#Ignore my doodle of my rat at the back—

[phantompyr]

Heh..sup *leans on wally for support* apologies for disapearing..ahem..have sum wally doodles

Might..might disapear...maybe...ive just been into too many fandoms to actually..post..so...uh..applogies :,3 ill come back at some point

[ramblingoak]

how about being caught kissing with the cardinal?

Ooo yes, wouldn't that be nice! I wouldn't mind getting caught doing worse with him to be honest... Prompt is from this list of Kiss Prompts!

Yay Satan Day

Cardinal Copia x Female Reader ~ Copia does his best to distract you from your job

Warnings: Copia being a smug shit, vaginal fingering, nsfw, 18+ only, MDNI, 1600 words

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

He was doing that stupid thing with his eyebrows again.

You and Cardinal Copia had been stuck in a meeting with Terzo for close to an hour now.  Sister Imperator had instructed you all to create an event to try to bring the local community closer to the church.  ‘Something to show them we don’t spend our days sacrificing babies and having orgies’ were her exact words.  At least the baby part wasn’t true, but you knew of at least four orgies that had taken place in the last week alone.

“We should call it ‘Yay Satan Day’.”

“Can we focus on actually creating the event before we name it?”  You pretended you didn’t see Terzo rolling his eyes.  “And for the last time we’re not calling it that.”

Copia sighed and his chair creaked as he leaned back in it.  You gave him a quick glance but then forced your eyes away.  Most days you had a hard time keeping your eyes off of him, but it was always harder when he wore the white suit.  The bastard had to have worn it on purpose today judging by how he waggled his eyebrows every time he caught you looking at him.  You had no idea how this man had become a Cardinal, let alone win all those stupid employee of the month awards.  He wasn’t listening to a damn thing Papa was saying.

Terzo himself didn’t seem to be focusing that much either.  You really didn’t blame him, you were the one technically in charge of all the event and party planning at the abbey.  Usually Terzo’s main job at these things was to show up and look pretty.  The only thing he seemed interested in helping with today was naming the event, but he kept pouting after you shot down all of his ideas.  You weren’t naming the damn thing ‘Yay Satan Day’ no matter how many times he’d suggested it.

“Sorella?  Do you agree?” 

Fuck.  You focused back on Terzo who was looking at you expectantly.

“Yes sorella, I would like your input as well.  On his idea.”  

That son of a bitch.  You looked down at your notes to buy yourself some more time.  All you had on there was a small doodle of one of Copia’s rats.  You looked over at him, narrowing your eyes at the stupid smirk on his face.  When he raised an eyebrow you gritted your teeth and glanced away.  You were going to shave both of his eyebrows off when he fell asleep tonight.

“I think that as long as we uh, well as long as we stay under budget that should be feasible.”  

You wrote a quick note down like the responsible event planner that you were and smiled up at Papa.  Now he was raising one of his eyebrows at you, but you kept the smile on your face, refusing to back down.  Terzo chuckled and then popped up from his chair, straightening his clothes as he made his way around his desk.

“Well this has been great fun, but I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere.”  You hid your notes when he stopped by you and tried to give him an innocent look.  “I’m sure you two can handle everything else, si?  Cardinal make sure my banner gets ordered.”

“Of course, Papa.”

When you spun in your chair to glare at Copia he was ignoring you and picking imaginary lint off his suit.  What the fuck had you agreed to?

“Ok, you two have fun, but not in my office.  Ciao!”

“Okie dokie, Papa.”

Copia caught your eyes as he called out to Terzo before the door shut behind him.  

“Copia, what does this banner say?”

“Nothing special.”  He bit his lip for a moment before continuing,  “Have you kissed me today?”

“Yes, several times this morning.”  You threw your pen at him, laughing when he squawked as it hit his suit.  “Have you forgotten already?”

“Ah well, you know.  Silly me.”

He held out your pen but as soon as you reached out to grab it he took your hand and tugged you out of your chair.

“Copia, no, I don’t have time.”  You sighed in exasperation when he successfully pulled you into his lap, not that you had put up much of a fight.  He wrapped an arm around your waist and held you tightly against him, smiling smugly at you the whole time.  “Are you happy now?”

“Mmm, si.  Very happy.  But…”  He stuck his bottom lip out a bit and you sighed.  “I wish we were kissing.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Very much so.  I think I deserve at least one for helping during the meeting.  Maybe two.”

“I’m sorry, how did you help?  All you did was make stupid faces at me!”

“I said I’d order this banner, didn’t I?  That’s very helpful.”

You wiggled around in his lap so you faced him, ignoring the little pleased grunt he made.

“You’re not ordering anything, Copia, what does this banner s–mmph!”

A hand in your hair and his mouth on yours stopped your question.  Normally you’d be annoyed at this tactic, but it had been a while since you’d kissed him last.  You settled against his chest, deciding to just let him win this time.  He made a pleased sound in the back of his throat and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping in to tease yours.  After a few minutes he pulled away, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before leaning back to give you a lazy smile.

“We should put you in a kissing booth for this thing.”  You groaned and tried to get up, but his arms stayed firm around you.  “No, no I’m serious!  You’re very good.”

“Copia, come on.  I’ve gotta go.”

He sighed and loosened his arms.  You immediately got up before he changed his mind, spinning and stepping back to lean against Terzo’s desk.  You watched as he rose from his chair, grunting a bit as he straightened up.  He reached down to tug at the crotch of his pants to give himself more room.  You felt endlessly pleased that he was already half hard just from a kiss, but when he noticed your smug look he raised that damned eyebrow again.

“Something to say, sorella?”  When you shook your head he stepped closer, resting a hand on either side of you against the desk.  “Do you like getting me all riled up?”

“Yes, I do.  It’s great fun.”

Copia muttered ‘brat’ under his breath before moving in to take your lips again.  This kiss was much more intense, your mouth opening under his immediately.  You buried your hands in his hair while his came down to your hips, his hands squeezing your flesh and urging you up.  Without breaking away from his mouth you let him help you onto Terzo’s desk, ignoring the sound of things clattering around as Copia shoved them out of the way.  Once you were settled he placed a hand on your knee, slipping it under your habit and up your leg.  The leather of his glove was warm against the skin of your thigh and you moaned into his mouth when he reached the hem of your panties. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against yours.

“Are you wet for me?”  You gasped into his mouth when he ran a finger over the silk covering your cunt.  “If I take my glove off will I feel how much you want me?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Copia growled, bringing his hand up to his mouth and tugging the glove off with his teeth.  Another growl rumbled in his chest when he tasted you on the leather.  When he was done he tossed it behind you onto the desk and leaned in to kiss you again.  His bare hand quickly found its way back under your skirt and you gasped when his fingers slid under your panties.  He rested one right at your wet entrance and you both broke away again, panting into each other's mouths when it easily slipped inside.  A smug grin broke out on his face, but before you could snap at him the door opened and Terzo waltzed back in.

“What are you two still do–ai!  No!  What did I say?!”

You shoved Copia away and jumped down from the desk, frantically straightening your skirt.  Terzo had switched to Italian as he and Copia began to snap back and forth at each other.  You grabbed your pen and notebook from the floor, freezing when Terzo turned with a finger pointed at you.

“Sorry Papa!”  He waved a hand at you and then stomped over to his desk.  Muttering under his breath as he straightened up the things you and Copia had knocked over.  You glared at Copia when he snickered as he walked towards you.  “Stop that!  You got me in trouble.”

Copia grabbed your hand, grinning as he tugged you towards the door.

“Far worse things have been done on that desk.  He’ll get over it.”  

“Hey!”  Both of you turned at the sound of Terzo’s voice, you watched warily as he glared at you with his hands on his hips.  “We’re calling it ‘Yay Satan Day’.”

“Ugh, fine!”  You ignored Terzo’s triumphant grin and turned back towards the door.  “I hate you both.”

“Si, I know.”  Copia opened the door for you and squeezed your hand when you went into the hall.  “Let’s uh head back to your room to clean up a bit, okie dokie?”  

More shouts from Terzo stole your attention away and you peered around Copia to see Papa poking something on top of his desk.

“Cardinal!  Come get your glove!  Satan, where has this thing been?!”

You looked at Copia and smiled before squeezing his hand back.

“Okie dokie.”

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

my masterlist

my ao3

[oh-stars]

Wind in Your Hair

Drive

a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | 696 words | CW: anxiety | Rating: G

--

She wants to scream. Genuinely. “I just don’t get what she’s trying to accomplish,” Robin says. “One minute she’s asking me to study and help her with an essay that I know she doesn't need help with and the next she’s ignoring me in the hallway!”

Her head is spinning with how tightly she’s turning around to pace the small space in front of her bed. “And, and,” she stresses as she looks over to Steve, who is sitting patiently on her bed, “let’s not forget that the rep from Ohio State is coming. I don’t even want to go to Ohio State or do marching band in college and yet here I am, panicking that he won’t like me and I won’t get the scholarship he may be offering. Because what if I’m lying to myself about not wanting to play in college when I actually want to because I don’t think it’ll work out. Or maybe I’m so self conscious about being the dorky trumpet player in college and then none of the pretty girls will want to–” 

Two hands grab her shoulders and spin her around until she’s nose to nose with Steve. “You have to breathe,” he says lowly, almost whispering. His words are all focused and intentional, like he’s trying to speak to a very specific part of her brain. 

She copies his breathing without him saying so, both of them breathing in deeply and letting it out in measured breaths. “Breathing isn’t going to fix my problems,” she says after a few minutes, even though the ratting thoughts in her head have slowed down a little with each breath and the steady hands on her shoulders keeping her in place. 

Steve’s lips quirk up into a sad smile. “You know what will?” 

Robin raises an eyebrow. 

He doesn’t say anything, just spins her back around and marches her out the bedroom. She’s guided down the stairs and out the house until they make it to the passenger side of his car, all while his hands nudge her this way and that like he’s herding her along. “You could have used your words you know,” she huffs as she climbs in. 

Steve slides across his hood to reach his door, yanking it open to slip into the driver’s seat. “You have too many words in your head right now, Birdie,” he says. He only calls her that during the soft moments, when things are too big and the nightmares too real. She loves him for it, the way he can make it all seem manageable with a smile and a nickname. 

Robin doesn’t argue as Steve cranks the engine. She watches as he pulls open the center console and grabs a tape, popping it out of the case and into the player. Their mixtape, the one with the doodles and stickers she’d plastered all over the plastic case, starts up as he pulls off the curb. 

“Steve–” 

“Nope.” Steve stops the car in the middle of the street, foot held down on the brake as he shifts to look at her. “No talking. We are going to sing as loud as we physically can until the words fall out of your head. Okay? No Vickie. No recruits. No school. None of it. Got it?” 

Robin grins. “Got it.” 

Steve beams as he turns back to the road and eases off the brake. He waits until he’s out of the neighborhood to blare the music, rolling down his window as they belt out to Queen. 

She’s helpless but to copy him, arm cranking the window down as the wind whips through the Beemer. Robin snatches up a hairbrush that has to be Eddie’s from the floorboard to use as a microphone, holding it between them to share when Steve’s able. 

As the wind blows through her hair, the trees passing by in a blur, and the songs fading into one another go on and on, Robin feels more grounded and connected to herself. And filled with the giggles, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s more of a side effect of being with Steve, one she never wants to get rid of. 

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Dumping links like Galileo dumped the orange

Today (May 20) at 3:15PM, I’ll be at the GAITHERSBURG Book Festival with my novel Red Team Blues; then on Monday (May 22), I’m keynoting Public Knowledge’s Emerging Tech conference in DC.

On Tuesday (May 23), I’ll be in TORONTO for a book launch that’s part of WEPFest, a benefit for the West End Phoenix, onstage with Dave Bidini (The Rheostatics), Ron Diebert (Citizen Lab) and the whistleblower Dr Nancy Olivieri.

Welcome to my Saturday linkdump, the third in an occasional series that may or may not be restricted to Saturdays, but which will ever be a celebration of olde-timey linkblogging of the sort practiced by our blogfathers, blogmothers, and assorted other blogparents:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Any fule kno that Saturday is Caturday, and today’s woke felinism comes courtesy of Dr Eleanor Janega, the earthiest of all the Medivelist Bloggers, author of the superb Once and Future Sex, all about dirty dirty medieval people and their filthy filthy habits:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/17/ren-faire/#going-medieval

One of Janega’s winningest formulas is “Find a dopey thing about medieval people racing around social media and then set the ignorant straight in a world-beating, extremely well-informed rant.”

See, for example, “I assure you, medieval people bathed”:

https://going-medieval.com/2019/08/02/i-assure-you-medieval-people-bathed/

This week, Janega addresses herself to the burning question, “Did 14th C religious leaders label cats evil, precipitating a mass European cull of poor moggies?”

The answer, you will not be surprised to learn, is: “No.”

https://going-medieval.com/2023/05/16/on-cats/

Rather, medieval people — including those in the 14th century — just adored cats. That goes double for the religious leaders, as is evidenced by all the cats monks drew in the margins of religious manuscripts. Janega also reproduces painstakingly inked manuscripts crisscrossed by pawprints left by a cat that did the medieval version of walking back and forth over your keyboard while you’re trying to enter your password.

There’s also a manuscript with a large blotch that is labeled by a monk who identifies it as a piss-stain left behind by a cat (presumably a cat that wanted to go out and was tired of the monk not taking the walking-back-and-forth-over-the-manuscript hint).

In case there’s any doubt about how monks felt about cats, there’s a freaking adorable manuscript margin-doodle of cat in a little monk’s outfit. There’s doodles of cats with nuns, illustrations of cats hanging out with 14th century monks, and of course, drawings of working cats keeping down the rats in the barns and kitchens of the day.

As if that wasn’t enough, Janega closes with this banger: 14th century didn’t kill all their cats in a witch panic, because “witch panics are not a feature of medieval society”:

Indeed, medieval people didn’t really believe in the concept at all. Even in the fifteenth century when the Malleus Maleficarum, or Hammer of Witches, a witch-hunting guide was written it had to justify its very existence because no one believed that ol’ Heinrich Kramer was right about witches existing.

When people think that the Middle Ages is a place full of superstitious backwards religious fanatics it allows them to think they can just ignore over a thousand years of history because all you are going to see is disease and cat murder. This then allows stupid ideas like this to perpetuate and exacerbates the problem further. Suddenly the only people paying attention to medieval history are weirdo trad people who can bend the truth to suit their own aims, and baby, we cannot have that.

Happy caturday all, and especially to Dr Janega, may her quill never blunt.

Caturday — even a caturday about people being Very Wrong About Cats — is a reminder that the internet is often great, and not a cesspit of awful. Here is one way in which that is true: Mohit Bhoite builds tiny, perfect electronic sculptures that are both gorgeous little artworks and supremely functional exemplars of the hardware hacker’s noble art:

https://www.bhoite.com/sculptures/

Oh. My. God. These are so great. The tiny temperature monitor with the 7-seg digital display:

https://www.bhoite.com/sculptures/tiny-temp-monitor/

This stunning 7-seg counter:

https://www.bhoite.com/sculptures/seven-segment-counter/

This 555 Demux, with its delicate tracery of chassis and pins:

https://www.bhoite.com/sculptures/555-bcd-demux/

Each one a delightful morsel, made seemingly for the artist’s own pleasure and self-expression. I’m slightly disappointed that these aren’t for sale (because I want all of them), but even happier that these pure works of art, unsullied by commerce.

An important note about Bhoite’s sculptures is that they’re built on open source hardware, notably kits from Adafruit, often based on Arduinos and other open designs. This openness leads to “generativity,” the ability of follow-on creators and inventors to make new things based on existing things.

