#also its pronounced Gif. do not argue with me on this

[wxnderlustfandoms]

not a villain [loki x teen!reader]

[not my gif]

pairing: loki x teen! reader (platonic), avengers x teen!reader (platonic) 

description: you try to make loki feel more welcome after thor brings him to the compound, thinking it would be good for him. he thinks you’re just trying to get on his good side for selfish reasons, but after overhearing you defend him to the avengers, he realizes you see the good in him

word count: 2291

warnings: none really. 

a/n: not me taking this description straight from my shifting script and turning it into a fanfic lmfao

in a way a continuation of this headcannon because the reader’s powers are the same and its the same backstory. 

After the fight at the airport between the avengers, they all realized how stupid the accords were and how it provided them no freedoms to do the things they needed to. However, you pointed out that the idea of an accords was okay because if we’re being honest, the avengers didn’t really think about collateral. The avengers all met with the countries that made the accords and worked together to revise them to work the best for both parties. 

Once that was settled, you all moved back into the compound and returned to normal life. Well, as normal as you can get with the avengers. 

One day, you heard a loud booming noise outside and saw a flash of light come from outside. You opened your window and flew out quickly to investigate. When you got closer, you saw a tall blonde with longer hair and a hammer. With him was another tall man with long black hair. A few other avengers were already there and they seemed to be on edge. 

You landed next to them and realized that the blonde was Thor. He was an avenger and you remembered seeing him on tv when New York was getting attacked. 

“I’m sure you all remember my brother, Loki,” Thor introduced, gesturing to the man with black hair next to him. Loki looked about as excited to be there as everyone else was to see him. 

“Wait, wasn’t that the guy who attacked New York? I saw him on TV when I was a little kid,” You asked Sam quietly, whispering towards him. Sam nodded his head and you looked back to Thor confused. 

“Why is he here, Thor?” Tony asked, holding his armor-covered hand up to him, prepared to attack if he needed to. You seemed to be the only one not in a fighting stance, but to be fair, you really didn’t understand what was happening. 

“I believe that it will be good for Loki to come and live with us all here! Who knows, maybe he could even become an avenger with the proper training!” Thor boomed with a smile. You felt yourself smile a bit just looking at him, he radiated so much pure, optimistic, happy energy. 

“Absolutely not, he tried to take over the world, Thor. He killed people,” Natasha argued back.

“My brother may have had a complicated past, but I just know that this will be a good opportunity for him!” 

You didn’t feel as though you were in any place to take a side, as you were not there in New York and did not know anything about Loki, but you felt as though if Loki was here to train to become an avenger, he should be able to. He didn’t seem like a terrible guy. You listened to them go back and forth for a while, discussing things you once again couldn’t input on because you were a child when these things happened. 

Eventually, Thor convinced the rest of the Avengers to let Loki stay with them. However, he was basically on house arrest at the compound until they deemed him trustworthy enough to leave, and Tony made sure to tell Loki how he believed that to be a long, long time. Loki seemed to not be bothered at all, and hadn’t really talked throughout the entire interaction. His brother kind of took the lead and spoke out for him. 

The next week, you didn’t see Loki much around the compound. He seemed to be brooding in his room or something like that. You shrugged and just thought he might be taking his time to get comfortable. 

I mean, he did try to kill a lot of people in this compound. It's got to be awkward to just run into them in the same compound now that he lives with them, You thought, walking into the kitchen. Your wings flexed in surprise when you saw Loki in the kitchen. He looked up when you walked in and he looked like he was going to leave once he was aware of your presence, but you stopped him.

“You don’t have to leave, you know? We both live here and this kitchen is big enough for the two of us,” You said. 

His face didn’t betray what he was thinking, but he didn’t make another move to leave. You got out some ingredients to make a sandwich for yourself and looked over to Loki, who was looking through the cabinet. 

“So… you’re like… a god?” You asked him the question you’d been thinking the whole time since he moved in. 

He looked at you and raised an eyebrow. The look on your face told him you were being serious. 

“Yes,” He responded bluntly. You raised both of your eyebrows in your surprise that you got a verbal answer. 

You hummed, going back to making your sandwich. Loki didn’t seem to find anything he wanted in the cabinet and made his way to leave the kitchen. “See ya, Loki!” You said as he exited. 

