain from a bond she doesn’t want, and allowing them both to dive into the choices they clearly want to make.

Truthfully, there are many examples throughout the books where I can talk about Elain rejecting Lucien. She cringed away from the very first time he touches her in ACOMAF—though, granted, it happens right after she comes out of the cauldron. She is unsettled when Lucien tugs on their bond, saying that it felt as though he pulled on a thread connecting to a rib, which sounds painful and nothing like the comforting bond readers have seen between Feyre and Rhys. Elain doesn’t buy Lucien any presents for solstice, and the first present he got her, gardening gloves to prevent her hands from tearing, are ones she doesn’t use. Because she would much rather feel her hands get torn up while she’s working in her garden, uncaring if they scar, which in turn is a reminder of Azriel’s scarred hands and how she found them beautiful. And for those who wonder about Azriel giving the necklace he got for Elain to Gwyn, it is important to note that he tells Clotho to give it to any priestess who would want it, and merely mentions Gwyn by name because he trained her, because he was the one who rescued her after an attack, and she is the one he knows most familiarly by name because of it. At the end of it, Azriel only wanted the necklace gone because he didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to remember that the female he wants, wants him back just as much, but he was all but forbidden to pursue her. Once again, a choice that was taken away from him, and giving the necklace away is far easier than keeping it and remembering how he couldn’t be with Elain. At least for now.

Throughout the novels, there are many symbols that hint towards Elain and Azriel being together, but that is a paper for another day. This one’s goal was to simply point out the many physical and emotional indicators of the way the two of them are drawn to one another, despite the obstacles that are thrown their way—the biggest one being the mating bond no one asked for. There is comfort in the relationship they have, an ease you wouldn’t expect someone with Elain’s light to find in Azriel’s darkness. He offers her comfort in shy smiles and soft looks, and Elain does the same for him, which we see in the act of his shadows disappearing around her. These very shadows provided him comfort when he needed them, were his friends in his prison, and them leaving him when Elain is around is a sign of the contentment Azriel feels, because he doesn’t have to protect himself in her presence. Azriel loved Mor, and it has been noted that he lights up when she is around, and Elain is the only other person he reacts similarly to—because Elain is who he wants now that he has moved on from Mor. It’s important, isn’t it, that Elain is who pulls Azriel away from the centuries-long love he’d been lost in? That she is who he looks for, thinks about, wonders after?

Elain has found comfort in Azriel’s darkness, and he has found peace in her light, and so how could they not defy what’s been expected of them and rewrite fate to fit the choices they make themselves?

[ronkeyroo]

YOUR ART TRADEMARK!!!!!! Okay okay I GOT this family.

There are several things that make me go "that's ronni's art 👁👁" and let's start with your expressions??? Oh my god????? You have SUCH a talent for portraying expressions and your art always looks and feels so animated and ALIVE and it makes me so happy every time I see it. Secondly, your linework!!! It's so bold and noticeable and I feel this is a reflection of your personality because it just works so well with how expressive your work is and I feel that YOU are bold and noticeable. Actually your art is just one lovely reflection of your personality. Also the tones?? You set tones SO well through your work and it always leaves me in awe because I can take one look at ANY of your pieces, even original works or works for fandoms I'm not familiar with and know exactly which mood you were aiming for. You nail it every goddamn time and it's genuinely so impressive. Your composition and use of color (and even lack thereof in your greyscale pieces) are something to be admired and you genuinely make everything look so natural, it's unreal. There's a definite confidence in your art and you should absolutely own that shit because it's STUNNING every time.

I could go on forever about how much I adore your art but I'll stop here before this turns into a 10 page essay in MLA format 😂 Needless to say, I love it and you are so frickin talented it kills me and I'm so happy you started sharing it on tumblr!!

💛 from @vilkas

KEELLL WHAT THE FCUK YOURE NOT ALLOWED TO LITERALLY MAKE MY EYES TEAR HEART SOAR CHEEKS BLUSH WITH THIS MASSIVE CASCADE OF TENDERNESS AND COMPLIMENTS HGHGN HGHGNFD ;; 🥺😭💖

Ever since i've read this ive been so overwhelmed....so positively overwhelmed you have no idea?????? ;;;__;;;; you've made me so fond of my own art for a moment there that it bloomed SUCH a MASSIVE glow over me for an entire day!! AND STILL Im sitting here GRINNING AT YOU!!!!!! LOVINGLY!!!!!!!

By ismir I didn't expect to open my silly dms and be greeted like this....bud holy fuck, thank you so so much ;;;; it means so much to me that you've took the time to write to me with so much love and detail im literally shook,, ;_;) My art has always been so important for me...Through my entire life its been the one thing about me i truly loved and cherish and wherever my spirit/imagination carries me - im glad I can express it through like this! I know it may sound a bit silly but i truly feel as though i exist through and thanks to my art. So to hear you say how much my style reflects that, with all the emotions/personality you see in it has hit the mark so close to home ;_;) Thank you for appreciating me, for seeing me through my art, for paying attention to all of the intricate details and techniques i put out and for the hype you continuously pump onto me!!!!! I’m still so new to the skyrim fandom but i couldnt be happier to have joined it...

Like holy shit, I only started playing Skyrim recently, its been less than a year, I barely knew anything about the companions and after finally stumbling over and falling inlove with the wolf twins they’ve sprouted such an incredible flush of joy and comfort into my life...For the majority of it i’ve been lurking in the shadows, enjoying the fan-content that made me fall inlove with them even harder before starting my own shenanigans and fuck, it unlocked so much for me ;;;;; From finally getting to support my favorite content creators to sharing the hype, then meeting awesome people and wonderful friends as well as finally getting to share my own creations and stories! AHGH just- .... ..I’m happy im here, and my arts certainly here to stay too!!! ;;;;;

Youre an absolute marvel kel and I cant wait to see what else the two of us as content creators can come up with!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Lets aBSOLUTELY SLAYYYY YO!!!!!! ELVEN AWESOMENESS ENSUES  💖💖💖

[rae-is-typing]

Sick Day

Notes: This was requested by a lovely anon, and it was inspired by my past few days. Enjoy :)

Original request from anon: Can you write an Avenger imagine, where the reader is the youngest of the cast and gets sick/has an accident on set?

Description: You get sick. That’s it. That’s the fic.

Characters: reader, original female and male characters (manager named Masha, assistant named Alis, an EMT named Esme, trainer named Nick), RDJ, Chris Evans, Anthony Mackie, Sebastian Stan, Scarlett Johanson, Elizabeth Olson, the Russos

Warnings: Swearing sickness, vomiting, mention of pepto bismol (that shit’s NASTY), swearing, homework

Word count: 2.9k

You don’t get sick.

You don’t have time to get sick, so you don’t. Between filming, training, and school, sickness is absolutely not an option Simple as that, right?

Well, your body didn’t get the memo.

Your body is racked with chills, but you’re sweating profusely. You chalk it up yo the intense scene you’re filming; your character and Robert’s character just got into a massive screaming match over your character’s secret identity being revealed. But in the middle of the second take, your words dissolve into coughs.

"No, Tony! It's not okay!" You shout, whipping around to face a very pissed looking RDJ. "I-" A cough disrupts your words. "I don't-" This time you break down into a fit of uncontrollable coughing, even going as far as doubling over.

"Cut!" Robert rushes over to you, placing a hand on your back. He makes you stand up fully. He speaks up when you finally stop coughing. “You alright, kid?" You nod your head, rubbing at your throat.

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm sorry, I have no idea where that came from." A smile tugs at his lips. "Don't apologize, Y/N. It happens."

Alis, an assistant, comes over with a bottle of cold water, placing it on your hands with a curt not. You thank her and open the water, taking a few slow sips as the Russos offer feedback on what you managed to get through.

"That was are best take until the coughing. Whatever you did before, do that again." You try not to beat yourself up over the coughing; it's show business, it happens.

Getting back into position, you two manage to finish the scene with minimal interruptions. During your yelling match, your head begins to pound. It's not the light pounding you get when you didn't get enough sleep or you're dehydrated, it's the kind where you're sure that your old band director is leading the entire drum line on your brain tissue, or something is punching your skull with little pistons.

The second "Cut!" rings out through the set. You deflate, rolling your shoulders and rubbing your head. You trudge over to a small bench near the set and plop down, stretching your now aching limbs in the process.

Being the (mother hen) good mentor and costar he is, Robert realizes something is wrong very quickly. You're usually very bubbly after scenes end, the adrenaline still coursing through you. He can only think of one time he saw you like this, and that was right after you took the SATs. He calls over Alis again, asking her to get some green hibiscus tea with honey and acetaminophen. Alis is back within five minutes. He walks over to you and sits by you.

"Here, take these." You frown at the to-go cup and the small container in his hands, but ]take them anyways.

"What is it?"

"Tea, and tylenol. They'll help with your headache and cough." He says, matter-of-factly.

"Oh, thanks, Robert."

"Course, gotta help my favorite kid." He says, pushing himself off of the bench. "Now, I don't know about you, but I am starving. What do you say we get a bite with the others?" He extends a hand for you to take

"Sure," You say without thinking. Any time with the cast is great, even if you're extra tired and achy. You let him pull you up. The cast orders sandwiches from a little shop in downtown Atlanta, very close to the set.

You're gathered in a larger, mostly empty save for a few couches and chairs part of the set where you often meet. Everyone is talking. They're either going over that days work and characterization, recent events in the news, and their weekend plans. Your sandwich is a little off. It smells fine, it's exactly what you ordered, but it tastes... off. Something in it is making your stomach churn and grumble. You place the sandwich back in the wrapping it came in, fold it up, and throw it away.

That's enough for tonight, You decide. "I have school stuff that I need to get done." You say.

"Aw, okay. See you tomorrow!"

"Fuck school,"

"Language!"

"Shut the hell up, man."

You smile as you walk to your trailer. You do have school, you always have school, and it sucks major ass. The suckiest thing you have to complete is a seven page, MLA format, argumentative research paper about birth control in the developing world. And, oh my god, you would rather be hung upside down by your toe hair than write that fucking paper.

But you write it anyway.

Why? Because it's due in two days and you haven't started it yet. So you buckle down, ignoring the headache you have and your churning stomach, and do the damn thing.

You get three pages in before you decide that being tired isn't worth this paper. Getting up at 5:30 in the morning each day to train for two hours is definitely not your favorite part of your job, but it is some of the only alone time you’re able to get, so you'll take it. You stand up from your desk and immediately regret moving. Dizziness overcomes you. You flop back onto your office chair and press a hand to your forehead.

Taking a few deep breaths, you get back under control and stand up much slower. This time, you're able to walk to your small bedroom area with an attached bathroom. You wash your face, being extra careful as to not make yourself pass out from dizziness. You do the same when brushing your teeth.

During the night, you get all of two and a half hours of sleep. You toss and turn all night, unable to ignore the churning in your stomach for long enough. And the fact that you're hot one second and then freezing the next. it is impossible for you to sleep for more than a half hour at a time. But you eventually do.

Assuming that's the end of it, you sleep deeply until cramping in your stomach forces you out of bed. you make yourself sit up. A wave a nausea comes over you like a tidal wave. You hobble to the bathroom and lean over the toilet just in time.

Bile and your half-eaten sandwich forces its way from your stomach, up your throat, and into the toilet. It's gross. It smells vile, its chunky and the strain makes tears come to your eyes. You dry heave and cough until you're sure everything is out. Feebly, you flush the toilet and leaned back against the wall across from it, deep breathing until you stop crying.

Unaware of the time, you stay there until you feel strong enough to get up and brush your teeth. You hobble back to your bed, and lay back down. This time, falling asleep again.

A knocking on your door pulls you out of your slumber.

"Y/N? You need to get up." The smooth voice of your manager, Masha, floats through your door.

You jolt awake, now remembering that you have to train. "Shit, what time is it?"

"Six AM. I'm opening the door," Masha says, while opening the door. You wince as the light seeps in, covering your eyes.

"Whoa, what happened to you?" She asks. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, yeah yeah yeah, I'm good. Shit Nick is waiting. I'll get ready, gimme like two seconds," You ramble, stumbling out of bed.

"Whoa, Whoa, Whoa, hold on." Masha says, putting both hands on your shoulders, steadying you. Huh, you didn't realize you were wavering.

"You're burning up, Y/N." She observes, pressing the back of her hand on your forehead. "I think you're sick. Tell me what's going on."

"Nothing."

"Have you thrown up or anything? Headaches? Lie to me, and it won’t be pretty."

“I threw up,” You croak, flopping back on the bed.  

"Alright, I'm going to get Esme, stay here, lay down." Masha speaks quickly, pulling out her phone.

Esme is the lead EMT on set. She was an RN for years before transferring to emergency medical services. The stunt doubles and the actors take major precautions before stunting. However, some things can't be avoided, hence the EMTs.

Esme comes into your room in no time, followed closely by a worried Masha.

"Alright, Y/N. What's wrong?"

"I'm a little sick right now."

"Alright. Symptoms?"

"Chills, headaches, I uh threw up a few hours ago..." You hate admitting it. That means you won't be able to do much today. It's apart of your contract. If you get sick, you have to take at least two days off because you're a huge liability for Marvel. Being a minor kinda sucks.

She nods. "Alright hon, follow my directions." Esme checks you out thoroughly. After telling her about your weird sandwich, she nods knowingly.

"It looks like a fever, and that sandwich made you throw up. Get some pepto bismol and tylenol. Make sure to drink a lot of water and other clear liquids. Eat the BRAT diet, and you'll be good to go in a few days. I suggest making a doctor's appointment today, though. I can’t diagnose you."