Generativity is the heart of the early explosive growth of the internet. From “view source” teaching millions of us to make the web to the LAMP stack (Linux, Apache, Mysql and python/perl) forming the substrate for billions of projects, the generative internet was — and is — the creative internet.

Despite a decade of energetic commons-enclosing, some of the staunchest bastions of openness and generativity continue to thrive, like Wikipedia, an encyclopedia that isn’t just “free as in beer,” it’s also “free as in speech” — free to mix and remix as you choose.

Here’s a whole passel of delightful Wikipedia-generated search tools, the Search Gizmos, a whole suite of special-purpose search tools that mine Wikipedia for informational goodies:

https://searchgizmos.com/

They’re the creation of Tara Calishain, and there are so many of them that’s it’s hard to choose just one to highlight, but I’m enormously fond of “Gossip Machine”:

A powerful tool that uses Wikipedia page views to surface potential “news days” in a given year for any topic with a Wikipedia page. By analyzing daily page views and flagging dates with significantly higher-than-average views, Gossip Machine provides you with pre-filled Google News and Google Web search links, taking you straight to valuable and insightful information about your chosen topic.

One of the bitter ironies of companies like Open AI is the co-opting of generativity for “Generative AI,” a set of products that could not be more unlike the generative projects of Bhoite or Calishain.

This kind of language game is a hallmark of every scam (not for nothing: Open AI isn’t open, and its product is neither artificial nor is it intelligent). As debates over “Generative AI” (which neither “generative,” nor “artificial,” etc, etc) rage, it’s worth revisiting how earlier debates about automation, creativity and appropriation played out.

This week in Clot Magazine, Estela Oliva interviews electronic music pioneers Jennifer Walshe and Jon “Wobbly” Leidecker (Negativland):

https://clotmag.com/interviews/jennifer-walshe-jon-leidecker-on-collaboration

The whole interview is great, but it really starts to smoke when Leidecker describes “Morover” a Negativland project built on samples of billionaires’ own fevered rants about AI:

With Negativland, we sample those CEO quotes directly — with Jennifer, those quotes also wind up in her notebooks, which she uses live as a source — it turns out CEO & EA musings make for an excellent libretto. Our deliverable is the ecosystem itself! Image diversity is more useful than photorealism! Sometimes the original sample is unbeatable, such as when Sam Altman’s voice falters when he says he feels terrible that AI is the reason his Rationalist friends have decided not to have kids. He thinks in the future, so many jobs will be lost to AI that our economy will be forced to come up with new solutions.

Later, Leidecker digs into the meat of the debate:

Electronic music has been dealing with issues of generative music and cybernetics since the 1940s, with Louis and Bebe Barron working out the creative potential of these new tools, making self-playing instruments capable of observing their own behaviour. I take the core questions faced by creative electronic musicians to involve issues of automation. What can be automated that points one in unheard musical directions?

Can networks involve more people, as opposed to replacing them? What new roles open up for humans once the old decisions are being handled? Electronic music has over 70 years’ worth of deeply moral and very creative responses to the issue of automation, and these patent-chasing corporations aren’t likely to bring up any of that work during their product demos. They need you to believe they invented this. But there’s a long and helpful history, and there’s still time to learn it.

These are the interesting discussions we could be having about these tools, if we could stop letting mediocre billionaire live rent-free in our heads as they hold flashlights under their chins and intone “Aaaaaaaay Eyeeeeeeee” in their spookiest voices. These guys are pumping their upcoming dump, and all the biggest disaster-stories are part of the scam: “AI will become sentient” and “AI will do your job as well as you” are both statements whose primary purpose is to increase the value of the stock in companies making “AI” technology (neither “artificial” nor you get the idea).

I mean, sure, our bosses will fire our asses and replace us with shell-scripts, but they don’t need working AI to do that — no more than they needed working voice response systems to replace human operators. They just enshittify their products and services, and do it under cover of chasing amazing new technology, and reap the stock gains bequeathed by keyword-drunk investors.

But the endless repetition of this vision of Fully Automated Austerity Pronatalist Space Neofeudalism gives people absolute brain-worms. The entire passive-income/rise-and-grind subculture has been convinced that they can use AI (neither etc etc) to make a fortune by…uh…generating plausible paragraphs.

Only problem: there’s no market for plausible paragraphs. The closest anyone comes is the tiny, low-dollar market for short science fiction and fantasy, which is pretty much the last bastion of paid short fiction markets. Now, these are amazing publications, and they do wonderful work, but they pay $0.01 to $0.25/word, and — more importantly — are edited by humans who sift through 1,000+ manuscripts per month looking for brilliant work to publish.

These editors are handily capable of distinguishing between extruded verbal slurry and actual short fiction, but the brain-worm bros are convinced that if they hammer these editors hard enough with enough algorithm-wrought word-salad, eventually, they’ll sell a “story” (netting a princely sum in the tens of dollars!).

This is objectively very stupid, but it’s also very terrible, because the human editors doing this labor of love are drowning in aishit. The most vocal among these LLM-blighted publishers is Neil Clarke, editor of the great Clarkesworld, who is waging a one-man war on spammy LLM submissions. His latest dispatch from the front lines (ominously titled “It continues…”) would be hacky sf, if it wasn’t real:

The one thing that is presently missing from the equation is integration with any of the existing AI detection tools. Despite their grand claims, we’ve found them to be stunningly unreliable, primitive, significantly overpriced, and easily outwitted by even the most basic of approaches.

http://neil-clarke.com/it-continues/

This is not the future we dreamt of. It’s been stolen from us by the brain-worms. Writing in Business Insider, the great Nathan Proctor describes how automation lets companies bring about the “death of ownership”:

https://www.businessinsider.com/companies-software-legal-tricks-subscriptions-customers-money-pay-death-ownership-2023-5

When your device won’t accept the ink you chose, or run the software you prefer, or let you repair it at the depot of your choosing (or even on your own kitchen table), do you really own it?

This is the theme of much of my work, of course, including my novella “Unauthorized Bread,” which performs the science-fictional trick of building a world around a single technical conceit to magnify and clarify the underlying issues:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

Proctor leads PIRG’s Right to Repair campaign, and he’s a comrade. He’s got these companies’ numbers and he’s a tireless fighter:

I believe in truth in advertising. If you’re going to sell somebody something, sell it to them. If you are going to lease something to somebody, lease it to them. If you tether their future purchases to a secret “agreement” that you baked into the technology that they don’t know about, that is deceptive. Not to mention, tinkering and fixing are American traditions. The ethos of “if it’s broke, then fix it” has other benefits, too. Repair teaches critical skills, it saves consumers money, it helps cut waste and product obsolescence. Tinkering and fixing also leads to product innovations that can benefit everyone.

Preach on, brother!

For ever tech bro who took cyberpunk dystopia as a suggestion, there are a dozen more who took it as a warning. Technologists like Micah Lee are on the front lines with Proctor and others. Lee was my colleague at EFF when Snowden contacted him privately, identifying himself as a would-be whistleblower who was trying to securely deliver a trove of US government leaks to some journalists who were struggling with the technology.

Now Lee is at the Freedom of the Press Foundation and The Intercept, and he’s working on a book: “Hacks, Leaks and Revelations,” is a practical manual for whistleblowers, reporters and investigators. Subtitled “The Art of Analyzing Hacked and Leaked Data,” it’s out in November:

https://nostarch.com/hacks-leaks-and-revelations

Meanwhile, Lee has put swathes of the book online for early perusal:

https://staging.hacksandleaks.com/introduction.html

This book isn’t a mere manifesto — it’s a manual, and it contains exercises for the reader to help them build a secure process for communicating and publishing in a way that protects sources.

Micah’s work is a reminder that the internet is made of people. Take the people away, all you’ve got is algorithms spamming each other (this is the plot of my short story, “When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth”):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/14/masque-of-the-red-death/#eschatology-watch

People matter. Everything people make — corporations, cities, workplaces, networks — only matter to the extent that they help people. Here’s a useful rule of thumb: when you’re trying to figure out whether a cause deserves your support, ask yourself, “Does this help people? Does it help more people than the alternative? Does it help people who need help?”

Asking that question made me a union man. That’s why I’ve been walking the WGA picket-lines in my neighborhood on my home-days while touring. It’s also why I cheered the dancers at LA’s Star Garden Topless Dive Bar when they became the first topless dancers in America to win recognition for their union:

https://apnews.com/article/strippers-union-los-angeles-star-garden-4069df93b149076dc2e23a0bff16438b

The Star Garden workers are organized under the Actors’ Equity Association, the same union I wrote a check to when I paid Wil Wheaton to record the audiobook of Red Team Blues (Wil��s a union man, too:)

https://www.tvinsider.com/1093201/jeopardy-wil-wheaton-ken-jennings-writers-strike/

There’s been a lot of “ha ha the strippers unionized ha ha” nonsense in response to this news, but fuck that. Sex work is work. These are workers. They work in a field that is physically demanding, potentially dangerous, and rife with exploitative practices. Damned right they need a union. Go, sisters, go!

People who think they understand ironic laughter because they made a snotty remark about a stripper’s union are absolute amateurs. To see how it’s done, check out The Onion, a publication that is consistently pretty funny, but also reliably screamingly, viciously, incredibly funny, especially about the things that hurt the most.

The canonical example of this, of course, is The Onion’s first issue after the 9/11 attacks, headlined “HOLY FUCKING SHIT” and containing such articles as “Not Knowing What Else To Do, Woman Bakes American-Flag Cake”:

https://www.wired.com/2001/09/onions-bitter-tears-of-irony/

The Onion continues to be America’s leading ha-ha-only-serious forum, serving, somehow, as both escape valve and flame-fanner for the nation’s bitterest ailments. For years, they’ve run their “‘No Way To Prevent This,’ Says Only Nation Where This Regularly Happens” headline after every major mass shooting:

https://www.theonion.com/no-way-to-prevent-this-says-only-nation-where-this-r-1819576527

But as America continues to record multiple, daily, mass shootings, The Onion’s writers needed something else. Yesterday, they ran “Americans Describe What It’s Like Surviving A Mass Shooting,” and oh shit is it a doozy:

https://www.theonion.com/surviving-a-mass-shooting-americans-describe-what-it-s-1850438794

“It makes you really appreciate how free we are as a country when you’re hiding under a desk with bullets flying over your head.”

“Those 15 minutes standing a safe distance away from the school while the suspect finished shooting were the most harrowing of my life.” (picture of a cop)

“There’s nothing like a brush with death to remind you that all your previously held beliefs are correct and should not be questioned.” (Rep. Steve Scalise (R-LA))

“My boss let me use one of my three unpaid sick days to get sewed up.”

“Only two of my three kids came home from school, but Texas has no property taxes, so it’s a wash.”

I mean.

Shit.

The new Gilded American Age is already looking a little tarnished. The unholy alliance between the infinite greed of the capital classes and the sadistic indifference of the terrified, authoritarian, musket-fucking Bible-bashers has us racing for the precipice.

It’s wild to see the parties fiddle while the Shining City on the Hill burns. I think we all expect it of the Republicans, but watching the Democrats fail working people and continue to climb into bed with the ultra-wealthy and their priorities is demoralizing, especially for those of us hoping for more from the party of the New Deal.

There’s been a lot of ink spilled on the Trump transformation of the GOP, but Dems’ transformation from a party representing labor to a party representing McKinsey consultants is less well understood.

A new book, Left Behind: The Democrats’ Failed Attempt to Solve Inequality, by Lily Geismer, tells that story:

https://www.publicaffairsbooks.com/titles/lily-geismer/left-behind/9781541757004/

Left Behind gets a fascinating review by Ruby Ray Daily in Public Books, where it is contrasted with Partisans: The Conservative Revolutionaries Who Remade American Politics in the 1990s by Nicole Hemmer:

https://www.publicbooks.org/what-the-1990s-did-to-america/

Both books grapple with way that the end of the Cold War and the Reagan era transformed both major US parties. In Hemmer’s telling, Reagan wasn’t the “dawn of the free-market conservative,” but rather, the “late summer” of that brand of conservativism. Without “anticommunism” to animate it, the Reagan Right coalition thrashed in a void, eventually gelling into today’s “nativism, racial resentment, and media hysteria.”

Meanwhile, the Dems under Clinton turned their backs on state-backed programs and towards market-based initiatives, making today’s “lopsided, unfair economic gains” inevitable. The Atari Democrats of the Clinton years were — in the words of one bitter union organizer — “crypto-Republicans.”

Clinton isn’t the Democrats’ Eisenhower (“accommodating his party to, and sanding the radical edges off, a new consensus”). He’s the Democrats’ Reagan, “shaping and even leading this new market-oriented consensus.”

For Geismer, Clinton wasn’t simply jettisoning the New Deal — rather, he was embracing its technocratic, expertise-worshiping aspect. It was this tendency that produced Clinton’s ghastly “welfare reform” and other attacks on working people. It’s a stark reminder that ideology without a moral center sows the seeds of its own ruin.

Meanwhile, we live today in the Atari Democrats’ world, where wealthy professionals play a high-speed game of musical chairs for the few remaining opportunities to survive the coming polycrisis with intact shelter, food and comfort. One way this plays out is in the surreal, vicious fights over college admissions.

It’s only been a minute since the Varsity Blues scandal erupted: wealthy parents (including some celebrities) bribed college officials to pretend that nepobabies and failsons were elite athletes, letting them ooze into top college slots reserved for sports prodigies (slots that often represent the only chance for poor teens of color to enter these universities):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Varsity_Blues_scandal

The scandal touched a nerve, perhaps because it punctured the already-fragile bubble of pretense that top colleges were full of the smartest kids in America — rather than, say, the kids whose parents attended those institutions (“legacies”), or made giant donations, or were coached and polished by tutors and consultants.

Well, there’s never just one ant. Varsity Blues wasn’t the only way for rich, status-obsessed parents to buy their kids’ way into college. The latest rot exposed is a doozy of a scam: parents pay academics to pretend to collaborate with high-schoolers so they can put their names on papers published in peer-reviewed journals:

https://www.propublica.org/article/college-high-school-research-peer-review-publications

The story was broken last week by Dan Golden for Propublica and The Chronicle of Higher Education, in a long-read that details all the variations on this scam. For example, sometimes the kid does actually do some original research, but the “journal” is a fake outlet run by the “service” that connects academics and kids.

Bottom line is it works: college admissions officers are deluged with applications and don’t have time to look up the “peer reviewed” publications claimed by applicants. Faculty don’t have the time or inclination to do it either. The stakes are incredibly high, the costs are very high, and the institutions that do the evaluations are weak afterthoughts.

I wonder if we won’t just eventually give up and admit that a degree from a Big Ten or an Ivy is just a thing you buy, like a Picasso or a blood diamond. We could just turn it into a half million dollar blue tick and have done with it.

Anyway.

Hate to end this linkdump on a down-note, but there you have it. Next time I do one of these, I’ll try to remember to hold back one of the upbeat links for a palate cleanser.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/20/the-missing-links/#plunderphonics

[Image ID: A pot of chunky chicken and vegetable stew.]

[hyperfixated-homo]

Now that we're entering into 2024, I'm asking some artists and writers that I follow:

1) What is the one piece you're most proud of from this past year?

2) What are some pieces that you would have liked more people to see? If you can include links, I'd love to go check them out!

3) What were your top three favorite pieces (art, comics, fics, etc) that someone else has made this past year?

(As always, no pressure to respond! Feel free to just ignore, or let me know if you'd rather I not send you these kinds of asks in the future.)