The next few weeks went the same way, you running into Loki and initiating conversation with him, trying to get to know things about him. He was very blunt, his answers short. Sometimes he didn’t even answer and the conversations were very one sided but you still didn’t give up trying to get to know him. You knew that because Thor was still taking care of things on Asgard and coming back and forth, he didn’t really have time to check on how Loki was but for a few minutes. And the other avengers made no attempt to socialize with the god. So you decided to. You weren’t sure if they knew you were talking to him all the time, but if they did none of them made an attempt to stop you. They knew you were trusting, but they also knew you weren’t dumb, so they trusted you. 

One day, you caught Thor when he was visiting the compound and asked him what Loki’s favorite earth food was, or if he could bring him some food from Asgard. Thor was surprised a teenager was concerned about Loki, but thanked you for thinking about him. He told you about an Asgard dish that could easily be made with Earth food and you thanked him, going to the kitchen and started making it. When you were done with it, you went to Loki’s room and knocked on his door. It took a minute before he opened it, but he was surprised to see you when he did open it. 

“Hi! I noticed you didn’t seem interested in any of the snacks in the cabinet and haven’t really eaten any good meals since you got here, so I made you something. Thor said it was similar to an Asgardian dish. I’m… not sure exactly which one. It was pronounced weird. But I hope you enjoy it!” You said, handing it to him. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just looked at the dish and then back up at you. 

“Anyway, I hope you have a good day, Loki!” You told him, walking back to clean up your mess in the kitchen. 

Loki stood there with the door open, looking at the dish. His thoughts were jumbled and he couldn’t figure you out. What could you possibly want from him that would make you try so hard to get on his good side? He appreciated the gesture, but he didn’t trust that it was just out of the kindness of your heart.

Later that week, you were hanging out with a majority of the avengers in a lounge room, TV on in the background, but you all were mostly just talking. 

The topic of Loki got brought up quickly. They started talking about still not being able to trust him and how awkward it is he lives at the compound now. Usually you wouldn't say anything because you didn’t feel like it's your place but you just had to this time. 

“Well maybe, if you guys even tried to talk to Loki, you would know he’s not a terrible person,” You defended. 

Bruce laughed, “Are we talking about the same man that mind controlled Clint and made me go all hulk mode on everyone?” 

Clint agreed. 

“Jesus,” You stood up, wings ruffled in anger.

“[Y/n], why are you getting so defensive?” Sam asked. 

You turned around and gave him an annoyed look. “Because you all are sitting here, saying Loki could never be anything but a villain, but won’t stop treating him like he is!” You threw your hands up in defeat. Walking a bit to the right before turning back to them. “Like, how is he supposed to prove to you guys he’s good when you won’t even give him the time of day! I’m not saying to go in trusting him 100%, I know he did bad things in his past. But haven’t we all? Isn’t there some part of our past we wish we could go back and erase because it was a mistake?” You looked to Natasha especially while saying this. 

“[Y/n], I understand what you’re trying to say, but it’s incredibly naive of you to trust Loki, and to compare what he did to any of us,” Clint responded. You looked at him, confused and hurt. Looking to the other people sitting in the room, they agreed, nodding their heads. Your eyes started tearing up. 

“If I’m too ‘young’ and ‘naive’ to understand these things then why am I even an avenger? You can’t sit here and constantly bring up my age and lack of experience when I try to say things just because you don’t think I’m right! If Loki’s villainy in the past never affected you guys personally you wouldn’t be sitting here holding this, what? 5 year grudge against him!?” You felt a few tears fall down your face and you brushed them away, almost angry that they decided to fall when you were trying to talk to your comrades. You were trying to tell them that you don’t want to be treated like a kid, but here you were crying like one. 

“[Y/n]...” Sam started, getting up when he saw you were crying. You shook your head, turning away from them and running back to your room. You collapsed onto your bed and let out a few sobs. 

You weren’t necessarily crying because the avengers didn’t accept Loki. It upset you, but that wasn’t why you were crying. You were crying because this wasn’t the first time they have brought up your age to belittle your opinion or said you were not experienced enough to have an opinion on something. You were sick of them treating you like that when you’d been a part of the avengers for almost 2 years. You jumped slightly when you heard a knock at your door. You thought it was Sam coming to talk to you, but you didn’t want to speak to him.

“Go away, Sam,” You yelled. 

“It’s Loki,” You heard his voice from the other side of the door. Your eyes widened in surprise and jumped up off the bed. Walking to open the door. You tried to make it look like you weren’t crying, but when you opened the door he could see the redness and puffiness around your eyes. 

