#we were discussing this in my lecture yesterday :]

[isacksteban]

Cinnamon — Strollonso (1) (Prologue)

Lance sat at the same round table in the campus café, nursing yet another iced coffee, but this time, his nerves were frayed. His mind kept replaying the interaction with Dr. Alonso from the day before — the way his gaze had lingered, the way his voice had softened when he said Lance’s name.

“Earth to Lance.”

Jessica’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She, Esteban, Charles, and Zhou were all gathered around him again, but this time, they looked like they were dying to know what was going on inside his head.

“So?” Charles prompted, leaning in eagerly. “What’s the plan? Are you gonna talk to him again?”

"Are you going to suck him off?" Somehow, Zhou always knew what to say to get Charles to try and knock some sense into him.

Lance groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t have a plan. I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

Esteban snorted. “You’re definitely flirting with him.”

“I’m not—”

Jessica cut him off with a knowing grin. “Oh, you are. And he’s flirting back.”

Lance peeked at her through his fingers. “You really think so?”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Yes, Lance. We all think so. The only question is: what are you gonna do about it?”

Before Lance could answer, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced down, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the email notification:

From: alonso@mit.edu

Subject: Office Hours

Lance tapped the screen, opening the email.

Mr. Stroll,

I noticed you seemed uncertain during yesterday’s lecture. If you’d like to discuss the reading further, I’ll be holding office hours this afternoon at 2 PM.

Dr. Fernando Alonso

Lance stared at the message, his mind racing.

Jessica grabbed his phone out of his hand. “Oh my God. He totally wants you to come see him.”

Zhou whistled. “Office hours. That’s classic professor code for ‘I want to see you alone.’”

Lance snatched his phone back. “It’s not—” He stopped, rereading the email. “Okay… maybe it is.”

Esteban grinned. “You’re going, right?”

“I don’t know,” Lance muttered, his fingers twitching over his phone. “What if I’m wrong? What if he’s just being nice?”

Charles shook his head. “Nice professors don’t stare at their students like they’re dessert, Lance. Go.”

Jessica smirked. “Besides, don’t you want to see him? You’ve been drooling over his forearms for weeks.”

Lance flushed. “Fine. I’ll go.”

At 2 PM sharp, Lance stood outside Dr. Alonso’s office door, his palms sweaty again. He raised his hand to knock but hesitated.

Before he could talk himself out of it, the door opened.

Dr. Alonso stood there, impeccably dressed as always, his expression calm but unreadable.

“Mr. Stroll,” he greeted, stepping aside to let Lance in. “I’m glad you came.”

Lance swallowed hard and stepped inside, his heart pounding in his chest.

Dr. Alonso closed the door behind him, the soft click of the lock sounding far louder than it should have.

“I thought we could go over the reading in more detail,” Dr. Alonso said, motioning for Lance to take a seat. "it's not often you struggle in my class so i'd rather eliminate any possible confusion before you get behind."

Lance sat down, trying not to fidget as Dr. Alonso moved to sit across from him. The desk between them felt like a flimsy barrier, one that could easily be crossed.

“So,” Dr. Alonso began, his gaze steady. “Power dynamics. You seemed particularly interested in that topic yesterday.”

Lance cleared his throat, struggling to find his voice as he pursed his lips into a fine line. “Yeah, um… it’s an interesting concept.”

Dr. Alonso tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint smile. “It is. Especially when applied to… certain relationships.”

Lance’s breath caught.

“Tell me,” Dr. Alonso continued, his voice dropping just slightly, “what do you think happens when one person holds more power in a relationship? How does it affect… let's say, attraction?”

Lance’s heart was racing now. Was this still about ethics?

“I think…” Lance hesitated, meeting Dr. Alonso’s gaze. “I think it depends on whether the power is mutual.”

Dr. Alonso leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. “And do you think it can be?”

Lance nodded slowly. “Yeah. If both people are willing to… share it.”

Dr. Alonso’s smile deepened. “A wise answer.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them crackled with tension, unspoken words hanging heavily in the silence.

Finally, Dr. Alonso stood, walking around the desk until he was standing just in front of Lance.

Lance looked up — he hadn't felt this small in god knows how long — his pulse thundering in his ears.

“You’re not just any student, Mr. Stroll,” Dr. Alonso said softly, his eyes never leaving Lance’s. “You’ve… caught my attention.”

Lance’s breath hitched. “I have?”

Dr. Alonso nodded, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from Lance’s forehead.

“Yes,” he murmured. “And I find myself… wanting to know more.”

Lance’s heart nearly exploded. Holy shit. This is actually happening.

“And you?” Dr. Alonso asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you feel the same?”

Lance swallowed hard, then nodded. “Oh, Yea— Yeah… I do.”

Dr. Alonso’s hand lingered for a moment before he pulled away, stepping back.

“We’ll need to be careful,” he said, his tone serious. “But if you’re willing to take the ri—”

Lance stood, closing the distance between them. “I am.”

Their eyes met once more, and this time, neither of them looked away.

Dr. Alonso’s lips curved into a smile. “Good.”

For a moment, the world outside the office ceased to exist. Lance could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat in his ears, his gaze locked on Dr. Alonso’s — no, Fernando’s — dark, intense eyes.

Fernando leaned against the desk, his posture casual yet commanding. “You’re certain?” he asked, his voice low and deliberate.

Lance nodded again, more confident this time. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

A flicker of something passed through Fernando’s gaze — surprise, maybe even amusement. He crossed his arms, the muscles in his forearms flexing under his rolled-up sleeves.

“You realize this… complicates things,” Fernando said, his lips twitching into a faint smirk.

Lance couldn’t help but grin back. “I’ve never really been one to go for simple.” He figured that much was obvious considering he was a double major and had managed to take one of Fernando's classes two years in a row now.

Fernando chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Of course you haven’t.”

The tension between them hung in the air, thicker now, charged with anticipation. Lance shifted his weight from one foot to the other, resisting the urge to close the remaining space between them again.

Fernando tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “There’s a fine line, you know, between temptation and consequence.”

Lance quirked an eyebrow. “Which side are we on right now?”

Fernando’s smile deepened. “That depends on how far you’re willing to go.”

Lance took a slow step forward, his voice steady. “I told you — I’m all in.”

The room felt smaller now, the distance between them shrinking with each breath. Fernando watched Lance carefully, his expression unreadable, but there was no denying the spark in his eyes.

“I could lose everything,” Fernando murmured, almost to himself.

“And so could I,” Lance countered, his tone gentle but firm.

For a long moment, Fernando said nothing. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached out, his fingers brushing Lance’s cheek. The touch was light, tentative, as if testing the boundaries of what they were about to cross.

“You’re dangerous, Mr. Stroll,” Fernando whispered, his thumb grazing Lance’s jaw.

Lance smiled, leaning into the touch. “Maybe you like it.”

Fernando chuckled again, his hand slipping to the back of Lance’s neck, pulling him just a fraction closer.

“Perhaps I do,” he murmured, before finally — finally — closing the distance between them.

The kiss started soft, almost cautious, as if both of them were testing the waters. But the moment Fernando’s hand slid to the back of Lance’s neck, pulling him closer, the tension that had been simmering between them exploded.

Lance’s hands gripped Fernando’s shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. He wasn’t holding back anymore — neither of them were. Fernando's lips moved with purpose, deepening the kiss until it became all-consuming, leaving Lance breathless. Their mouths melded together in a frantic rhythm, desperate and hungry.

Fernando backed Lance up against the desk, his hands traveling down to Lance’s waist, pulling him flush against his body. Lance gasped into the kiss, his fingers sliding into Fernando’s hair, tugging just enough to earn a soft groan from the older man. It sent a shiver down Lance’s spine.

“Fuck,” Lance whispered against Fernando’s lips, his voice shaky.

Fernando chuckled, his breath warm on Lance’s skin. “Language, Mr. Stroll.”

Lance laughed softly, tilting his head to capture Fernando’s mouth again, more eagerly this time. Their kisses grew messier, more fervent, teeth clashing and tongues tangling. Fernando’s hand slipped under the hem of Lance’s shirt, fingers tracing over his hipbones, and Lance arched into the touch.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” Fernando murmured, his voice low and strained.

Lance bit his lip, his cheeks flushed. “I think I’m starting to.”

Fernando’s lips found Lance’s neck, leaving a trail of kisses along his jaw and down to his collarbone. Lance tilted his head back, eyes fluttering shut as Fernando nipped at his skin, leaving faint marks.

“You’re driving me insane,” Fernando muttered, his grip tightening on Lance’s waist.

“Good,” Lance breathed out, pulling Fernando even closer. His heart was pounding, every nerve in his body alight with desire. “I want to.”

Fernando pulled back just enough to meet Lance’s gaze, his eyes dark with want. “Careful,” he said, voice rough. “You don’t know what you’re starting.”

Lance smiled, his lips swollen and his hair a mess. “Maybe I do.”

“I’ve wanted to do this for longer than I care to admit,” Fernando confessed, his voice rough with emotion.

Lance laughed softly, brushing his fingers through Fernando’s hair. “Glad I’m not the only one.”

The moment was perfect — until a sharp knock on the door shattered the silence.

Fernando pulled back quickly, straightening his posture and smoothing down his shirt. Lance stepped back as well, his heart still racing.

“Come in,” Fernando called, his voice calm and composed, as if nothing had happened.

The door creaked open, revealing Jessica standing there with a smug grin on her face.

“Lance, you’re late for our study session,” she said, her tone dripping with amusement. Her eyes flicked to Fernando briefly before returning to Lance, a knowing look in her gaze.

Lance cleared his throat, grabbing his bag. “Right. Study session.”

Jessica smirked, stepping aside to let Lance out. “See you in class, Dr. Alonso.”

Fernando nodded, his expression perfectly professional. “See you, Ms. Hawkins.”

As they walked down the hallway, Jessica glanced at Lance. “So… how was your ‘context’ conversation?”

Lance groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t start.”

Jessica laughed. “Oh, I won’t. But Charles and Esteban? Good luck.”

Lance couldn’t help but smile, his mind still lingering on the kiss — the kisses.

“Worth it,” he muttered under his breath.

Jessica raised an eyebrow at him as they walked. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Lance said quickly, but the grin tugging at his lips gave him away.

Jessica looped her arm through his. “You’re glowing, Stroll. I’ve never seen you like this. I mean, I know Dr. Alonso is… well, ridiculously hot — but damn. I didn’t expect you to actually do something about it.”

Lance’s cheeks turned pink, and he tried to hide his face by looking straight ahead. “It wasn’t planned.”