Hihi!! I have a ton of unanswered asks but i wanted to do this one because it's really lovely :) thank you

(answers under the cut)

This is such a hard question! This year was full of art that made me really happy. If i had to pick ONE I think it would be this

I made it in three hours flat in a vc with my friends and honestly I'm very proud of it!! It feels like a culmination of all the exploration and studying I've been doing the past year.

Here's the post :D

2. I've made so much stuff that I just. want everyone to see, always. So here are some highlights!

Leo doodle

Random sunset experiment

My dragon oc <3

Leo, screaming (tw for messed up faces, noose, blood, general disturbing imagery)

mmmmmm drez

OC witch art!!! I'm so proud of this actually but pretty much nobody saw it :(

THIS DRAWING I SPENT EIGHT HOURS OH MY GOD

Those are the main ones I think

3. uueuueueueuue there have been SO MANY GOOD ONES. AAA

I really don't know what to put so I'm going to say any artwork by @/sanfezu (their art style is just my favourite thing ever), all of the artwork by any of my mutuals, and specifically this artwork by SamDoesArts. I think it is very cool.

Fanfics are a bit easier. There are a whole bunch of fics that I find super interesting! With a small warning to read tags, the ones that I found myself coming back to over and over were:

The Lemonade Leak

tied together through thorns and ribbons

Sewer Rat Disposables

Times Five

moral of the story

The Blood In My Veins

Where In the World Is Neon Leon?

Creation, Haunted and Holy

Power Up

Minor Interference

The Analogous Hues series

...I know that's a bit more than three but in my defense. Listen. There's so much good stuff out there!! I love it all!!

Anyways, Thank you for the ask <3 I had a lot of fun looking back over the last year.

[forbidden-forest-witch]

Destiné à Être: A Remus Lupin story

Chapter 8: Harry Potter and the Advanced Guard

Woo hoo! I’m back with a new chapter. This story is gaining momentum at a glacial speed on this app. If you like the story, please comment and reblog! It really helps with my motivation to keep posting. Is anyone out there?

(Warnings: Smoking, drinking, language, sexual themes. 18+ only)

Word count: 5.7K

...

"Thinking of you is a poison I drink often" -Atticus

"Goddamn I hate these, erm, muggles. How much longer?", Brigitte asks Tonks. They've been watching Harry's Aunt and Uncle's house for the last six hours. It's humid outside, and their backs are painfully stiff from the stationary position under a neighbor's hedge.

"Hmm, Podmore should be here any minute". Tonks says, trying to stifle a yawn. They watch as Harry crawls into a hydrangea bush to stay out of sight. 

"It's sad, watching this boy sulk around his neighborhood. I don't understand why he can't be at Grimmauld. He'd be even safer and I could make a dent in Sirius' case", Brigitte laments.

"It's one of those times where we have to blindly accept Dumbledore's orders. He says it's safest for Harry, so here he stays for two more weeks", Tonks sighs.

"How is Sirius' case coming along? Sorry I can't get the paperwork for ya".

"Kingsley told me last night after the meeting that his case is magically sealed. Probably because it'll show how poorly the Ministry handled it. Capturing Peter and getting personal testimonies from everyone who saw him transform from a rat is what's going to be Sirius' saving grace. How the hell is that going to happen?", Brigitte worries.

"He can't hide forever", Tonks says optimistically. "We just gotta be patient. You're working on the werewolf stuff in the meantime?".

"I'm starting to make some notes so I can refer to work I've done in France. It's repulsive, Dora, the Ministry's language talking about people with Lycanthropy. I cannot imagine how they will react when I go in to defend them". Brigitte doodles in a miniature sketchbook she had hidden in her pocket.  

"Who cares what they say? They're wrong! What you're doing is badass! I bet Remus is eternally grateful to the beautiful young woman helping him like no one else has".Tonks dramatically bats her lashes.

"Have you been in the sun too long?".

"Don't deny it. He stares at you when he thinks no one is looking".

"Oh stop, Dora, he does not!", Brigitte says trying to hide her blushing cheeks.

Tonks wiggles her eyebrow and smirks, "It's quite adorable, actually. Sirius told me Remus is painfully shy, but he's warmed up real quick to you".

"We're friends. He's easy to talk to", Brigitte insists. She definitely won't bring up their intimate moment dancing together and how he was openly staring at her then and not at all shy with his hands.

"Whatever you say", Tonks looks over at Brigitte, who's staring up at the sky as and daydreaming about those hazel eyes and 'deep pink scars I want to trace with my lips. Wait– what the hell are you thinking, woman?' ...

After taking a little window shopping and a long walk back to Headquarters, Brigitte finds Remus in the kitchen. Hermione has finally arrived, and she is telling him about her new club S.P.E.W, ignoring the protests from Ron.

"'Mione, stop! He doesn't want to hear this rubbish. What do you suggest? They free Kreacher so he can go and blab about what we're doing!?".

Remus glances up to Brigitte with a welcoming smile, and she pats his shoulder as she walks by. Their lingering touches have become more and more frequent.

They're all listening to Hermione's arguments in favor of House Elf rights, when suddenly Mndungus Fletcher frantically bolts into the room. He's sweaty and out of breath. His eyes are wide and bloodshot.

"Dung? What—"

"Dementors... attacked the boy...".

Sirius and Molly come in with arm loads of trash and arguing about Sirius' unruly hair, They've been getting under each other's skin the more time they spend in these close quarters;

" ... Can't it be shorter? It traps in that cigarette smell", Molly wrinkles her nose.

"Ugh, Molly I-- What's going on?", the raven- haired wizard asks when he sees the panic in everyone's eyes.

"Mundungus, what the hell are you talking about!?", Remus urges, approaching the dirty man with a frantic look in his eyes.

"Dementors ... Kingsley and Mad-Eye are there now".

"Wha-what?", Sirius roars and drops the rubbish in his hands.

"I... I had gone— for just a moment!", he slurs. Molly grips Sirius' sleeve so he doesn't charge the drunken man or try to leave the house.

"Sirius, you have to stay calm!", Brigitte puts her hand on his chest to still him,

"Dung, tell us what happened". He looks around hesitantly before divulging what Mrs. Figg told him.

" ... two of 'em. Attacked him and the cousin, parents took him to Muggle hospital. Harry's fine, he did a patronus on 'em". Molly gasps; Hermione and Ron look at one another horrified.

"Fine?! Merlin, Mundungus ... he better stay in that house", Sirius emphasizes. He, Hermione, and Ron each scribble notes to Harry before he leaves the Dursley's house and makes himself vulnerable to the dark, soul-hungry creatures.

"Dementors in Surrey?", Remus asks still in disbelief. Emmeline Vance rushes into the room, along with Sturgis Podmore.

"What happened?! Got word from Moody".

Broderick Bode and a few others trail in behind them. Brigitte quickly shares details of the attack. Some of them immediately turn back around to Apparate to the scene.

"We need to go get him!", Sirius howls.  

"As long as Harry stays in that house, he's safe". He looks at Brigitte out of the corner of his eye, where she stands with her hands on Hermoine's trembling shoulders.

⋆ ｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Harry stays put for three days. The Order checks the surrounding skies countless times and finds no trace of the dementors, and Moody forms a route for getting Harry to quickly and safely to Headquarters.

Though, not quickly enough for those waiting for his arrival. Brigitte is distracting herself and Molly in the kitchen. They've been told everything should go smoothly, but Bri can't help but worry about Remus— and Tonks and the others, of course. Hermione and Ginny have come downstairs, hoping to hear some news. Sadly, Arthur and Sirius are only talking about new Ministry restrictions with other Order members at the table.

"I don't know who's more excited about Harry's arrival: Sirius or Ginny?", Brigitte teases to keep the vibe light. Ginny scrunches her nose in denial.

"I hope Harry isn't too upset that we couldn't write more", Hermione nervously mutters.

"You can blame us", Brigitte assures her.

"Ginny, Hermione, I think you should head up", Molly says. "Harry will be here soon ... Please ask Gus to come down and join us".

The girls reluctantly shuffle out the room. Gus comes down from playing cards with Fred and George, and holds the door open for Snape. It becomes tense and quiet in the kitchen after that.

Minutes later there's a scuffle from the foyer. Molly rushes out to intercept Harry as the Advance Guard files in. Remus doesn't miss the chance at taking the empty seat next to Brigitte.

"Uneventful mission, I hope?", she asks.

He takes in a deep breath, her light florally scent invading his senses. "Aside from freezing our asses off— totally uneventful", he smiles down at her.

"And you're feeling alright?". The full moon was only two days ago and Remus insisted on helping with Harry's extraction tonight, regardless. He's not all scratched up and bloodied, but a keen eye can see the exhaustion in his features.

"I'm fine, Britt, honest. I had chocolate and the tea you made me. I'm good as new". Remus sits up straight and smiles with his chin up high.

"Okay, okay ... chocolate fiend", she teases and nudges his arm, making them both blush.

Kingsley clears his throat and the chatter fizzles out. He begins by taking Mundungus off all upcoming assignments. The lack of new information people have is discouraging. People are skeptical to speak, untrusting of those around them-- afraid their words will be used against them. Nothing out of the ordinary has occurred in the patrolled areas, and the general public is still weary about Voldemort's return.

"The Ministry is covering it up! And now the attacks? They control those things!", Sirius rants. "How do we know The Ministry isn't trying to take out Harry too?".

"Because Voldemort is still deliberating his best course of action when it comes to Minister Fudge", Snape dully explains. "I can confirm that the Dark Lord is after a prophecy, hidden in the Department of Mysteries".

"Ah, just as Dumbledore suspected", Kingsley scoffs mirthlessly.

“A prophecy about Harry?”, Brigitte asks.

“Correct”, Snape says, looking disgusted at having to respond.

"All the more reason for them to do something", Molly points out.

"The Ministry's official position is that the attack is all allegations", Tonks rolls her eyes. "Fitting into Dumbeldore's narrative".

"Harry will have to go to his hearing and explain what he saw. Then we may get to investigate. We have no other means to get to Azkaban and personally count the dementors". Kingsley sighs and rubs his tired eyes.

"Harry's not a liar", Sirius growls. "He shouldn't have to explain himself".

"We saw Cedric Diggory. Why wouldn't they believe him?", Brigitte asks.

"Politics", Tonks explains bluntly. "You didn't technically see how he died".

"It's easier to live in denial than fear. The last war wasn't long ago, too many people remember it. Fudge doesn't want public hysteria", Remus whispers to Brigitte. She is fortunate enough not to remember last time Voldemort was gaining power– she was about to start her first year of schooling far away in France.

"Who knows what this means going forward. Just keep your guards up. Everyone know their assignments?", Kingsley asks. There's a collective head nod. Brigitte's job is to be available when needed, not draw attention to herself, and do her legal work in her limited free time.

When the meeting comes to a close, the hoard of Order members leave for their new duties. Some will keep an eye on Diagon Alley, some are stuck at the Dursley's house, and the 'lucky ones' are stationed around the Ministry building with Alastair Moody.

Molly waves her wand, setting the table for dinner as the swarm of children return.  

"Harry!", Brigitte jumps from her seat and hugs the boy. "I'm so happy to see you! How are you?! I cannot believe what happened".

"Britt? Wh- what are you doing here!?".

"I never went back to France. Fleur is here too. Now, sit with Sirius, dinner will be ready soon!", she gently nudges him towards his godfather who's waiting with open arms.

"Mundungus, I've told you not to light that cigar in here! Especially at meal times!", Brigitte fumes and forces a gust of wind at him as she sits back down next to Remus, who's chuckling at her adorable, angry face.

"What's so funny?".

"Oh ... nothing", he coughs nervously. "Did you have a good day?".

Remus left early, so he missed the chaos that swarmed around Grimmauld Place. Brigitte animatedly tells him about distracting Molly most of the day, wiggling her fingers above the wooden tabletop to make fluffy dandelions sprout up. Talking to Remus and seeing him look so invested in what she's saying makes her feel like a silly schoolgirl, and it seems to make her magic giddy.

"Remus, you there?". Brigitte waves her hand, noticing his distant gaze. He can't help it. It's like his brain shuts off by her voice hypnotizing him. Remus clings onto Brigitte's melodious accent. He looks forward to her telling him about her day; she's quickly becoming the calming presence in his life— well, a calm that make him so nervous his heart violently thumps against his ribs. Honestly, the girl could explain the difference between goblin and leprechaun gold and he'd savor each word that spills from her lips.

"Huh? Yeah. Yes, of course I am-", he's cut off by Tonks shouting across the table.

"Need any help, Molly!?". She's sat in the corner, huddled up with Gus.

"No dear, really that's alright. Just getting the stew", she pleads to the clumsy girl.

"We got it!", Fred and George said in unison, pointing their wands.

"NO! JUST CARRY THEM!!". The stew, breadboard, and knife slam onto the table. Sirius and Harry jump away to avoid injury, and when they see no one's hurt the room erupts into laughter- everyone sans Molly who screams at her sons.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

When the last dessert fork is set down, Molly interrupts the scattered conversations and suggests the children go to bed. Sirius raises his hand in objection, pushing his chair back and turning his body to Harry.

"Y'know, I'm surprised. I thought you'd be asking more questions", Sirius says to his godson.

"I did! I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed—"

"And they're right. You're too young", Molly inserts intensely.

"Since when do you have to be in the Order to ask questions? Harry's been trapped with muggles for months. He's got the right to know". Sirius insists.

"It's too risky, Sirius".

"I'm not going to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly, but he's been through more than most in the Order!", Sirius argues.

"But he's still—"

"He's not a child! He can even do a bloody patronus!".

"I only have Harry's best intentions at heart! He's not an adult... he's not James, Sirius!", Molly argues.

Sirius glares at her, cheeks turning red. It's escalating too quickly, and everyone is exhausted from cleaning the giant townhouse-- and consuming too many fire whiskeys.  

Brigitte looks to Remus, his jaw is clenched and gaze set on Sirius. Harry glances nervously between the two arguing while the other kids stare at their plates. Tonks and Arthur's eyes are like saucers. Gus lights a cigarette, relatively unphased.

"You think I'm an irresponsible godfather?", Sirius asks coldly, his voice continually rising.

"You've been known to act rashly, Sirius!".

"He's not your son, Molly", Sirius growls at her. He grasps his chair, ready to pounce.

Molly purses her lips bitterly. "He's as good as. Who else has he got?".

"ME! He's got me!".

"Yes", Molly smirks, "but it's been rather difficult to do be there for him while locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?".

Sirius throws his chair back. Brigitte gasps, moreso at Molly's words than Sirius' reaction.

"Sirius sit down!", Remus hisses, "Personally, I think it's better that Harry get the facts- not all the facts, Molly-- but we might as well tell him before he hears it from somewhere else", he affirms. Brigitte gives him a reassuring nod.

"Molly... we were there when Harry came back with Cedric", Brigitte sighs heavily, "He deserves to know what's going on".

Molly throws up her hands in defeat and kicks the other children out of the room. Sirius gives Harry a vague update: how Voldemort is after a weapon (the prophecy) that could help him win and the Order is doing everything they can to keep him from gaining momentum.

"But what is the weapon?", Harry asks.

"Well--", Sirius begins to delve into the Department of Mysteries, but Molly has had enough.

"Alright, I think he's heard plenty! Harry, I'm sure Ron and Hermione would like to spend time with you". Molly puts on a fake smile and gently nudges Harry out the room. She gives Sirius one last nostril flare, before giving her attention to the dirty dishes and left over food.