“Is… something wrong?” You asked, having no idea why Loki would come talk to you of his own accord. 

“Can we talk?” He asked. You nodded and led him into your room. He looked around for a second, taking in your room before you sat on the bed and invited him to do the same. You sat more towards the middle of the bed, crossing your feet in towards you. Loki sat near the edge, barley making an indent in the covers. It was probably as awkward for him as it was for you. 

“Listen, I’m sorry if I’ve been annoying you the past few weeks. I’ve been trying to make you feel welcome here but I know it's been a lot. No one really wants a teenager all up in their business. So… I’m sorry,” You started, looking up at him.  

Now, you were usually good at reading people, however, ever since Loki moved into the compound, you could never read his face. Even now, you looked at his face and couldn’t see a single expression that revealed what he was thinking.

“I don’t understand you. Why are you so nice to me? And why would you go against your teammates to defend me? What exactly does that accomplish you?” You sigh a little as you realize he overheard you talking to the group of people out there.

“I don’t really have a reason to be nice besides wanting to make you feel welcome. I know what it’s like to feel… out of place.” You gesture to the wings on your back and the horns on your head. “Ever since this happened, the avengers are the only people that seem to accept me as the way I am. And I believe everyone deserves to have that. Even if the avengers don’t end up being that for you, I hope you do find it.” You explain. “I trust that you have good in you. Being mischievous doesn’t mean being evil,” You smile at him.

For the first time since Loki moved in with the avengers, he smiled. Even if it was a small smile, it was genuine. He nodded and got up, on his way to leave. Before he did leave though, he turned around and revealed he was never truly annoyed by you and enjoyed the talks you had. 

[writefightandflightclub]

Arrivals

What is this? 6 of 14 prompt requests for my follower celebration! See OP + prompt list credits here.

What is the prompt? “Painting the house which ends in a paint fight and giggles.” with Modern!Poe and Pregnant!Reader. Thanks anon for the request!

Author’s note: I’ve never written Modern!Poe before and I’m not sure I would’ve without the request. So here goes. Thanks for the chance to try something new, anon! I think it turned out pretty cute? Let me know what YOU think!

Word count: A mere 2634, OOPS.

Warnings: pregnancy. Other than that it’s pure fluff and typos. Enjoy!

GIF credit: here

You hear your husband enter the room with a contented sigh, bare feet padding softly across the exposed floorboards. The patter of Beebs’ paws shortly follows. Your heart melts as he greets the dog with a sleepy “Morning, buddy.”, evidently stooping down to pet him as you hear Beebs’ soft pants and the happy beat of his tail against something or other in the room. “Happy beats, huh?” Poe says softly.

Then, he grants you his full attention.

“Oh oh, it’s happened again. I love you. Even more than I did yesterday.” he announces, sliding gently up behind you, pressing his warm chest into your back and wrapping his arms delicately around the pronounced curve of your belly, splaying his fingers to caress more of your bump. His head settles into the crook of your neck, his wild, bedhead curls tickling against the apple of your cheek as his arrival draws a wide, easy smile from you. He unconsciously begins swaying his hips in time with the easy-listening playlist you have muted in the background, his gorgeous voice a soft rumble against your ear as he starts to sing along.

The warmth -the sturdiness of him- is effortlessly reassuring, the shape and contours of him familiar even as he slots himself around your changing body. You don’t return his affections immediately though. Instead, you furrow your brow and stick your tongue out as you concentrate on some particularly intricate brush strokes on the wall ahead of you.

“I love you too, Poe, but if you knock me while I’m painting, I’m gonna have to kill you.”

You can tell that the goofball freezes then, as if he’s taking you completely literally. If you could see his expression as he perched his head on your shoulder you just know he would be emphatically statuesque.

“When you commit, you commit.” you smile.

“I’m sure you’re thankful that your husband has that quality, no?” he teases.

You’ll give him that one.

You chuckle at the thought of him, frozen there, trying to keep your brush steady as you do so. But then he’s still frozen and the wobble of your shoulders becomes more pronounced as you shake with gentle laughter. You hear him scoff by your ear, in return.

“Stop it, Poe!” You scold good-naturedly as your giggles intensify, the sound chiming musically around the empty-ish, in-progress room.