“Oh, clearly,” Jessica teased. “You just happened to make out with your ethics professor during office hours. Totally normal.”

Lance groaned. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’ve been crushing on him for a while.”

Jessica stopped in her tracks, forcing Lance to do the same. “You think?”

Before he could answer, the sound of familiar voices echoed down the hallway. Charles and Esteban were leaning against the wall outside the study lounge, deep in conversation.

When they spotted Lance and Jessica approaching, Esteban’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Where the hell have you been?”

Charles crossed his arms, a smirk already forming on his lips. “Wait. Don’t tell me. Were you—”

Jessica cut him off, grinning wickedly. “Let’s just say someone got a little distracted.”

Lance shot her a warning look. “Don’t.”

But Esteban was already piecing it together. His jaw dropped. “No way. No fucking way. You and Alonso?”

Charles barked out a laugh. “You absolute madman.”

“Guys, seriously—” Lance started, but it was no use.

“Holy shit,” Esteban said, his eyes wide. “This is like… forbidden romance. Teacher-student. Secret meetings. Do you know how scandalous this is?”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “It’s not a soap opera, Esteban.”

Charles leaned in, his grin smug. “So… was it good?”

Lance flushed, glaring at his friends. “I hate all of you.”

“Come on, tell us,” Charles pushed. “He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who does anything halfway.”

Lance groaned again, rubbing his temples. “I’m not discussing my love life with you two.”

“Love life?” Esteban repeated, eyes wide. “You’re calling it a love life already?”

“God, you’re all insufferable,” Lance muttered, but he couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto his face. His thoughts kept drifting back to Fernando’s touch, his kiss, the way he’d looked at him like Lance was the only person in the world.

Jessica patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Lance. We’re just jealous. None of our professors look like that.”

“Or kiss like that,” Charles added with a wink.

“Shut up,” Lance hissed, though he couldn’t help laughing.

As they finally settled into the study lounge, Esteban leaned over, whispering conspiratorially, “So… what happens now?”

Lance’s smile softened. “Now? I guess… we figure it out.”

And, deep down, he already knew he was willing to take the risk — because something told him that whatever he and Fernando had started was only the beginning.

Next

[charcoalhawk]

Common knowledge

Summary: sometimes, Jazz forgets that things that were common knowledge in Amity park may not be all that common elsewhere.

Warnings: Phantom Planet is canon

“This class will be focused on argumentative and persuasive essays. The first two weeks will be developing your argument to-“

Jazz doesn’t mean to zone out, but after a rather frantic festive season she’s sorely behind on sleep. Besides she had read the syllabus front to back multiple times since it had been released the other day.

Jazz doesn’t know quite how to feel about this ‘persuasive writing class’ yet, but it’s required for her degree, so at the very least she can suck it up and keep chugging.

At least her other classes look fun so far, and both Deja and Louis are in Psych 102 with her, so they can compare notes.

So far, one whole semester completed and Jazz is pretty confident she has college down. Yes it was hard being so far from Danny and her parents, and the family otherworldliness of Amity, but Jazz needed this change.

A glance at the clock on the lecture room wall jolts Jazz back into paying attention to what the professor is saying. How had she zoned out for almost fifteen minutes? She definitely needed to get some better sleep tonight. Which unfortunately meant she couldn’t finish reading the Psychology textbook they had all been given yesterday.

“- and now, for the remainder of class we are going to discuss some possible essay topics. Now normally I would ask that we limit it to one topic per student, both to avoid copping and to allow for a wide range of topics. However, given the, ah, unexpected event that happened earlier this year, I am going to allow for multiple people to write about the same overarching topic. I would however ask that we think of some unique sub-categories so we can explore most of this topic.”

Jazz sits there stumped for a second. What could have possibly happened in the last year that multiple people would want to talk about it to this extent? Maybe a new game came out? She’ll have to ask Danny, he’d always kept up to date on that kind of stuff.

Or maybe it’s a new study somewhere? She knows she read something fascinating about brain waves in response to-

“Ghosts aren’t real!” Someone shouts from the far side of the classroom, bringing an abrupt halt to the quiet murmuring that had previously engulfed the classroom.“this all has to be some kind of super secret spy-ops thing that got leaked-“

“-Ghosts are totally real!” Another classmate retorts, “When I was six I saw my grandma’s ghost on the day of her funeral-”

“No way! That would me hundreds of years of research are now-“

“All right! All right.” The room quiets at the Professor’s slightly raised voice. “I know you all know how to behave in a classroom, so let’s all settle down and treat this as a discussion and not a shouting match. Now, Deja, would you like to go first?”

“Yes, thank you Professor. Now as I was saying, it’s chemically impossible for ghosts to exist-“

Oh.

Oh.

Jazz had forgotten that most people hadn’t known ghosts were real.

Danny was going to laugh so hard when she told him about this. If she told him about this.

Maybe this time it could stay because just her and Bearbert.

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

Throwback - Circa 2016

Nobody prepares you for moments like this while dealing with puberty. I could be helping Miss Rosso grade yesterday’s italiano grammar quiz but instead I’m fulfilling my duties as team captain. I felt like I was about to throw up, partly from the paranoia of cargo losing our project (they didn’t), but mainly because we just made it to our first Nationals. It was the first time an all-girls Catholic school had made it this far, and Principal Mowry lectured (warned) us about bringing home at least a diploma.

We made an entrance whether we wanted to or not. The room fell silent as our team walked through the main hall, the sharp click of polished formal heels against the convention center floor breaking through the noise. Unlike the other teams dressed in hoodies, sneakers, and team T-shirts, we arrived in pressed uniforms, tights, and neatly styled hair—Miss Sutton, our tech coach at our side like a chaperone to a debutante ball. It was all part of the St. Trinity ladylike image.

Across the room, the boys from Gilman—three-time nationals competitors, and last year’s champions—swaggered in, like they had already won. Teams frolicked with chatter, some friendly and others dripping with judgment. I overheard some whispers about how “This year, we have some new babes” like it was some novelty. Of course, there were the usual sexist remarks. One girl from an elite East Coast school even spread some gossip, “I heard that the captain is a total shrew,” which quickly escalated into a full-blown discussion about how Catholic schools in California were far behind compared to their prestigious institutions.

I didn’t pay them much mind—at least, not at first. My focus was on making it alive out of this.

After the inauguration, the host invited everyone to freshen up before the first round of competition. We put on our big coats (yes, we Californians get cold) and made our way to the cafeteria for a quick meal. While enjoying our few minutes left, the inevitable question arose: Were there any cute boys?

“Ay noo, muy creidos,” I groaned. “They all look like finance bros in training.” (Noo, way too snooty.)

Mariel, my best friend, waggled her eyebrows. “There’s got to be at least one.”

We decided to head to our station early and begin setting up our project—a fully functional, intelligent Barbie Dreamhouse. As I booted up my laptop to check the code, I tested the app on my iPad, making sure each function was in place.

Across the arena, a team of boys was engrossed in their project—battle robots. They cheered as two metal machines clashed, the room filled with the sounds of scraping steel and excited shouts.

But I wasn’t watching the robots.

I was watching someone.

Curly-haired, thick eyebrows, completely focused. While his teammates hollered like cavemen, he controlled the remote with calm precision, pressing buttons with the ease of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

“Why are you staring?” Mariel asked with a teasing smile.

Without thinking, I muttered, “I’m not. I just… the robot’s noisy.”

“Uh-huh,” she teased. “Come on, let’s go over there.”

Before I could protest, Mariel pulled the fabric of my coat for me to follow her. The second we walked up, the boys quieted, some of them suddenly straightening their postures. A few gave an attempt at being suave, offering lazy greetings.

“Didn’t expect to see heels at one of these competitions,” one of them muttered.

“First impressions are important,” Mariel shot back, smiling sweetly.

The curly-haired boy, their captain, didn’t join in their jokes. Instead, he watched me curiously as I glanced at the battle robot. “Hey,” he greeted, polite but reserved. “I’m Luigi. Sorry about all the noise, we are testing the weak points.”

Mariel nudged my arm. I straightened and stopped fidgeting. “Right….I’m (Y/N). S’cool, they sound like they have decent resistance.”

He nodded. “They were designed for defensive combat—angled armor and optimized speed-to-weight ratio. Took us months to perfect.”

He explained the mechanisms with the confidence of someone who knew his work was good but wasn’t arrogant about it. Then, he turned the question to me.

“And you? What’s your project?”

“A Barbie Dreamhouse.”

“Oh.” His reaction was neutral, but his teammates weren’t as composed.

“A dollhouse for the Malibu Barbies,” one of them joked. “Is it glittery?”

I raised an eyebrow. “It’s a different approach. I wonder how many battle bots do the judges see every year?”

That shut them up for a second. But one of them, smirking, tilted his head. “So you’re the shrew.”

My jaw tightened, but I refused to let them see me flinch. “Wow,” I said dryly. “How Shakespearean.”

The curly-haired captain turned to his teammates, frowning. “Cut it out.”

They only shrugged, but I had already moved on. There was work to do.

Mariel, knowing that I had to walk it off, gave me space. “Text if you need me."

I didn’t care if they thought it was girly. What they didn’t know was that I had originally wanted to build a big prototype tidal power generator, but the girls one-upped me with the Barbie house. The project was great and I was going to defend it.

I turned back to my station, running another test. Suddenly, the miniature air conditioner inside the dollhouse stopped spinning. Pushing my hair back, I disassembled the parts, searching for the problem, when a voice interrupted me.

“Need some help?” I glanced up, Luigi stood there, hands in his pockets, watching. I exhaled. "Looks like the solder thinned out."

"Yeah," he agreed, kneeling beside me and offering the solder lead roll. "You should reinforce it."

I arched my brow. "Thanks."

He smirked slightly at my attitude but didn't comment. Instead, he studied the model. Then, turning to me with a curious expression, he asked, “Why a water setup?”

I hesitated before explaining. “It’s part of our philanthropic plan. We’re using tidal power to generate resources. We wanted to make something sustainable.”

I showed him the app we’d created to control the Dreamhouse functions, which was set up like a smart house. The house lit up, the AC flickered back to life, the smart appliances responded seamlessly with multiple variations.

He exhaled, impressed. "Actually, this is—".

"Too smart for a Malibu Barbie?" I interrupted, teasing. His lips twitched. "I was gonna say 'innovative,' but sure, let's go with that."

He scratched the back of his head. "Sorry about my teammates, by the way."

I shrugged. "To be fair, I did expect a battle robot from a Jonas Brother."