Tonks stealthily ventures across the room, afraid any sudden movement might set off Molly. She leans down to Brigitte's ear and whispers, "Hey Love, do you have a dress I can borrow? Gus is taking me to dinner".

"Of course! Let's go, Hermione and Ginny are already in my room... I'll see you later, uhh, Lunaire", Brigitte addresses Remus as she stands up.

"What's Lunaire?", he asks innocently.

"It's the closest translation to 'Moony' in French". She giggles, skipping out of sight with Tonks, leaving Remus a love-struck mess. They join Hermione and Ginny in Brigitte's bedroom, quickly turning the space into a fabric wasteland, with clothes covering the floor like a lumpy carpet.

"Okay so you're edgy and punk", Brigitte rummages through her dresses flung about. Hermione and Ginny hold some up to their bodies and twirl around.

"Gus likes dark blue. I have the perfect one but where is it?!", Brigitte starts throwing the dresses behind her, making a huge pile. "Here!", she tosses the dress to Tonks. It's navy chiffon with a tulle skirt and sheer long sleeves– subtly elegant and sexy.

"It's beautiful! I don't know if I could pull this off", Tonks hesitates.

"All you need to think about is Gus pulling it off", Brigitte laughs.

"That's your brother!".

"Yeah, and you're my friend, so try it on!".

Tonks reluctantly gives them a fashion show, and the dress fits her like a glove.

"Yeah that's definitely the one!", Ginny smiles. Hermione eagerly nods her head, her fluffy hair bouncing erratically.

"I'm thrilled you're going out with Auguste, Tonks! Taking someone to romantic dinner? Very unlike him, going out anywhere in public".

"He's falling in love!", Ginny sings, picking up a long formal gown and admiring herself in the mirror.  

"Hardly... Speaking of dates, when do we get to dress you up?", Tonks wiggles her eyebrows and the two young girls pipe up in agreement (Yeah! Yeah! When??).

"That'd be a little difficult with no one to go with", Brigitte grumbles.

"What about Remus?", Hermione asks innocently.

"I don't know 'what about Remus'... we're friends".

Tonks rolls her eyes as she packs the dress in her bag. "Oh, puh-lease! I told you I see the way he looks at you".

"And when you talk at dinner he gets this goofy smile", Ginny adds teasingly.

"And he likes being close to you", Hermione adds. Brigitte's face is glowing red at this point.

"Look, he's sweet and we have nice talks ... It's just not good timing. H-he probably thinks I'm some wacky girl, too young for him", she says somberly. Tonks rubs her arm sympathetically,

"I've seen the way you look at him, too. Don't say things like that! He doesn't think you're just some anything! You're a gifted, smart, and unearthly stunning witch, Brigitte Moreau and he'd be an absolute git to not see that".

"Personally, I think you two make a nice looking couple", Ginny declares. Downstairs in the drawing room, Remus, Sirius, Harry, and Ron are tucked around the fireplace.

"I can't believe we're going to have another new DADA teacher. They've all been bloody nightmares–except you, Lupin", Ron clarifies. Remus smiles appreciatively.

Harry makes an slack face, thinking about what the upcoming year could behold. "If I'm even allowed back at school ...".

"That's nothing to worry about, Harry. Fudge may not listen but he's just one person. You'll be fine. Kids do underage magic more than you think. Just picture all the amazing food you get to have at school ... the birds ya haven't seen all summer?", Sirius grins wickedly.

"You're ridiculous", Remus huffs.

"No, I'm Sirius", his grin widens, "though ... I have a feeling the only birds these two are interested in are right here in this house".

Ron looks at Harry suspiciously, who quickly changes subject, "Well, uh ... Lupin, what's going on with you and Brigitte? She seems really nice, the few times I spoke to her during the last school year".

The tips of Remus' ears heat up. Fred and George perk up from their card game to hear the answer, George with a sad yet hopeful glint in his eye. Sirius sits up and looks amusedly at his old friend.

"I think we're all curious about that!".

"Brigitte and I are friends", Remus responds desperately- hoping it'd be the end of it. Sirius dramatically rolls his eyes and throws his hands in the air. Harry smirks. "Sorry... I just thought maybe- you two were sitting close at dinner ...".

Sirius loves seeing him tease Remus like James would, making Moony squirm nervously.

"They're like that most meals", Ron whispers.

"Pfft. Anytime they're in a room together", Sirius scoffs. They laugh and go back to talking about Hogwarts and how awkward Remus used to be around girls.

He tries to push down the heat growing across his body. He didn't realize people noticed him always sitting next to her like some pathetic school boy. "Has SHE noticed?", Remus thinks; but what is he supposed to do? He can't help but gravitate to her. There's a strong pull, and the second he is near her a tranquil feeling envelopes him.

Remus battles himself internally. He tries to push away the sound of her laugh replaying in his mind and the image of her rosy lips. "Stop goddammit! She's young and ambitious, you'll ruin her... but she's so sweet. Her smile- no, quit it!", Molly comes into the room with a sour look.

"I think it's past time you two went to bed. Now". She's clearly in a sour mood from dinner. The younger boys say good night and head to their room. Brigitte and Tonks pass them at the doorway.

"I think it's time I head out too", Tonks announces. Auguste, who is sitting with Arthur on the opposite side of the room near the twins, stands up to escort her.

Brigitte hugs him, whispering a warning in his ear. "I'm so excited you two are going out and I know I'm your sister, but I like Tonks so don't you dare ruin it!".

"Yeah, yeah. Protective little bear ... I wouldn't dream of doing anything to mess this up".

Brigitte bids goodnight to the remaining party, pausing to give Remus a small wave– which Sirius catches, only helping his argument.

Once everyone else has gone to bed, Sirius and Remus sit in silence for a few minutes deep in thought. "Moony... I know you're going to shut this down, but it's pretty obvious that she likes you too ... fully aware of your furry problem. I don't think you should ignore that". Remus scoffs in response.

Sirius sighs and pats his friend's knee before standing up to retire for the evening,

"If James and Lily were here they'd tell you the same thing. I know you– you've never been like this with a woman. You already passed the hard part, she accepts who and what you are. Don't run away from happiness ...".

─── . ˚*☆ ☾ ☆*˚ . ───

The following weeks are the antithesis of uneventful. Justice proves it can prevail, and Harry is acquitted of the outrageous 'underage magic charges'. The remaining days before the new school year are spent dusting heavy drapes, removing doxies from underneath furniture, dodging hiding boggarts, and organizing scattered family heirlooms.

"THROW IT ALL OUT FOR ALL I CARE!", Sirius bellows after Brigitte asks him where they should store his family's antiques. Going through his parent's belongings isn't his idea of a pleasant afternoon.

"We'll take care of it. Go take these rubbish bags down, yeah?", Molly gently directs Sirius, trying to keep the peace for the end of Harry's summer. They have not brought up their fight that occurred the night Harry arrived and are pretending it never happened. Brigitte flashes Sirius a crude hand gesture, earning a snicker from the Weasley kids.

"Does that mean we can keep them?", Fred asks, eyeing a very gaudy locket, his pupils turning into gold coins.

"No! Who knows what dark magical traces are still on it? C'mon girls, you can pick out a dress to wear tonight". Brigitte gets up from her station on the rug with Ginny and Hermione ...

To celebrate the end of the summer and possibly lift Sirius' spirit, they're having a farewell party. Brigitte and Molly make a delicious feast; Fleur and Bill make an appearance at dessert so she can formally meet his siblings before they leave.

The room is filled with chatter. Fleur boasts about how accommodating Bill has been at the bank, and Sirius tells Harry stories about his parents; Brigitte is sitting at the end of the table with Remus– big shocker– telling him about some of the work she's done for werewolves in her home country.

"One of the first revisions I was apart of was Employment Rights, so now it's illegal to fire someone because they have the condition. So far it's worked out really well. The public disdain in Paris is slowly dwindling as they see that people with lycanthropy aren't a threat", Brigitte tells Remus with a shy smile.

"That's... that's amazing, Britt! I can't even imagine how proud your family is". Remus' eyes glitter with astonishment. She is perfect. He can't even find it in him to argue with her, even though he still considers himself a threat.

"I had to do it. It's one of the reasons my Papa has his own store, he couldn't find a job elsewhere when he was young. Now I need to do the same thing here. Oh Remus, there's so many messed up—".

"Alright– 'nough chit chat! Let's go dance!", Sirius hollers. Tonight, he is a happy drunk.

Everyone except Molly and Arthur follow Sirius to the drawing room. Brigitte puts on the 80's dance music. She takes ahold of Ginny and Hermoine's hands to pull them to the middle of the room. They dance around wildly with Bill and Fleur to Blondie.

♫ ♪ ♫  Call me (call me) on the line! Call me, call me any, anytime Call me!  ♫ ♪ ♫

"Move it! Move it, ladies!", Sirius says hip bumping them out of the way. He, Fred, and George invade the space, doing some weird twist move.

Remus sits on the velvet couch with Harry and Ron, and he use the opportunity to instill into Harry the importance of him staying under the Ministry's radar.

"There's going to be some changes to Hogwarts this year... you've already made it through one hearing. It won't happen again, so keep your head down", Remus warns gravely.

Brigitte shimmies over, singing along with the music. "Alright, alright. Let the boy enjoy his last night here! Come, Harry! Dance with us!", and she yanks him and Ron up away towards the center of the room.

Sirius looks at him with a beaming smile, "My boy!", he cheers and takes Harry's hands, jumping around in the center of the group. Harry lets out a boisterous laugh.

Brigitte makes her way back to Remus, "You didn't think I'd forget you?", she teases him.  

"One can only hope", he says sarcastically but rolls his eyes and takes her outreached hands.

In the middle of the tiny dance floor, Brigitte keeps her fingers curled around Remus' rough hand, hoping it will make him feel more comfortable to show off his skills. If only she knew how the contact was making his whole body numb.

Remus smiles wantonly at her and they gaze into each other's eyes, letting the loud music and Sirius' aggressive dancing fade into the background. Remus spins Brigitte around a few times, eliciting the laugh that makes his knees weak. The chemistry is so obvious to everyone in the room but them.

"I learned English with this music. Papa and I would dance and sing for hours. Michael Jackson was best for dancing, but Pink Floyd is prettiest instrumentals". Brigitte eyes glimmer with nostalgia as she thinks about her childhood.

"Hence the vinyls?", Remus asks rhetorically, his hands resting on her waist. "All you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be". Brigitte swoons as he quotes her favorite band. Her whole body practically vibrates for the rest of the night, long after his hands leave her.

─── . ˚*☆ ☾ ☆*˚ . ───

The following morning, a thud and pitiful whimper outside Brigitte's bedroom door interrupts her untangling her messy waves.

"Mon Dieu! Ginny, you alright?!". She runs to the girl laying on the floor with a scraped forearm, her face crumpled from breaking her fall with her knees and elbows. It's been a restless morning, and Ginny flying down the staircase is another hindrance in their efforts to get out the door on time.

"We're so sorry, Gin!", George and Fred come running down the steps just as Molly comes running up.

"WHA- YOU TWO COULD HAVE DONE SERIOUS INJURY. IDIOTS-". Brigitte and Ginny slowly slip away from Molly's line of fire. Brigitte gently closes her bedroom door and kneels by her bed.

"I have a potions case under here, I'll fix that scrape up". She puts a clear cream on Ginny's elbow, and they watch the cut disappear.

After creating a pyramid of trunks, the household makes way to the front door so they can get to King's Cross Station. Brigitte stands around with Molly to say her goodbyes, for she has prior obligation.

A shadow in her side vision catches her attention. "Sirius Black? What the hell do you think you're doing?", Brigitte asks the black dog strolling past her. "No! No, absolutely not! Someone could see you idiot!".

He's cute, but not cute enough to get away with this. He looks over his shoulder once he reaches the doorway. Brigitte's glares at the canine. Remus and the children file down the stairs and look hesitantly between the two, nervous to speak a word. Sirius makes a small whimper that makes Brigitte's stoic face falter.

"Sirius, it's dangerous. Your animagus isn't a secret anymore". The dog just continues to whimper and nudges Harry's leg.

Remus gently place his hand on Brigitte's shoulder, "I'll watch him at King's Cross? Moody's there too. Nothing's going to happen to anyone, okay?", he looks down at her with pouty lips and trusting honey eyes.

"Fine. Please, be safe", Brigitte says timidly, briefly touching his hand that's still resting on her. She shoots a glaring look to Sirius. If he wasn't a dog, he'd be laughing at how easily she just folded to Remus' request.

"Oh honestly... it's YOUR head", she warns the dog as he prances out the door. She gives everyone a hug, with George and Fred somehow sneaking to the back of the line for seconds.

She reiterates to Harry the importance staying out of the spotlight and focusing on having a normal school year. She waves goodbye to everyone and watches them disappear down the street, praying that no one catches Sirius.

"Well, I think I'm going to enjoy a cup of coffee", Molly sighs, waltzing back inside.

"I wish I could join you, but I must pay a visit to St Mungos hospital".

"Oh, Dear..."

"Dumbledore connected me with a Healer there. It's the first time they've reached out, but there is a werewolf bite victim. I'm going to try to help him before the Ministry finds him", Brigitte explains as she laces up her boots.  

She must be discreet. Confidently walking into the hospital, Brigitte bypasses the front desk without being stopped. Molly told her where the ward for Serious Bites is, so she doesn't look lost or suspicious.

The ward is empty except for a man lying on the farthest bed. Now Brigitte hesitates. An older Healer with white hair approaches.

"Hello, how can I help you?".

"Are you by any chance Healer Le Fay?".

"That's right, Dear. Are you the witch I wrote to?". Brigitte nods her head, so Healer Le Fay leads her further into the room.

"The only thing he's told me is that his name is Darren. That's it-- here almost an entire month and he refuses to speak... I would have reached out sooner, my dear. But I was worried he would try to hurt you. It's honorable work you do".

"Thank you, Madame. He, I can handle. I won't be long". Brigitte marches over to the bed. Darren is curled up under the covers with his back to the door, but when Brigitte's footsteps stop at his bedside, he peers over the blanket.

"You're the first. My mum can even look at me", Darren groans.

"It's hard to see loved ones in pain ... how are you doing, Darren?". Brigitte fingers quickly through his paperwork, skimming over the incident report: location- Forest of Dean ... bite mark on arm ...

"How I am?! I fucking tell you how I am! My life is fucking ruined! I wish I died that night. I've been here for a month alone! Getting disgusted looks from people visiting their loved ones and now my body feels like shit, reminding me of what's going to happen in just a few days!", he starts sobbing into his pillow.

Brigitte looks down at Darren. She cannot imagine the fear he's feeling, counting down the days until the first full moon as a werewolf. Nothing she can say will help him, so she instead rubs his arm and makes a soothing shushing sound.

"Darren, I'm here to ensure your life isn't ruined. I know, believe me, I know it's hard right now. The worst thing that's ever happened to you... I want to say it'll get better", she offers once his cries quiet.

He scoffs but doesn't move from her comfort.   "Better? I've lost my job because I vanished, who will ever hire me? I'll be kicked out of my flat once the landlord finds out... Merlin, no woman will ever want to be with me". Darren turns away again, squeezing his eyes shut to make the world go away.

"The organization I work with will make sure you find a job as well as a place to live. We provide any kind of support you need, Darren. There are understanding people in this world. If you ever want to talk, please don't hesitate to write... I'll be back after the full moon". Brigitte puts her business card on the bedside table; and with that she leaves, sensing his desire to be alone.