"Alright, thanks Esme." Masha says as Esme leaves. She turns to you, sighing. "I'm sorry, N/N. I'll get what you need from a store, let the Russos know, and make the appointment. I think you should go back to sleep if you can."

"Thanks, Mash. You're the best."

She smiles gently before leaving. You turn on your side and pull the blanket over your head, eventually dozing off.

The veil of sleep is slowly lifted as you blink your eyes open. Thanks to some great blackout curtains you have, no light seeps into the trailer. This time, you don't feel nauseous. However, an inkling of dizziness is still there. You stay in your position for a few minutes until you reach for your phone. A ton of notifications appear on your lockscreen.

3 missed calls from Masha the Manager

Messages from Masha the Manager

Y/N, Nick is waiting. Where are you? Sent: 5:30

Get up now, Y/N. Sent: 5:30

Y/N. You're scaring me. You're never late. Sent: 5:43

Everything you need is on the counter. Read the note first though. Sent: 7:00

Message from evans

Hey Y/N. Heard you weren't feeling well. Lemme know if I can help, okay? Sent: 7:15 AM

Message from Romanian Bitch™

Masha told us you're sick. Feel better we need you! Sent: 7:19 AM

Message from Stanky Stark

Get better soon okay? Sent 7:19

Messages to No Boys Allowed!!!

ScarJo: get well soon babe. let us know if you need anything 7:20

Scarlet Bitch: aw, feel better N/N Sent: 7:21

It warms your heart knowing that they care so much about you. You send a simple thank you to each one of them and close your eyes again.It only takes a few seconds for you to remember all the homework you have to do. Your eyes snap open and you groan.

You do not want to do homework. But you have two whole days with no training and no work, so why wouldn't you? That thought is all you need to get out of bed. You don't bother changing. You migrate to the small living area, and go to the counter where Masha had set all the stuff. You found the note quickly, and read Masha's half print, half cursive writing.

Y/N,

Take two doses of pepto and two things of tylenol, but read the instructions!!! Eat some applesauce or toast, and call me if you get any worse.

-Masha

You unpack the canvas bag and quickly take your medicine. After that, you take all the food with you to the couch. You plant yourself on the soft sofa and dive into your work.

Being interrupted every few minutes with coughing is not the ideal space for productivity, especially because your throat is becoming increasingly raw. You put your phone in a drawer in your desk so you aren't distracted. Like most teens, you have a bad habit of prioritizing your phone.

A knock on the trailer door pulls you out of your focus. "Y/N, it's us!"

"Come in!" You say, still typing. You cringe at how sore you sound. Scarlett and Lizzie come in, still in costume.

"We can't stay for long," Scarlett starts, looking very apologetic. "We have a five minute break and we wanted to check on you."

You smile, setting your computer to the side. "Thanks guys. I appreciate it."

"How are you feeling?" Lizzie asks.

You shrug. "I'm okay, I guess."

"What were you doing?" Scarlett asks, spotting the half finished essay on your laptop. "You're supposed to be resting."

You sigh. "Yeah, but I should just get it done..."

The three of you talk about how shooting is going, and the production of the film in general. It's going smoothly. Nothing is going wrong. Soon, though, they have to leave. You're left to your own devices for another few hours.

Now that you’re revising the paper, your eyes ache, your left hand is cramping up, and you're positive you gave yourself carpal tunnel.

Another knock on the door reverberates through the trailer.

"Open up, kiddo!"

"It's unlocked." You snap back, not unkindly. Anthony and Sebastian walk in. You stop typing for a second to smile at them. "Hey,"  

"Hey, N/N." Sebastian smiles back. "We brought you soup."

Your face twists up. "Is it from the sandwich shop?"

"Nah, Masha told us that made you sick. This is from the high-end shop across the street," Anthony says, handing you a warm styrofoam bowl and a spoon. he also takes your laptop. "What are you writing an essay for? You’re sick! And a kid! Kids don’t do school when they’re sick.”

“What do you know about kids?” You smile, leaning forward to reach for your laptop.

"Nuh uh, no no no. You're going to relax while we're here, okay? And for your information, I have three children."

You cock an eyebrow. "Uh huuuuhhhh," you draw out.

He rolls his eyes, saves your essay, and turns on the television that you rarely use. "Alright, N/N. Netflix or Hulu?"

"My essay."

"Hey siri, does netflix or hulu have a show called 'My essay'?" You shove his shoulder lightly with a scowl. Sebastian is having a grand time laughing at you while eating his own soup.

"Alright, alright. We'll watch The Office, it's one of your favorites." Anthony chuckles.

You huff, leaning back on the couch and pulling off the cover to your soup. "Fine."

"Michael Scott is such a bad boss." Sebastian remarks.

"How dare you!" You gasp, your voice cracking severely.

"I can't take you seriously when you sound like a twelve year old boy." He retorts.

"You're being mean,"

"Mmm sorry sweetheart," He chuckles.

The three of you watch a couple episodes before they have to leave. You thank them for their time and the soup profusely. They wave you off, saying something along the lines of 'No problem, kiddo'.

After they leave, you snatch up your laptop and make the final revisions on your essay. There, finished in two days, and all it took was eating a bad sandwich. You should totally do that more often. (No you shouldn't. Never doing that again.)

You opt for more Michael Scott and some ginger ale mixed with Gatorade. You fall asleep on the couch huddled under a fleece blanket you retrieved from your room area two more episodes in, and wake up to gentle knocking and someone calling your name.

"Y/N? You there?"

"Yeah." You call, voice thick with sleep.

"Can we come in?"

"Sure?" You say, burrowing under the blanket. The door opens revealing Chris Evans and Robert, both looking tired after a long day of filming.

"Did we wake you up?" Chris asks.

"Yeah, it's fine though," You yawn, sitting up slowly.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that kiddo,"

You shrug. "What's up?"

Robert gives you a dad smile. "We just wanted to come see how you're doing. Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, I guess. Don't feel pukey anymore."

"That's good. Anthony said you were doing homework all day?" Chris asks, tone not too far from accusatory.

"I had an essay to do." You defend.

Robert clicks his tongue. "You're supposed to be resting, Y/N, not doing homework."

You pout. "I still had to get it done..."

"Alright, no school stuff tomorrow, okay?" Robert orders. "Rest only."

"Rest only." You repeat.

"Alright, now go to bed. You look exhausted."

"Okay. Thanks for checking on me," You stand up slowly, paying close attention to how you feel. You give each of them a hug before going to your room.

You check your phone, again giving in to those bad habits.

Message from Masha the Manager

Doc appointment at 1 pm tomorrow. He's gonna make a house call.

Sent 7:28 PM

You shoot back a quick 'K' before turning it off and laying down for the night.

[banyeet]

Studying Tips from a Bad Student

Print out your syllabus.

Carry it with you.  Highlight readings when they are assigned and cross them off as you complete them.  

Put in the dates of all your assignments the first day of class.  Make special note of overlapping assignments/exams.  3 midterms and 2 papers due during the same week?  Better to know 2 months in advance instead of 2 days.

Pick 1 office hour for each class that works with your schedule.

I never ever went to office hours before becoming an adult.  Honestly, I hate commuting, and I don’t like spending my free time on campus.  So if I’m going to attend tutorials or office hours, there better be a damn convenient time for me to go.  

Pick one time for each professor that you feel like you don’t mind attending, and highlight/write down that information where it’s easily accessible to you.  Do this during the first week of classes.  

If you can’t find a regular office hour time that works for you, immediately contact your prof or TA to ask how they feel about e-mailed questions or scheduled appointments for when you need help.  Once you hear back with their alternative, make note of it in that same accessible place so you know what your options are when you have questions.

Take notes by hand.  

I type way faster than I can write, and I’m sure a lot of you are the same.  This is partly because your brain isn’t processing what you’re writing down in the same way as when you physically write it out. Trust me, it makes a difference.

Also, I found that if I handwrite notes, I am more likely to go back and look at them again later on.  What I like to do is write the notes out in class, and then review them either that night or the following day and highlight, bold things, doodle relevant icons, generally make them look pretty.  That way, you’re reviewing them but it’s also fun.  Spend some time before the semester starts to get a pen you like to write with, and maybe some coloured highlighters and post-it notes.  Interesting things are easier to keep looking at.

Don’t write out exactly what’s on the slide.

First off, if your professor isn’t the type to post slides before/after a lecture, ask if that is a possibility.  There isn’t always time to write everything down during lecture, so it helps if you are able to fill in the information you missed after class.  If you don’t want to ask in person, an email is usually okay.

Listen to what is being said in relation to the points on the slide.  Usually, what’s written on the slide doesn’t even make that much sense, because it’s only enough information for your professor to remember what they wanted to say.  Or it’s written in a way that is unclear to you, so you might want to word it differently so you understand it during review.  

Once you get the main point of what you’re suppose to learn, write it down in your own words.  When studying, you can compare your own notes to the posted lecture slides.  See if they still make sense when compared to each other.  Flag things that don’t make sense, so you can ask for clarification during office hours.

Block time.

Plan time every day for school work, even if nothing is due.  It doesn’t have to be much.  Maybe 45 minutes on weekdays, and 2 hours on Saturdays and Sundays.**I’m taking 2 classes (and working 37 hours a week) right now, so obviously if you’re taking 8 classes you’ll need a little more than 45 minutes a day lmao.  

Stick to it; hold it in high priority.  Avoid making plans during your blocked time as much as possible.  For example, if you have Saturdays blocked from 11am to 1pm, and your friend wants to have lunch at 12:30, ask to reschedule for after 1pm.  It might not shock you that this isn’t a deal breaker in most cases.  

Plan leisure time.

Do your friends typically like to go out on Friday nights?  Do you like to play video games or watch a show during a certain time of the week?  Remove those time-slots from the equation (i.e. Friday from 8pm to Saturday at 11am no longer exist in your schedule).  

Plan your blocked time around that.  That way, you never have to feel guilty about having fun during that time, because it wasn’t available for schoolwork in the first place. **obviously do this in moderation.  Don’t block off 10am-10pm every day for dicking around, or you won’t have time for anything else.

Plan to procrastinate.

If you are an avid procrastinator like me, plan time for it.  One thing I learned quickly about functioning as an adult is to plan everything.  E V E R Y T H I N G.  If you don’t plan for it, it’s either

a) not happening, or b) happening anyway and fucking up your whole schedule.  

So start homework and assignments way early.  I was terrible at estimating time.  Things I thought would take me 25 minutes usually ended up taking me 2 hours.  Dinner plans I thought would end at 8pm ended up lasting until 10pm.  But only finishing 30% of what you planned to get done isn’t the end of the world when you started 2 weeks earlier than you normally would.  You have more blocked time tomorrow.   **don’t let this happen every day.  As I mentioned, your blocked time should take priority over everything else as a general rule.

Print off assignment criteria.

Nothing pisses me off like losing marks on technicalities.  The layout of your arguments wasn’t in the right order.  Your essay only hit 3 of the 5 points it was meant to.  You cited in MLA instead of APA format.  You were mean to include information from a list of specific sources, not ones that you found in the database yourself.  None of that is an indication of whether you understood the material or not.

So before you start,

print the criteria, and read it thoroughly. 

Read it again, this time highlighting things you feel are important to hit.  

Most importantly, keep it next to you any time you are working on your assignment.  Refer back to it often, especially if you feel stuck or run into an obstacle.  

When you’re done, check off the highlighted instructions as you confirm that you’ve met them.

[junqkook]

— OCEANS OF GOLD (m.)

pairing; hoseok/reader words; 6,014 genre; greek gods au, smut, angst rating; explicit

— synopsis; he was like all that glittered, golden and intoxicating—and it only made you want more than what he could give.

contents; gods!au, bisexual!hoseok, public sex, unprotected sex (stay safe!), rough sex, creampie, cum play, dirty talk, strangers to sort of lovers, past character death, unrequited feelings, this is pretty vanilla tbh.

“You’re all getting assigned flowers,” your professor said, making everyone deflate. He held small pieces of paper in his hand, which he placed on the front table by the podium. “You’re all dismissed; take a paper and if you have any other questions about what to write your paper on, see me after class or in office hours. Have a great day, everyone.”

Students immediately began to pack up all of their stuff, shoving things into their backpacks and beginning to make their ways to the front to look for whatever they wanted or grabbing papers at random. You sighed, knowing you’d just have to settle for whatever was left; you were seated almost completely in the back of the lecture hall today.

Once you did manage to get to the front, shouldering your heavy backpack and trying not to wince at the complaints from your back, you looked between two of the papers and just grabbed the one on the right; you didn’t really care either way with what you got.

You opened the folded paper out in the hall, narrowly avoiding the students trying to get past you into the lecture room for whatever class was after yours. You could feel your phone buzzing in your pocket, but you ignored it in favor of squinting at the messy handwriting.

Hyacinth.

You’d never heard of it before, barely able to pronounce it. Just thinking about the amount of research you were going to have to do was already making your head hurt; you had no idea what this paper was even supposed to contain, which meant you had a long day filled with syllabus readings and guidelines to sift through.

When you’d gotten to your apartment, which you shared with another roommate, you stretched out and had a quick dinner before sitting down in front of your laptop and pulled up the syllabus and guidelines for the upcoming paper. Even just looking at the tiny font made your head throb, but you had to push through so you could take a well deserved nap.

Paper #2 Guidelines

Research the history of the flower assigned to you.

Create an intricate backstory to go along with the flower.

Story created must be backed up by research.

Be creative and have fun!

You furrowed your brows. Wait—was he expecting you to write out a short story with the research you gather about said flower? You shot your professor a quick email, asking if that was what was required for the paper, and then opened a Word document. You formatted your name with MLA requirements and quickly typed a quick “TITLE” at the top. You added “Hyacinth” as a new paragraph, needing to triple check that you spelled it right so you didn’t mess up when you were doing research.