Just then, Mariel and the others came over to grab me, asking me to check out a dog robot from another team. I turned to walk with them but glanced back one last time. Luigi was still smiling from my comment.

Ugh. Stop

——

After several rounds of competition, it was time for the oral presentations. One by one, the team captains took the stage, presenting their projects with polished confidence. Their chaperones stood beside them, adding credibility with measured nods and approving smiles.

Then it was my turn.

I stepped up, adjusting the microphone. My heart pounded out of my chest, so I took a breath.

“So, um… hi,” I started, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N), representing Daughters of St. Trinity. And this—” I gestured to the screen behind me, where an image of our Barbie Dreamhouse prototype appeared—“is not what you expected to see at a tech competition.”

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. Good.

“But here’s the thing,” I continued. “It’s more than just a Barbie Dreamhouse. Our project is about connecting natural resources with technology. The city where we’re from sits along the coastline, and we asked ourselves: What if we could harness the power of the tides to create a fully self-sustaining home?”

I clicked to the next slide. A detailed diagram of the house’s tidal power system appeared.

“This prototype is powered by a small-scale tidal energy generator, which—if applied to a real house—could significantly reduce dependency on the electrical grid. And, of course, we built an app that allows users to control everything from lighting to temperature, all while maximizing energy efficiency.”

While taking another quick breath, I glanced at the audience, scanning their faces. Most of them were attentive—some skeptical, but listening. Then my eyes met his.

Luigi was watching me intently, arms crossed, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. My stomach flipped. Ew

“This isn’t just about making something ‘girly’ smart,” I concluded. “It’s about challenging assumptions. About what innovation looks like. And if we can reimagine something as simple as a dollhouse, imagine what we can do for real homes, real cities—real change.”

A beat of silence. Then applause.

The girls grinned at me as I walked back to my seat. Mariel squeezed my hand. “That was awesome.”

I exhaled, finally allowing myself to relax.

The judges deliberated. The room was thick with anticipation. When they returned, the lead judge gave a cliche speech of ‘everyone is a winner’ and after cutting the crap he cleared his throat and announced:

….

“Second place… Gilman from Baltimore, MD.”

Luigi’s team.

The boys exchanged nods, some disappointed but still satisfied. Luigi gave a short, polite clap.

“And… first place… Daughters of St. Trinity, Santa Barbara, CA!”

We erupted into cheers and rushed forward to claim our prize—a sleek glass trophy engraved with the competition’s name.

On the podium, I turned and found Luigi beside me. He extended a hand, his expression unreadable.

“Congratulations,” he said.

I took it, giving him a firm shake.

Before I could pull away, he leaned in slightly and murmured, “You think I look like a Jonas Brother?”

Squinting my eyes I responded with a ‘a little bit’ hand gesture.

@nosebeers

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

English is not my first language, so it could sound old timey at times. (Academic English Education yaaay)

(Y/N) is mostly an original character. And some of the plot ideas come from movie references. If you are able spot them we can be friends :) Yes she can be a pick me but I promise she has a reason.

[circlingirl]

the coolest thing happened 🧘‍♀️ around a month ago i was discussing with my boyfriend how we both want to read more science books but dont know where to start since so much of it nowdays is just made up slop

fast forward to yesterday we were at a coffee shop and we both noticed this guy holding this very bright book and we looked it up only to get distracted and forget about it altogether

fast forward to today i randomly clicked on a standford lecture from 2010 on human behavior biology. i ended up watching the whole thing and in the end the professor recommended this book that he said changed his life and lo and behold it was the same book the guy was holding at the coffee shop.

the book was chaos by james gleick so naturally i ordered it right away

😎🌈😮☀️

[anton-luvr]

Could u do a fic where the reader and Anton are best friends and have a sleepover. By the time they go to sleep it starts to storm and she’s scared of thunder so she asks Anton to sleep with her in bed instead of him sleeping on the couch. So like Anton holding reader and kind of cuddling to calm her down. Reader realizing she likes Anton more than just as a best friend so she kisses and him and he gets all shy but likes it because he likes her too and just kekdowodos really fluffy and cute 🥹💕 Thank you in advance I love your work!!☺️🫶🏻

# MY FAVORITE LOSER.

𖦹 bf!anton x fem!reader | fluff | best friends to lovers au 𖦹 note ; mwah tysm anon i love you,, also this is ADORABLE... thank u for requesting i hope u like it!! + reqs are closed !

Fun fact: you were terrible at Mario Kart.

Nintendo music accompanied by Anton's laughter echoes across your apartment as he wins the game again, grinning proudly.

"I told you, Princess Peach always wins." he boasts, waving the controller happily.

You scoff, folding his arms. "Hey, Yoshi can win too! Just you wait, I'll win you in the next round." you reason.

But just like the past five games, you don't.

"Just admit I'm better, hm?" Anton suggests, smiling.

You roll your eyes jokingly at how proud your best friend is, gently shoving him.

"Okay, let's not play anymore." you say, exiting the game and setting the controller aside. "How's life?"

Anton's eyes light up at the question, and he quickly sets the controller aside too.

He loved talking to you.

Whether it was a deep conversation about personal struggles or a stupid discussion about the validity of soap (don't ask), Anton knew you would always listen.

Your conversation goes on to the late hours of midnight, with Anton telling you about his upcoming vacation to Korea and you telling him about the random fight you witnessed at your lecture the other day.

By the time he's done talking about the cute cafe he passed by yesterday, it was already past two in the morning.

"And they have really cute cups too! We should go there someday." he says, stifling a yawn.

You nod, eyes drooping shut. "I think we should sleep." you mumble, stretching with a groan. "I only slept for four hours yesterday."

Anton gasps at this, dramatically shaking you by the shoulders. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? You should go to sleep, right now." he scolds.

Chuckling, you get up from the sofa with both of your hands up in the air. "Okay, fine! I'll go to sleep now."

Anton hums at this, pushing you towards your room. "We can talk more tomorrow," he says. "You look like a zombie right now."

He runs away too fast for you to hit him for the insult, giggling as he retreats to the living room. "Goodnight!" he calls out, waving cheekily at you.

"Goodnight!" you call back as you close your bedroom door.

Flopping onto your bed, you let out a happy sigh.

It was nights like these with Anton that made life feel worth living. You're still smiling contentedly to yourself as you get comfortable under the covers, drifting off to dreamland.

Until the roaring sound of thunder snaps you right out of it.

Each flash of light shining through your room made you flinch, the angry raindrops pelting against your windows making panic rise in your chest.

Scrambling out of bed, you run into the living room, almost tripping over your own feet in the process.

"Anton." you whisper nervously, tugging at his hand. "Anton, wake up."

The sleepy boy wakes up in a jolt, frowning in confusion. "H-Huh?" he mumbles, sitting up slowly. "What's wrong?"

"Can you sleep with me? I'm scared." you rambled, gasping in short and nervous breaths.

Even though Anton was half-awake, he immediately agrees.

He stumbles his way into your room and gets under your covers, making sure to pull it over you too.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, voice groggy.

His heart breaks when you shake your head no, eyes filling up with tears.

"Don't cry, it's okay." he says, hugging you. "Just... think of it as the sky farting. That's what I used to tell my brother."

Even though you were almost scared out of your wits, you couldn't help but let out a little snort of laughter.

"Wow, that helps a lot." you deadpan, snuggling closer into his arms.

"I know right?" he giggles, rubbing your back gently.

But it actually does.

The fury of Mother Nature didn't seem so scary anymore at Anton's joke and in the security of his warm embrace.

You realize a lot of things aren't that scary anymore whenever you're with Anton.

Despite the both of you being rather shy and reserved people, he somehow always brought out the best in you.

Just his presence alone gave you confidence and security, knowing that there was always someone there who loved and supported you unconditionally.

From him cheering you on for your nerve-wracking first day of college to him helping you tell the waitress she got your order wrong at the local diner, he had always been there for you.

And even with him being half-awake, he still looked gorgeous.

His eyes sparkled with a love for the world brighter than the stars, the soft smile he flashed you warming your heart up in a way no one else could.

"Thank you." you whisper, looking up at the curly haired boy. Without another word, you kiss him on the cheek.

Anton feels like the world stops when you do so.

All the blood in his body rushes up to his head, the tips of his ears turning as red as apples while he blinks rapidly.

"W-What was that for?" he stutters, avoiding your eye contact.

"For this," you say. "For everything, actually. I think I like you." you admit.

Anton thinks he just might pass out.

Millions of thoughts run through his mind, but he says what he's been wanting to say for a long time.

"Well, what if I told you I liked you too?" he mumbles, finally meeting your eyes.

"You're joking." you mutter, even though you were praying that he wasn't.

"No, I'm not." Anton starts, turning so he could face you better.

"There's no one else I like to spend time with as much as I do with you." he confesses, gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ears.

"You're the only one that makes me feel this way, no matter what you do. Even if it's just you losing in Mario Kart for two hours straight."

You open your mouth to argue, but Anton puts a quick end to it when he kisses you, this time on your lips.

"You're my favorite loser." he whispers. "Can you be my loser forever?"

Nodding, you can't help but smile at how corny your best friend - no, your boyfriend - could be.

"I'll be yours forever."

© anton-luvr, 2023.

[sparrowrye]

The Archivist's Oath || Alastor x Reader, Chapter 8: defiance

Synopsis: day one in Alastor's tower, and a little bonding with our darling Niffty

Master List

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

"Darling, wake up."

For a moment, I thought I was on my bunker floor and Al was kneeling beside me in the dusty old short sleeve. His hand was warm, gently rubbing his fingers along my scalp in a soothing way. I didn't want to open my eyes yet. I wanted to savior this brief moment of contact. 

Eventually, I blinked open my tired eyes and registered the unfamiliar room. My stomach rolled when I looked up at him dressed in all red, his hand gripping his red cane, and red monocle sitting on his cheek. All the muddled feelings came rushing back, and I pushed his hand off my head. 

"Get dressed, dear. We have some things to discuss before I leave for the day." His tone was as gentle as his hand had been. His boots and cane tapped the floor as he left the room. Each one was like a rock being piled on my chest. It made my back--where my wings were locked away-- start to itch again.

My whole body was stiff and sore from sleeping on the floor. I couldn't bring myself to sleep in a bed softer than my own from the grief and guilt of my actions. I didn't deserve to sleep comfortably. 

I dressed in the outfit from yesterday and brushed my hair, sparing a quick glance in the closet mirror to ensure everything was in order, then descended the stairs as slowly as I could. Alastor was sitting in a small dining room that connected the living room and the kitchen. I could see Niffty jumping and running about the stone kitchen. The amount of luxuries I saw made my head swim.