“I’m not doing a thing, sweetheart, it’s you who’s moving!” His voice has that wonderful playful edge, and you can hear the smile in it, can imagine that slight crinkle in his nose.

You get a handle on yourself for just about long enough to finish off the detail of the mural section you’d been working on. You have added incentive to get it done now, as you are desperate to turn around and get yourself a good look at that handsome face for the first time today. You down your tools and twirl towards Poe, his broad, gentle hands never breaking contact with your belly. His body navigates your bump to lean in for a sweet and loving kiss to your lips.

“Hmm. Morning, handsome.” You purr, blissed out from that kiss as your hand winds into his thick, dishevelled curls, his Sunday stubble grazing your skin.

His eyes glow as he looks back at you. “Morning, sweetheart.” As is tradition, he dips to plant a sweet kiss to your midsection. “Morning, Kiddo.” 

He gives you the once-over with his eyes, checking for any sign of new symptoms or discomfort. “You couldn’t lie-in, huh? You should have woken me.”

“I’m fine, Poe.” You dismiss -he does tend to fuss, for which you are thankful- and you nod back towards your progress with the mural, excitement flashing in your eyes. “What do you think of my progress?”

You both turn to regard it, and he resumes his original position, warm and sturdy at your back once again.

“Don’t tell me. It’s an... elephant?”

You’d been bouncing around ideas for the mural for weeks now. Since you’d officially stopped working, it had become a rather consuming passion project of yours. You’d suggested cute little airplanes and clouds to reflect Poe and his career as a pilot. But he’d said he hadn’t wanted to push his dreams on to the kid, and had proceeded to go down rabbit hole about how he just wanted them to be happy. You’d fallen even more in love with him, and then asked him to pick something that made him happy. Predictably, he’d said you. Of course. And Beebs. Then, out of nowhere, he’d gone straight to: “Monkeys. Monkeys make me happy. The one I saw on my last humanitarian mission - did I tell you about that one yet?”. So, here you were, with a beautiful jungle scene beginning to snake its way across the wall.

With a soft smile at the corners of your lips, you glance back at what is quite evidently a tiger. It’s a good job you’re secure in your abilities, and therefore confident that he’s teasing. “An elephant, you say? Poe, you’ll have to get much better at deciphering paintings before Kiddo learns how to hold crayons.” You lean your head back against him, resting your hands over his atop the globe of your belly. “Also, please don’t offend Sir Growlington; he’s a very sensitive tiger.”, you pout.

Poe peppers a few loving kisses on to your cheek and hairline and really, wherever his mouth can reach. “It’s amazing, sweetie, you’re so fucking talented.” He says genuinely. “But… don’t think I’m just going to brush past this... You named the tiger?”

“I did name the tiger.” you intone, hinting that maybe that’s not all.

He twirls you back to him so he can look you in the face again.

“Wait. Did you name all the animals?”

“No. Of course not. Would I be so silly?” you singsong sarcastically as you lean yourself up against the edge of the painting table. 

“Oh ok.” he says plainly with a nod of his head, a brush of his hand over his stubbled jaw. You love when he pretends to be serious and when he’s just so damn bad at pretending. “So you won’t mind if I call this bird... Sandra then?”

You suck in air through your teeth. “Sorry, that’s Porg. But that’s the only other one I named, honest.”

He folds his arms and raises his eyebrows to you, an easy smirk on his lips as he mirrors your position and leans against the pair of wooden ladders behind him. “Come on, let me have them all; monkey, giraffe, sloth - hit me.”

He makes a “bring it on” gesture with his fingers, and you blurt them out. “Peanut, Jungle Gump, and Mademoiselle Sleepyhead.”

He smiles in amusement and pads towards you, settling himself into your side, his eyes soft as they wander over the familiar details of your face. His voice is low in his throat. “Goddamn, you’re adorable.” You shrug and flutter your eyelashes in casual agreement. “Unless... Honey, should I be concerned?” He juts his hip and you can’t wait to hear what he’s going to come out with next. “Is this a subtle way of telling me you want to name our baby Jungle Gump?”

 “No!” You burst into laughter and bat him playfully on the chest. “But… now that you mention it? Jungle Dameron does sound kinda cool.” You’re actually only half-joking.

He sighs in mock defeat, waving his hand around in the air. “Fine, Jungle if they’re a girl, Sir Growlington if they’re a boy, and Peanut as a gender-neutral option.”