On her walk home, she can't help but think about the pain that her father, brother, and Remus feel from being cursed with this disease. They hide it well, but there's no doubt they still have anxiety about each full moon and how others judge them. Remus was downright heartbreaking when he confessed his secret, and that was after he learned Brigitte protects them for a living.

She can help but never make the pain go away. The least she can do is entice Remus with one more dance (any excuse to touch him), before he retreats to a secret location for the full moon...

And for those three days he's gone, they both cherish that last dance...

Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be tagged ❤️

Taglist: @dontjudgemyobsessionpls

[amimuu]

✨So I finally decided to dump my au into here. Share it with the rats✨

—You have a garden in your house, you love your garden and take care of all the flowers, however you’ve been noticing they’ve been withering without apparent reason lately.

One day while going out to the garden, you find a single, healthy tiny flower. As you notice it is alone, surrounded by all the bigger plants, you feel pity for it, and, in an act of goodwill, you decide to take care of it.

However, what you didn;t know was that said flower would grow and grow until the garden was left completely unsalvageable, because that little flower was actually just the first of thousands, waiting to grow and consume the garden whole.

If you had plucked it out, however, you would’ve noticed the roots and you could’ve saved your garden—

*proceeds to dump apparently non-important chunk of text onto you* Anyways...

The basics of the overal plot :)

Winter, 2007. After his father's death, Adam's life completely started falling apart. Slowly, he fell out of his routine and the only times he dragged himself out of bed were to check on his dad's old room or to leave the house for says, unable to deal with just how empty everything felt after Jude left.

Just as he believed he was about to hit rock bottom, an old friend of his reintroduced themselves into his life. Empathetic yet stubborn, Jonah managed to drag him out of the Hole he was falling into and slowly but surely, piece him back together into his old self for the better, or for the worse—because, being honest, what would he be without them?—

The main story follows Adam, but there's a little subplot :)

Back in 1992, a troubled Cesar searches for ways in which he can help his best friend, Mark, who seems to be going through a tough time with his parents, as each day their fights and discussions become more frequent and there's hardly any peace at his house. Cesar knows Mark wants to speak up about it but feels insecure about what his parents' reaction to him saying anything would be. Besides, he has begun to close himself up, going outside less and less and just staying in his room all day listening to his mom's cassettes or re-reading his books, trying to ignore all the yelling outside. So, Cesar has set it as his goal to help in any way he can—But of course, a good intention isn't enough to fix a problem—

I can't spoil much because i want to keep the element of surprise but yes! There is a catch to all of this. This au was planned as some sort of metaphor to the healing/grieving process...Mostly on Adam side, but I like to think grief can come for various reasons and in different forms. But still. On Adam's side, it is about grief and healing, trying to ignore the problem because as long as you don't think about it, it can't hurt you; but it's always there, present, in the back of your mind, growing bigger and bigger the more you ignore it, until it becomes too much and it collapses on you all at once...

While Mark is more about obsessing over said problem, overthinking again and again what could and couldn't have been done to avoid getting into it in the first place, trapping yourself inside an endless cycle that continues to worsen every time it repeats, and starts over...

And with all this said you may have made yourself an idea of the basic plotof the au. YAY!

It is planned to be a multi-ending interactive au on twitter, since those are of the thing right now over there, but I would very much like to post it here too cuz yeah. This place seems more chill about new aus and stuff...However, i do have planned for the 1992 sub-plot to happen in a fic. It'll probably be up on ao3 when the time comes :)

Oh, one last thing. That big chunk of dialogue. Thats how choices will work in the au. Because, the reasonable option isnt always going to be the one that gets you to the better outcome.

and now: the doodles i have made *dumps them onto you*:

main dodles i did- there are more but i think i'll post them later heh

Anyways...If you have any questions about anything feel free to dump it onto my q&a cuz I would absolutely love to answer ya'll.

[blackbloodteeth]

[2020 July 30-31] - Here’s Part 1 of when I tried to make references for the first 25 Soul variants. This project ultimately ended up unfinished and a large chunk of the information/designs is now outdated or needing reworked (most egregious is Impish Soul’s legs not being correct here whatsoever).

I’ll go ahead and make a short-ish list of what needs changed (minus my inability to design outfits) for anyone truly curious, but I’ll put it in a read more so it’s optional.

In general - While at one point variants did have numbers, the list is no longer relevant. Also “codename” is kind of a beta concept at this point, it was quickly changed to simply being nicknames that they tend to use towards each other.

Hoothoot - ngl I completely bullshitted the lore here, at some point I should go back and actually figure out how his reality works. His type is probably better as Dark/Flying, though he’s still not interested in evolving hence why he’s level 100 (interesting fact actually he wouldn’t evolve into Noctowl but not even he knows this).

Absoul - No changes needed, though this didn’t do full justice for explaining his personality.

Comic - Saying his hands are always simplified to be pointy is actually an error that I didn’t catch until afterward, it only happened in one video which was the art I referenced when making this.

Necromorph - Still somewhat unhappy with his design, I want to remove his lower jaw completely and rework his neck to look like an extended mouth (and fix whatever the hell is going on with his back), though I’ll have to look at more Necromorph images honestly. The uncertainty on his status as a real Necromorph is still intentional though.

HAHA HEHE - Is now also known as Laughy Soul.

Lizard - Proportions of the legs are indeed a little off, might make the tail slightly different since the lower half of his body was a later addition.

Skull - Info is correct even if bone anatomy makes me weep (look he can literally alter the shape of his entire skeletal system it’ll be fine).

Ogre - Probably no changes needed despite the bad anatomy here? This variant just needs a lot of lore details added since I was lazy with it.

Impish - The. Legs. They should be more like a kangaroo rat, I dunno why I was too nervous to actually draw them properly. Also ignore the doodle at the top, that idea didn’t go anywhere.

Shark - Clothes should probably look a little more like swimwear since that was the idea. Obtaining pants is a character arc.

[buckapedia]

[5/2021 - Cock: Essays and Illustrations on Attention, Accessibility, and Deep Play] The Attention Deficit Ethnography

Despite going undiagnosed until the winter of my junior year at Bard, ADHD has long--and unbeknownst, by name, to me--affected my existence in the American educational system. ADHD--or Attention Deficit-Hyperactivity Disorder--is plagued by misunderstanding; most associate it with its titular inattention in a marriage with the proceeding hyperactivity: likely a sixth grade boy with a blonde rat-tail at the back of his neck spitting non sequiturs in math class. Much like Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), ADHD often goes undiagnosed in children who are raised presenting as female. Societal pressures to keep quiet and poised compared to their boisterous, boyish counterparts result in the self-stimulatory behaviors ADHD inspires manifesting totally differently from the long-observed outbursts and executive dysfunction associated with the disorder. A team of four mental health specialists from the Innlandet Hospital Trust in Lillehammer of Oslo, Norway, alongside Martin H. Treicher of the Harvard Medical School, found that “females with ADHD are reported to have fewer hyperactive/impulsive symptoms and more inattentive symptoms when compared with males with ADHD. Further, females with ADHD present more commonly with the inattentive subtype than do boys. Less disruptive behavior in females with ADHD may contribute to referral bias causing underidentification and lack of treatment for females with ADHD.” [Skogli, Erik Winther et al. “ADHD in girls and boys--gender differences in co-existing symptoms and executive function measures.” BMC psychiatry vol. 13 298. 9 Nov. 2013, doi:10.1186/1471-244X-13-29859] The team goes on to note that further studies on the subject have proven primary-level teachers are more likely to refer male students for ADHD diagnosis than female, despite equivalent levels of learning impairment. 

All that being said, I won’t claim to have been ladylike at any point in my youth. My mother proudly cites from minute one that I was characteristically befuddling; when I popped out, pink and slimy, she and my dad proclaimed a joyous “it’s a boy!” at the sight of my umbilical cord tangled and dangling conspicuously between my thighs. The doctors shared amused glances, corrected the error by nudging my makeshift gonads out of the way; nowadays, we all like to laugh at the kismet of my androgyny even as early as my first gasping breaths. Born just two years after my older brother, my stay-at-home father raised us with little more than convenience in mind. He knew I admired my elder, so why not treat his newest offspring to matching cargo shorts and turtlenecks from the Baby Gap’s boys department--better yet, hand down the same ones my brother had worn? We shared toys, activities, penchants for garbing ourselves in secondhand silk scarves and springtime Wisconsin slush alike. The irony of my brother turning out to be gay while I took up the mantle of traditionally boyish rebellion is not lost on us. Still, gendered society had taken hold, and my challenges piping down and sitting still in class were ignored. I was decently smart, after all, and I could focus on tasks pertinent to my interest like nobody’s business--I suppose it was assumed I was simply bullheaded than struggling with my own brain chemistry, for better or for worse.

Long story short, I learned to cope, as so many undiagnosed, disabled youth do. I attained the language necessary to convince teachers my doodling was benefiting my learning; I taught myself to trigger fits of hyperfocus to get work done. All the while, one of the symptoms of ADHD more commonly found, self-reported, in females, began to blossom with my nearing adulthood: anxiety. The aforementioned Norwegian team cites “higher rates of self-reported anxiety symptoms in females with ADHD” as a counterpart to the impulsivity and hyperactivity of males with ADHD--ironically, once I finally began treatment for the former in January 2020, the latter began to manifest itself with a kind of exuberant triumph that lined up quite perfectly with my transition to a more masculine presentation, complete with a new name. 

Though I first read him a couple years prior, I like to think Clifford Geertz represented that tantalizing, explosive escape from the stifling. What felt like meek self-supposition in texts introductory to the anthropological field was lost with Geertz; he expressed his theories with unfettered humor, sarcasm, dual assurance in tandem with the acknowledgement that his biases were implicit and inescapable. Where earlier anthropologists made mice of themselves in attempted silent observation, Geertz was flashy game fowl, presenting his foreign, uncertain self unapologetically in the depths of small-town Balinese culture and pressing on by any means necessary to win the favor of the locals. My own apparent subconscious need to break free of what ADHD meant to my chromosomal biology was reflected in Geertz’s escape from the highly theoretical jargon I’d gleaned from previous Anthro 101 readings; where once was seemingly endless backtracking for the sake of reinforcing a highly theoretical hypothesis (Tim Ingold comes to mind), here was Geertz in the middle of a cockfighting ring, stating plainly and unabashedly that the birds used in local sport were symbols of players’ masculinity--literal cocks, as it were.

I should note that neurodivergency--a state of psychological being as it pertains specifically to the functional disorders of ASD, ADHD/ADD, and Dyslexia--gets along quite nicely with taboo, for better or for worse. We’ve all heard stories of folks with Tourette’s syndrome smattering their everyday small talk with curses and slurs, perhaps witnessed it in person; autism comes unquestionably with the stereotype of speaking out of turn, stating blunt and oftentimes inappropriate things with no malicious intent. ADHD as I experience it is much the same; riling myself and others up is self-stimulating, and results in an automatic spark of satisfaction in spite of any immediate consequences. So you can imagine my joy when Geertz wrote those fateful words: “To anyone who has been in Bali any length of time, the deep psychological identification of Balinese men with their cocks is unmistakable. The double entendre here is deliberate. It works in exactly the same way in Balinese as it does in English, even to producing the same tired jokes, strained puns, and uninventive obscenities” (Geertz 60). Finally, anthropology that did not merely suit my interests in food or art or gift-giving or what-have-you--but anthropology that spoke my language, regardless of its subject matter. The irreverence and unapologetic amusement of Geertz brings to mind the same self-stimulatory behavior that brings the ADHD brain near to busting like an overworked steam engine--hyperfixation on something simple, as little as a singular word or phrase, and the unquestionably enjoyable process of dedication oneself entirely to it for a blurred length of time. While it’s not particularly healthy--a neurodivergent person can easily forego eating, hydrating, and sleeping if it means keeping their train of motivation rolling--the passion with which Geertz dives headfirst into something so humorous and taboo reminded me of the joys I already knew of hyperfixation, and fed me the beginnings of serotonin unbound by chemical poverty. Not in the way it is generally seen, as wrought with executive dysfunction, laziness, inattention--but in the way I knew it then and know it even better now, Clifford Geertz’s Notes on the Balinese Cockfight was the first academic writing to speak to me in the language of ADHD.

[proserpina-magnus]

Hiiiiii could I request a Marauders x reader… platonic. Where they are just coaxing her through a bad day/migraine?

Hii! there isn't that much comforting other then them being clingy and sorta protective, but I still hope you like!!

The Marauders When You Have A Migraine

Word count; 1.8k

[ Warning: fem reader, doodles, eating, migraines/description of headaches, swearing, Sirius refers to you as “their baby” ]

Quick note, there’s a scene where the boys draw on the reader with a marker. I didn’t specify what colour the marker was, so depending on your skin colour you can interrupt the colour as you wish.

You slumped at the Gryffindor dining table, hair matted in a low messy hairstyle. You didn't even try and brush it out, you woke up and left it how it was. You couldn't even bring yourself to dress in new fresh clothing, you wore what you slept in.

Eyeing the breakfast options, you felt a pain tingle through your head. The nerves bunching and squeezing together to make it unbearable to concentrate.

" [ name ]! We have class in 15 minutes and you're not even dressed!" James bellowed from across the table, you pushed your shoes against the floor and slumped. Remus gave a confused look, his eyes narrowing as he glanced between Peter and Sirius.

"Come on, we have time to get some food in 'ya," Sirius declared, pushing toast onto your plate. The curly raven haired male even buttered your toast just the way you liked, even filling your glass with fresh squeezed orange juice.

"How 'ya feel-in?" Peter pronounced through mouthfuls of food, James swatting the blonds head in retaliation. "Wormy, don't speak with your mouth full,"

Sirius cackled from beside you, Peter stomped his foot onto Sirius in response. Sirius made a dramatic scene, falling towards the cold stone floor as he held his foot with forced shaky breaths. "My foot! My foot! I've been assaulted!" He whined, rolling from side to side.

Remus lets out a loud sigh from beside you, your head buzzing from the noise of ongoing chatter. You could hear James laugh loudly, like he always does. Usually his laugh was contagious, but it was incredibly annoying at the moment. Along with snickers and loud whines, you gripped your cup and brought it to your lips. Peter swallowed, reaching for another pancake as he watched you take long sips.

" ya never answered my question," Peter rambled before taking a gracious bite. You shrugged, Sirius sliding back into his seat. The boys all looked towards you, your fork picking at the blueberries Sirius pushed onto your plate moments prior.

"Another headache?" James asked, cleaning his pants from crumbs as he pushed his finished plate aside. You nodded briefly, a plain expression adorned on your features. Another hot buzz dangled in your mind, your forehead throbbing along with it.

"Maybe we should take you to madam Pomfry, you shouldn't be getting them this often," Remus responded. Sirius made a pouting face, before he took you into his arms.

"Our baby is hurt!" Sirius exaggerated loudly, causing staring eyes to look towards the group of friends. You flushed a bit, embarrassed by Sirius nature. You pushed him away, going back to picking at your food.

"I ain't nobody's baby," you said while pushing Sirius further away, James and Peter sniggered as Sirius made puppy dog eyes. You rolled your eyes, a bit grumpy from the constant throbbing.

"Bloody hell, it fucking hurts. It's not even bad, it's just the constant throbbing is pissing me off," you complained, shoving the piece of toast in your mouth. You watched as students finished eating, occasionally leaving for their first class of the day.

The boys all exchanged looks, Remus placing a hand on your back to give it a gentle rub. You push your plate back, your arms coming on the table as you rest in them.

As more students leave, professor Mcgonagall makes her way over to your rambunctious group. She softens at the scene, seeing the four boys rub your shoulder or arms to try and give their sympathy.