Alastor sat in one of the dinning table chairs with a cup of coffee in hand. At first I found his features soft in the morning hue of the window. But when I saw his attire again, I was reminded of who exactly was in front of me.

"Have a seat. Niffty is making your breakfast." He had a large piece of paper in his hands though he quickly abandoned it when his gaze took in my appearance. "You look lovely."

"What did you want to talk about?" I asked curtly, sitting in the chair across from him instead of the one beside him.

He folded the paper and tossed it on the table. He brought the mug slowly to his lips as he said, "I want you to start by making a list of all the titles in your archive. It'll help me decide what to prioritize."

"A list?" I repeated. "That's a rather hard thing to do. I have nearly a hundred books and not all of them are in that room." I wanted him to know that I, too, could notice the small things.

"The rest of your books are in one of the rooms on the second floor," he said over the rim of the mug. "Niffty will show you."

"I'm not I'm sure comfortable giving you a catalogue of everything I'm sworn to protect."

He placed the mug on the table, a small, fake smile spreading across his face. "Comfortable? This isn't about comfort. It's about necessity. We need to know what's there so we can make an informed decision."

"Part of my oath requires me to keep those ancient texts from falling into the wrong hands. They're not just another resource." My gaze hardened. "Just like I'm not another one of your tools."

He leaned forward and rested his elbow on the smooth surface. "I'm not treating your archive lightly. It is very valuable and holds danger as much as potential. But you must understand the stakes are higher than your personal attachment and comfort. This city's survival, and in turn the rest of Humanity, depend on what you know."

"And my books in the wrong hands could lead to Humanity's second downfall. One we might not be able to recover from. You can't possibly understand the weight of responsibility that has been on my shoulders since I was born."

His eyes darkened with the rest of the room and his tone turned aggressively sharp. "Don't you dare try to lecture me on responsibility. You're here because you're needed. Regardless of how things go, you are responsible for Humanity's extinction or survival." He leaned back in the chair. "Write the list."

I wrung my hands, willing my legs to stop shaking. "What if I don't? What if I decide Humanity's survival rests on those dangerous texts being left untouched?"

He abruptly stood and towered over me in seconds. The room around us had gone pitch black. "You won't like the consequences if you refuse. I've been understanding because of our shared past. But make no mistake: your cooperation is not optional."

He removed his hands from the armrests of the chair and returned to his side of the table, the warm morning light returning to the room. One hand behind his back, he used the other to drain the rest of his coffee. My arms buzzed with adrenaline and it felt like I couldn't breathe in all the way.

"So this is the real you," I said softly, going for the personal venue. I took a steadying breath. "The charming man in the forest who promised me a brighter future was just an act."

He looked at me sideways and abandoned the mug. He straightened his jacket and grabbed his cane. "I am many things, darling. Above all, I'm a man who gets done what needs to get done, regardless of what it takes." He stepped close again, but this time the room stayed the way it was.

My eyes were attracted to the green glow of his hand as he put his palm on the table. When he lifted it, he left behind a small bottle of black liquid. Beside it was a wood stick with a metal point.

"What is that?" I asked, trying not to gawk at the magic.

"Ink. To write the list."

"I don't understand."

He quirked an eyebrow, genuinely confused. "What do you use to write your translations?"

"Charcoal."

"Ink is slightly different but I'd rather you work with something you're familiar with." He flicked his wrist and the objects melted into the table. He made the same motion as before and revealed a thin, small box.

I opened the box to find four pencils sitting snugly in a fabric lining. A small knife for sharpening them was held at the bottom by a small rope. Gently, I lifted one of the pencils to examine it. It was coated in smooth paint all around and the bottom quarter was covered in thin, gold metal. At the tip of it was an eraser that looked like it had been used already.

"I ask that you be careful with these. They belonged to my mother."

I blinked up at him.

His smile dropped as he carefully touched my chin and tilted my head up. "Please don't make this harder than it needs to be."

My gaze dropped to the pencil box, and I slowly returned the pencil to its rightful place. My hands hovered over the closed box. "Fine. I'll make the list," I mumbled. "But I won't blindly translate everything you ask. I'm bound my oath just as you're bound by your city."

He moved past me and stopped at the threshold. "Just remember, darling, this isn't a game. Our decisions here shape the future. Whether we like it to...or not." He spoke softly at the end, then left the tower just as quietly. 

You don't think I know that! I bit my lip as a few tears fell down my cheeks.

I couldn't tell if Al was somewhere in there or if he was running with that persona for the sake of getting what he wanted. Sometimes it felt like I was talking to Al and other times I saw nothing but Alastor, the Radio Demon. It made my head and heart hurt.

Part of me still held out hope that he actually did care about me and what we had in the forest, but each conversation seemed to remind me that it was an act, a facade. I was facing the Radio Demon alone. He's an adversary far more complex and dangerous than I ever imagined; that any Archivist had to face in a long time.

~*~

"What did ya say you were draggin' me here for?" Husker prompted. Alastor had told him to follow and follow he did into the basement of Lucifer's castle.

Alastor was tapping his feet and swinging a ring of keys on his finger. He was playing a funny jazz tune through his staff. He had purposefully kept quiet about his intentions to play with Husker, all in good fun of course.

Husker had belonged to the first community Alastor claimed at the beginning of his reign. The Lord's father had been attacking smaller communities before him, but Alastor was different in that he saved and captured the lives from those communities. His father hadn't.

However, Alastor was far from what one would consider a saint. His methods after taking the communities were harsh to the say the least.

So, it was to Husker's extreme unluckiness that the Mage Lord used physical punishment in the castle's cells to beat Husker into submission. Years later, he became Alastor's second in command.

Husker would never admit it, but putting up with Alastor for so long had earned him a respectable title and more freedom than anyone else who worked for the Radio Demon. Though he was expecting that the Archivist might top him just from seeing how the two of them interacted.

"There's something I'm looking for and I'm told the storage rooms might have it," Alastor explained. He glanced over his shoulder with a wicked smile. "Something the matter, Husker dear?"

"No, 'course not." Husker put his hands in his pockets and fell silent. The hallways narrowed and turned into plain smooth stone. It was easy to do with magic and far more convenient than building and setting stone bricks. The doors had normal locks but the keys were enchanted and would mold to fit any lock on the door.

Alastor picked a random door and lifted a ball of light in the middle to see the contents. His red eyes searched the collection of furniture, crates, and other random things covered in cobwebs and mold. He locked the door behind him and went to the next one. He did this several times over until he came to a room that looked like someone's personal storage for a deceased family member.

"Here," Alastor nodded with satisfaction. "Start looking."

"For what?" Husker huffed out a sigh at the physical labor he would have to do in order to get to certain areas.

Alastor's smile broadened.

~*~

I found myself bonding with Niffty as we worked through the large amount of books. I started in the attic (I refused to call it 'my' room) and she was happy to take the books out of their crates for me. I was gentle with the pencil and refused to sharpen it so I could prolong its life.

I knew Old English well enough by now that a quick glance at the title was all I needed. However, some didn't have a title on the cover and others were so worn that I had to look in the first few pages for the title. They were flimsy and ready to tear apart, but that was nothing new. 

Some of them lost their covers when Niffty moved them and she always cried, terrified that I would be angry. But I reassured her that they were just old and worn down. 

Some had already been translated and had a newer version in the Archivist language. Sometimes it was a challenge to balance three languages: Old English, Archivist language, and Common Tongue. 

Every single Old World book had been or would be translated into the Archivist language to further keep the integrity of their contents.

After we finished the ones in the attic, Niffty made us a late lunch so we could take a break. I sat in the kitchen to watch her work, grateful to watch something other than ink on pages. She moved with so much intensity and precision that I didn't dare try to help for fear of getting in her way.

Lunch was basic but the most flavorful thing I had ever eaten. It was bread with butter, salt, cheese, and garlic all melted together. We split half a loaf but I could've eaten a whole one by myself. I was licking my fingers afterwards.

After the much needed break, we tackled the stacks of books which quite literally filled the entire room on the second floor. My knees hurt from being on the hardwood floor all day and it made me miss my soft green earth and squishy, comfy moss of my clearing. I missed the cool breeze. I missed the sun on my neck. I missed it all.

Eventually, Niffty had to start making dinner. We had gotten through most of the room so I wasn't too upset about losing the helping hand.

I hated myself for enjoying the process of learning every title of every single book. I had 250 titles in total. Most were 300-400 pages each. There were survival guides, medical procedures, Old World technology how-to's, lots of research papers about anything and everything, plain old history, and a bunch of others. To be honest, I wasn't quite sure why we didn't have a catalogue of our own in the first place. 

Then Alastor walked in.

My hands froze and stomach lurched. I was almost done with my last stack but would he be mad that I hadn't finished it by the time he returned? I waited and listened intently for his footsteps up the stairs. But he never walked in.

I half expected him to suddenly appear out of nowhere just to spook me. When he made no appearance, I continued with the last stack. Once I finished, I stretched out flat on the narrow pathway between stacks. My back itched again.

With my victory properly soured, I grabbed the list and trudged downstairs to the kitchen. Alastor was nowhere in sight so I waited at the threshold and watched Niffty again. The aroma of dinner made my mouth water. 

"Good evening." Alastor's voice directly behind my ear made me jump. He was smiling but I felt like doing anything but smile. "How did things go?"

"Fine." I lifted the paper up to his face and fixed my gaze on Niffty. She was a spectacular cook, though, I didn't have much to compare it to.

I glanced over my shoulder for Alastor's expression. His smile was a placeholder as his eyes scanned the titles. He flipped it over to look at the rest. "Why are there so many question marks?"

"Some of them are in a different language."

"What do you mean?" he asked, still standing partly behind me.

"Most of them are in English but some of them are in a language I don't recognize."

"English?"

"It's the term for Old World language," I explained, keeping my tone flat and matter-of-fact. "Back then there were hundreds of languages, but a majority of the texts were written in English. It's their version of our Common tongue."

"So you can't decode those?"

"Not really. I don't have a book that teaches the language and even then learning an Old World language is complicated."

He hummed in understanding and sat at the dinning table to read through the list again. I turned just enough to keep him in view, heart thundering against my lungs. I had lied. The texts which I felt were too risky for him to know had been written down as ???

Unfortunately, I couldn't make half the titles question marks so I had to give up some.

"Come sit." He pulled out the chair beside him and summoned the pencil box from upstairs. I sighed softly and sat in the chair, careful not let our arms or knees touch. "These texts here...here...and here are the ones you'll start with first. I'd like you to switch between them, translating them bit by bit."