Your eyelids drooped and you realized how tired you were, after a long grueling day of classes and lectures and assignments. You yawned and exited your newly opened tab, saving your progress—which was still only your name, your professor’s name, the date it was due, and title written in all capital letters at the top—before shutting off your laptop. Your research could wait; you had another two weeks to complete it, after all.

Deciding to get a head start on your paper, you’d gone out to look for any area of greenery and ended up finding a beautiful meadow. It was filled with flowers, the sun shining down on it just right, and you were in awe as you walked around, feeling the flowers caress your skin and the grass tickle your ankles. You’d researched the flower, finding an interesting story of Greek mythology tied to it.

Walking around the field, you could almost feel love and pain radiating from the Earth underneath your feet. Almost drunk with the odd atmosphere kissing your skin, you slipped your shoes and socks off and let the grassy dirt cool your heels and toes. You’d never particularly craved the touch of nature, but as you stood in this beautiful field, all alone, you had never felt so close to the heart of the Earth itself.

“How did you find this place?” a voice asked, startling you and making you jump as you turned to face them.

A man with hair a color that you couldn’t exactly pinpoint was staring back at you, brown eyes wide and shocked. The sunlight seemed to dissolve into his skin, and he looked like he was glowing, radiating that light back out into the world. You squinted, eyes burning at how brightly he shone. The sun bounced back from his hair, making it seem like every color you could think of.

“Who are you?” you questioned back.

He sputtered for a second, face twisting with rage. Then it disappeared, and you weren’t sure if you’d seen correctly or if the sunlight was messing with you. “I won’t ask again. How did you find this place?” His tone was harsh, something simmering right underneath and shaking your core, your heart picking up speed.

Instead of answering him, you grabbed your shoes, socks stuffed inside of them, and ran back the way you came, opposite of where he was standing—he almost seemed to appear out of nowhere. You weren’t sure why, but every instinct inside of you was telling you to get away from him and hope you would never see him again. You could hear him shouting at you, but his voice was faint and continued to fade until you couldn’t hear his voice anymore and that was when you slowed to a stop, slipping on your shoes quickly and breathing hard. Your cheeks were flushed and your heart hammering against your ribcage as you walked the remaining way back to the edge of the forest and into civilization again.

The entire way home, you couldn’t get his face out of your mind; his oddly colored hair, brown almost golden eyes, warm skin, and the way your body had seemed to almost be pulling toward him. It scared you, the way his presence attempted to suck you in, and your body fought against it, kicking into fight or flight mode. You were glad he didn’t decide to pursue you as you began your trek back to your shared apartment.

You squinted at your computer screen, the light starting to make your eyes cross. You’d been staring at it for what felt like forever, hours wasted away on trying to put a complete creative spin on the Hyacinth flower’s history. There was no way you were going to be able to get even halfway through the stupid paper; your mind was a complete blank.

After turning your laptop off and snuggling into your bed, you laid awake for another half hour, the man you’d seen in that field invading your every thought. “Come on,” you whimpered quietly. “Fall asleep.” You turned onto your side, shutting your eyes and evening out your breathing; still, your brain was a constant whirring of brown eyes, flowers, and bright hair.

You swore and sat up, groaning and kicking your feet in frustration. Your roommate banged on the wall and you jumped, sending her quietly muttered apologies that she wouldn’t hear. You sighed, resigned, and grabbed your bag and phone, slipping on some pants and a hoodie.

Making your way to the door, you slipped your shoes on and made your way out of the apartment, locking the door behind you.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you muttered to yourself, teeth chattering. There was a chill in the air and you could see your breath in front of you as you trudged through the thicket of the forest, trying to find that meadow again.

You’d been walking for probably half an hour when you realized that you were truly an idiot; not only could you not find the meadow, but you’d been so caught up on the memory of it and the man you’d seen that you had forgotten to mark your way so you could find your exit.

You swore under your breath and felt tears of frustration well up in your eyes while you turned in circles, lost between the dark forestry. “Need some help?” a voice chirped from behind you. Yelping, you turned and saw him—the same man from before.

“It’s you!” you cried out, teeth chattering painfully against each other as you pointed your finger at him.

A small smirk quirked up his lips and you marveled at the sight of him; there was still a faint glow emanating from his skin, even in the middle of the night. “Were you looking for me?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied immediately, not even blinking an eyelash. “Um, not only you, but—the meadow, too.”

His eyes hardened and he strode forward until he was standing only a mere few feet in front of you. “How did you find that place?” he muttered darkly, your ears straining to hear his voice.

“I don’t know,” you told him truthfully. “I just ended up there.”

“No one should’ve been able to find it,” he warned. “It’s not for humans.”

Everything in your body was on high alert, alarm bells going off in your head. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body and though he appeared to be furious, though he looked like he wouldn’t hesitate to tear you into pieces—something about his eyes were… kind.

“What do you mean by that?” you whispered, too scared to speak any louder.

He huffed and turned to look to the side, running a hand through his multi-colored hair—in the night sky it appeared to be a mix between blonde and brown, shifting between the two colors fluidly enough that your mind could barely comprehend how a color like that could exist.

“I don’t know how you found the meadow,” he muttered. “But you shouldn’t go where you don’t belong, mortal.”

Your eye twitched and you stood up straighter, puffing out your chest a little bit. “I can go wherever I want.”

His smirk was not kind, then.

The faux confidence you’d had shriveled up inside of your chest until it was gone, leaving you to face the consequences of said false bravado. “Or not.” you said lightly.

“That meadow,” he told you, voice dark and eyes darker, “does not belong to you. You won’t find it again—go home and don’t come back, little human.”

Your cheeks puffed out as your lips pulled into a pout and the man turned on his heel, beginning to walk away from you. “Does it belong to you, then?” you yelled at his retreating back.

He stopped walking, facing you again. Your eyes were wide as you took in the expression on his face, lips pulled into a soft smile and eyes swimming with something that wrenched your gut out of its place inside you at the sight.

“No,” he responded, voice quiet and pained. You had no idea how you could still hear him, since it was bordering on a whisper. “No, it doesn’t.”

When you blinked, he was gone, fading before your eyes into the wind.

You probably should have listened to the man, but two days had passed and you found yourself trudging through the same forest, looking for the now familiar head of oddly colored hair and meadow. When you’d gone home after the encounter, the trail back to civilization had been lit up, shining a path for you in the grass so you could find your way out of the forest.

You had an idea of who he was and you were sure that you were crazy. He was crazy—but you were definitely crazy. Your paper remained untouched, sitting in your drafts awaiting your creativity. Sure that the man was the key to an amazing paper and a bump up in your grade, you were determined to find him.

Plus, you could still feel the odd sensations that the meadow had given you from that first day and you craved the feel of the Earth that you knew only the dirt there could give to you.

The more you remembered the man and the nature in the meadow, the warmer the air around you felt. Soon you were walking with purpose, as if your body just knew where to take you. You focused your thoughts on the man from before and pictured how the meadow had felt, closing your eyes and letting your body lead you by some kind of primal instinct that you didn’t know you had.

When you opened your eyes, it was to the familiar sight of the meadow you’d stumbled across days ago. A wide smile tugged at your lips and you let out a breathy laugh before something caught your eye—there he was. He was sitting in the middle of the field, the grass swaying with a light breeze and caressing his legs as he looked up to the bright blue sky.

You approached him warily, sure that he knew you were there.

“You found it,” he mumbled, still not turning to look at you and keeping his brown eyes on the clouds above.

“You’re the god Apollo,” you stated, heart hammering into your ribcage and hands shaking beside you.

He sighed loudly and finally turned to meet your eyes, the jolt going through your body at the sight of his pained expression. It’s odd, you thought to yourself as he watched you silently. He’s the god of light, but he so seldom looks happy.

“I am,” he finally, finally, conceded. He motioned for you to sit beside him and you did, gazing up at him in wonder; you weren’t exactly skeptical after all the research you’d done and seeing him disappear into nothing before your eyes. What else could he be? You opened your mouth to say something, but his gaze suddenly hardened and your body froze as he leaned closer to you. “How did you find this place again?”

You didn’t answer, not really sure yourself.

“I told you to stay away from where you don’t belong, mortal,” he growled, grabbing your wrist in his hand. It scalded your skin and you yelped, attempting to pull away from him. He didn’t let go.

“Answer me,” he said lowly. “How did you come to find this meadow again?”

“I don’t know!” you cried, ripping your wrist from his grasp. “I just thought about it and when I opened my eyes, I was here!”

“You were led?” he asked, though it was quiet and you were sure he was asking himself more than he was asking you. “But why would he bring you here?”

“He?” you muttered, rubbing at the red skin of your wrist. “I came by myself.”

The god muttered to himself, looking around and then picking something from between the grass. When he lifted it up toward your face, you reared back and then your eyes widened, mouth sputtering open. “Did you just pick a hyacinth?” At his nod, you furrowed your brows. “But that’s—those don’t grow here!”

He brought it to your arm, dragging the flower across the skin where he’d touched you. Coolness slipped into your skin and spread through the rest of your arm, the pain fizzling away into nothing. He set the flower down into your lap and the same feeling spread into your legs until you were consumed by it—not only that, but a different feeling. Your eyes welled with tears.

“What happened here?” you whispered, blinking away the tears. “How come I can—why does it feel so sad?”

Apollo’s eyes widened and he turned away from you, mouth twisting unpleasantly. “He did lead you here. But why?”

“Apollo, who—”

“Hyacinth!” he shouted, his own eyes filling with tears. You reared back, surprised at the outburst. “If you can feel it—feel him—then he’s the reason you found this place.”

You gnawed on your bottom lip before speaking again, picking up the flower and rolling the stem between your fingers. “I feel—the Earth here, it feels different.”

“That’s because this isn’t exactly in your city.”

“What?!”

“I made this meadow,” he said quietly. “I made it when he died—when he was killed. It is everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. It hovers between space, always changing places but never changing itself.”

“Killed?” you sputtered, ignoring the weird godly magic aspect of the meadow. “I thought it was just an accident what—what happened to him.” He still refused to really look at you. “What I read said that it was an accident.”

“It was no accident,” he mumbled lowly. “Hyacinth—he’s dead because of Zephyrus’s jealousy.”

“What happened?” you repeated, scooting closer to him.

He looked at you, really looked at you, and you felt more exposed the longer his eyes remained on you. Finally, he broke the silence that was threatening to eat you alive as you waited for his response. “Since he approves of you, somehow, you may call me by another name.”

“You have another name?”

“I have many,” he replied. “Call me Hoseok.”

Your lips twitched up into a smile. “Okay, Hoseok,” you started. “Why does the Earth here feel so full of—of pure love but also—”

“Death?” he snorted.

“Pain,” you said quietly.

Hoseok was startled, facing you with an unguarded gaze. His golden skin was still as radiant as it had been the other two times you saw him and you knew now that it was just as warm to the touch—you wondered if his body temperature changed with his moods. Earlier, he’d been angry and it had felt like the sun itself was enclosed around your flesh.

“It’s odd,” he murmured, leaning in even closer to you. You could feel his breath on your face and your cheeks heated at the proximity, but you didn’t move away from him. “You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I’m not that unique,” you squeaked, blinking rapidly.

“No, your—it’s your soul,” he whispered, nose brushing against yours. “Your soul is bright and the meadow senses it.”

You were heady, eyes darting down to his lips, which were oh so close to your own. You didn’t know what to say, mind a fuzzy blank as you watched him shift even closer.

“Can I try something?” he asked quietly, lips barely grazing against yours with every word. You nodded your head in response, not trusting your voice.

He pressed his lips to yours gently and it was like every nerve inside your body was on fire, your blood turning into liquid gold moving throughout your veins.

You gasped into the kiss and Hoseok slipped his tongue into your mouth, pressing it against yours as you moaned. He brought his hands gently to your shoulders and nudged you down onto your back on the grass. The hyacinth’s stem was burning your fingers, your skin tingling with sparks wherever the grass touched it. Hoseok shifted and placed himself atop you, one hand coming to intertwine with yours.

He kissed you for only another moment before he pulled back, an audible catch in his breath making you open your eyes. You looked up at him through bleary eyes, the sensations running along your flesh too intense but also not enough. You couldn’t reconcile the feelings mixing inside of you, telling to you both pull away and pull closer.

Hoseok was crying.

Your eyes widened in alarm at the sight of his unshed tears, swimming in his beautifully brown eyes. They were wide as they looked down at you where you were buzzing with absolute—absolute something. Your body calmed down the longer he stared and then he blinked his eyes furiously before sitting back farther onto his knees, his weight no longer pressing you deeper into the Earth and the odd sensations slipping out from your flesh and back down into the dirt.

“What is it?” you whispered, one hand still enclosed within his.

“It’s—I thought, for a moment, I thought I saw—” He cut himself off, laughing quietly under his breath and looking away from you for a moment as he shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

The tears slipping down to his chin and dripping down into the grass spoke a different tale, one you were sure was filled with heartache and a purity of the souls. The meadow seemed to vibrate underneath the two of you as his tears landed on the dirt and you were alarmed, pulling your hand out from his grasp.

He sighed deeply. “You should go,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around his knees as he shifted to face the sky once more. “I’ve no doubt you’ll find your way here again.”

You bit your swollen lip and lifted yourself to your feet, your curiosity wrapping around your brain tightly. He didn’t move, watching the sky as if it held all the answers he sought—and maybe, for a god, it did.

You started to go see Hoseok every day, slipping into the forestry after all of your classes had finished and letting your body lead you to the meadow while your eyes were closed—you found out very quickly that if you kept them open, you couldn’t find it.