“Shake on it. Deal done.”

You place your hands on his chest, nodding back towards the wall again. “Did you see I left a space? I think you should paint something, Poe.”

“Honey, you know I can’t paint.” he argues, massaging little circles into your shoulder, your hip, your elbows. Anywhere you’ve complained of being sore. You love this man.

“You can paint. Everyone can paint.”

“Why would you want me to ruin your great work?”

You throw your arms around his shoulders, twining your fingers together at the back of his neck. “Because it’s our mural for our baby, and it’s about making something happy, yes? Well, I’m having fun creating this but you’re not in the room with me. And that’s the fun memory I want us to think about when we put our baby-”

“Jungle” he interjects.

“-Jungle,“ you nod, “to sleep. So, stay with me. Paint a crappy, fantastical animal of your choosing.” You gesture towards the paint selection on the table behind you with a sweep of your arm.

“You sure?” he asks, even though he’s already started to rifle through the supplies.

“I’m sure. I can’t wait to see how it turns out!”

A perfect, broad smile works its way across his face. His pretty, dark eyes flick over to yours, his voice deepening and becoming even richer and more robust as it infuses with meaning. “You’re incredible. I can’t wait to do this with you.”

You know he’s talking about far more than the mural. And you couldn’t agree more.

“First though...” he begins, that playfulness immediately back again. “Paint fight!” He picks up the nearest brush and dips it in your paint pot, before swiping a black streak across your cheek. 

You squeal in shock and he adopts a fighting stance, primed for your reaction. Before you can do a thing he manages to paint another stripe to your forearm with a quick, targeted swipe of his brush. You think he’s probably trying to make you look like Lady Growlington.

He torments you like this until you grab for your own brush, which you load, preparing to coat him. You assess the status of his sleep shirt. It’s old, you decide, and you land a splash of sky blue down his neck with a dramatic “A-ha”, a sound not unlike a swashbuckling pirate.

“Oh, you’re in for it now.” he warns with a grin, planting his whole palm in a pot of green and -gently, ever so gently, and avoiding your belly- chasing you around the room until he has covered your face and arms in his handprints. Then, when he’s had his fun he pulls you in for a giggly, breathless kiss.

“Are you trying to ruin my clothes, Poe Dameron?”

“Honestly? I’m trying to get you in the shower, gorgeous.” He pumps his eyebrows suggestively. “What do you say, wanna make love to me?”

He smiles, grabbing you hand with his own, paint-smeared one and giving you a light tug.

“If you think we can both still fit in the cubicle!”

“We’ll just have to get super close; that doesn’t sound like the worst thing, honey” 

All morning should start this way, you think. How could anything be better?

***

Months later, you are settling your precious baby for sleep. Poe is already passed out and lightly snoring on the couch, an array of blankets and bottles strewn around him. You allow yourself a moment to take him in. He looks so Goddamn beautiful when he’s sleeping. You feel so much love for him, for your new baby. More than you could have ever thought possible. It’s hard and it’s scary, but you are so happy you are doing this with him. Already, he is the most wonderful husband and father you could have dreamed of. 

Careful not to wake either him or the tiny sleeping bundle in your arms, you tread softly upstairs, Beebs -who rarely ever leaves your side since the new arrival- padding quietly along with you. When you get to the nursery you rock your baby in your arms a few moments more, humming lullabies softly into the cool night air.

Your eyes sweeping the room, the wonderful, perfect mural on the wall catches your attention. The mural with one animal that doesn’t look quite like the rest. Honestly, it doesn’t really look like any existing animal, so Poe has named it a “blurrg” instead. It makes you chuckle every single time, without fail. You wouldn’t change it for a thing. You wouldn’t change any of this.

You set your baby down in their basket before your laughter wakes them. Then, of course, you linger a moment longer to just stare at that adorable little face before clasping the door shut behind you.

Returning downstairs you smile at Poe. “You’re awake!”

“Yeah, I am.” You move to meet him on the couch and he drags you down into his lap. “And I heard you on the baby monitor, laughing at my blurrg! Again!”

You caress his curls, even though you know he’s not genuinely offended.

You smile so broadly your cheeks hurt. “I love it Poe. It makes me so happy every time. I’m so glad we created it together.”

His eyes meet yours, soft and warm, like the rest of him. “I sure as hell know that feeling.”

Oh boy. How does he make happiness swell in your chest like this? How is it possible to be this happy?