I glanced at at the titles he had circled. "Why do you want to know about geosynthetic material?" 

"The ravine walls are decaying with each storm that runs through here. My district has been using magic to keep them as stable as we can but we're growing thinner every year. We need a way to reinforce them so they don't cause more landslides and kill families."

I was quiet for a moment, eyes jumping between him and the list. "Do you even have the technology to do that?"

"We have a district dedicated to technological developments. We have factories and other materials that can be substituted."

His staring was intense. I tried to ignore it as I looked at the other circles. "What do you need a book on chemical properties for?"

"We have scientists here. If Humanity is to rebuild itself, we need to know more about our world."

I shook my head slightly at first. Then I really shook it and curled in on myself, bracing for him to get angry again. "I won't translate that one. Chemistry is...dangerous."

"I wasn't asking for permission."

The air grew thick. I kept my eyes downcast at the list to avoid his sharp red eyes. "I'm sworn to risk my life over this," I said softly. 

"I know." He reached in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a scroll case. I immediately recognized the symbols and felt my blood run cold.

"Where did you get that?"

"I told you we had an Archivist in this region once upon a time," he said simply. "He was killed, as are most Archivists, but his items were kept. This was a part of that. And if I'm not mistaken..." he twisted the cap off and unraveled the scroll to read a section of it. "You're also sworn to allow access 'only to those who prove themselves worthy and who understand the weight of the knowledge they seek.'" He lowered the scroll and looked at me. "As someone who provides safety and stability to as many people as I do, I think I rather fit that criteria."

The scroll was my archivist oath. The very scroll I had in my bunker which I was forced to memorized and reiterate my entire life. Hearing him repeat some of those words felt...wrong.

I quickly stood and backed away from the table. "Don't you dare try to twist my oath!"

Alastor didn't seem bothered my sudden aggression, instead looking back at the scroll. "Don't you find it interesting that they leave it up to the Archivist to decide who's worthy and who isn't? I mean, not that I believe you'd hand the texts over to the White Angels, but how can all Archivists have the same view of what's free to give out and what's not?"

"We're trained," I answered sharply. "We've grown up reading Humanity's history. We've grown up reading those sacred texts. We all feel the weight of the world's future. It becomes common sense which ones are to be shared. And I will not share knowledge about chemistry when it's the very reason the Humanity's downfall even started."

He thought for a moment. His eyes trailed over my figure with a uncomfortable slowness. Then he stood, straightened his jacket, and invaded my personal space. I backed into the wall and his boots stepped on either side of my foot, the cold leather pulling at my fur.

"I also find it interesting," he went on, "that you're required to risk your own life or burn your own archive if you're unable to keep those books safe. And yet..." He lifted his finger to graze the bottom of my chin, and it made me flinch. "You are still here. Breathing. And your books are still upstairs. Unharmed."

His eyes bored into mine, the silence following his words acting like a seal to my worst fears and insecurities. His red monocle glinted in the orange light from the kitchen. His words...they had a point to them.

He stepped away and I sucked in a mouthful of air. 

"You aren't blindly following your oath--you're being strategic about it. Something I quite admire. You see, everyone who has come across an Archivist have all said the same thing. The Archivist refuses to even talk about anything. They remain mute or recite their oath until they're beheaded."

He walked past me and stopped, hands clasped behind his back and gaze on Niffty. His cane practically stared at me from where he left it against the table.

"You are different." The phrase made me turn my head. "You aren't just translating. You're soaking in information and thinking about how to share the information in the right way at the right time. My men brought me the articles you posted in the communities. You've been trying to convince people to work together towards something greater. It's why you find this city so fascinating despite how it came into existence." He looked over at me and I turned away.

"I won't share anything I think could harm Humanity," I said definitively.

"Exactly." He moved to stand in front of me again, less imposing this time. "You're thinking about it. So I want you to think about this city. You may not approve of how we've built it, but we've done exactly what you tried to convince others to do: come together for a single purpose. And we have. Your plan is already in action."

I crossed my arms. "You're twisting things around. It's what you do. It's what your known for."

"You like my results, not my methods," he stated. "We both want the same thing." He rested a warm hand on my shoulder. "You'll begin your work tomorrow morning. I expect to see beginnings of the translations I picked."

I wanted to see Al hidden beneath that expensive, powerful exterior. I wanted his touch to burn with desire, not hatred. Yet all I could see was the cold, calculating, and demanding Radio Demon, eater of souls and commander of life.

I saw a flash of myself in his monocle, and hated what I saw.

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

Author's Note:

Gosh, why did I have to like enemies to lovers so much? I just want them to make up already

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

Taglist:

@sirens-and-moonflowers @papas-ghoulette

[e-rated-beardo]

Scorn and the Saint-Maker, chapter 17: I’d like for you and I to go romancing

Scorn and the Saint-Maker is a murder mystery/ineffable husbands romance/who-turned-them-human Good Omens fanfic, set at a university in Scotland, with lots of (as-yet skippable) level-5 smut, ✨sexy maths✨ (reportedly), and one trans angel

Chapter details and art WIPs below ⬇️⬇️

Chapter 17 summary: Fell and Crowley take a day trip to Edinburgh to gatecrash a conference. We discuss maths, strangers, and nomenclature.

Rating: Chapter rated M for a tiny smut (literally one sentence; skippable). Fic rated E.

Excerpt:

Fell smirked his most bastardly smirk and turned his head in the direction in which the stranger had left. “You told that gentleman… that…” Anthony Crowley, quickest mind in Aberdeen (probably), needed several seconds to realise that Fell wasn’t taking an artful pause with a hand still mid-gesture, but had in fact lost his train of thought entirely. Cleverly deducing that his intent stare must mean he had seen something interesting, he followed it with his own, further into the cemetery. Crowley could not be certain that he and Fell were looking at the same thing, but there certainly weren’t many things in sight that caught Crowley’s eye quite as effectively. “That’s a big-ass angel,” he commented.

Read chapter 17 on AO3 ➡️ or start from the beginning ↩️ (71k words, WIP)

"Professor Agarwal, you're an idiot" 🎨

I had to redraw this three times. Bloody thing caused me a crumpled-up sheet of aquarelle paper! That never happens. And it was all Crowley's fault: the How's Your Naked Man Friend reaction face is an absolute joy and worked out brilliantly every time.

The lecture hall background, general layout, and bits of Fell's position (even the sceptical lady in the back) used a House MD shot as reference, by the way. @firstvisittoearth might be interested to know that the House-coding is showing in the art now. 🙃

Besmirching Edinburgh 🎨

In case you didn't see my sketch yesterday (which is already my most popular post this month, ok ok I get the message I'll draw more smooches ❤️)

This had me move stuff around A LOT while editing. I also tried out a new set of watercolours that my partner's gifted me. Verdict: eh, good and bad. Definitely need to play around more to figure them out. I ended up using the old ones for the faces and some of the sky anyway (and still had to adjust digitally, idk if I should take a bloody class or if I just need more skintone colours to play with...)

Read chapter 17 on AO3 ➡️ or start from the beginning ↩️

@goodomensafterdark

[sgiandubh]

Five minutes of Instagram fame

The Brazilian fan is back with more attention-grabbing content, one week after she had thousands of eyes on her London shenanigans. Which I am not going to discuss, simply because I do believe there is no need to give the anecdote more space than it deserves. Enough is enough, and the apparent collective loss of all sense of measure is a sure sign that pause is needed, in that department.

What I am going to discuss, however, is the chutzpah of a 23 year old Nobody, who just wishes to keep those five minutes of fame rolling on and on and on.

Yesterday, she felt compelled to publish another batch of Instagram stories, in which she delivers her Toxic Shipping 101 lecture:

In the process, she basically just rephrases the main Anti Bible arguments, calls thousands of people 'insane', quotes two influential shipper blogs (slàinte mhath, @bat-cat-reader!) that didn't even come close to what I wrote about her, brings on board her mother and grandmother just to explain how upset she was about 'older American women picking up on her'. And ends with a rather pathetic plea for all of us, shippers, to 'seek immediate medical attention'. Same unnerving sotaque Paulista (São Paulo accent), with a posh and very fake tinge of British English. Same incoherent, amateur and immature discourse, endlessly seeking to bring attention to herself, mildly trying to victimize herself. Blah, blah.

I would have given her grace, were it not for this particular argument, in response to a X user asking a rather uncomfortable question, as she definitely has the constitutional right to do:

'OH God, not her again 23 yr old Brazilian trying to be a reporter in London, complete fail. but in BIG OL LONDON, 'JUST HAPPENED' TO Spot Sam, how dumb do you think we all are?'

Answer is the real dumb part of the story, if you ask me, especially coming from a very young woman: 'Forbidden to be a journalist and meet a celebrity in the street. Forbidden to go for a walk as a journalist, paging all my colleagues, ok? I had no clue I could be as scheming as they say I am.'

Ok, buttercup: it is my honest understanding that you want to be taken seriously and treated as a professional, right? Did I miss something, here?

Right. As the daughter of a journalist and a former Government expert in media policies (specifically dealing with media content broadcasting), I am going to do exactly this and honestly ask you, Mrs. Silva:

Do you consider, in all good faith, that you acted like a professional journalist, in this very circumstance?

Do you consider to have kept your impartiality and have you at least checked all the relevant facts and POVs, before slandering all those people on your social media account? Or did you content yourself to report the hearsay shared with you by other bloggers, and just conveniently quoted four random bloggers and commenters?

Have you the slightest idea that one of the commenters who reached out to you on Instagram, questioning your version of the facts, is not even a shipper (and actually, very violently far from being one)?

During the week separating your first post and this reaction to people's feedback, have you or have you not respected your due diligence obligation to contact and engage with the people you so easily treat as a bit less than the scum of the Earth?

Did you or did you not ask for permission to quote their published content on your social media account, especially in a polemic context?

Unlike you, I have diligently perused both your website and your Linked In account. Maybe it is time to tell all those people you have insulted the truth about who you are, professionally, at this very moment:

Marketing student, 3rd semester.

Let me count: 3 internships (correct me if I am wrong), in various junior positions for 1 local media outlet, 1 international corporation and 1 website, 4 different jobs - or should I say 'stints' (3 with your current employer, 1 as a freelancer for a local media outlet).

Still learning. There is absolutely nothing bad about it. But you have still a LONG way to go until you could pretend to be a real voice. And there is nothing in what you posted that could grab my professional attention and make me hire you. Quite the contrary and, believe it or not, I am awfully sorry to say so.