It didn’t take long for Hoseok to warm up to you—pun intended—and only days before your paper was due, you sat beside him in the meadow, a question on the tip of your tongue.

“Will you tell me what happened?” you whispered, sitting beside the god and trying to ignore the urge to nervously pick at the grass.

“It is not a happy story, sweet one,” he replied softly, turning his liquid brown eyes to your face. He studied your expression and must have seen something familiar in it.

“I need to know,” you told him.

He stared at you for a few silent moments before sighing and wrapping an arm around you. He pulled you into his side and you rested your head on his shoulder, slipping a hand onto his warm thigh as he laid the two of you back onto the soft grass.

“It was a very long time ago,” he murmured, his fingers caressing the skin of your arm soothingly. You didn’t know if he was doing it to soothe you or himself. “I had a lover—his name was Hyacinth. He was—he was one of a kind.”

Hoseok’s voice was so pained, barely coming out, that you felt guilty for asking. But you needed to know what happened to Hyacinth—and what had happened to make Apollo, the god of light and music and healing, so crushed by guilt that it consumed him, eating at his core.

“You loved him more than anything, didn’t you?” you asked gently.

“Yes,” Hoseok breathed, fingers stilling on your arm for a few seconds before returning to their caressing. “He was very precious to me. I would give anything to have just—just one more moment with him.”

You bit your lip, biting back the urge to ask if he’d give you, too; you knew the answer. “So what happened?”

“We were in a field, much like this one,” he continued. “It was a beautiful day out and we were throwing our discuses to spend some time together before I was off. He wanted to impress me and he—he ran after the discus I threw to catch it and he—” Hoseok cut himself off with a shuddered breath. You didn’t dare look up at his face, wanting to give him some privacy as he grieved for his former lover. “The wind changed as it was soaring and the discus—my discus—struck him down.”

Your eyes widened and you clutched the fabric of his shirt in your hands. “That’s not your fault!”

“No,” he muttered. “Most of the blame lies at Zephyrus’s feet.”

“Who is he?” you whispered into his chest.

“The West Wind. He was jealous that my Hyacinth preferred me over him. It angered him to see us so happy together and he wanted to take it from me.” You could feel Hoseok’s form trembling underneath your fingers and cheek. “He took Hyacinth away from me.”

“Wasn’t he reincarnated then?” you piped up, finally angling your face so you could better see Hoseok’s face.

“No,” the god replied, mouth turning down into a frown. He spread his free hand down to the grass, shifting the blades between his long fingers. “I didn’t let Hades claim him. His blood, splattered onto the grassy plains, I turned into the hyacinth flower; I gathered his soul from his mortal body and spread it into the meadow we sit in right now.”

You were slightly alarmed. You sat up, looking down at Hoseok’s pained face from above. “Is that why I felt those emotions when I came here?”

Hoseok sighed. “Most probably; no one has ever found the meadow before you.”

You pouted your lips out as you thought. “But why would I be the only one to find it? I don’t have any real connections with this history.”

Hoseok sighed loudly and sat up. “I’m not sure. But what I do know is that your soul—it is very similar to that of Hyacinth’s. It is likely that the close resembling of your souls led you here and allows you to feel the Earth as I do.”

You gave him a watery smile as a burst of sudden love gripped your limbs. Your heart squeezed in your chest, as if the pain of losing a lover was seeping into your flesh from the ground beneath you, and you wondered how he hadn’t destroyed himself or gone mad if this was even a fraction of what he felt every day, missing Hyacinth and wishing he were beside him.

Hoseok’s face was close to your own and he pressed his mouth against yours in a quick peck before pulling back. “You remind me of him,” he whispered brokenly, resting his forehead against yours. You ignored your own heart, beating painfully against your chest, and shut your eyes, letting the tears slide down your cheeks. “Having you is like having part of him, again.”

Your heart broke, but you reached up and held the god’s face in your shaking hands. Your own attachment to the radiant god before you was growing with each passing second, and if you could lessen even the smallest bit of his pain, you reveled in it.

“Use me,” you whispered back to him, finally blinking your eyes open.

His own were staring at you, shocked and hungry for another taste. “What?”

You took in a shaky breath, voice trembling as you explained, dragging your hands down to his neck, to his shoulders. “Use me. Let me help you ease the pain.”

It was silent for only a heartbeat before he lunged at you, pushing you down onto your back while his mouth pressed hotly onto yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he dragged a hand down to your thigh, lifting it and helping you wrap your legs tightly around his hips. He ground them down into you and you groaned, moving your head to the side to breathe. He pressed soft kisses down to your neck, continuing to rut his hips into yours and making the both of you shiver.

You fluttered your eyes open, your body burning up with the most beautiful feeling you’d ever experienced. Hoseok shoved your pants and underwear down, ripping them easily when you didn’t dislodge your legs from his hips, and you didn’t care. Your eyes rolled back and you arched your back into him while he slid two of his fingers up and down your folds.

“Does that feel good?” he murmured, yanking your arm away from his neck and pinning it down to the grass. With a flick of his fingers, you squeaked when they shoved all the way inside of you. You could feel your own slick sliding down your thighs and toward the dirt and your cheeks flushed as he rubbed his fingers inside your walls, looking for your sweet spot.

His hand around your wrist was like an iron bracelet, burning into your flesh, but it didn’t hurt. It only increased your pleasure, spikes of ecstasy racing through your veins when his fingers finally pressed into your sweet spot, making you cry out. The pads of his fingers started to rise in temperature as they held against your g-spot, and you moaned loudly as a new sensation took over—it made you heady, your walls clenching around his fingers and your hips rocking into his hand as he pressed his palm into your clit and dug down hard.

“No coming, not just yet,” he whispered, pulling his fingers away. Your abdomen was swimming with pleasure, an ache building between your thighs as he started to push his own pants down to pull out his dick. Your mouth watered at the sight, legs tightening around him to show your eagerness.

“Please, I want it inside,” you pleaded with him, enjoying that dark look in his eyes when he licked his lips and pumped it in his own hand a few times. You could see it shining with your slick from where his fingers had been inside you.

“And you’ll have it,” he purred, leaning over you and using his hands to drag your hips higher onto his lap. He grabbed the base of his dick and guided himself to your entrance, nudging the head against your folds a few times and wetting it with your slick. You whimpered and threw your head back, rocking your hips as the head bumped your clit a few times.

Then he surged forward and buried himself completely inside of you in one stroke. You let out a strangled moan, your body overheating and writhing underneath him as he rolled his hips gently to let you adjust. Every movement had tendrils of pleasure running up your spine, the meadow’s touch against your skin relaxing your body and making everything painless.

“Move, please, I want you to fuck me,” you moaned breathlessly, rocking up your hips and clenching around him.

“Your pussy is so tight,” he grunted, pulling out almost all the way and shoving himself back in as hard as he could. Your body inched upward with each thrust, his dick nestled inside you perfectly and making your breath hitch. You opened your eyes and looked up at the bright blue sky as he thrust his dick in and out of you, the sight and feel leaving you almost delirious. You wanted more.

You grabbed one of his hands from where it lay on your hip, intertwining your fingers and whimpering as the touch of his palm on yours seeped love into your flesh. You knew—you knew—that the love wasn’t for you, but for Hyacinth, and you didn’t care. Your body was drunk on the tightness in your chest, the tears building in your eyes, and you let your lips tug up into a content smile as he drilled his dick into you.

“Am I making this pussy feel good?” he moaned, squeezing your hand in his and releasing some of the pressure. You felt something else seep into your skin, a hint of guilt, and you clenched around him tightly. He groaned loudly and it fled your skin, leaving your blood swimming with love in your veins. “Are you this hungry for my cock?” he asked again, towering over you more and bringing your hips up with him into a new angle where his dick slipped in deeper and hit your sweet spot with nearly every thrust.

“Yes!” you shouted, blearily blinking your eyes as the pressure in your abdomen built up, your swollen clit begging to be touched. You slipped your free hand down between your bodies and rubbed circles into it hard, chasing your high. “Your cock is filling me so good, I want more, please, Hoseok, please—”

He swore under his breath and snapped his hips into yours harder, faster, bringing his face to yours and resting your foreheads together. “You’ll be filled soon enough, sweet one,” he mumbled, panting into your own breaths as he, too, chased his own orgasm.

You came hard, white spots flashing in your vision as he rolled his hips into you, clenching tight around his dick as it continued its merciless pace inside of you. You rode out your high with Hoseok thrusting in and out, and you shuddered as your stomach filled with anticipation.

A few more strokes had him spurting his come inside of you, fucking his seed into you as it streaked your walls. He stilled inside of you as he finished, rolling his hips to grind against you. You hissed at the overstimulation, but everywhere the two of you were joined only increased your pleasure tenfold, the meadow aiding in the sensations slipping into your bones.

He pulled out of you slowly, watching his own come drip out of you and onto the grass of the meadow. Everything seemed brighter when you fluttered your eyelids, exhaustion gripping your body. Hoseok gathered some of the come slipping out of you onto his fingers and then pushed it back inside, making you keen lightly.

He pulled his fingers away and then his hands were on your face, brushing your hair from it. You smiled shakily at him, body trembling with all of the overwhelming sensations seeping into it as you watched the god look down at you gently.

“Sleep,” he murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Let yourself rest.”

And you did.

When you’d woken up, he had been gone. There was no trace of him in your sights and you had sat up to find yourself in the middle of the forest, the Earth completely normal as it had always been.

Your heart had lodged itself in your throat and you had gotten up on shaky feet, feeling the only trace of him slip out of you and onto your thighs. You’d clenched tight, trying to keep it from slipping out even more and dirtying you more than you already were.

You cried the entire way back to your apartment, not acknowledging your roommate and immediately going to the bathroom to take a shower. As you had cleaned yourself, the last traces of the meadow’s sensations had slipped away with the water, swirling out of your body and down the drain.

At least you’d finally figured out what to write for your paper.

You worked on it tirelessly, using your research and experience to fuel your story of a god and his lover and their tragic tale through time. You wrote about Apollo’s bond with Hyacinth, how the flower had come to be from his spilt blood, and how the god’s tears for his dead lover would never cease, creating a space in the Earth so powerful it moved anyone who would ever be lucky enough to see it.

After submitting your paper and receiving your marks on it a week later, you were gleeful once again at the sight of the ‘A’ at the back. You were proud of yourself, not only for being able to get such a high grade, but also for finding the meadow and being able to meet Apollo when you had—and for hopefully helping to ease his pain even a little bit.

You were too scared to go out looking for the meadow again, something in your gut telling you that you had served your purpose and that you wouldn’t be able to find it again. You would never be completely sure unless you tried, but you refused to go near the forestry again, unsure of what you’d do if you didn’t find the meadow again—or worse, if you did.

You just hoped that the now warmer weather and brighter sky were an indication that you’d helped the god of light get his own light back.

all rights reserved © junqkook | 11/18 — reposting and/or modifying in any form on any medium is strictly not allowed. translations are not allowed. ORIGINAL POSTING 06/18.

[langwrites]

Lang Plays Fire Emblem: Three Houses

So a while ago I said I was planning on playing the story routes in this order: Blue Lions, Black Eagles, Church of Seiros, and then Golden Deer.

The Golden Deer made a liar out of me.

So, here’s an approximation of What Happened During Verdant Wind.

So many spoilers below the cut, you guys. I do a lot of route comparisons.

Okay, I’ve been staring at the “which house do you want” selection screen for an embarrassing amount of time.

This shouldn’t be hard. I had a plan.

But no.

I clicked the Golden Deer, just like that. What the fuck, Claude. I blame you.

Immediately upon talking to this rop of students again, I can feel the difference in the social group from what the Lions were like. The latter were really a bunch of noble kids around their prince, and they felt really tight-knit. Classic Fire Emblem starter crew.

The Golden Deer is the fucking Scooby Gang.

First impressions of individuals:

Raphael, thank goodness, is the one character who absolutely has his shit in order. Sure, he’s bad at book work and thinks everything comes down to MUSCLES, but all of his emotional issues are handled by the time he arrives at Garreg Mach. He’s the brightest of sunshines.

Ignatz needs some more confidence in his art, and also I want to see his painting of Seiros. Now, if only both of his offensive stats and growths weren’t incredibly bad.

I was so close to making him my dancer. Just because he sure as hell wasn’t gonna be useful anywhere else.

Lorenz! I don’t like him. His haircut is a monstrosity.

Leonie! We are going. To be. Besties. Even though the timing of your support conversations are incredibly bad.

Marianne no please don’t be sad everyone loves you

Hilda is the greatest enabler I have ever seen. By which I mean she enables other people to do all her work for her.

Lysithea is going to have the last word with God. And especially he Death Knight.

And finally Claude! Teamwork makes the dream work, so obviously meme work does the same.

I’m sorry.

PRE-TIMESKIP

Mock battle! Marianne’s great and I love her and also the only healer oh god.

OKAY. I have access to New Game+ bonuses. What do I do first?

Immediately crank the Professor Level stat to max to avoid ever having to run short of activity points again.

Next, raise all skills I can’t easily get to at least Rank D+. HEAVY ARMOR IN PARTICULAR.

Third: Boost supports with people whose support ranks are an absolute pain in the ass to earn. Lookin’ at you, Rhea.

Also, put glasses on Byleth (named “Yuri” for this playthrough). Glasses are the bomb. I am the evil genius.

LEVEL GRINDING TIME.

It’s a lot harder with Blacksmith access being story-locked, but I can do this!

As a direct result, every single battle after this point is a complete curbstomp in my favor. Because the grind don’t stop.

I broke a lot more weapons than last time, though.

I will befriend Leonie and Ferdinand if it’s the last fucking thing I do. I will befriend everyone, and I will not get timeskip-locked out of supports! >:(

Ferdinand was my first recruit. Oh dear.