“Let’s... keep creating together, ok?”

He looks up at you in shock as he catches the full meaning of your words. “Are you... are you asking me to have another baby with you? Already?”

“Jungle’s gonna need a sibling.” you bite your lip, slightly nervous of how he might react. “Also, we really need to stop calling her that and settle on an actual name.”, you deflect.

“Baby,” he says gently, taking your hand in his. “I’d like Jungle to have siblings. I’m not sure she needs one just yet...” his tone switches, and it’s subtle but you know him too well to miss it. “...but as soon as you feel ready I’m very willing to start practising again.”

“You know, I think… I think I’m ready to start… practising.”

He swallows thickly, and you can see he’s holding himself back a little, for your benefit. He even backtracks a little. “You know I would never want to rush you, baby.”

“I know, Poe. So, what do you say, wanna make love?”

With unfortunate timing, the baby monitor crackles, transmitting a light cry from your daughter’s room.

“I’ll go check her.” Poe offers, patting your thighs for you to stand up and let him out from under you.

“You just want to smell her head again.”

“It’s the best smell, can you blame me?”

You smile to yourself. You love how soft and goofy and wonderful this man is. Every night should be like this, you think. How could anything be better?

***

When Poe does come back down to the living room you are already fast asleep, an open sketching pad nestled on to your chest. He thinks his heart might burst as he lifts it up for safe-keeping and notices you’ve drawn an adorable blurrg in there.

He casts his eyes over your sleeping form with nothing but love. He thinks you look so beautiful when you’re sleeping. He knows he couldn’t paint a prettier picture if he tried. No really, not with his skills. You’d agree; you’ve seen that blurrg, after all.  

He stoops, planting a gentle kiss to your forehead. He could swear that, impossibly, that he loves you even more than he did yesterday.

He stoops to pet Beebs as the corgi presses up against his ankles, giving him some well-deserved belly scritches. “Come on then big bro,” he whispers. “Let’s clear this mess up for Mama.”

Before he scoots around to collect up all the bottles and paraphernalia, he sets your sketchpad safely down on the coffee table. He can’t help but smile again. He knows what makes him happy. Happier than he ever thought he could be.

God knows why he said “monkeys”.

THE END

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[mila-a-fanfiqueira]

Prompt List #1 NSFW

10. Less talking. More fucking.

A/N: Hello this is my first storie EVER posted so hopefully some of you like it if some of you ever sees it. As I have a total of 0 followers and I don't even post it at first as public, I picked this prompt list from @allyourfckingfantasieslove​  (which also don't know whose this prompt list is from, but if you know it let me know so i can credit it properly) i used an app to pick randomly a number of the prompt list for me so I could write something (sad but wise tho).Also this gif it is not mine and I believe its credit are on it

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, my english (not a native speaker) curse word, maybe I used the marvellous wold of Harry Potter wrong. 

Word Count: 2.652

To get your attention: The reader who is a Head Girl found The Marauders Map and seeks for the boys that are trying to leave the castle through one secret passage. Using his charm Sirius manegement to get away of it.

Pairing: Young!Sirius X Reader

“You’ve got to be kidding me...” you said with the parchment in one hand while the light coming out of your wand was the only thing allowing you to see what you were actually trying to believe. How could they lost it? 

The map on your hand was showing the name of four boys squeezed together as if they were all trying to fit a little space all in once. The names were moving straight to the statue of Gregory the Smarmy on the fifth floor not so far from where you stood, you knew that the these boys were trying to sneak out of the castle in the middle of the night. 

As the Head Girl your moved fast to locate the group before they could runaway. You looked on the map and saw that you were close enough to catch them and as you were coming from behind they couldn’t see you until the moment that your hands seeked for the invisible cloak that you knew Peter, Remus, James and your boyfriend were underneath. 

“I have so many reasons to be take about 40 points from Gryffindor right now” you say coldly once you removed the cloak off of their figures letting it slide on the floor around them. 

They all frozen in place, either because of the shock caused by the tone of your voice or for the sudden lack of contact with the material provided by the cloak over their heads. One by one they turn to look at you, Peter trembled and almost hid himself behind James who had the most guilty expression on his face as he scratched the back of his neck, Remus didn’t even looked at you afraid that you would lecture him about his lack of behaviour as a prefect. The heartthrob of your boyfriend nothing did as he looked at you with his usual face: shining eyes looked at you almost daring you to scream at him while a small smile formed on his ridiculously full red lips.