My three free and totally unsolicited pieces of advice:

Always check your facts, always get in touch with the people you plan to write about. In fact, your anger and ego got the best of your professional self and you lost a great opportunity for a paper you could have even titled ' Viagem na Shipperlândia' (A Trip to Shipperland). I would have read that. But you haven't. You preferred to act just like all the other 23 year old girls and make a belly-button story about yourself.

Never bring your family forward in questionable contexts. You expose people who have nothing to do with the irrelevant insanity of a fandom war, to which you contributed your own, perhaps involuntary, dose of chaos and unnecessary drama.

Never lie on your Linked In resume. Potential employers might and will read it. Never write things like:

.. when you also fail to accurately describe your former job position, denoting poor spelling:

Especially when words are your craft, bread and butter. The devil is always in the details:

As I mentioned in a previous post, you could have been my daughter. I have been that 23 year old girl myself, desperate to list every single internship and tempted to inflate language proficiency, in the hope it would land me the job of my dreams. And I have learned the hard way that being a true professional is cancelling your ego.

You'll learn. Until then, stop bitching on things you have no idea about and act like an adult, not an attention hungry teenager. This comes from a place of tough love: sometimes, the most effective life lessons are given by complete strangers.

[philomelas-tongue-says]

okay but also this is where to come to complain about grad school so (under the cut it goes)

so I'm in this one seminar this quarter on thursday afternoons which I was so profoundly looking forward to -- it's about post- and de-colonial classical receptions, which is a combo of "something I don't know a ton about and would like to learn more regarding" (post- and de-colonial thought and theory) and "something I feel very strongly about" (reception), so I was like okay, amazing, perfect, no notes.

except. except. in practice it has been such a profoundly frustrating experience on like every level.

it's a grad seminar but some upper-level undergrads are also enrolled, which is theoretically fine but like ... some of the undergrads are, I think, still kind of making the leap from undergrad-level thinking to graduate-level thinking, and so it sometimes feels like there's this -- gap, in terms of knowledge and analysis, between those populations, and it's not always clear to me what level the class is trying to cater to.

but the big thing currently bothering me is an issue that arose yesterday that a major part of our work for the course is a pair-work discussion-lead activity where we, in pairs, are responsible for leading theoretically an entire class (which is, to be clear, a three-hour seminar) about the text we're assigned for the week. but in practice, it's been actually more structured like "some weeks we do an activity or prof gives a mini-lecture, and then we do a discussion; some weeks, it's an entire three hours of discussion" and typically we have absolutely no warning in advance of the actual class. my week I and my partner went for the full three hours, but next week's duo is only being expected to do an hour and 15 minutes, so that we have time for a workshop on our final project for the class. and if this were like a "undergrad vs. grad student expectations" thing I would totally get it and it would not be an area of complaint, but it's not. there's no regularity to who gets asked to do the whole class and who gets asked to do less. and also most weeks we have zero warning in advance if something else is happening, which makes it extremely difficult to plan out an appropriate amount of material for the class! and it feels wildly uneven to me that another pair's 1.25 hours of discussion is going to be evaluated with the same weight as my pair's 2.75 hours of it, frankly!

and added to this that we received absolutely no real guidelines about how to structure or run these discussions, things we had to hit upon, etc. or even really any guidance on How To Run A Three-Hour Discussion (which is a fundamentally different skill than "running a 50-minute discussion" which is the standard TAship section, and even then, not all of us have yet taught, and some of us are undergrads still) and so it's just like - I don't know what the expectations are, I don't know how to appropriately meet them, and when I got my grade back for my week (a 95, so like, nothing to complain about but it’s the principle of the thing) it was not accompanied by any actual feedback about what went well or badly, or what we could have done to improve, so it sort of feels like -- well, obviously we get to evaluate and analyze the text, but what is the point of doing this whole discussion lead thing. what skills am I supposed to be learning from it.

and I really do like this professor as like. a person. she's lovely. but her teaching style and I perhaps just do not mesh and it's making a class I was super excited for into something that I actively dread every week and regularly depart from feeling actively bad about myself. and like okay yeah only three more weeks of it whatever but. I was hopeful! I was optimistic! augh

[ineffablecabbage]

(Continuing the theme of A/Us…. lmao. Lucy Knight Lives! And in that world, many things were different. :) Also 5 sentences? lmao sometimes! But not this time.)

Carter has never been so uncomfortable during a meeting in his life, as he is while he listens to Anspaugh, Kerry, Mark, and Romano give a very stern lecture about not having sex on hospital grounds to the entire ED staff.

Chen, sitting to his left, is feeling braver than he is, and she whispers, "Well, Chief, who got caught?"

Carter looks around the room and does a mental count to five. Then to ten. Then to twenty-five. "You know I'm not allowed to discuss it with you," he hisses.

"You were more fun when you weren't chief," she says with a pout.

"Carter! Chen! Do you have something you would like to share with the class?" Kerry snaps. She's just as pissed as she was yesterday, when she walked in on Dave.

"Dr. Chen was just asking about the Marfan patient that came in yesterday," Carter lies, because a lifetime of being part of the Carter family makes you good at lying to people in authority. "I was just telling her that he was fine and responding well."

Kerry's face softens a little. "That was a good catch. It would have been easy to miss. BUt it's not the topic of discussion."

"Sorry, Dr. Weaver. It's my fault. Marfan was an undergraduate research subject of mine," Chen lies, because she grew up rich, too, and maybe it's being rich and not being a Carter that makes you good at lying.

"Maybe this is a good time for all of us to get back to our patients," Anspaugh says. "Try to keep our knees together on hospital grounds, ladies and gentlemen."

Behind him, Susan murmurs, "It's a good thing Doug doesn't work here anymore," and Carter thinks of the time that the man told him not to dip his pen in company ink.

And oh, how Carter had not listened to that advice.

"Never mind Doug Ross," Haleh mutters somewhere behind and to the left of him. "Do these fools how many people in this hospital use this place as their own private hotel?"

"Mmmhmm," Chuny says, a little too loudly for Carter's comfort.

After the meeting, Carter finds a reason to go down to go down to psych. Considering what he and Lucy went through, most people won't give him much grief over it, anyway. Residency has done Lucy good; it's smoothed away some of her impatience, while leaving her with the same stubbornness and desire to advocate for her patients. Carter won't let himself consider how close he came to living in a world in which Lucy didn't get to live to see residency.

He thinks about that every night, in the dark, after she's fallen asleep.

"Hey, stranger," she says when she sees him. "You look distraught. What's the matter?"

"Supply closet meeting," he says. "Now."

"I thought we cured you of all this bossiness," she complains lightly as they take refuge in the supply closet at the furthest end of the hall, and the one least likely to be used by any of the very busy nurses who will more likely choose the ones near the nursing station.

"First of all, you love my bossiness. Secondly, I just came from a meeting today from Anspaugh, Romano, Weaver, and Mark," he says seriously.

"That sounds like a bad time," Lucy answers. "Makes me glad I gave up Emergency Medicine. What was it about?"

"Not having sex on hospital grounds."

Lucy pauses, then she bites her lip in a way that says she is trying not to giggle.

"It's not funny!" Carter says indignantly. "Dave got fired!"

Lucy bites her lip harder. "Dr. Dave got fired for having sex on hospital grounds?"

Her cheeks are red and flushed, and oh no. What a terrible space and time for her to look that pretty and that flushed. "Yes. Ambulance. Weaver walked in on them."

"Mm. Well." A few giggles do escape Lucy's mouth, and she presses the back of her hand to her lips to try to stop it, but it's pretty useless. "It's a good thing we're more discreet in our workplace mischief, isn't it?"

Carter sighs. "This is a serious conversation. I'm chief resident. I have to set a good example. They are not going to show any mercy if - "

"Carter. John. Did you think it was legal to fuck on hospital grounds before this meeting? We've always been being very, very naughty." She places her hand on his cheek. "Look, it sucks for Dave, but after everything this hospital put us through, this hospital owes us a few rounds of stress relief during our shift, in the form of questionable HR interactions with my favorite chief resident."

"I suppose you have a point," Carter says as he pulls her closer. The supply closets down here are so much smaller than the ones in the ER, and there's so much less room, but they could probably still … "And I had better be your favorite chief resident."

Lucy laughs into his chest. "Of course you are. And I have about 15 more minutes before pm rounds, if you want to manage some more mischief."

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I refuse to do anymore work on the group project we already missed the deadline for, but can still submit?

I am extremely tired of being walked over and doing all the work. I'm a 3rd year uni student and multiple times I've been the main person doing group project work. The latest example is what prompted this ask. Our task was to do a discussion and then write an essay based on it, the group consists of 4 people including me. We talked for 10 minutes at the end of last week and a little bit yesterday. We did the majority of the work yesterday as well.

There are 14 points/questions we need to cover. Multiple people not only are advised to, but must cover the same questions so there's substance to be worked with. While the rest of the group covered some, it's insufficient and I did the majority of the work on the first half of the questions and all of the second half. A worked on 4/14 questions (pretty short answers), B also did 4/14 questions (one longer answer, three pretty short answers), C wrote 2.5/14 questions (2 medium length answers, one single sentence answer) and D, me, did 11/14 (mainly long answers with a couple of shorter ones).

After I made a Google Doc to make communication easier, they submitted their answers and basically ghosted me. I asked multiple times for help but was met with silence or jokes about checking the grammar and typos later for me. Again, we don't have enough substances to work with, the essay CANNOT be completed with what we have so far.

And here's where the issues get deeper. I asked for someone to at least look at what I've written down so far multiple times, proofread it if you will. Silence. I know for a fact A and C were FREE and could've continued working on the project, while B might or might not have been at work. Finally C said they'll do it. We were left with less than an hour to wrap it up and submit it before the deadline at this point.

2 minutes after saying that they'll read it, they sent me a "it's great" message. They shameless lied to my face.

I was inside the Doc the whole time and no other users were shown to be viewing the page, let alone reading 3 lengthy paragraphs in 2 minutes.

At some point during the day I was so desperate, I was ready to delete all I've written, comments, intro and first few paragraphs of the essay, everything and beg to join a different group. But a friend managed to calm me down and I didn't go that route.

I can't write to the professor and explain the situation to him, it's just not an option, that's not a practice in my country when the subject only consists of lectures and the professor has to look after 100+ students. My last hope is tomorrow morning those 3 will see the newest messages of me asking for help to finish it and will help me. If that doesn't happen, well...