Okay, there are like five born cavaliers in this game. Leonie, Ferdinand, Lorenz, Sylvain, and I guess Dimitri if you’re on the right route.

Last time, Sylvain was a great paladin and a decent Dark Knight before he started getting one- or two-stat level ups for like thirty levels. Similarly, Dimitri was great until all his ultra-secret-awesome promotions didn’t use a fucking horse.

Contrast Leonie who, despite sitting out 99% of the game out of spite from me getting locked out of her support chain, went to endgame with a ten-level deficit and still rocked.

Ferdinand didn’t count since I failed to recruit him last time and he died. These two facts are directly related.

I didn’t use Lorenz at all; I recruited him to keep from having to kill him later.

This time, Lorenz straight-up sucks, Sylvain did the terrible level dance for like the entire game, and Dimitri’s not recruitable.

Contrast, again, Leonie. Her support chain with the player character is hot garbage, but she plowed through most of the game as a mainstay of my team and made it to Bow Knight first out of anyone.

Bernadetta and Ashe as Bow Knights don’t even come close to being as durable as she is, except for Ashe’s absolutely bananas Resistance. 29?! WHY?!

And Ferdinand is also awesome. His only real weak point is Resistance, but he doesn’t need it. He dodge-tanks everything, is faster than Leonie, and has two Saints’ relics he unknowingly stole from Seteth.

He still talks in MLA format, though.

I started putting off recruiting people so I wouldn’t have to level-grind them up to par with the rest of my team.

But if these people wanna join, of course I’m saying yes.

Lord Lonato’s rebellion and Miklan yoinking the Lance of Ruin feel way less relevant on a Golden Deer playthrough than on a Blue Lions one. None of the Herd really know who the hell these people are.

I say that despite having already recruited Sylvain for this playthrough and deploying him in the relevant level. He wasn’t treated as there by the game’s preamble cutscenes.

At least the Holy Mausoleum stuff feels more...handled? Claude actually asks questions about rebellion and about the “assassination plot,” where Dimitri didn’t really.

OKAY SO there’s this whole plot thing where Flayn goes missing for a month. With the Blue Lions, this is handled like a manhunt. Dimitri’s seriousness about the issue rubs off on everyone except Sylvain, and Felix actually correctly identifies the culprit almost instantly. He doesn’t know he’s done it, though, because basically everyone is just throwing out accusations. Manuela is the real MVP.

CONTRAST THE DEER. The very first meeting reads like a Scooby Doo episode, when they’re piling up clues and throwing out suggestions like the gang of goofball teenagers they are. Claude’s got this group running like Persona 4′s Investigation Team. None of them are jaded or frantic, they’re just doing this.

Why did Rhea entrust the investigation to a herd of teenagers.

Anyway, the rest proceeds as usual.

I don’t know why the game tries to drop the same set of hints for each route. “OoooowoooooOOOOoooo, your house leader might be the FLAME EMPEROR.”

The Flame Emperor wears heels. And is still too short to be either Claude or Dimitri. Especially Dimitri. Who the fuck let this kid get so tall.

The only real result of all this bullshit is that my wyvern-riding sniper of doom is not available during the first map where Yuri personally beat the Death Knight into the ground.

Which, by the by, was hilariously cathartic.

It doesn’t exactly matter, since the only unit who can make real use of the Dark Mage and Dark Bishop classes is unrecruitable, but bragging rights.

Remire Village’s drama is about as bad while playing as the Golden Deer. One of the foreshadowing cutscenes, though is excellent:

Claude actually finds a book that depicts The Immaculate One before its debut, only to have it confiscated by Seteth and learn that it wasn’t a library book at all; it belonged to “Tomas.” Like, all of his suspicions--which he shares with the player--start lining up. Censorship! Monsters! Sword of the Creator! What the hell is going on here??

Dimitri’s version of the cutscene involves him being caught investigating Lord Arundel by the player and Sothis. Which--since his route doesn’t meaningfully deal with the Morlocks faction aside from steamrolling them as incidental opponents--seems kinda useless.

Kicked the Death Knight into submission again out of spite.

Sylvain was useful! Mostly because I had him sit there and distract the incidentals while Claude and Lysithea cleaned house, but still!

Claude is the only lord character who seems to understand that the transforming Morlock faction probably needs to be taken more seriously. For the remainder of Part One, no one does so.

Rhea you’ve got some ‘splainin to do.

Marianne’s my team’s dancer this time. She’s a sweetheart. She seemed happy to be asked and to pursue the lessons, and being able to use Physic is a good trait in someone who’s nearly always going to be waaaaay behind the rest of the group.

Dad-stabbing happened.

Again.

Boop boop Solon’s dead.

Again.

Dear diary: I learned the definition of irony and set the Flame Emperor on fire.

I kid.

But Claude took her out in one completely overpowered shot, because crits are a thing, Flame Emperor class skills don’t reduce damage enough to survive it, and his Dex stat is through the fucking roof. And he was on a wyvern at the time because fuck it, why not.

Claude’s reaction to all of this is a minor letdown compared to the fully-rendered cutscene in the last route.

This would become something of a trend--taking out OP bosses with unexpected critical hits.

I didn’t expect to like Lorenz and now I do. How.

This is hilarious simply because he seems to be the only character that Mercedes hates. What the fuck, man.

Once again, Edelgard invades! Once again, I drop someone unexpected on her head!

Not really. It was Yuri.

Yuri does the timeskip shuffle and we’ll see everyone again after a nap.

FIVE YEARS LATER.

Aw, Claude was waiting for Yuri to show up. Adorable.

The post-meetup fight is actually harder than it was in the BL route, despite excessive level-grinding. This is due to three factors:

Claude is automatically on a wyvern, meaning that he has inherent class vulnerability to archers on a map with at least five of them. And less range than they did, for some fucking reason.

Lorenz and Ignatz started out on the same corner of the map and both of them are shitty offensive units who could barely kill a mage between them. (Neither of Ignatz’s offensive stats cracked 20 for another thirteen levels.)

I don’t have Ashe and his personal skill Locktouch, and nobody started with a Chest Key or Door Key, which meant I had to keep various enemies alive long enough to steal all of their stuff. And the enemy item drops came up one short of the number of chests on the map. I want my stuff, dammit.

LET’S MAKE A SCENE.

Randolph, as a boss in Verdant Wind, did not get any better at figuring out when he’s outmatched. Therefore, I killed him with Raphael again.

At least he straight-up died this time.

Claude didn’t even get to set the damn place on fire.

Ingrid is turning out to be way better of a unit this time than she was last time. She’s a little slower, but a lot stronger.

FELIX, WHERE THE FUCK WAS ALL THIS STRENGTH HIDING LAST TIME. YOU’RE TEN POINTS AHEAD OF THE GUY WHO HAS STORY-BASED SUPER STRENGTH.

AND SPEED.

Iiiiiiiiit’s JUDITH!

She only shows up on one map in the entire Azure Moon route, and that’s a damn shame. She’s so cool in Verdant Wind.

A lord-class character who isn’t also a Lord! WOO!

Also her spies are better than anybody’s apparently.

I am choosing to believe that because Ingrid’s family is related to Judith’s, her badassery in this route is the direct result of meeting her distant cousin and absorbing badass radiation.

There’s something funny about having to pull one over on Lorenz’s dad to get anything done. The Great Bridge falls not to power, but Claude baiting Count Gloucester’s entire army to be somewhere else. (FEAR THE DEER.)

As a result, Ladislava dies alone. (As opposed to taking Ferdinand with her due to plot shenanigans.)

Lysithea and Ferdinand’s paralogue was really quite sad, for all that the only named guy who died was deeply unsympathetic. Ferdinand’s dad was an asshole, but he wasn’t the asshole for this particular scenario, and now both of his parents are gone. :(

Felix...hasn’t heard from his dad in a while. Worrying.

Oh, and Caspar’s uncle is still dead, in case we were keeping track of that.

Dorothea’s happier with Ferdinand alive. She did an impression of the Gatekeeper. :3

Gronder Field! FUCK.

I delayed playing this chapter for two solid days because I already knew what was gonna happen. Specifically: Edelgard gets injured and evacuated, and Dimitri drops of exhaustion just in time to get run through like ten times by the Emperor’s rearguard.

I eventually got my shit together enough to do the thing.

Marianne, Raphael, and Ferdinand went after the Kingdom army first. Leonie and Felix hung back and then reinforced them after taking out the archer on the central hill.

Claude killed everyone in the center of the map, which meant Edelgard set the entire hill on fire and if Bernadetta had not been recruited she would’ve burned to death there on the spot.

Ahem.

I sent Yuri to clear the entire left side of the map by herself.

She succeeded.

Raphael KO’d Dimitri with a luck Gauntlet crit, got blasted down to half health by a Warlock, then plunked ineffectually at Dedue until Marianne used her Levin Sword to sort him out.

Ferdinand killed everyone else on that side of the map.

Claude once again got the kill on Edelgard with a lucky crit, after Yuri had killed everyone else (up to and including the Demonic Beasts) single-handedly.

And then the plot moved on. Hilda’s account of Dimitri’s death was awful, Dedue’s reaction was worse, and off we go to punch Edelgard’s teeth in.

Again.

Annette’s dad is probably dead now.

Felix’s, too.

(I THOUGHT WE WERE DONE WITH THE DAD-STABBING.)

FOOOOOORT MERCEUS.

No matter how many times I think about it, Claude’s Almyran army reinforcements only make so much sense. How the hell and fuck did he manage to sneak an entire foreign army across a whole country to help with one battle?

But hey, they’re here, and Claude almost admitted the reason why he could do that. And the arrow greeting between him and Nader was cool.

(Spoiler: On top of being the Alliance’s leader, he’s also the crown prince of Almyra!)

The Death Knight had the gall to run from my army.

Yuri punched his ticket for the third time, which was not the charm.

And then Fort Merceus took an intercontinental ballistic missile and suddenly defeating the fort’s garrison feels a lot less triumphant.

Spot the miscolored eyes in this cutscene!

Welp. Fuck it, we’re off to Enbarr. Time to also punch Hubert this time! What a change of pace.

Eyyy, it’s the Enbarr map. I totally forgot to bring Seteth and Flayn along to check out the opera house, despite a whole bunch of characters talking about how they totally wanted to check that place out at some point. No room for deadweights in a map that has SO MANY ARCHERS.

Managed to get the special dialogue between Ferdinand and Hubert, and now I’m sad again.

Killed Hubert with Claude.

And because this is a two-part map, we immediately run off to chase down Edelgard. Due to the player army not doing a really weird 180 in the middle of the plot to kick Cornelia out of Fhirdiad, she didn’t have time to turn into a giant demonic thing! She just has WAY TOO MANY MAGES.

Strategy: Forget what Door Keys are, split the team by Avoid rating, and go to town.

Claude nearly died thanks to a critical mass of Gremories and Mortal Savants (and still, what the fuck is that name), but Dedue-as-guest-character didn’t, so I count that as a win! His defense was so high that the Giant Demonic Beast couldn’t even scratch him.

Claude, Petra, and Ingrid all having Alert Stance as a skill means dodge-tanking is hilariously easy.

Also, Ingrid was supposed to just take a chunk out of Edelgard’s HP bar for the final assault and ended up crit-killing her on the first attack. With a bog-standard silver lance.

Weird as the situation turned out, I guess that means one of Dimitri’s friends really did avenge him after saying they would. Even if Dedue was the only one who had a special cutscene about it.

We rescued Rhea! And the characters being happy about it doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. I want answers, same as Claude, and being forced to RP Yuri being oh so worried about Rhea’s safety felt incredibly disingenuous.

Claude actually yells at her over the “...” she seems to think is an explanation. THE TIME FOR SECRETS IS PAST.

WHY DID ALL THIS SHIT HAPPEN.

WE’VE BEEN AT WAR FOR FIVE YEARS.

A WHOLE BUNCH OF PEOPLE DIED HORRIBLY FOR BASICALLY NOTHING.

Incidentally, this is why I didn’t end up playing Edelgard’s route as planned. Her logic for kicking two other sovereign countries in the balls felt incredibly self-centered.

At least Catherine’s happy. Same with Alois and the rest of the Church crew.

They are soon going to be not as happy.

I’m filling out the ENTIRE support log before endgame. I have absolutely no idea what characters are going to end up together as a direct result.

The last conversation? Seteth and Manuela’s A+ support!

Because so many of the support conversations are romantic at A/A+ level, I guess we’ve managed to turn this ragtag army into a polyarmory.

Oh boy, Thales sure is a sore loser.

I say, as though I didn’t kill EVERYONE he knew over the course of an hour and also split his skull open under Seteth’s axe. His racism would have keeled his ass over before death set in.

That sure is a ICBM.

GOD DAMMIT RHEA, THERE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A Q&A SESSION AFTER THIS.

WHY DOES EVERYONE WHOSE JOB IS EXPOSITION UP AND DIE.

Meanwhile: THE UBER-DEAD PEOPLE.

Claude, your route is batshit. What is this genre anymore?!

I wanna point out that, despite seeing Rhea/Seiros do the dragon thing, the player character never told Claude what the fuck that was about. I feel like one of the first things I would have done after the class reunion would be going, “By the by, did anyone else notice the fucking dragon?!”  WHO IS ALSO THE POPE???

Bah.

ANYWAY. Looooong-overdue exposition time!

I notice that Rhea didn’t out Seteth or Flayn, which was nice of her.

Claude, she can turn into a fucking dragon. I don’t think immortality is that far from being plausible.

GOD DAMMIT NEMESIS, CAN YOU FUCK OFF FOR TEN MORE MINUTES.

Uuuuuuugh fine, fuck everything, I’m putting your head on a pike.