You sigh as you hear her shoes click with the ground, professor Mcgonagall stands a few inches away from you all. She clears her throat, all eyes directing towards her except for you.

"Class is about to start... is there a problem with miss [ last name ]?" The older woman asked, trying to mask her worry. Remus had explained earlier to her that you had been having numerous migraines.

"She's having another headache Minnie, our baby is dying!" Sirius exclaimed, Remus reaching over to swat him away from you with an annoyed look plastered on his face. Even though you couldn't see Sirius, you laughed as you thought about his whining face.

Professor Mcgonagall clasped her tongue, about to tell off Sirius for the nickname he'd given her. But instead, she placed her attention on you.

"I'll take her to the infirmary, surely madam Pomfrey has a potion to help," she explained, the boys all standing together in the same motion. You still kept your head pressed into your forehead.

"Can we go with her?" James whispered, hoping that they could be with you. They all hated when you were in pain, it felt like they had to protect you. You were their bestfriend, they surely couldn't let a thing ever bug you unless it was them.

"I'm sorry Potter, but you have class," Professor McGonagall frowned, the boys were about to protest to stay with you. But Minnie quickly shut them down, her hand raising as all the boys shut their jaws closed.

"It's alright, I'll see you later," you told them, raising with a throb as you walked with them all towards the doors. You parted way painfully, Sirius almost crying as he clung onto your leg. The rest of the boys watched, even James tearing up. He took his round spectacles off, dabbing his eyes with a spare cloth he had in his pocket.

"You can't be serious," you retorted at them, an annoyed look on your face as Minnie checked her watch with frowned eyes.

"Well... technically," Sirius began, but he couldn't finish his sentence as you kicked him off of you. You were upset, tired, and in pain. As much as you loved them, they were too much sometimes.

"Just go, I'll see you later," you tried to cover up your annoyed state, but the boys picked up on it. Sirius straightened up, fixing his shirt as they left with their heads down casted towards the ground.

"Idiots they are," you told Professor McGonagall, she only laughed and led you towards the infirmary.

—-

After a few missed classes, it was finally lunch. All the boys scrambled to the dining hall, shoving foods on plates. They ignored the stares, jogging up to the infirmary where you slept.

With the creak of the door, Sirius and James peaked inside. They saw no one, only a lump on the farthest bed. They all skipped over to you with slow whispers, trying to make sure you won’t wake up. Sirius pushed the blanket of your face, all of them relieved to see you still asleep.

“Prongs, do you have a spare marker on you?” Sirius asked, a growing smirk on his face. James put down the plate on a nearby table, fishing through his pockets to try and find a marker.

“Pads, no,” Remus said sternly, knowing what the raven haired male would do. Peter looked between the three boys, a bit unsure of what Sirius was going to do. The blonde boy put his plate near James, picking up half a sandwich as he sat near your feet.

“Pads yes,” Sirius smiled widely, James passing him the thick inked marker. Remus rolled his eyes, not stopping Sirius from his antics. Sirius crawled on the bed, an evil smile on his features as he unclasped the marker. He wrote “baby” with big thick letters on your forehead, giggling when you twitched and tried to swat his hand away in your sleeping state.

“Give me the marker,” James whispers, not waiting for Sirius to pass him it as he snatched it for himself. The bispecticle male drew 4 happy stick figures and a rat on your cheek, his tongue poked out in concentration.

“Why am I the only one in my amingi form?” Peter asked, frowning as James passed him the marker. He began to draw a small smiley face in your open palm, writing a messy “Peter was here” on your arm.

“Because, there wasn’t enough room and plus, you’re cuter in rat form,” James teased, but his words sounded very sweet so Peter took it as a compliment. Sirius and Remus cackled loudly, making you stir awake. Your eyes fluttered open, looking around between the boys above you.

“Uh… hello?” You greeted, stretching slightly as you looked around the empty room. Sirius pushed Peter and James away from the bed, sprawling his limbs out to hog you from their affection.

“Hi!” They all chanted at once, Remus moving closer as he pushed at Sirius to make room. The tall male sat down, rummaging through his bag for a minute before pulling out a chocolate bar.

“Eat,” Remus said, even opening the wrapper for you. He broke off a piece, swatting Sirius's wandering hand when he tried to take a piece for himself. You sat up on the bed, unaware of the markings on your skin. You chewed the gooey chocolate, resting against the bed frame with a satisfied hum.

“Did you bring me food?” You asked, a smile on your face as you realized all the plates. The boys nodded, bringing the plates over for you all to feast upon.

“What’s so funny?” You asked when Sirius started to laugh, James also chuckling. You irked slightly, touching over your face to try and see if there were crumbs. This made the boys laugh harder, making you feel embarrassed as you choke out a “what? Is there something on my face?”

You notice the little doodle Peter left you, realizing what had happened. You pushed Sirius's head, making him bump into James. You laughed at the scene, both boys rubbing their forehead with a pouty face.

“Does it come off?” You asked Remus, a sigh on your lips as you ran off towards the bathroom.

“Nope,” he called out, a small smile on his face. You looked in the mirror, seeing the obvious doodles drawn by your boys. You knew exactly who the culprit was for the big letters written on your forehead.

“Sirius! What the hell is this?” You called, stomping back to the bed where they all sat. Sirius raises his hands, pointing to James and Peter. “It’s not just me! They did it as well!”

“You bitch,” James gasped, a hand on his heart as he held a dramatic glint in his eyes. Peter dropped his head, muttering his apologies. All the boys start to bicker at Sirius, calling him a tattletale. You smile and lean back against the bed, bringing a biscuit to your mouth as you watch the quarrel unfold, this was definitely the entertainment you needed on this shitty day.

[soobasaur]

are you mine?

— a lee minho au

genre: enemies to lovers minho x gender neutral!reader

a/n: this is for my bestie who has been in a minho obsession lately and needs more content, you know who you are :]

« masterlist

you and minho didnt exactly,,,get along very well for a while

the only reason you both even knew each other was two of your best friends were dating and merged ur friend groups

(thanks a lot binsung 〴⋋_⋌〵)

you wouldnt go as far as to say you hated him

but you liked to pretend you did

you just barely saw him around so why not just mke him your mortal enemy??

it was easier to hate him then admit he was decent company!!

you had a reputation to uphold!!!!

and apparently he did too because he never really disagreed,,,,

you guys just ever had a chance to get off on the right foot and really talk

mutual disagreement <33

the thing is, the both of you were never left alone together

like ever

until that one time yall were abandoned (-д-；)

you and ur friend groups planned a hang out but everyone ended up cancelling last minute with no excuse

it was just you two who didnt get the memo and ended up alone

now that you think about it,,,that sounds like smth ur friends would do on purpose

(again, fuck u binsung!! ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ )

so just picture this,,,you and minho both showing up to an arcade and sitting in silence for an hour before getting a text that everyone cancelled

your immediate thought was to go home bc why would minho want to hang out with you???

but after the both of you read the text in the groupchat he got up and made his way inside, holding the door open and quirking his eyebrow up at you

“well, are you coming or not? I wanna try the new vr game.”

and you were just like \\(⊙︿⊙)// ???

he? wants?? to hang out??? with just you????

but u ended up following him in and he paid for your guy’s tickets ≧◡≦

“just buy me lunch after and we’re even”

lunch??? now this mf wants to get lunch together?!$%

you learned one thing about minho that day

he was,,,competitive,,VERY competitive

like what demon possessed him kind of competitive

whenever he won he would flash you a smirk and skip to the next game as he dragged his row of tickets along

it INFURIATED U!!!

ur pride was in shambles

so you unleashed everything after that and won a good amount of games ;)

u had been eyeing a cute cat plush the entire time but u didnt have enough tickets at the end :((

o(╥﹏╥)o damn it capitalism u just wanted a plushie

you didnt rlly want anything else so you gave your tickets to minho and waited to the side for him to get his prize

he came out with tHE SAME PLUSHIE YOU HAD BEEN EYEING \\( ಠ_ಠ)//

but before you could sulk about it he handed it to you and started to make his way to the exit Ｏ(≧▽≦)Ｏ

and during lunch this bitch ended up paying even after saying you should (｀ε´)

\(▰˘◡˘▰)//\\ (▰˘◡˘▰)//\\ (▰˘◡˘▰)// \\(▰˘◡˘▰)//

After that...hang out if you will,,u started to notice minho everywhere

LIKE E V E R Y W H E R E

why was this bitch all over your college campus?

you never noticed minho was in ur class for the longest time jsskkfk

like all of a sudden u just spotted him out of the corner of ur eye and were like o h

once he noticed you too there was no going back

say good bye to paying attention in class

(as if you ever did anyways)

he started to inch closer to you during class

he even started sending you notes

ಠ▃ಠ and u were so paranoid the professor would catch you

but this bitch was slick so u were fine

ヽ(๏∀๏ )ﾉ

he was the type of guy to throw little crumpled sticky notes at you whenever he wanted to say something during class

they’d be covered with doodles of cats and his scribbly messy handwriting + little hearts

it was usually just some dumb thought he had or a crude drawing of the professor (. ﾟーﾟ)

other than those few notes you guys never really talked outside ur friend group

there was one incident late at night tho

you had a big project coming up and it was 2am and you were...2 sentences in T_T

you deserved a coffee break <3

so that was how you found under the awning of an all night coffee shop

except it wasn't all night and closed right after you got ur coffee!!

and now u were stuck under the awning!!

all you had was your measly hoodie that you stole from changbin and your now soggy cup of coffee as you waited for the rain to pass

you might as well of just stayed home since ur wasting all this time you could’ve been working on your project standing outside

were you gonna work on the project once you got home? no

but did the thought of wasted time still make you mad? yes

you slumped against the shop as you bitterly drank your coffee, crushing the cup between your hands

after a couple minutes you felt the rain above you stop

you look to your side to see,,,minho?!

this mf was holding an umbrella above your head

“here, take my umbrella.”

thats when you noticed the cafe uniform he had on

“you work here?” you asked, before taking the umbrella from his hand

“yeah, your observant ass didnt see me literally make your coffee,”

“oh whoops,,,i thought you hated me, why are you giving me our umbrella?”

“i do, but id rather you uh...not die in the cold looking like a dead rat.”

was it just you or were his cheeks dusted pink?

probably the cold

(y/n you dumb bitch-)

you both walk back to your dorms after that

and he insists you carry the umbrella

cus his poor arms are tired from making coffee all day :((

and maybe it's an excuse to be closer to you

since hes a bit taller he has to crouch and scoot closer to you in order to not get wet >_<

⊙﹏⊙ ⊙﹏⊙ ⊙﹏⊙

over the next few weeks your find urself at the cafe he works at more often

one time you got the hours wrong and he wasnt on shift :(

but when you got up to leave he walked in and spent the day helping you study instead of working

you went for the coffee!! not for him!! definitely not,,,

(¬‿¬)

“look, im only hanging out with you cus you get the employee discount.”

“sure, and not cus you enjoy my company-”

“i 100% despise your company.”

ok but u didnt

u actually /REALLY/ liked his company

like WTF

where has he been all ur life

ew that sounded too romantic

but like fr where was he hiding

(・ε・｀)

soon you both were joining binsung on their dates

but it wasn't a double date!!

it was just four friends hanging out and two happened to be a couple

and they liked to hang out at fancy restaurants and do couple like activities

totally normal!!

there was one incident where you were about to pay for your meal but minho placed his hand on top of yours and slid his card instead

“you can pay on the next date.”

NEXT? DATE??

excuse me sir what do u mean-

you ignored changbin and jisung’s snickers behind you the entire night

when minho walked you home you couldnt help but let urself blurt out

“was this a date?”

minho gave you an incredulous look

“...was it not??”

oh my god this is embarrassing

“OH MY GOD WAS IT NOT?!!”

you ignored how minho was now turning crimson red and panicking and tugged on his collar, pulling him down for a kiss

“it was...a date” you mumble, now shy at the close proximity between the two of you

“...im gonna kill jisung.” he muttered, pulling you in for a hug, “he told me this was a double date”

“that can be our next date, the murder of our best friends.”

“wow i am in love with you.”

＼（＾○＾）人（＾○＾）／

minho and y/n murder besties!!

for legal reasons that is a joke

( ˶˘ ³˘(˵ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°˵)♡

thank you for reading !!

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Young!Bruno with a crush on both Félix and Agustín like

Alma: Senor Ortez needs help with fixing his roof. Pepa, you and I will help bring supplies. Bruno, take Félix and Agustín over

Bruno: Hell yeah, my ideal threesome

Everyone:

Bruno: of people to work with!

I know you meant this dialogue as like, the vibe for this. But the idea of Bruno saying this because he's just at that awkward as fuck age? I'm in, this is happening, let's go.

It was normal to have a crush on your sister's boyfriend right? totally. And it was also totally normal to have a crush on your OTHER sister's boyfriend? Right? Bruno groaned, letting his forehead smack against his desk. He didn't MEAN to get these feelings, it just. Happened. He turned to Maria, the least judgmental of his rat buddies.

"I'm not a bad person, right? That's just me being all. Gross and uncomfortable like people my age do, right? I didn't MEAN to! I didn't WANT to get a crush, I didn't mean to ACTUALLY FUCK ONE OF THEM?!"

He groaned into his palm. His crush on Félix he could kinda understand. He was big, strong, sweet, TERRIBLY handsome, he wooed women just by smiling at them. But Agustín? That thin, nervous, accident prone cutie-

"Oh my god I'm DOODLING them AGAIN."

He was. Doodled Félix swooping him off the floor into his arms, doodled Agustín giving him a pretty flower. He was obsessed. They were both so kind, both made his heart pound like a drum, he wanted to feel their stupid mustaches against his lips and he wanted their hands to tear away his clothes again-

"Bruno, mijo! Ven abajo por favor!"

"Coming Mami!!"

Even past his sand curtain, he could hear his mom calling him a mile away. He thanked Maria for listening, and after leaving her a snack, he came downstairs. He went outside to meet everyone for breakfast (every sunday, breakfast was outside, mami made that VERY clear early into their childhood). Not only were his sisters there as well, but their boyfriends. Seeing them gave him butterflies in his tummy, and he honestly couldn’t tell if he was nervous, or excited. Félix was talking to Alma (she LOVED Félix, he could tell that she would give him Pepa’s hand the second he asked), before he saw Bruno. he waved at him, pointing to an empty chair, nestled right between him and Agustín.

“Brunito! Over here! Come sit with your hermanos!”

Bruno gladly took a seat in between them, and tried not to get all giggly as  Agustín slid a plate of food over to him.

“We got your plate ready, so you can eat WITH us.”

Bruno couldn’t believe he hated Agustín before. Even with their similarities, he was pretty damn different from himself.

“You guys didn’t have to, really-”

“You act like we gave you a kidney-just eat up, Bruno.”

Félix chuckled, patting his back with his big, strong hand. Hands that Bruno has doodled and dreamed of a million times over. He wanted to hold them so damn badly. They all ate, but looked up at Alma as she spoke. 

“Señor Ortez needs help with fixing his roof. Pepa, you and I will help bring supplies. Bruno, take Félix and Agustín over to-”

“Hell yeah, my ideal threesome.”

Bruno didn’t mean to say it. Bruno didn’t mean to THINK it. He just. Said it, out of nowhere. Everyone looked at him, rightfully confused. Alma looked as if she didn’t understand, while Pepa. Pepa knew what her brother just implied. Bruno screamed at himself, trying so desperately to think of how to get himself out of this corner he had just forced himself in. He gave an awkward smile, and gave a thumbs up.

“Of people to work with! I uh. Love working with these guys! Yep!”