What I can do is say fuck it and give them the same treatment they've given me – ghost them, don't do additional work on the questions and essay and take all of us down for not finishing and submitting the final project. I don't really want to do it and fuck up our grades (we have no idea how important this homework is for the final grade) but I genuinely see no other way. So WIBTA?

What are these acronyms?

[i73mj]

maybe aquariums aren’t so bad after all

pt. 1 > pt. 2

kim minji x fem!reader x uchinaga aeri

synopsis: y/n thought she had moved on. but when aeri—her enigmatic first love, returns after five years of silence, old feelings resurface, threatening to disrupt the relationship she's built with minji—the person who now holds her heart. as y/n navigates an emotional storm of unresolved tension and buried memories, she is drawn back into aeri’s world, seeking the closure she’s always needed.

warnings: minji and reader kissed; not proofread; messy and cringe(?) at some parts.

a/n: there’s actually so much potential for this fic but i’m just in the mood to post somehow so, yeah.

after the lecture ends, you and minji stayed in the completely empty lecture hall in silence.

“what were you saying?” you asked minji again even though you heard her the first time, you were too frightened with the thought of telling her abour aeri. what would she say? what if she decided to stay away from you? you couldn’t risk it, she’s the most important person in your life.

“who really is ms. aeri? you look very angry when we meet her yesterday at the aquarium, and now you’re drooling all over her...” she played with the hem of your sweater, looking down.

“i’ll tell you when i’m ready okay? until then, stay by my side okay?” you give minji a reassuring smile though your mind panicked when you catch a glimpse of aeri outside the lecture hall.

you still have a few classes today so minji went home first—preparing the things to bake a cake. you didn’t meet aeri for the rest of the day and minji picks you up when all of your classes are done. linking arms together, you two walked to the parking lot while discussing your tasks for the baking session—yet again, you catch a glance with aeri, she was there with one of her old friend in her office that’s just by the parking lot.

***

“why are they suddenly so close?” aeri asked her friend, walking together to a nearby cafe.

“aeri honey, you were away for five years. what makes you think that y/n would wait for you that long?” karina’s confused voice answered her question with another question.

“i don’t know... perhaps, this promise ring?” aeri put up her left hand, a cartier ring perfectly coiled there.

“well, did you see she still wear her’s?” checkmate, she doesn’t know. aeri bit the insides of her cheeks in frustation, she’s anxious again, “you guys seriously need to talk aeri. resolve the old feelings y’know.”

“how?” aeri played with the ring on her finger, she thinks you must’ve hate her.

“i’ll tell you what, i’ll arrange a dinner with her family for opening. i still keep in touch with her mo–”

“deal!”

while aeri and karina talks about the plan to resolve the old feelings, you and minji were busy falling in love. well, at least the chemicals in your body produces lots of oxytocin when minji helps you decorate the cake and her lips were inches away from yours.

“minji,” she turned her face to look at you and you swear it almost give you a heart attack, your heart is beating so loud and your face started to get red you’re afraid minji might notice it.

“y-you, you’re too close...” you quickly focuses back to the cake to distract the fact that you can feel her breath against your lips.

“o-oh, sorry.” she pulled back from the kitchen counter, rubbing the back of her neck—internally screaming.

“yeah, i don’t mind.” you managed to keep your cool and flirty demeanor and slightly smirked towards her, the cake is almost done. after some finishing touches, a cake with a cute and pretty impressive decoration is placed on the dining table.

“who’s gonna have the first bite?” you asked, giving minji a fork.

“how about we just feed each other at the same time so we could have the first taste together?” minji suggest and idea that you quickly agreed to. you both laughed after tasting the chocolate cake, tasty.

“woah, we should probably open a bakery look how talented we are...” minji laughed so cutely, suddenly you don’t know what made the cake so sweet.

after some more eating and cleaning up the mess that were left, you and minji tucked in yourselves on the couch and turn on the good old classic romcom, The Notebook. you both stayed quiet and really pay attention to the movie despite this is the 17th time you watched it together until near the end of the movie. you snuggled closer to minji, resting your head on her arm. she looked down for a moment and thought, ‘she looks so good right now i can kiss her...’ then just out of sudden rush of courage and impulsive act, she tilts your chin up and before you can ask her what is she doing or calculate what might happen, she pressed her lips onto yours. you can almost taste the strawberry chapstick she always use while instinctively recipocrating her kiss, you both smile into the kiss, only pulling back when you two run out of breath.

“w-whaaat?” you sit back up on the couch, wiping the excess saliva left on your lips.

“i’m– i just did it out of impulsiveness and i’m sorry but,” minji paused to wipe her lips too, “i didn’t know that you’ll kiss me back.” she continued with a flirty tone.

“so, uh, you-you like me?” you don’t know what kind of expression you should put but you’re sure it must be so chaotic.

“since 8th grade...” she answered with a nod and you two just sit face to face on the couch, cheeks still red and lips still swollen.

“so are girlfriends now or what?” you finally break the silence, still trying to gain composure.

“if you’d like to.”

“oh please, i nearly couldn’t form a coherent sentence right now and you’re asking me if i want to be your girlfriend?” you hugged minji and you picked another movie to watch after—decided to do a marathon of ghibli films.

minji spend the night after—as you promised earlier. and almost like a routine, you wait for her to fall asleep, scutinizing every single movement of her breathing and traced her features before going to sleep. you’ve always put your phone on do not disturb mode whenever you’re with minji, so the next morning when you wake up, you’re quite surprised seeing dozens of texts from your mother inviting you to dinner with aeri and karina.

as you watch minji sleep last night, you’ve decided to let go of the past and choose to focus on your relationship with minji. you do want to hear an explanation from aeri though, you replied to your mother, asking is aeri spent the night there. she didn’t but your mother gave aeri your number. lucky for you, aeri messaged you first when you’re still contemplating on asking your mother for aeri’s number.

( aeri: hey

aeri: are you free today?

aeri: i hope we can resolve the things between us

aeri: say, let’s eat lunch together at the new restaurant that just opened downtown? )

***

as soon as minji wakes up, eat breakfast and shower, you explaines to her about aeri. her expression was... normal? but when you tell her you’re going to eat lunch with her and possibly resolve things, she pouts incredibly cute—clinging to your arm.

“do you have to meet her today?” you give a peck on her pouty lips, you rarely sees the clingy side of minji.

“the sooner the better, sweetheart.” you caress her hands, give her one more assuring words and lots of kisses before going out to the said restaurant.

you drive to where the restaurant is located—which turned out to be stone’s throw from the aquarium you visited yesterday. instead of playing your playlist and sing your lungs out like you used to did, you started to construct the conversation you’d possibly have with aeri. you take confident steps towards the entrance, but as soon as you see her wrapped in an elegant but casual black dress, red rosy lips, holding a glass of martini the memories flows back in. you gulped before walking up to her, cracking the best (awkward) smile.

“ms. aeri? have you been waiting long?” you take a seat in front of her, still using the honorific, “did you order yet?” your eyes darted across the room, unable to directly look into her eyes.

aeri hummed in response, “i ordered you a ceasar salad too.” you quitly say thank you, you both stayed quiet until your plates are empty and aeri orders another glass of martini.

you silently contemplate in your seat, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit. the memories of your relationship with her, the good times, and the heartbreak flood your mind, but you keep your composure. this isn't about falling back into old habits; it's about getting answers.

aeri takes a sip of her martini, her eyes scanning your face, as though gauging how much has changed in the time they’ve been apart. she begins to talk. “i know i owe you an explanation,” she begins, her voice calm but a little hesitant. “i didn’t come back because... i thought i could offer you more by staying away.”

“you thought leaving me for five years without a word would somehow be better?” you frowned, fingers clenching around the water glass in front of you. your gaze were still on the other side of the room though.

aeri sets down her drink, leaning forward. “at the time, yes. i wanted to become someone you could be proud of. someone who wasn’t just your father’s assistant. i thought if i could establish myself, we could finally be on equal ground.”

“that’s not what I wanted, aeri.” your voice shakes, “i didn’t need you to be something else. i needed you to be here.”

“i see that now. but back then, i thought i was doing the right thing. i worked hard, hoping that when i came back, we could pick up where we left off... but time passed. you grew up, and i was still stuck in the past, holding onto something i wasn’t sure you even wanted anymore.” a familiar chuckle flows through your ears as aeri’s expression softens, regret seeping into her features.

you felt the weight of those words. part of you had been waiting, even if you didn’t want to admit it, but the more time passed, the more you found yourself leaning on minji. the more minji filled the gaps aeri had left behind.

“you’re right,” you said quietly, finally meeting aeri’s gaze after so long, “i did grow up. i’m not the same person i was when you left. and i think… i needed you to come back sooner if we ever had a chance.” a familiar chuckle flows through your ears, a small smile tugging on her lips—though it’s bittersweet.

“i really missed my window didn’t i?” aeri sighs, running a hand through her hair, “i know. but i had to tell you, y/n. i couldn’t just let things end the way they did, without you knowing that i never meant to hurt you.”

“i appreciate that,” you replied with a softer tone, finally being able to relax, “i think i needed to hear it, too.”

for the first time in the conversation, there’s a sense of peace between you two. it’s not the kind of peace that rekindles a relationship but the kind that offers closure—a finality that allows both of you to move on.

“I’m glad you found someone like minji.” after a brief silence, aeri reaches across the table and squeezes your hand.

“i’m sorry for everything. i hope this gives you the closure you need.”

“it does,” you admit, “and i hope you find happiness too, with karina perhaps?” you laughed along with her.

you exchange a final, lingering look before stands up to leave, a weight lifted off your shoulders. you know that this chapter with aeri is finally closed, and as you stepped out of the restaurant and into the sunlight, you feel ready to fully embrace the future—with minji.

back at home, you returned to minji’s side, her heart lighter. you wrapped your arms around minji, pulling her close. when Minji looks up at you with those bright eyes, there’s no hesitation in your mind anymore. you know who you want to be with, and you’re ready to give minji all the love she deserves.

“so... how did it go?” minji asks, her voice a little shaky but curious.

“it’s over,” you replied softly, kissing minji’s forehead, “i’m with you now, and that’s all that matters.”

minji smiles, burying her face in your chest, and for the first time in a long while, you felt at peace, ready to build a future with the person who was there all along.