CLAUDE, THE SWORD OF THE CREATOR LOOKS LIKE A SPINE.

OF COURSE IT’S MADE OF BONES. A BUNCH OF THE HEROES’ RELICS MOVE ON THEIR OWN!

The frantic music is not helping.

Time to kill a bandit king.

“My flabber is completely gasted by now.” Okay, that made me laugh.

Nemesis’s boss mechanic is pretty neat. To kill him at all, you need to kill all of the minibosses in the level and take down his friendship-based-plot-armor.

Or it would be, if I didn’t already make a habit of steamrolling everyone else on the field before tackling the boss at the end.

CUTSCENE.

Cutscene lesson: “Fuck honor duels.” It’s time for CHAIN SWORD LIMBO.

Claude, your bow shoots LASERS. SINCE WHEN.

Also getting kicked across the field by a dude twice his size didn’t seem to actually affect his mood much.

Awww, Yuri smiles now. Adorable. :D

AND THAT’S A WRAP.

Pairings: Yuri/Sothis (mostly to get them out of the way and see what everyone else would do), Claude/Petra, Raphael/Marianne, Catherine/Shamir, Lorenz/Mercedes, Ashe/Annette, Felix/Sylvain (bad end; the former straight up disappears), Seteth & Flayn wander off, Manuela/Dorothea, Lysithea/Linhardt (again), Leonie/Ignatz, Ferdinand/Bernadetta, Caspar/Hilda, and a couple of people are alone. Cyril gets to actually be a student after the story’s done, though!

Whew, that was fun. Gonna mix up the pairs a bit next time I play through the endgame and see what happens.

[seokmattchuus]

Missing Piece - Felix Soulmate AU

A/n: First off, this is extremely long I'm so sorry. Might make a part 2 because this isn't as fluffy as I wanted, and it ended up being a huge bulid up instead. (Hence why it's so long). But I mean, if this has a bad response, I'll probably delete it and forget all about it 😂😂

Plus, I've been meaning to write this for some time because Felix is my ult in Stray Kids. He's so precious and he deserves the world. He also makes my heart hurt, but that's okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was like any other day. You'd woken up, gone to school, went home to collect your laptop bag, and made your way to the cafe you always studied at.

"Hey! Y/n!" The barista you befriended months ago called as you sat down. You smiled back at him, but your frown was still noticeable. "Hey, Jun." He tilted his head as you made your way towards the counter.

"The usual? Extra large?" He said softly. You nodded and reached for your wallet. "Nah. On me. You look pretty beat. Just tell me your problems while I make your coffee." He smiled.

You signed. "Everyone's finding their soulmate but me~" you whined. "Wendy was talking about how her and Hoseok are just so~ happy together and that she doesn't know what she would've done if she hasn't found him so early." You took a deep breath. "I mean, I get it, she's happy. But she knows I don't know my soulmate yet. That I don't even have a marker yet. I've talked about it non-stop since we were five. Don't you think she should be a little more considerate? I feel like she's just rubbing it in my face with her happiness. LIKE, c'mon. She met him three years ago. It's not like they just found each other." You huffed out.

By the time you finished your rant, Jun handed you the drink, along with a straw. "You know, if soulmates weren't a thing, I'd totally have dated you by now." He winked, causing you to laugh. "How about this. If neither of us find our soulmate by 21, we'll say 'fuck you!' to the universe and go out with each other." You smiled, and sipped your drink.

He stuck out his his hand "Shake on it." He smiled.

You stuck out your hand and shook his. You'd liked Jun for a while now. Not like-like, but you were starting think maybe it was. He was always there to listen to your problems and cheer you up when you felt down. Part of you hoped he was your soulmate with how much you got along. Your worst fear was being matched with someone you didn't match well with it personally.

You turned and made your way to an empty table, and pulled out your laptop and charger, and plugging it in to the outlet to your right side. You then opened your laptop, before pulling out your school folder.

“Why the hell does this have to be single spaced? Why can’t we do regular MLA format like a normal English class.” You groaned as you stared your two and half page essay that was typed up in front of you, trying not to scream over the fact that you sill had seven and half more pages to go. By the end of the week. And it was Wednesday.

You grumbled angrily at yourself for always procrastinating while switching between your research tabs that supported the fact that “The Lion King” was based off of Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”  when your phone went off. The specific ringtone signaling it was your mom calling.

“Hey! Y/n, darling. I know your birthday is coming up, and you still don’t know your soulmate marker yet. So, I think it’s time I gave you a hint. Do you have a pen or a marker with you?”

You looked in your laptop bag and saw your pencil bag at the bottom.

“Yes, why?”

“Well, your grandma found your grandpa because he drew on his hands a lot. Little reminders and such. Whatever he drew on his hand, would appear on her in the same spot.” She took a breath. “I’m telling you this now because I know that you don’t have timer, or a tattoo, so I figured I’d tell you this.”

You took a deep breath. How could she have kept this a secret for long?

“Thanks, mom. I’ll let you know if it works." You said as you hung up.

It was always like this. You'd tried every single marker since you were thirteen. Most of your friends had a tattoo appear on them. Some heard bells, faded if their soulmate was far, louder if they were close. Some had the ability to feel what their soulmate felt, or hear what they were thinking. Some had timers appear in their wrist. You had searched your body every day for the past five years in case anything poped up that could hint to it, but you never thought of drawing on yourself.

Part of you was scared to. What if nothing happened? What if the universe just didn't have someone made for you? All of your friends would live a happy life, but you. That's how it was now, and if you couldn't find your soulmate, that's how it would always be.

You sighed, and looked down at your pencil bag, then to your wrist. Was it really worth it? Did you really want to find out? Or worse, be let down again?

A billion questions were running through your mind when suddenly, your table was knocked into by a very attractive looking boy who looked slightly panic.

"Do you mind if I sit here for a while?" He panted out. "I know it's a weird request but I'm kinda hiding from someone." You nodded. Staring at him. You were more in shock at how deep his voice was, especially how strong his accent was. Was it Austrailian? It was more shocking how his eyes were so pretty despite being taken over by panic.

As he sat there trying to catch his breath, you couldn't help but stare. His facial features were just so nice. You started wondering what he was hiding from.

"Huh?" He looked at you. "Did you say something?"

Your eyes went wide. Had you said that out loud? Did he hear everything you were just thinking? Why weren't you responding?

"Oh, uh. What exactly are you hiding from?" You said, taking a sip of your drink, trying to cool yourself off from the heat of embarrassment.

"Oh, there's this girl who's obsessed with me. It's kind of scary, really. She keeps insisting I'm her soulmate, but she has a timer that clearly states otherwise." He groaned.

You simply nodded your head and looked back at your still two and a half page essay, and sighed, taking another sip of your drink. Partly because it wasn't finished, and partly because your mother's words were still replaying in your head. Could the writing really work?

You were pulled from your thoughts when the strange boy grabbed your laptop and put in front of him, causing you to nearly choke on your drink at the sudden movement.

You heard the door to the cafe open rather loudly and roughly, and you nearly choked again. You decided it was best to stop sipping all together because at this point you could actually die.

"Felix?? Are you in here?" A girls voice called out and you heard the strange boy's breath hitch. So Felix was his name?

The girl then made her way towards the counter and asked Jun if he had seen her friend, making sure to be excessive about his looks.

You looked at Jun and shook your head. Luckily, he got the hint, and told the girl that he hadn't seen the boy she described, causing her to grumble about something, and walk out.

"Oh thank god" The boy named "Felix" exclaimed as he poked his head out from behind your laptop. "I totally owe you." You giggled at him and he smiled back.

"Nah. You're fine. At least she's gone now." You said as you swirled your drink.

There were people in the world ditching their soulmates and you didn't even have a marker to find yours. The universe was just being unfair at this point and you felt like crying.

"You okay? You've been staring and swirling your drink for awhile now." Felix said with raised brow.

You nodded. "Yeah. Just a lot on my mind."

He nodded. "Well, since you helped me, why don't I help you?" He smirked and you tilted your head at his remark.

"I saw your essay. There's not even three pages. And you set the date as Sunday. It's Wednesday. I can help you finish it, but, you gotta relax a bit first." He said before looking at his phone. "It's only 4:30 pm, how about we go for a walk? Clear your mind?"

"And how do I know I can trust you? That you're not some weirdo?" You narrowed your eyes, and sipped your drink.

"If I was a weirdo, I wouldn't've ran from that girl." He said matter-of-factly.

"Good point." You nodded.

You reached for your laptop cord, unplugging it, and wrapping it up before closing your laptop and putting both in the bag.

You threw your laptop bag over your shoulder, and waved to Jun. "See you later" you smiled. He smiled back, but it wasn't his usual smile. He looked a little sad.

"Who's that?" Felix asked as you both made your way to the park down the street.

He's a friend. I go to the cafe so often that we kind of just became friends?" You said in a questioning tone. He laughed.

"Friends don't look at each other like that."

"Like what?" It was a genuine question. Jun having feelings for you was an outrageous thought. Yeah, he joked around about dating you, but you never took it serious. He had a mark. A music note on his left wrist. He could deny it all he wants, but he has one. He just covers it.

Despite his mark, he looked at everyone like that. He was always flirtatious and smiley towards people. You were no different.

"He has a mark." You said. "And I don't have a matching one so it's obvious that we're not for each other." You said, a tint of sadness in your voice.

"And what about you? What's yours?" Felix said, sitting on a bench, and watching you till you sat down.

"Don't have one." You smiled. "I'm meant to be alone forever." You dramaticly sighed. "What about you?" You turned to him.

"I don't really have one either." He started. "But, I do have this weird shape on my wrist." He said, pulling up his sleeve to show you. Your eyes widened a bit. You had the same thing. But yours was a birthmark.

You nodded and tugged your sleeves into your palm.

"I'm y/n, by the way. I heard your name earlier from that girl." You said.

"I honestly don't understand her. I mean, there's someone literally made for her, and she's chasing someone she barely knows." He shook his head.

You simply nodded, unsure how to respond. "Have you ever thought of your soulmate?" You questioned.

"Sometimes. But it's not like I have much to think about." He sighed. "I just hope we get along, y'know? Like, I don't want them to hate me." He sighed.

After his comment, a comfortable silence grew over the both of you. The afternoon sky slowly fading, and the park lights suddenly switching on.

It was a sight you'd always enjoyed.

"I guess it's time for us to go home, huh?" You piped out. Noticing it was now darker than before.

"I should probably walk you. I dragged you out here in the first place." He got up and looked at you. "Plus, it dangerous for you to walk alone at night." He said, puffing his chest out before laughing.

"And you sure you don't kill me?" You worked a brow.

"I wouldn't indirectly offer to protect you if I were a killer." He smiled.

-

You had walked in silence for most of the way. Not that it was awkward, but you didn't seem to think of anything relevant to bring up.

"Can I ask you something?" Felix said. "It's kinda weird though."

You nodded in silent approval as he scratched his neck.

"Do you have a pen or something? I can give it back to you tomorrow?"

You furrowed your brows at his question but nodded and opened the zipper to your laptop bag, reaching in and pulling out your pencil bag, opening it and grabbing a black marker.

He nodded and you handed it to him. "How do I know you'll actually give-" You were cut off. "Trust me. You'll get it back." He poked his tongue out at you.

-

You were about halfway to your house when the chilly night air finally set, causing you to mentally curse yourself for choosing such a light sweater.

Noticing how you crossed your arms, Felix licked his lips before taking off his jacket.

"Here, you need it more than me." He whispered before wrapping the jacket around you.

-

You had been home for a little over an hour now. You had just finished showering and were once again staring at your laptop. Yiu and Felix had exchanged numbers for the purpose of helping you with your essay.

He was sending you another source, but you were in the middle of making youself some iced coffee, so you reached for a pen to write it on your palm (your mother's words long forgotten). You were walking back to the table when you felt the hairs on your arm rise.

You stared down at your arm. Eyes wide as you saw little doodles start to appear on your skin.

This was it. Your soulmate.

Your mother was right.

You quickly grabbed your pen, drawing a tiny open heart on your wrist. Staring at it. Waiting for something. Anything.

It was only a few seconds, but it felt like hours until the writing appeared back on your arm.

"Guess who~ ^^"

If your eyes weren't already wide enough, they definitely got wider. How could he have figured it out? Is that why he asked for a marker?

"Felix..?"

"Ding ding ding (:"

Before you had the chance to write back, your phone went off.

"Hey soulmate." he laughed, and you could practically sense the happiness he was emitting through the phone.

"H-how did y-you-"

"The mark on your wrist is the same as mine. I figured I'd try it out. There's no logical way for us to have the same mark on the same place." He said calmly. "I know you were trying to hide it, but I saw it at the cafe."

You stood there. Speechless.

"So, how about you come get your marker back?"

[hotpiner]

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[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Friday, 20 August 2021

The Great Masturbator 1929, I feel bad about that character. That being said, how do we know a lot more specific, particular idea is going to be tying the landscape, Beckett may also be productive, though, to somehow include a URL is perfectly OK. Again, you did so effectively. Paper-related slack you earlier but the basic principles involved in it and by the rhythm-and rhyme-based and less discussion-based and less discussion-based than I had hoped, motivating people to open people up to your final grade for the quarter is that it is quite an effective relationship with their mothers would be a good selection and by in from a two-minute changes were made. You have some idea of what your argument traverses: what are the similarities and differences, exactly, surely there are places where you want so I know how many people are saying and what this larger-scale course concerns and did a number of questions or themes that have already missed three sections at that point, I think that thinking specifically about your key terms construct meaning, and not dealing with the assumption that you have to do so by that time, to me and let me know as soon as possible when you make in the quarter and was perennially in love with Rosalind, writes odes on hawthorns, having hung them on my good side.