He prayed to the good lord to either let this moment pass, or just let him drop dead. Thankfully, everyone turned to Alma, albeit a bit slowly. She cleared her throat, choosing to ignore it, mainly because she just didn’t know what a ‘threesome’ implied.

“Right. As I was saying...”

Bruno couldn’t listen. His ears were burning, his face was just ruined in blush. It wasn’t fair, him having all these feelings and not knowing what to do with them. He was so busy in his own mind, he was a bit lost as soon as everyone started to clean up. Félix put his hand on Bruno’s head, clearly trying to get his attention.

“Bruno? You alright? You’re a little squirmy. Were you even paying attention to what she was asking you to do?”

Bruno lifted his own hands up to hold onto the older man’s hand. If he acted like he was upset or distracted enough, Félix let him do this without looking at him all weird. It was so soft, but he could feel the little scratches from a day’s worth of labor. 

“Sorry, I uh...me and Maria had a fight earlier.”

Félix nodded. He didn’t understand all the things Bruno said, but he could kinda piece together that he was talking about his rats (I mean, when was the last time you saw Bruno with a girl?). He nodded.

“Ah, I see. Alright, we’ll catch you up, right Agustín?”

“Si. Alma wanted you to take us to Señor Ortez’s house so we can see the damage.”

“Oh. Right. I can do that.”

Bruno guided them to his house. It was a small town, but when you had two goofballs laughing and shoving each other, it was easy to get lost. Bruno liked this. He liked them occasionally including him or explaining their inside jokes. He felt like he belonged with them, felt jealous of his sisters for having two of the most handsome men in all the Encanto. They finally made it to Ortez’s house, and he was delighted to greet them.

“There you three are-I just got the ladder up for you guys. Do you think you could check on my kitchen sink too, while you’re here? The water won’t run.”

Félix nodded.

“I can handle the sink, I do it for my mom all the time. Bruno, Agustín, you two got the roof?”

“Me and Bruno got this! Absolutely!”

Agustín immediately went to the ladder, but before Bruno could join, Félix stopped him.

“And uh, keep an eye on him. You know how accident prone he is.”

“I got it, I got it, do your thing.”

Félix, the dreamboat he was, clicked his tongue, and gently nudged Bruno’s face with his fist. Bruno held fast onto the ladder as Agustín climbed up, getting a look at the damage. Bruno tried not to look, really he didn’t, but from this angle, it was SO easy to look at  Agustín’s butt. Which, he did. Should he be embarrassed? yes. He should be ashamed, even. But hey, no one but him was watching.

“How bad is the damage up there?”

“It’s not pretty, but it’s manageable! Once the girls comes back with new tiles and some hammers, I think I can fix it!”

“You sure you don’t wanna just wait for someone else to do it? You with nails and a hammer doesn’t sound like a good combination!”

Agustín peered past his shoulder to look down at Bruno. He had such a stupid, can do smile.

"If I can get YOU to like me, I can do anything."

Bruno tried not to feel as flustered as he was. There was just. Something about the smile, about the confidence in his words and the sight of his tight little butt. He was getting overwhelmed, so damn quickly, he was so glad to see his sisters as they approached with materials. Bruno immediately traded with Julieta, deciding to go help Félix instead. Félix was under the sink, looking at the pipes and such. Señor Ortez had gone off into another room for whatever reason. Bruno knelt down to try to take a peek at Félix.

"I traded with Jules. How's it going down here?"

"Almost done. Had a bit of a clog, but I think I got it. Could you try to turn on the water?"

Bruno nodded, before standing up, and testing it. Water ran, and Bruno chuckled, gently kicking Felix's leg.

"Hey, you got it! You did that pretty quickly, actually."

"Lots of practice,"

Bruno stood there, watching as Félix pulled himself out of the spot. He was grinning, and absolutely fucking shirtless.

"I could teach you a thing or two, Brunocito."

Oh no. Oh no. He resisted the urge to just fucking sit on him, though he knew it'd feel SO fucking good. He couldn't even try to do it in a way that was innocent- not with the boner he had right now. He gave an awkward chuckle.

"I'm just. I'm gonna go check the bathroom real quick. Excuse me."

He dive for the bathroom, locked the door, and slammed his hand over his mouth. With his free hand, he put it down his pants, and started to touch himself. He didn't want to pull himself out, not wanting to make a mess. It was bad enough he was touching himself in this man's bathroom, he didn't want to ruin the floor too. So, he stroked himself, ready to spill into his underwear. Félix was so big and strong and charming, and his hands could ruin him. Augustín was sweet, a bit goofy, with a cute butt that Bruno just wanted to grab SO badly.

"You REALLY want that threesome, you pervert."

He did. He wanted Augustín to hold him up as Félix thick cock pounded his ass. He wanted his hair played with, he wanted to be called a good boy and have them kiss him all over. He wanted Augustín to cum all over his back, he wanted Félix to cum into his ass. He wanted to be a good little Brunito. He cried out into his hand as soon as he finished. It shouldn't feel this good, cumming all over himself. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. He could help fix a roof.

But he can't fix his heart.

[misterghostfrog]

$20 commissions so the water doesn’t get shut off hours

So Noah is back from the vet and apparently what was wrong is he has ear-mites, has probably had them since we got him as a kitten, as well as his sister who we got form the same woman. But unlike her he’s allergic to them! So while for his sister it was mildly annoying for him it hurt! And they missed it on his first vet visit bc the mites were super far in there and out of sight so we had no idea until his allergy started getting worse!

He has meds now and will hopefully be doing better soon, but in the meantime we just spent the money that was going to the water bill (which gets shut off the day after tomorrow if we don’t pay it) to pay for it all, my SIL is due to be paid soon and by soon I mean two days ago and they were almost a week late last check and if they don’t get us her check tomorrow we have no money left to pay the water bill!

So ignore that comissions post I reblogged, if you want me to draw you something, it’s all $20. Big fancy art? $20, new profile picture? $20, a large anthroprmorphic rat? $20 and the knowledge you’ve improved my day by letting me draw a cool rat. I take tips but the flat rate is all of it is $20 Just DM me what you want, i’ll invoice you for 20$ and i’ll start drawing!

Note; I have 2 jobs, so it might take a week or two before its done, but i’ll message consistent updates and draft shots throughout the process so you know how your comission is coming along. I also have a Kofi linked in my blog desc where I do doodle requests for any donation!

Reblogs appreciated lads, we’re kinda screwed

[foryoumyheroes]

hi! I dont know if you are still taking request, or even active but if you are, could you do a headcanon with todoroki having a s/o that loves drawing him ? they could be already on a relationship or not ur choice

Hi anon! If you're reading this I previously replied that I am sort of taking requests, but I was inactive until recent. In order to make that up to you I'll give you both a scenario fic and headcanons since I was struck by inspiration to write this! Hope you enjoy!! I kinda spiraled off topic asdfgh 

Pls accept my word-vomit like I’m a cat giving you a dead rat. 

The Campos 

Todoroki x Artist!Reader

"How is it possible for anyone to be that handsome." 

Even you were surprised by the words tumbling out of your own head, stopping your pencil in its place and as you froze like a still frame. It wasn’t long before you felt heat creep up your body, painting your cheeks all the way to your ears with a red like the sunset. 

It was always like this. 

There was nothing artistic from the way his image always flowed from your pencil in hurried lines and messy scribbles, and there was no beauty from how you always hunched over into the collar of your shirts whenever you felt the burning of your emotions. You wrote Todoroki [Name] and [Surname] Shouto in the margins of your notebook as if you had reverted back to primary school, doodled among little tiny hearts and sketches of his side profile. 

Maybe your parents were right. You should’ve just gone to art school like they had said and fallen down the path of them and so many of your other relatives. But at fourteen you were just so caught up with wanting to be different. You had to be. You had to get off the beaten path and flow out of the frame you were confined in. You said that in this family you would never be the best artist, but you could become the best Hero that the [Surname]s had ever had. You were a Hero-in-training, but you knew that at heart you would always be an artist. 

And now at sixteen you were at a loss. You were at a loss because whenever you looked over at the last window seat in 1-A, your talents always fell short. There was nothing you could draw that could bridge the distance you felt, to calm the foreign feelings in your body. Your drawing skills had not diminished while you practiced war, but you were backtracking now. Perhaps you really should’ve gone to art school instead. 

Maybe then you would find a way to express how you truly felt. 

Nothing you wrote or drew now could match up to the endless admiration you had for one Todoroki Shouto. 

Everyone else was mere background noise to Todoroki when he set his gaze on you. 

Although Bakugou and his group of friends were in the common room shouting and making a ruckus and Todoroki’s own friends were giggling at the back of him, tossing frosting, floating bowls of batter to Iida’s ire. 

His eyes always sought you out. 

It was difficult to explain why. Even now, with you in a baggy sweatshirt and loose jeans rolled at the ankles, Todoroki wondered why he was paying you so much attention. The world around you was spinning and you were at an impasse. You were only writing in your notebook, probably jotting down notes at a speed he couldn’t comprehend. Your head was always buried in that Campos notebook.  

With a loud screech, Kirishima bumped his hip on the dining table, jostling both you and him from your standstill, pencils rolling across the wood. Your eyes immediately flashed up and met with his wide heterochromic ones. A deer in the headlights. The two of you turned away as quickly as it came, ignorant to the pink that bloomed on both of your cheeks while a spark flickered across his left cheek. 

“Whatcha drawing there, [Name]?” Kirishima asked boisterously, pulling out the chair beside you while you heated up like a furnace, waving your arms around wildly and sputtered like a train engine. You couldn’t snatch it away fast enough and his dark eyes fell on your doodle-ridden pages with a soft, “Oh.” His lips formed a small O shape. His eyes carefully looked up at the hot-and-cold boy before dropping back down to your page. You carefully averted your eyes, fixing [e/c] orbs on some faraway wall until he carefully pulled your notebook toward him and quickly scribbling something down, pushing the pages back toward you. 

When you snuck a peek at the drawing of a blond gremlin with spiky hair like a porcupine, and a crude drawing of a K and B underneath an umbrella, a loud laugh tumbled out of your mouth. 

It was as if Todoroki didn’t exist anymore as you gave Kirishima your full attention, laughing to whatever jokes he made or witty one-liners. 

He wasn’t a poet. He didn’t know the words. 

Others could talk about how selfish he was for having his mother’s pretty face and his powerful Quirk; boys and girls have tried before, handing him letters in his locker and bouquets of flowers, but that never mattered to him. Only you have stayed on his mind. His attractive features and his Quirk only had stock to it if it helped him win over your affections. 

In crowded places and busy gatherings, when he stood in solidarity, when his hands hung by his sides and his eyes were left with nothing to see, he wondered what primitive part of him was always acting out. How his hands wanted to cut off all connection with the logic in his brain and reach out to grab yours. How he always silently watched you from faraway, physically unable to tear your visage away from his eyes. His body always acted without reason — the heavy palpitations against his rib cage, the rose against his skin, the sweat on his palms, the dilation of his pupils. 

He wondered how he was in Heaven just by being near you. 

He wondered what it would take to get you to look at him for once. 

But your eyes would just be deep within the confines of your Campos notebook, impervious to his lingering thoughts of you.

Surprisingly it was Todoroki who offered to clean up after his friends while they went into the showers to wash away the flour and frosting that coated their hair and skin. The night had already been long by the time they turned in, heavy and drowsy after making several tins of uneven, ugly cupcakes. He had to do something with all of this energy, he thought, scrubbing away at stubborn stripes of sugar that painted the counter tops.

The lights were off and only the streaks of moonlight filtered through the large windows of the dorm room. You had left with Bakugou’s group several hours earlier, accepting Kirishima’s invitation to go to the nearest konbini for ice cream with an open hand. 

Now it was just him. 

Tossing the rag in the wash bin, he was about to make his way back to his room when his eyes fell upon the dining table and he found your notebook. 

How could he not know it was yours. He had seen it within your hands more times than he could count, more obsessively than Midoriya’s Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13. He wondered if that was why he was so interested in you. Your dedication to your studies were admirable. Nearly twenty-four-seven. 

Carefully, he crept closer to it, as if it was a bomb going to detonate before he picked it up. 

The pages curled and crinkled in his hands, and he debated opening it. 

It was just a school notebook, right? You probably only had notes and worksheets hidden inside of it. 

Maybe he could get an answer to your time. He could discover the subjects that you were struggling at, or even find one that you were better than him at. You were a couple ranks below him in the class grades. When he returned your Campos to you he could ask to study with you. 

He flipped it open and his heart stopped at the sight. 

Shit, shit, shit! you thought, running down the stairs, taking two at a time. It was late enough that the elevators were locked for curfew and you cursed Aizawa-sensei for putting your room at the very top of the building. After you had gotten back from the konbini with your friends, cheeks hurting from how hard you were laughing at Kaminari’s antics and Sero’s sarcasm, you had completely forgotten that you left your notebook on the kitchen table. You only remembered when you dug through your bag only to scramble around when nothing came up. If anyone like Hagakure or god forbid — Mineta, found it, you would never live it down. You were lucky enough that Kirishima was a good sport about it. He knew how to keep his mouth shut, but everyone else? 

You wondered if it was too late to transfer schools. 

Your feet landed harshly on the carpeted ground after the final step, head snapping back and forth for your notebook, but froze at what you saw. 

Even in the dim light of the moon and past the hand clamped over his face, you could see the heavy pink on his cheeks. 

Your heart dropped. 

“I — “ His hand fell to his side and you were given a full view of the strong flush on his face. “That’s my notebook... Todoroki-kun.” 

When the Campos dropped to the floor and he dashed across the common room, hand around your waist and his lips on yours, you found that you didn’t need flowery words or an arsenal of artistic techniques to express how you felt. 

Your hands wrapped around his neck, locking him deeper in the embrace, fingers cording through his soft red and white hair. 

The instinct to be closer to him would be all you need to overcome the division between a desire for him and the stillness of your body. 

Headcanons: 

After you two get together and it becomes more obvious that you’re drawing him, he’ll coax you out of doing it in secret.

He’ll ask to take pictures of the drawings on the margins of your notebook or if you’re drawing it on scrap paper, he’ll ask to have it after you’re done with it. 

He keeps it in a box uwu and he has to upgrade every year because it keeps on getting full. 

Even if you’re not drawing him, you ask him to pose for you so you can take references for your other drawings. He’s just so proportionate!! 

It makes him so happy every time he sees it!! He nearly catches on fire every time. 

The fact that you’re expressing your affections in this special way makes him so soft?? 

He once tried to draw you in return but he has like zero to none art experience. Even had no experience in his childhood because all he wanted to draw was All Might and Endeavor wouldn’t allow that. 

Instead you offer to teach him the basics on how to draw and you two continue bonding that way!! You sit on his lap because that’s the best spot to be close enough to guide him and show him how to draw while you drone on and on about shadows, anatomy, perspective, and he’s just nodding along without a single word going to his brain because he’s just staring at you the entire time. 

[“Shouto-chan, did you get that?” 

“Yeah...boxes?”]

If you draw him complete pictures he keeps it on his wall, and eventually his dorm room looks like he’s about to string red yarn around it because it’s blanketed with paper all over like he’s uncovering a murder conspiracy. 

A/N:  The picture that I used for the page breaks is Anselm Feuerbach’s “Peonies” and I actually saw it in real life at the Neue Pinakothek!! It’s one of my favorites and I even got a mousepad of it bc I’m a dork asdfg 

The Kirishima and [Name] scene is inspired by this comic by marbitss and I was inspired to write a lot of prose after reading Nicole Krauss’ The History of Love!