“We were just looking around you know? I-I mean, just walking through the corridors to not forget them when we are graduated” James tried to fool you. 

You took a deep breath with you eyes closed and your wand no longer pointed up to the marauders, trying to calm down so you won’t scream at them and bring Peeves attention to you. “Don’t you dare try to lie straight up to my face, Potter.” you said pointing again your wand to James which caused him to shut his eyes and put his hand in front of them trying to block the light. “I’m so angry at you guys right now, whose ideal was it this week?” you moved your wand to the direction of the most likely to tell you the truth with the minimal effort. “It was Sirius’ idea, I promise they made me” you heard right away.

“Dammit Wormtail”

“Everytime”

“I can’t believe this guy” 

The others uttered in disbelief, you tried to give a warm smile to Peter who were still trembling under your gaze but it didn't worked “Good, now I want you James and Peter to go back to your dorms. Straight to it.” You told them while point to stairs “Remus, in 5 minutes is your turn to patrol... so off you go. And don’t think we won’t talk about it tomorrow ” you motion with both your hands as expelling him away from you. Watching they all go where you had told them to you almost forgot the figure near you that was picking up the invisible cloak from the floor. 

“So where are you sending me Head Girl? Hopefully into your pants?” Sirius told with a dirty smile on his lips and moving closer to you. 

The nerve of this boy was not enough to making you angrier however was enough to made you panties wet, but you wouldn't tell him that. At least not now. 

“You are unbelievable you know that?” You started to walk towards the stairs that would take you to the seventh floor.

 Sirius sensing that you were not in the mood to flirt black with him and maybe you were truly angry, started to following you towards the Gryffindor commom room. You climbed the stairs angrily hit heavily your feet on the ground meanwhile murmuring words of disbelief like: “the audacity of this boy”, “he is lucky that he is pretty”, “could I return him maybe?” “sneaking out with Severus patrolling waiting to take points from us, unbelievable!” Sirius silently smiled, he love this moments when you talked to yourself  frowning to nowhere sometimes you roll your eyes and other times cross your arms while arching your browns the most commom effect that those actions causes on him were a warm feeling on his chest or sometimes just a boner. That depends. 

He was brought back to reality by your still angry tone pronouncing the password to a sleepy Fat Lady. “Nox” you told and the light of the wand was gone while you entered the room. 

You sat on the couch on the commom room exhausted because the late events and your patrolling. But now on the comfort of the cushions and the warmth of the fireplace you wonder if you still have power to argue with Sirius. The room was empty besides you and Sirius and you almost let him get away from his adventure when your eyes focused on the long forgotten parchment that somehow you were still holding open.

 You looked at it and you got to see Peter and James on the place that only could be their beds once they did not move, and yours  and Sirius’s figure standing in front of each other also in the map, this made you look up at him and say: “How many times do I have to tell you guys to no try to sneak out so recklessly? You guys aren’t kids anymore and certainly don’t have the same size to all of you to fit under de invisible cloak at the same time” you said with a little bit of concern under all the angry that split from your words. He sat defeated as he realized that you were on the mood of arguing. 

“And who was the fucker that dropped the map and didn’t see it?” you shoved the map on his chest removing your tie while he grabbed the map and said: “Mischief managed” with a touch of his wand, with a sigh he continued “Love look, I know you care but it’s our last year loose up a little bit. Remove this Head Girl pin and come enjoy with us.” ignoring all what you just told him “And was wormtail by the way” he told.

In fact Sirius was focused on the way that your skirt had raised now that your legs are crossed letting him see your tights. Those legs and the three loosen buttons from your shirt made his pants tighter. At this moment he did not give a fuck if someone  would caught them trying to pass through that passage he just wanted to cut this conversation short and have sex with you before bed. 

Moving closer to you a hand on your knee while you told him something about the importance of being a Head Girl to your resume after graduation that he did not pay attention because  he was looking so hungrily to your lips and in a blink of an eye he kissed you without hesitation.

 Grabbed your neck and pull his lips on yours, his perfume clouding your whole senses and all you could have done you did: you stood there and opened your month to kiss him deeply and melt under his touch.