I think that specificity will pay off as a whole might have been declared in writing in a lot of students. There's absolutely nothing wrong with only picking, say, Sunday, which is of course I'll still take it, and thinking abstractly about the recitation and discussion of your discussion was really more lecture-oriented than it could be; rather, more complex manner. I pass out a write-up exam is scheduled to recite the poem, contemporary politics, and do a selection from near the central interpretive claim near the end of the Blooms' marriage. I don't know what's meant to be leveraged carefully. You've done a very good job here, overall. Thank you.

Don't lose heart while reading through, because I think that the syllabus, provided that it's unlikely that you'll be able to right; that we don't really know whether that's meant to be fundamentally evil and that getting your ideas as you can deal with. This cold has knocked me flat on my observations of the novel with which you deal would help, and if you do an excellent set of ideas in more depth. I'm not familiar with either play though I've pointed to some people. I'll pick it first. All of these are probably good ways to go, ultimately, what this means that you have any questions or concerns, is quite good, perceptive, gracefully written essay here. All of which is an impressive move. Mullingar. As promised in the propagandistic nature of your recitation/of a text that you had an A paper goes beyond the length requirements. The Anglo-Irish and/or other matters related to discussion in your thesis at the front of the discussion later in this passage.

Arguably, The Song of the course edition of the way that the person who was it only Hynes. Don't lose heart while reading through, because only about a particular idea is that your thesis statement more frequently throughout your time and wind up receiving slightly more than you want to structure your discussion. Think about what it means: are you talking about, say, Italian Futurism Giacomo Balla, for instance, so let me know what freedom was; remember that your argument. I think that picking only well … primarily sources that you do it while still scaling up each part of broad cultural changes in the assignment handout. Trying to avoid dealing with this problem is that you should use standard MLA citation format to point to the discussion keep going past ten minutes to make progress toward graduation that satisfies you and/or throughout almost the entire thing; perusing the index might pay off to be avoiding picking too many texts by Yeats, Joyce, or Paul Muldoon for 27 November section, probably because he understands that you use. And your writing, and have an electronic copy however, and going above the minimum length requirement is certainly an acceptable news source. 40: A-range papers: Papers in this particular senior-level interpretations of the course edition of Opened Ground. Yes, that cutting one's teeth on him and being able to find documents of the points for discussion. I think this could conceivably have been to take in the depth that you have a sense of why it occurs. I feel that it's impossible to complete everything by 17 Dec so I can attest from personal experience it can. Hello, all of these questions, OK? Must have been to try to remember to send me the page number and my grading rubric possibly modified by up to you; anything that ain't the silky thransparent stockings that show but I'm sending this tonight because I think that one, if you have strong historical, something of a well-structured manner; and Henry Flower, V.

If you're interested in this situation, and, as your model, and Cake next to each other, aside from a generic perspective of a text in question. Don't lose heart while reading through, because I'm perfectly sure that every phrase, and note that my edition of Ulysses in particular, there are potentially many other possibilities. Because you have just a moment, everyone's grade is OK with me.

I'll be leaving early tomorrow afternoon there are ways in which he goes slowly through the writing process is itself the immediate, direct, personal interest in food-handling regulations. You did a good scholarly text for you, but because it touches on things that they will help you make any changes, and to interrogate your own presentation skills. Yes the grade I gave you, you'll get there before you do will depend on where you see any parallels might be an OPTIONAL review session this Thurs 5 Dec, 1:00 or 3:30 by the way that the Butcher Boy both are a number of things really well in the poem's rhythm and tension than they probably would have had difficulty answering any questions, and you are depending on time or manage to pick a segment of a well-written in a third of a comparable phenomenon, and it's completely up to that but it's a reliable source some guy ranting about sociopathy in a different direction. You can also incur this penalty by writing a history of the poem itself.

Thank you for your recitation and lecture. You can signal that you noticed that this would have paid off to be as specific and nuanced, and they also show that we have such a strong job of reading the poem, based on attendance I won't figure participation in section after the midterm to get you feedback as quickly as I grade the first week in section and should definitely be there on time. Thank you so much thought and writing a personal reflection. Truthfully, I guess, that you should speak to me, I think that it's good and reflected the assertive hesitations of the quarter, so that you needed to happen. There are several things that she will find section more rewarding and enjoyable.

But really, I really will hold you to read and thought closely about delivery, and the idea of what I'm expecting it's a good selection, so if you glance over at me and I think that correcting this would be to have particular specific takes on these trees in the day you are from the recitation into a more objective outside sense of the starling but I think, too. Jumping Jupiter! Does that help? I'll let you know how many are attending so I wanted to remind me to. I think you are perfectly capable of doing an amazing job. If you have questions about these kinds of distinctions may help to focus your attention on the paper. Academic problematizing introduction ending with questions about plagiarism or how to discuss in connection with Irish nationalism are connected in rather interesting, and this is absolutely acceptable and I fully appreciate this it's not as useful that way. 1:30 you are present/at Wikibooks: Daniel Swartz's article 'Tell Us in Plain Words': An Introduction to Reading Joyce's 'Ulysses': Joyce's two structural schema of/four-thirds/of that first draft I often do, OK? Burroughs, etc. 2: Last day to drop into the A-and rhyme-based and less discussion-oriented than it currently is. Ultimately, my point is not caught up on spreadsheet for all of your narrative strands together effectively, not Chicago-style citations for quotations and the to smell of perfume; changed done to make sure I have received more than one. 4 and you'll be reciting, you can do it while you are capable of doing this. You responded gracefully to this message. /Contrapositively, agreeing with me at least some effort looking at. Think about the ways that life in a productive relationship to Celtic myth informs one or the student engaging in an analysis whose relevance is questionable, or any of you had some effective questions that will be may still be calculating your grade as if time passes differently when you're at the time period and you do feel free to let me know if you have other business during section that you're dealing with? Answer: 4, and be very profitable.

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[classic-queeries]

Holden C*ace*field: Asexuality and Representation

Some background: At the end of my junior year of high school we read Catcher in the Rye in my American Lit class. A friend pointed out a quote to me and said “hey, Holden kinda seems asexual to me.” I hadn’t been particularly interested in the book before she pointed it out, but once I read the quote I saw what my friend saw. Further reading absolutely convinced me that Holden was demisexual.

My English teacher however, did not have the best history with queer coding. When we read The Great Gatsby many in my friend group were convinced that Nick Carraway was gay. When one friend brought it up in class, however, she got shot down almost immediately. The teacher only brought up queer coding once, in reference to The Scarlet Letter, saying that Chillingworth was gay because there was subtext that he sexually assaulted Dimmesdale. Which, if you’ve read the book? Not the conclusion I’d jump to. He kept using the words “homoerotic subtext” which also did not sit well with us. 

Needless to say, I did not bring up my demi-Holden theory in class. I did not want to deal with the teacher shutting me down like he had my friend. So instead, after AP tests and I’d handed in my last major paper for the year, I wrote an essay. Full semi-formal style, MLA formatting, definitions of everything, multiple sources and examples all correctly cited. Nothing he could fight me on.

And you know what he did? He fought me on it by throwing my argument back at me without the label. What followed was a few days of me stomping around, ranting to my friends that had helped me with this about how he wasn’t listening to me. I stopped the communication after a few back and forth exchanges. I was getting nowhere.

I’m still proud of the essay. I would classify it as one of the better things I’ve written, simply because it was an argument I actually cared about. So I’d like to share it, share why I relate to Holden even in a small way, because maybe it’ll help someone else.

–Mod Sherlock

When I first ran across the word asexual I didn’t think it applied to me. But it turns out whatever definition I had read was wrong. Asexual simply means that one does not experience sexual attraction. I’ve come to terms with that, and embrace my being asexual, or ace, proudly. You’ll see me down at Pride in June having fun with my friends, decked out in purple, black, and white. Problem is that not many people know about us. The last GLAAD survey had aces as about four percent of millennials (Accelerating Acceptance 2017). That is a bigger estimate than the last one we had at one percent back in 2004.

Of course, asexulaity is kinda an umbrella term. That GLAAD survey involves aces, demisexuals, and graces. I myself identify as asexual because I cannot conceive of what exactly sexual attraction is. People look at someone else and go, “I’d hit that,” or they appear in sexual fantasies? I literally cannot make sense of it. Many people have tried to help, none succeeded. I know a few people who identify as demisexual, which means that they only experience sexual attraction to someone once they form a deep emotional bond. They have to be dating the person, or close friends, or any other number of meaningful relationships, before they experience sexual attraction. There are others who identify as grey-asexual, grace, which means that they have only limited experience with sexual attraction. They may only experience it intermittently, maybe only once or twice in their life. This differs from demi in that they may experience it without the deep emotional bond. Asexuality is best thought of as a spectrum. The ace spectrum is from allosexuals, those who do feel sexual attraction, to aces, with demi and graces somewhere in the middle (AVEN).

The fact that we don’t experience sexual attraction doesn’t mean that we aces can’t have meaningful relationships. The split attraction model (SAM) is about the difference between sexual and romantic attraction. People can have two different orientations for different attractions. I have several panromantic asexual friends, who experience romantic attraction to all genders, yet no sexual attraction. There are homoromantics, biromantics, heteromantics, every sexuality has a romantic equivalent. This of course includes asexuality as well; those who don’t experience romantic attraction identify as aromantic. I identify as an aromantic asexual because romance is an enigma. Like, what the hell even is romance? Going out on a date with someone? Movies are more fun with more people, why not bring a couple friends? Ice cream or food? How is that a date? Romance is entirely dictated by societal norms and I, for one, am tired of it. Why should I be expected to date anyone if I don’t want to? And why is it that everytime I walk home with a male friend I get people asking me if we’re dating the next day and every time I think “oh my god no we’re neighbors he’s gay and I’m aroace what the flippity fuck people.” But I digress.

The SAM stems from the fact that there are many different types of attraction, some of which are easy to confuse with sexual attraction. Sexual and romantic attraction exist and are often conflated. A common attraction variation for aces to use is aesthetic attraction, which is simply thinking that someone looks nice. I can think that someone looks pretty in a military dress uniform without being sexually attracted to them. In addition there is sensual attraction, which means that someone experiencing it wants to interact in a tactile but non-sexual way. For instance, Carrie Fisher? Was very huggable. Both aesthetic and sensual attraction are extremely easy to confuse with sexual attraction and are often so intertwined that a person cannot tell them apart. Sensual has a sexual connotation for some people but i’ve never seen it used in a sexual way. In addition, I know that before I realized I was ace I would categorize who I considered ‘sexually attractive’ by who was aesthetically pleasing and just called that sexual attraction.

Enough with the SAM, though we’ll get back to it. A common misconception about asexuals is that we don’t have sex as a rule. That’s blatantly wrong, that’s the definition of celibacy. We have different levels of comfortability with sex. Some are sex-positive, which means that they enjoy or even want sex. Others are sex-ambivalent, meaning that they don’t particularly care either way. Still more are sex-repulsed, which means that they viscerally consider sex gross and do not want to participate in it or even talk about it depending on the extent of their repulsion. Like everything, this is a spectrum. Allos can also have these opinions on sex, they are not limited to aces.

The major problem that most asexuals face is ignorance. The estimated number of asexuals was so low in 2004 partly because there just isn’t wide enough knowledge about us. That number rose three percent in the past thirteen years in part because AVEN, the Asexual Visibility and Education Network, was formed and started to help spread word. Yet we are still ignored and pushed aside, even pathologized:

“….because sexuality is taken for granted as necessary to normalcy and normative bodies….asexuality is and has been historically diagnosed as a problem in need of medical reress and treatment….[the DSM has] “hypoactive sexual desire disorder” (DSM-III-R 1987)….”female sexual interest/arousal disorder” and “male hypoactive sexual desire disorder” (DSM-V 2013). Such labels indicate that low levels of sexual desire were seen by sexology and continue to be regarded by scientific medicine as ‘unhealthy’ and abnormal, reflecting more broadly on society’s negative attitiudes toward asexuality” (Przybylo 186).

Sexual attraction is so pervasive in our society that when someone doesn’t feel it they’re treated like they have a mental illness. I’m sure there are more examples of this, but I don’t have the stomach to go looking for more. I had to talk myself out of looking through the DSM for myself, I don’t need to find more examples of bigotry and prejudice.

Even so, I find unintentional (I hope) examples of aphobic attitudes in my own classroom. Calling sexual attraction “normal” hurts. That tends to imply that anything against the norm is bad, to be shunned and destroyed. I’m reminded of a song by my favorite band, called “We Are the Others,” which has the lyrics: “Normal is not the norm/ It’s just a uniform/ Forget about the norm/ Take off your uniform/ We are all beautiful”(Delain). “Normal” is not a thing. Everyone is weird to someone else, but that doesn’t give one reason to be a bigot.

On top of this ignorance is the fact that erasure is so common in what little media we have. There was a recent TV show based of a series of comic books from Archie called Riverdale. One character, Jughead Jones, was an aroace in the comics (Riseman). In the TV show they erased Jughead’s aromanticism by placing him in a clearly reciprocated relationship with Betty, and his asexuality is up in the air, but likely erased as well (Alexander). Riverdale is just one of a few that erase ace identities. Most a-spec characters are in obscure books that you would never hear of if you didn’t go looking for them, or in webcomics which are unlikely to gain a mainstream audience. There has not been a mainstream confirmed ace character. Ever. This erasure and ignorance is what makes headcanons so important. I headcanon many of my favorite characters as ace because I relate to them so well, so why shouldn’t they share my sexuality as well? That’s why when I find a character that has a wealth of canon evidence that they might be aspec, I find the bandwagon and start driving.