[liibrii]

A Hijink

Akagi x reader

Genre: Fluff, some badly written pinning 

Warnings: just kids doing stupid stuff, none

Summer training camp. Your favourite week of the year. The one week you spent your meals sitting with other managers, gossiping and complaining over your teams. Even if the days were unbearably hot and you had to endure many sweaty hugs these were your favourite days.

Pratice for the day ended and you just returned from a shower when you hear someone calling your name.

“Y/n!“ You turn to see Akagi strolling over with the most innocent smile you had ever seen on his face. “Y/n, I need your help with a little somethin'.“

You narrow your eyes. The smile might be innocent, but the mischiveous gleam in his eyes gives him away. You already know his request won't go in a direction you’d like. “If it has anything to do with sun cream I'm out.“

“Hm? Oh no, it's somethin' else.“

“You could ask Twins. They'd probably do it.“

“Yeah, but they'll also rat me out if anythin' goes wrong.“ He flutters his eyelashes and you want to kick yourself when your stomach does a flip. Gods, he was so cute. “Besides y/n it won't be half as fun without my trusty sidekick!“ Ah. The trusty sidekick. That would be you. Ever since you introduced Akagi to this little thing called waterproof eyeliner, that made doodling on the faces of sleeping teammates so much more fun, he sought you out every time he got the urge to pull a prank. A part of you would complain, if you didn't enjoy his company so much.

“What do you need?“

He practically beams at you. “We need to go to the kitchen. Come!“ Akagi grabbs your hand and pulls you down the hallway. It was exciting really, sneaking through the hallways, avoiding other players and coaches.

Kitchen was empty as dinner ended hours ago. Door creaks a little when the two of you enter but besides that it's dead silent.

“No lights,“ whispers Akagi, instead pulls out a small torch. Your heart beats fast, not only because you'd get in real trouble if you were caught. He opens the fridge and pulls out a stick of cream cheese and a bottle of mayonnaise. “Y/n can you get me a knife and a spoon?“

You look through a few different drawers before finding them. “What are you doing?“ you peer over his shoulder.

“A little surprise,“ he mummbls, trying to ignore how close you're standing. He pulls a stick of deodorant out of his pocket and you groan. Oh, you know where this is heading.

“No, no Akagi that's a waste of cream cheese.“

Libero smirks while chopping off the top of deodorant, replacing it with cream cheese. “Oh come y/n, it'll be hilarious.“

“Will it?“

Akagi stopps for a moment, then shruggs. “Point taken.“ He fashions the cream cheese in a nice semicircle. If you didn't know it wasn't deodorant you wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Whoever was the owner; you feel sorry for them. “A completely new Axe fragrance, fresh and creamy,“ he chuckles.

You barely manage to stifle a giggle. “Now let's get out of here before people start looking for us.“

“No no, y/n we're not done yet. Also I'll need your help with the next one.“

“Right. Do you want me to keep an eye on-“

“Nope, hold this.“ He shoves an empty toothpaste tube in your hands.

“Okay?“

You watch in horror as Akagi squeezes half the bottle of mayonnaise into the tube. “Remind me to never accept any gift from you,“ you mummble.

“Even if it's flowers?“ he asks.

“You'd probably hide a bunch of spiders in them.“

Akagi pretends to be insulted: “Why would I ever do that to you?!“

“For the same reason you're gonna swap someone's toothpaste with mayonnaise?“

“But the difference is I really can't stand that wing spiker from Himeji High, and you I like! So don'tcha worry y/n, there won't be any spiders.“

That makes sense. If he likes you then- oh. OH. Blood immediately rushes to your face and you're infinitely thankful the lights were off.

“There, all done.“ He puts food items back in the fridge, then returns to you and you hand him the unsuspicious looking tube. Akagi grasps your arm. “Wait. There's one more thing we could do.“

Oh there sure was, you think, your mind jumping to one of those scenes you read in shojo manga. “Yeah, get caught if we don't hurry back.“

“Come on y/n, it'll only take a minute.“ He glances around the kitchen then sighs. “No chairs eh? Can't be helped then.“ He looks back at you. “I'll lift you up and you unscrew the light bulb, 'kay?“

Your cheeks flame up and you quickly spin around, hoping he hadn't noticed already. “Like hell I'm doing that!“

“Please? I'll buy you ice-cream! Or coffee! Whichever you like better!“

It really does take so little for you to agree. Part of you wants to ask if it would be a date, but by gods, you don't have nearly enough courage. You sit on Akagi's shoulders, one of your hands tangled in his soft hair, and after he stands, reach for the lightbulb above your head.

“The other way,“ he says when you try unscrewing it with no avail, “But not all the way. Just enough to lose the connection to electricity.“

You do as he instructs. “Now what?“

With you still sitting on his shoulders Akagi walks over to the light switch and turns it on. Bulb flickers then goes back to black. “Perfect!“ he declares.

“Amazing,“ you smile to yourself, still worried about the fact the two of you had been here for quite some time and someone might start looking for you. “Can you put me down now?“

Akagi huggs your legs tighter. “Why? Don't you like feelin' tall?“

“Akagi Michinari I'm giving you 3 seconds and if you don't put me down I will tell Kita it was you who swapped Oomi-sensei's pen for a leaky one.“

“Fine, but then I'll tell him it was you who distracted him for long enough for me to do it.“

“Why am I being blackmailed?“

Akagi laughs and helps you back to the ground. “Because you make it too easy.“

You puff half in anger and half in embarassment. In the last weeks Akagi has dragged you into so many of his antics you'd at the least got suspended if teachers were to find out. It was a stupid thing to do, you knew that. But saying no to Akagi had become practically impossible. “Let's just go,“ you sigh.

While exiting the kitchens Akagi bumps your shoulders together and his fingers brush against yours. “Admit it y/n, you enjoy helpin’ me out.“

You never get the chance to answer.  

“So then,“ speaks Coach Kurosu's voice behind the two of you, “mind explainin’ what you were doin' in the kitchens?“

[yuusa]

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝟓

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐𝟎𝟗𝟎

𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝟓:

“Her eyes. . .” Your mother trembled as you reached out to her with your smaller hands. “They’re filthy.”

You felt the sharp sensation of pain hitting your cheek as you stumbled back onto the floor. You stared up at your mother with shocked eyes while she glared back at you. You propped yourself on your elbows while you felt the sting of her slap still resting on your cheek.

“M-Mom. . . ? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t call me mom!” She screamed, pulling on her hair as her body trembled with anger. You started to feel extremely scared in the moment, your mother was going through another breakdown.

“Shut up shut up shut up!” She wailed, hitting the walls of your home while you back yourself up against the opposite side, trying to keep your distance away from her. She screamed in rage before throwing some of the tablewares at you while you held your arms up, shielding yourself from the barrage of silverware that collided against the bruises on your skin. 

“Mother. . .” You began to tear up when she walked towards you, her hand outstretched and raised before giving you another slap against your face. Her (h/c) hair framing her face while it pooled over her shoulder, her lips caved downwards to a frown as she stared down at you with hatred. 

“Cover your eyes. I don’t want to see them.”

You tightly shut your eyes as you felt your mother roughly pulling on your hair, the forceful feeling making you terrified of the idea that your hair might even be ripped out of your scalp entirely. She began dragging you across the floor and shoving you into your room, the door slamming shut right behind you with a thud as her footsteps slowly disappeared.

You laid in the cold ground, breathing a sigh of relief as you began cracking your eyes open to stare at the large altar within the room. It was still decorated with various empty bowls and incense, albeit a bit messy and thrown together. The figure of God staring down at your pitiful, childish body with their hardened gaze.

“God. . . Please save me.” You reached out to the figure weakly before your arm fell down to the floor moments after, your energy weakening by the second. Your vision starts to blur as you try to keep your eyes open at God, begging them to free you from this prison. 

You gasped and sat up from your bed, your heart pounding as if someone was knocking on it vigorously. You covered your mouth as you felt your stomach beginning to clench itself, you were feeling extremely sick and you desperately wanted to throw up.

“It was just a dream. . .” You whispered, “it was all just a dream.”

You felt the cool drip of liquid fall from your eyes and onto your lap, your hand reaching out to stroke the cheek your mother touched. Beads of sweat were dripping down from your neck as you struggled to breathe. You choked up a sob as you tried to control your cries.

How many more years must you suffer this curse?

You brought your hand up close to your eyes, your nails only inches away from the skin as you stared into your palm.

You wished there was a way to end this torment.

Your arm began to shake as you tried to stabilize yourself. You tightly shut your eyes before reeling your hand back, lulling yourself back into bed while you continued crying. Your chest started to burn as you struggled for proper oxygen. You pulled the sheet over your head, engulfing your entire figure in darkness as you found yourself slowly drifting away in the sea of emptiness.

You mindlessly drew in your journal, drinking your second carton of milk while you sat on the rooftop with everyone else. Yuki eyed you carefully, noticing that you had taken off your bandages and there were dark circles under your eyes which you tried to conceal with a bit of makeup.

Did something happen to you last night? He continued to eat his meal as he sat near you, listening to the rest of the group talk to each other. Although you joined them this time for lunch, you seemed to be spacing out quite a lot more today.

He saw earlier that one of his fangirls had shoved you against the wall, but you left as quickly as he came to the scene. The moment you left, you had a really nasty glare and the other girls seemed to have fallen to the ground out of pure intimidation. 

You seemed to be more tired and angry today, perhaps you didn’t get enough sleep? That was something he assumed but as he leaned over slightly to peer at your notebook, he can see you were writing down your thoughts about dreams. It was rude to take a peek at your journal, but curiosity was getting to him.

Today in Home Economics you were also quite sluggish when it came to cleaning up. There were times where you accidentally dropped the bowl or almost cut your finger which earned you a light scolding from the teacher about your health. She had previously asked you if you needed to see the nurse to rest but you openly refused her offers. He leaned his cheek against his elbow as he observed you. Uotani turned her head towards Hanajima, whispering into her ear as Tohru conversed with Kyo, clearly too distracted to pay attention to what they were saying.

“The Prince is staring at her again. . .” She whispered, covering her mouth with her hand to conceal their comments. “What do you think he is thinking about?” 

“Indeed he is. I wonder what has happened, earlier (L/n)-san wasn’t doing very well in home economics.” Hanajima replied, spooning rice into her mouth as she started to chew, “she seems to be really distant today.”

Uotani hummed while simultaneously nodding in agreement. Yuki looked around him carefully before shuffling himself over to you quietly, trying not to gain the attention of other people. You noticed his sudden change of position and turned your head towards him, causing him to flinch awkwardly as he started to sweat. 

“Sohma-san, are you alright?” You asked.

He sweatdropped as he cleared his throat, “I was just wondering if you were feeling alright today. You looked very tired during class, you should have rested in the nurse’s room.” 

You shook your head, “I’m fine, it was just a small slip up.”

I wouldn’t say spilling a bowl over your classmate’s head is considered a slip up, he thought. He sighed before finishing his lunch and watching you continue to fill out your journal for the day. 

“Do you have work today after school?” He asked. 

“No, but they have a small celebration party, I just don’t think I feel like going.” You replied, doodling a small bird at the corner of the page. “I’m not really close to anyone there, and I don’t really consider work parties fun, most of them are adults drinking alcohol and I’m only a student.” 

“Hmm. . . I see.” Yuki vaguely remembered his earlier conversation with Tohru, saying that her family was going to take her back in and she will be moving out of their house soon. He wanted to sigh but restrained himself in front of you, he didn’t want to bring up any more problems in front of you right now. 

“Are you coming over for dinner over the weekend?” 

“Maybe, I have to pick up groceries and run some errands, are you fine with waiting for me?” You tilted your head up to look at him. 

He gave you a smile, “of course.” 

You quickly turned away from him with a small blush dusted across your cheeks, “t-then. . . I will. . . come over.” 

Hanajima whispered over to Uotani, “she is blushing, I wonder what they are talking about.” 

“Maybe something about love?”

“Possibly, she’s fidgeting quite a lot actually.” Uotani nodded in agreement. 

Tohru spoke up, scaring both the girls, “what are you guys talking about it?” 

Uotani quickly pulled her into a circle, careful to not disturb the time you had with Yuki as they huddled together. Kyo awkwardly sat by the side, not understanding the situation whatsoever. 

“Tohru, the two of them are talking, you see that?” Uotani mentioned. 

She peered over the blond girl’s shoulder and saw Yuki staring at your journal constantly as you continued writing, the two of you engaging in a conversation that was too quiet for her to hear from a distance. Tohru’s smile seemed to have widened as she turned back to Uotani.

“You’re right!”

“Of course it’s right in front of you!” Kyo angrily whispered, oddly paying attention to the circle despite not actually being fully part of it. He wouldn’t want to attract Yuki’s attention during this time, which seemed out of character for someone such as Kyo. 

“So, what do you guys think they are talking about?” Hanajima whispered, “I feel a wave coming from them, but I do not know how to describe it.” 

“Maybe they’re talking about. . . love!” Tohru swooned.

Kyo rolled his eyes before flopping onto the floor, his arms underneath his head to serve as pillows, “you think that rat would actually talk about love? He’s an absolute airhead.” 

“Hm. . . The prince does seem like the type to not be interested in love.” Uotani placed her finger on her chin as she focused on her thoughts. “Maybe they’re talking about food. . .” 

“That may be true, I am also thinking about food,” Hanajima added.

“You just had lunch!” Kyo replied. 

You and Yuki purposefully ignored their conversation, instead, focusing on your journal which was starting to pile up with various notes and doodles. There were various drawings of animals on each corner of the page, such as the rabbit or cow. When being questioned about the choice of animals, you replied about drawing the zodiac animals. 

Once you had flipped your journal onto a clean page, Yuki spoke up, “do you like to draw?” 

“H-Huh? Umm. . .” You mumbled, “as a kid, I would draw on the floor with my fingers to pass time. Eventually, I just learned to do it with a pencil too.” 

You started sketching out a drawing of an eagle, delicately drawing the feathers of the bird as it rested within a tree of blooming flowers. Yuki hummed as he watched you draw, you pressed your lips together as you offered your pencil towards him.

“Do you want to try?” 

“A-Ah. . . I’m not really good at it so I’m not sure.” He waved to dismiss your hand. “P-Plus I wouldn’t want to ruin something as precious as your journal.” 

“So? It’s okay not to be good at something, it’s better to try and have fun doing it.” You responded. 

Yuki swallowed his own words as he processed your line. Trying something despite not being good at it? It seemed like a death wish to him as he began to doubt his own skills. You might even laugh at him for being so terrible at drawing or mock him on the inside, either one was horrible for him. He definitely couldn’t live with the idea of you lau-

“Sohma-san, if you think I’m going to laugh at you I’m not.” You said, pulling out a second pencil to continue drawing the flowers on the tree, “not everyone can be good at something they never tried at. It takes a lot of experience to make something look good. . . Besides. . . .” 

“Most of the things you do are already good enough. . . ” You whispered, albeit too quiet for him to have even picked up your words. 

He smiled before taking up one of your pencils, “I guess you have a point.” 

You slid yourself closer to him so that the page would be in the middle, your voice guiding him on anything he felt unsure about drawing. Your shoulder bumped against his but you ignored the feeling, focusing your attention on drawing the details of the bird. He lifted up his pencil to begin drawing his part of the page while the others stared at the two of you silently. 

For the rest of the lunch, Yuki was drawing a small rat sitting next to the eagle on the blooming sakura tree. The animal leaned up against the bird in content. Although messy and inexperienced, you found this memory to be precious to keep within your journal.