[dontlookoutside]

Whale Fever

11/12/2024 ﹏𓂁﹏ It has been a while since I've gotten a cold. One deep dark secret of mine is that... I love being sick. I like being able to justify my lack of drive to be productive... and being able to stay in bed all day, shamelessly. I skipped class for the first time today because I couldn't get out of bed... and it feels good. The days leading up to this have been busy. Whales. Whales are ruining my life. Painting: a project about personal beliefs was due yesterday... I spent about three weeks on it... and it was of a humpback whale; on one canvas alive and swimming, and the other just a pile of bones in the deep-sea. I stayed up until 2 working on this for a few nights in a row. I would walk back home in the pouring rain and then endure some nearly sleepless nights. Tomorrow I need to present my painting in front of my class and talk about it. I am scared. Edit: I did my talk and got emotional talking about whales. A shaky voice and heartrate of 163 bpm... what a life I live. Essay: alongside this pair of paintings comes an essay explaining the meaning behind the work and how it correlates to each detail. The meaning: "accepted environmental helplessness". Did you know that whales, especially orcas, are incredibly polluted? These things called persistent organic pollutants (POPs) absorb into their blubber. They enter the sea by runoff, move up the food chain, and eventually reach whales. As whales migrate, they metabolize their toxic blubber and grow susceptible to disease. They do not die instantly and will often still have offspring, but will then pass down these POPs to their offspring, who will most likely suffer the same fate as their parents. I read a research article that found evidence of mothers growing less polluted than their calves BECAUSE so much of their pollution transfers into their baby. How sad. Biology: the first presentation I will give in... I don't know how many years... about a certain species and the reasons why/how we should put conservation efforts towards them. My topic: whales. Is this a surprise? No. I am happy about my topic but very scared to give a presentation. I don't care if I speak in front of thousands of people, but if it is a small class of 15 people I freak out. Wish me luck. Lecture: I have been made aware that there will be a visitor coming to my school to discuss whale conservation. Will I be there: yes. Will I ask a lot of questions: yes. I am looking forward to this. Now that I've spent this entire day in my room, I fear that I will never want to leave again. It reminds me of my 8 months of NEET-hood; awful when so prolonged, but nice on occasion. Staying home all day sounds wonderful when you are constantly busy, but being busy sounds wonderful when you are home all day for months. These things must be taken in small increments, or you will go crazy like I did. A few days ago, I went to my first 'real' anime convention. Whilst I enjoy anime very much, I didn't go because of that. I just wanted to see what the artists were selling. Some of the booths were so cool, and others were so lewd... terrifying. I got a cute Mimitchi keychain, though. Happy (´∀`). I saw a few Lolitas and was very envious of them. I have one JSK, but have never worn a coord out before. Could I be... a poser??? But I did do something out of my comfort-zone! I wore heels. This may seem trivial to some, but I am kind of tall (and insecure), so being even taller made me feel nervous... but somehow classy? Anyways, it made me more comfortable with high heels because I have always loved them but been too scared of tall-ness. I can also run very quickly in them. At this convention there was a vendor selling swords. I began asking him about his selection and prices, but he seemed really confused like I was joking with him... but I am very serious about wanting a sword. Unfortunately none of the handcrafted ones suited my desires. Someday. You may be wondering what I did immediately after returning home from the convention... it is funny, you should know by now. I painted for 6 hours.

[poppyandzena]

“So based on a series of discussions before my assault, Keira believes that I wasn't assaulted. Make it make sense.”

Hey, you were the one that made your rape/assault all not necessarily about the act in the moment itself Poppy. So I think context ‘before the assault’ is totally fair game.

But let’s pretend it isn’t. Let’s just focus on your definitions of assault. You were assaulted because

You weren’t informed properly (of NFs intentions and feelings regarding the relationships).

2. You couldn’t consent properly due to BPD, FPS status, the relationship “hanging in by a thread”, and it was Noeh’s responsibility to recognize that

On point 1- Well, I mean. First of all. The document and conversation on 12/22 makes it pretty clear Noeh was not on board with the trip. Zena convinced her, at best. But Zena convinced NF with the promise of being able to walk away did they not? That’s what the messages show me. NF needed the reassurance to be able to walk away to agree to the trip. Seems pretty uncertain about the relationship to me.

Not to mention Noeh has shared multiple times that she was instructed to ‘pretend everything was great during the trip.’ I have yet to see you disprove, or even comment on that part Poppy. Quite interesting.

Finally, it was your words around your ‘BPD influencing your ability to consent’ that seals the deal, Poppy.’ It was YOUR words that the relationship was ‘hanging on by a thread’ and that made your BPD act up to the point you couldn’t consent. So, you basically confirmed to everyone that you knew Poppy. Not that we are surprised.

On point 2- I mean, I could lecture you on how your mental health is not someone else’s responsibility… But I mean, just yesterday? Your precious girlfriend did all the work for me.

“Chronic health conditions & mental illness can be debilitating, but you are responsible for managing them. Boundary setting, using tools to account for your disabilities is YOUR RESPONSIBILITY.” -Saige Alexis

And funny enough, you retweeted that thread this was apart of. So Poppy and Zena- you two must agree with this quote yes? Which means… Oh. Guess it wasn’t on Noeh to manage Poppy’s BPD was it? It was on Poppy to use her tools, her boundary setting, to communicate what she needed/what was going on before the sex occurred. She didn’t, so… Just like we are all wrong for taking Spawn’s side because they couldn’t establish boundaries under stressful circumstances, I guess everyone supporting you is wrong too huh?

In your own words Poppy- Make it make sense. :).

(And PS to Saige- thanks for supporting our argument. Feel free to stop being cowardly and actually respond to my last message regarding Spawn’s abuse. We know you’re watching. :))

^

[aria-bun]

I heard the streets were paved with gold

They really need to get the bathroom door fixed Read on ao3!

Daniel just wanted one evening to himself. One evening where he didn’t have to do something, either for a lecture or some other prior commitment.

He hadn’t had that in a while.

“Uh, Jacobi?” He heard Eiffle’s muffled voice from the bathroom in the apartment. “The door’s stuck. Again.”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes before pausing The Queen’s Gambit and sitting up from where he was on the couch. “Did you try jiggling the doorknob?”

“Yes.”

“Did you try pushing it in before twisting it?”

There was a small pause before the sound of the doorknob jiggling filled the apartment. “Yes.”

Daniel sighed. “Did you lock it?”

“...Yes?”

“There’s the issue. The lock always gets stuck. Hold on.” he got up from the couch and grabbed his wallet from the counter, pulling out his student ID before approaching the bathroom door. He crouched down in front of it before sliding the edge of the card into the crack of the door next to the doorknob, pushing it in as far as he could without resistance.

After that, he tilted the card in the direction of the door knob, almost touching it, and wiggling the card into the gap a bit more. Quickly, he bent the card in the other direction, before hearing a small click and pulling the door open, standing up. 

Eiffel was on the other side of the door, leaning against the edge of the sink with a towel around his waist.

Oh.

His wet brown hair was pulled into a messy bun, water still dripping from it. He had shaved, the startings of a beard he had before now just light stubble.

“...How’d you do that?” he raised his eyebrows at Daniel.

“Just used my ID.” he shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

There was a small pause. “Cool. Thanks, man.” Eiffel gave him a thumbs up before moving past him and disappearing into his room, closing the door behind him.

Shit.

—————————————————————— 

Daniel was perched on the edge of the sink at two in the afternoon, trying his best to get close enough to the mirror so he could trim his hair. It had gotten a bit too long for his liking, and he didn’t like the feeling of it starting to flare out and touch his neck at the base, so he was very carefully trying to shave down the back near his neck.

It wasn’t too hard, mainly since he had been doing it since he was sixteen, but it did involve him constantly having to balance on the small skin in the apartment and hopefully not fall and bust his head on the tile floor.

He was able to finish up rather quickly, and cleanup was minimal; just having to sweep it off the sink and into the small trash can beside it.

Daniel turned to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. That was fine. He’d contact Mr. Cutter about it again when he got back to his phone. It had been in discussion since he had moved in two years ago, but nothing had been done about it.

He jiggled the doorknob slightly. Nope.

He pushed in the knob before turning it. Nothing.

He even tried ramming his shoulder into it. Didn’t work, and hurt a lot.

“You alright in there?” he could hear Eiffle’s voice from the living room, as well as the laugh that followed.

“Yep. Just fine.” he responded, testing the door knob again.

Another laugh. “Are you-” he paused. “Jacobi, are you stuck?”

“No. No, I’m not stuck. I just need to… strategically blow a hole through this fucking door.”

“OKAY, how about we don’t do that, Mr. Pyromaniac. Just- hold on.” Daniel could hear Eiffel’s footsteps in the apartment, getting closer to the bathroom door. “Okay, I have my card. Teach me how to do the thing.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The thing?”

“You know what I’m talking about! The thing with the card when I got locked in there yesterday. Talk me through it, Danny boy.”

Daniel blinked. “Uh… Alright then. Insert the card into the gap between the doorframe and the door next to the door handle.”

There was a brief pause. “Okay, got that, I think.”

“Now bend your card towards the door handle.”

“...Is that gonna break my card? Cause I don’t think I can get another student ID until next semester.”

“No, it’ll be fine. They’re pretty flexible.”

“Alright…” Suspicion laced Eiffel’s voice. “Okay, what now?”

“You’re going to be able to push the card in further now. Try that.”

More silence. “Got it.”

“Now bend your card in the opposite direction, towards the doorframe.

A moment later, there was a soft click, and the door pushed open. 

“Yes!” he watched Eiffle do a small fist-pump. “That felt really cool.”

Daniel found himself grinning at him. “Thanks, Eiffel.”

“Yeah, no problem, Jacobi. Nice trick, by the way.” 

“I have plenty more,” he stepped out of the bathroom, turning off the light and leaving the door open.

“Care to share, mister magic man?”

“Maybe one day, Eiffel.”

[nancydrewwouldnever]

Listen the photos are horrible, there is no denial. But why dislike the most is the sort of lecture about giving up and retirement at 42. I believe Ke Huy Quan said in his Oscar speech how hard was for him to get roles due to racism and the age limitance for people in hollywood. There are so many struggles and he kept fighting, so did Pedro who didnt got a Major role until GOT. If he wants to retire, go ahead and do it, but do it in silence dude.

Many out there truly believe that turning 40, with the knowledge and wisdom, allows you to choose wisely and better. Keep fighting my people, is never too late to persued your dreams 💕

Exactly! Look at the discussion we were having about Charlize yesterday; women don't even get a choice in the matter, they're just discounted at a certain age (usually 28-32 in Hollywood). Look also, the comments Michelle Yeoh made during this past awards season, how EEAAO was an unlooked for miracle in her career, because everyone said at age 61 it was over for her.

But, yes, in reality life and experiences and chances don't end at a certain age. We just have to keep making that commitment to live fully and meet them on our journey.