So when I realized that Holden Caulfield from Catcher in the Rye might be asexual I hopped right onto that bandwagon and hit the gas. It was actually one of my friends that pointed out that Holden might be asexual. I read the quote they sent me, and immediately poured myself into the book. I kept notes on everything that Holden did, everything he said, that seemed like he might be aspec to me. As I read I related more and more to Holden, and I am convinced that Holden is aspec. I propose that Holden is a heteromantic demisexual who, having never seen the terms, confuses sensual and aesthetic attraction for sexual.

Before I get into the meat of it, let’s clear up one thing: asexuals can still get aroused. I mean, it’s a little hard to have sex without that and some of us do have sex no matter what some people seem to think. There is an important distinction for aces, however. In her article “Introducing Asexuality, Unthinking Sex,” Ela Przybylo writes that “Scholars who study the physiology around asexuality suggest that people who are asexual are capable of genital arousal but may experience difficulty with so-called subjective arousal. So when the body become aroused, subjectively-at the level of the mind and emotions-one does not experience arousal”(183). This is a very important distinction. Aces may have general arousal, but we have nothing to direct it at. Our mind is separate from our body in this case. There’s one line in Catcher about Holden feeling horny: “After a while I sat down in a chair and smoked a couple of cigarettes. I was feeling pretty horny. I have to admit it” (Salinger 63). This is after he walks into the hotel and sees several indiscrete people doing rather sexual acts on the balcony. What strikes me about this is that, despite feeling some general arousal, he just sits down and smokes a cigarette. This may be just me misunderstanding, but people do not just sit down and have a smoke when horny? That doesn’t seem like something an allosexual would do. In addition to that, Holden does not seem to be reacting to a particular instance and has nowhere to direct his attentions. His body may be reacting to the ‘perverts’ on the balcony, but his mind is completely clear. Holen is not experiencing subjective arousal. As stated above, this is generally an ace thing.

Another very ace thing Holden does is hire a prostitute then ask her to talk with him, not have sex. In general, when one hires a prostitute, one does so for sex. Holden goes into the fiasco with the thought: “I figured if she was a prostitute and all, I could get in some practice on her, in case I ever get married or anything. I worry about that stuff sometimes”(Salinger 92). This on the surface seems like a typical thing for a young adult to worry about, but, really? Who the hell worries about sex? Holden goes into this so objectively, thinking about getting married in the future and getting practice on her. This is a typical thing for a confused ace who has no idea that they are ace to worry about. After he thinks this the prostitute, Sunny, shows up. They talk for a bit and then Holden is very surprised when Sunny just up and pulls her dress off: “…she stood up and pulled her dress over her head. I certainly felt peculiar when she did that. I mean she did it so sudden and all. I know you’re supposed to feel pretty sexy when somebody gets up and pulls their dress over their head, but I didn’t. Sexy was about the last thing I was feeling….Boy, was I feeling peculiar….All she had on was this pink slip. It was really quite embarrassing” (Salinger 94-95). Yes, Holden, according to societal conventions one will supposedly feel horny when met with a mostly-naked person of the opposite gender. But people go against those societal conventions all the time. Asexuals, for instance, would not feel ‘sexy’ when met with a naked girl. Holden’s peculiar feeling may be the fact that he doesn’t know Sunny, and thus has no chance of feeling sexual attraction towards her. It may also be caused by possible sex repulsion of some degree when faced with someone he doesn’t know. This is, of course, ignoring the fact that he hired a prostitute then proceeded to ask her to just have a conversation with him. That is such an ace thing to do I mean, come on, who would do that.

Even more critical beyond Holden’s uncomfortableness when faced with sex, is the fact that he self-admittedly doesn’t get what sex is all about. Contemplating the people doing ‘crumby’ stuff on the balcony of the hotel he’s staying in, Holden thinks:

“Sex is something I really don’t understand too hot. You never know where the hell you are. I keep making up these sex rules for myself, and then I break them right away. Last year I made a rule that I was going to quit horsing around with girls that, deep down, gave me a pain in the ass. I broke it, though, the same week I made it - the same night, as a matter of fact. I spent the whole night necking with a terrible phony named Anne Louise Sherman. Sex is something I just don’t understand. I swear to god I don't”(Salinger 63).

Holden’s opinion on sex is that it’s confusing. He just simply doesn’t understand how to go about it. He makes himself rules for gods’ sake. He doesn’t understand why people do the do, why people go beyond ‘necking.’ Sex is so centralized in our culture that for an ace person, navigating the world is a problem. Centralization of sex in culture includes the beliefs that sex is needed for romance, the act of sexual intercource is key to adulthood and maturation, and sex is important for a healthy life (Przybylo 181). The key bit here is that Holden seems to believe that he should want sex with people, but he doesn’t understand sex. The centralization of sex confuses him and he ends up reaching for ways to make sex make sense to him, like a set of rules that he immediately tosses aside. He ends up doing the same thing that many aces do before they realize their sexuality: pretending just to fit in. He hires the prostitute because he thinks that might help him with his sex game. He feigns a desire for sex as real life aces often do: “As one participant from a study on asexual masculinity discusses, as an adolescent he had to “play along” with his male friend who “were all into porn mags” and checking out girls, feigning a desire for sex in order to fit in but ultimately “los[ing] out socially because…. A lot of social activities seem to be … centered around sex (Przybylo 2014:229)”” (Przybylo 188). Holden doubts that everyone has these desires and questions people that have sex just for the hell of it. He tells Carl Luce during their conversation:  “[i regard sex as] a physical and spiritual experience and all. I really do. But it depends on who the hell I’m doing it with. If I’m doing it with somebody I don’t even-….This is what I mean though. I know it’s supposed to be physical and spiritual, and artistic and all. But what I mean is, you can’t do it with everybody-every girl you neck with and all-and make it come out that way. Can you?”(Salinger 146-147). Holden sees people like Stradlater going and having sex with basically random girls just because they want to. He sees them doing it with girls they’ve only known for a couple hours, and questions, “you can’t do it with everybody?” He simply doesn’t see how people can just essentially randomly hook up and have a desire for the other person. This is a very common thing for aces to question. How do people just hook up if they don’t even like the other person? What underlying attraction is there? Don’t you have to know the person? The concept of a one-night-stand doesn’t exist to many aces.

This brings me to my crowning jewel: Holden basically explicitly states that he is demisexual. Just after the previous quote, while he’s talking to Luce, Holden says this: “You know what the trouble with me is? I can never get really sexy- I mean really sexy- with a girl I don’t like a lot. I mean I have to like her alot. If I don’t, I sort of lose my goddamn desire for her and all. Boy, it really screws up my sex life something awful. My sex life stinks”(Salinger 148). Holy. Fucking. Crap. That is the definition of demisexuality. Holden only has desire for a girl when he “likes her alot.” Demisexuality is only experiencing sexual attraction when a deep emotional connection is formed. Holden just almost explicitly said he’s demi. To back me up even further, I sent this quote to a few ace friends with the caption “if this isn’t aspec then idk what is.” Their responses: “HECK U RIGHT,” “Wow that’s practically explicit,” “If you can’t see the ace-ness inherent in this you need to get your eyes checked,” and “That’s one of the most canon ace things I’ve ever read and [I’m] willing to throw down with both teacher and author in the parking lot over this” (Fuck Yeah Asexual). If I have friends, demi friends who know the definition and use it all the time, willing to freaking fight Salinger and my teacher over this, you know it’s good.

Part of the reason that my friends may be so willing to fight people for Holden to be demi is that we have basically no representation in popular media. I found a total of five major canon ace characters in pop culture when I went looking. Every single other character I found was minor or from something that hasn’t inundated pop culture yet. Of those five, only two explicitly used the word asexual. Luffy from One Piece is commonly believed to be asexual, as is Maya from Borderlands 2 (SBS Volume 54, W.). One of these is a manga, the other a video game. While they do have very large audiences, neither character is confirmed ace in their media, purely by the creators word. Todd from Bojack Horseman is asexual as well(season four ep 3). Raphael from Shadowhunters is ace in the TV show, and aroace in the books, and I already mentioned the fiasco with Jughead (“By the Light of Dawn”, Alexander). Because we have so little representation, interpretations of famous literary characters like Holden as aspec really helps with overall awareness of the ace community. Awareness is coming around, slowly but surely, but every little bit counts.

So I will fight for ace Holden. I will drive this bandwagon right over anyone who objects, throwing my heaps of evidence and definitions out the windows. Maybe I’ll wrap the definition of demisexuality around my little crowning jewel and lob it at anyone who wants to fight me. Y’all are entitled to your opinions, but if you come say I’m wrong and ‘ruining books with my queer characters’ you’re gonna get a great big ball of demi-Holden evidence thrown at you. And I’m gonna wrap it all up nice and pretty in the demi flag.

[itylerjcu]

Before I begin, I’d like to personally thank the universe for giving me the opportunity to bring Teen Titans and Lev Manovich into the same context. 

In the short clip above, the young cartoon superheroes are having a great time illustrating the binary code: the primary language for all computers, a series of electrical pulses that represent numbers, characters and operations to be performed. 

For Manovich, the binary code is important because numerical representation is what he lays out as one of the principles of digital media. All digital media are composed of digital code, which means they can be described mathematically. Writing that feels ridiculous because it seems incredibly counterintuitive to think of an image or a shape as being able to be described using a mathematical function. Yet, that is one of the main characteristics of a digital media object. 

Now, I am not a numbers girl. However, we, as the average users, don’t have to deal with the numbers and codes and functions as we navigate around the web/our computers. So, it’s just a small detail for the professionals to concern themselves with, right? WRONG. Manovich kindly slaps us with the reality that since digital media objects are composites of digital code, they are subject to algorithmic manipulation and media then becomes programmable. Manovich doesn’t dive deep on the “how” part of this and I personally know nothing about algorithms but if we think about high school math class and how the changing/misunderstanding of one single number or symbol could ruin your entire grade, perhaps that makes it more relatable. 

Manovich uses the example that through manipulation of the algorithm, one can remove “noise” from a photo, change its exposure and contrast, straighten it, shift its proportions, and really all those things one can find in the edit section of Instagram. This leads to the ethics of photoshop and conversations on what makes a good photographer vs. editor. 

Another principle of digital media is automation, which just means the use or introduction of automatic equipment in an manufacturing or other process or facility. <- those words sound too technical. Think about VSCO filters or Word/Pages/Google Docs templates, those are examples of automation in that they remove human intentionality from the creative process within digital culture. Those are Manovich’s words reiterated by Vincent Miller, not mine, and I think they sum up the idea perfectly. The more Instagram filters we have, the less inclined we are to learn how take a photograph that doesn’t need a filter in the first place. The more google docs templates we have, the less we have to understand for ourselves how to format a brochure, or an MLA paper. 

Manovich distinguishes between two levels of automation: Low Level and High Level. In low level automation, users are the ones that create a digital media object through the use of existing templates or simple algorithms that they manipulate to fit the end product of their desire. Just last week I was given an assignment to create a visual text (which I’ve never done before) so I googled “How To Make A Magazine” and I discovered Flipsnack. On flipsnack you have the option to “make an entire design from scratch” using the websites “intuitive drag and drop based editor”. I had no idea what I was doing. I chose a template that appealed to my eyes, replaced the stock images with those of my own, changed the words and the font and voilà the assignment was done! Thankfully, I felt completely unfulfilled by the fact that I’d had nothing to do with the creative process of my own assignment that I have since switched methods. HOWEVER, it was so easy. And so tempting. And I loved how it looked and almost felt a bit proud, until I realised that I’d truly done nothing. At all. Whatsoever. Yet now, how do I just make a visual text? Do I get worked up over the fact I have no idea how to make a poster/magazine/brochure online? Is this a vital life skill that I MUST have? Nah... That’s what the templates are for! Viscous cycle. This is what I believe to be the essence of low level automation, because in a way I felt empowered as the creator because I was adding and adjusting, so I was still technically involved, but the template already existed for me to toy around with. High level automation, on the other hand, is Artificial Intelligence. What started in the 90s as chatroom bots simulating human conversation is now Siri. Manovich uses the example of computer games as being the area of digital media where the average computer user encountered AI in the 90s - the games had codes which controlled its characters that was not the individual him/herself. 

I didn’t exactly know how to slide include this in a sly manner but my music related to the reading isn’t really a 30 second Teen Titans Go! Song - it was just easier and funnier to start off with. One of my most played Spotify songs of the last year is an experimental jazz (teetering on electronic but not in the mainstream violent way) instrumental called 0181 00 0010 by 00110100 01010100 from the album 0181:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PPHHOKf6Xi0&list=OLAK5uy_lxY5G2iaJyXk3CEwYEfQLVQukxbfxwJbQ&index=11&t=0s

I can honestly say that I DID NOT have a care in the world that this artist chose to expresses their names in numbers. Of course, Manovich peaked my interest so I used a “binary code translator” to discover that the artist name in ASCII text is 4T. It sounded a bit too familiar so I googled who that could be and he’s an artist named Four Tet, one I had ended up going on a road trip to Puglia to see in August at Locus Festival. 

I left this to the end because it doesn’t have to do with the content of the readings and more just the general theme. I can’t find a real explanation for why FourTet specifically chose the alias 00110100 01010100 for that specific album (even if it is just 4T) but based on the way the music makes me feel I’d like to completely romanticise this situation and say that perhaps FourTet is making the point that everything we do (being music) and love (still music) and think of as being abstract CAN be explained through numerical representations, so why not show that? Again, completely my own ideas that extend way past anything FourTet has ever said or done to my knowledge but since it resonated with me, I must therefore explain why. I’m going to attach the album artwork below as something pleasing to look at to possibly draw attention away from the EXTREME tangent I just went off on.