 Nothing with Sirius was half measures, his hands soon were wrapped around your waist to put you on top.You were straddling him while he was sitting straight on the couch. The kiss were deep, rough and needy and as you moved your hands to his soft curls he transferred the kisses to your neck provoking a wave of heat that moved from your belly to your pussy getting you wetter “Sirius...” you moaned softly pulling the hair on the back of his neck, in response he moved the kisses to your collarbone and with his hand on your hips grabbed your ass making you grind on his lap.

The friction and the wet kisses almost made you lose it. As you rolled your hips on him you earned a delicious softly groan at your ear. You continued to grind on him and bend you neck back to give him more space to kiss you, you let the earlie event goes away of your mind so Sirius could undresses you from your black robe sliding it from your shoulder but letting it hang lazely on your bended arms. 

He broke the kisses only to tear the bottoms of your white shirt of, Sirius stopped to appreciate the bra you were wearing and how great your breasts looked at it. 

“So are you going to fuck me or just stare at me?” you whispered with a eyebrow arched to him stealing a slow kiss of his half-opened mouth.

  His hand moved to your waist and squeezed it while moving up to your ribs making you close your eyes in pleasure and bite your bottom lips just to hold a moan. “Oh baby girl, I wanted to fuck you since you started to give orders to the boys after catching us.” He kissed you slowly, letting his tongue plays with yours, kissed all the way from yous lips to your ear and after bite softly your earlobe he whispered “Acting like the boss when I know that you like to be tamed.” 

Sirius stared back to your eyes without a blink  only to see what those words made with your body. While holding your hair on his wrist and pulling it softly he watched as your breath got caught on your throat, how you swallowed you moan just to seconds later lick your plump lips  with your eyes closed like to concentrate and don’t cum with only his dirty words. When you opened your eyes feeling his hands on both sides of your face you merely blinked as you stare at his beautiful eyes trying to enjoy all of the wave that travelled through your body stopping on the familiar wetness on your panties. “What was it baby girl? Suddenly lost all of your words?” he mocked at you switching between your eyes and your parted lips.

With all the rest of responsibility that you have inside you grabbed your wand with shaking hands on the pocket of the robe and with a kick motion you said with a heavy breath “Abaffiato”  you removed your robe and torn shirt when you hear “What spell is that?” he looked at you with a puzzled look.

“Nothing, just a spell to give us some privacy” you answered while he removed his tie, your hand opened up a little more of his robe and started to opened the buttons of his shirt, the feeling of his warm chest and soft skin making you press your core a little harder on him. 

“But this is new, where did you learn it?” he asked enjoying your hands working on his shirt without show that your movement affected him the way affected so you moved your hands to  his pants to touch his erection. You didn’t want to bring up right now the person who taught you this spell so with a hand pumping his dick you leaned towards his ear allowing his face to pressed lightly against your breast “Less talking. More fucking” he gave you a love bite on your right breast while both of his hands wandered to your bra clasp opening with a quick movement. 

With closed eyes while he smiled with his bottom lips between his teeth both one hand squeezing your breasts and the other on your lower back at the helm of your school skirt, he enjoyed your hands stimulating moving on him. “Oh love, I’m going to make you feel so good” after feeling the lubrification draining between your legs after all this dirty talk  you lifted your hips just so you can push your panties to the side and align your wet core to his also wet tip, you pulled softly his bottom lips while you let his dick enter you and stretch you all out. 

With one hand on his face and your thumb dangerously close to his open mouth while the other was grabbing the back of the couch to have balance, you rode him watching his mouth opens wider every time you took him deeper inside you. The moans escaping from his lips only turned you on even more as you could see him upper close, this man was like hell, hot and naughty. His hands traveled under your skirt and stopped on your underwear which he teared apart “I want to you to wet all my dick baby”. At this point you were more than hot and bothered. 

At first you started to slow down because you wanted him to suffer since him won’t listen to you about the sneaking out, but as soon as Sirius started to moan while kissing your lips and grabbing your ass in that delicious way you switched the slow roll of your hips to quick ups and downs slipings. You couldn’t’ hold your moans anymore and nor you wanted to. Everytime Sirius lifted his hips to meet yours and hit some really good point inside of you, you wanted to scream as you bite his shoulders. “Baby you feel so good… oh for fuck sakes I’m going to cum” he said and his torso pulled off of the couch, his hands took you off off him too. 

“Sirius don’t… what the f” before you could even finished to complain his absence he turned you so your face was looking towards the wall he sat you so naw he can fuck you from behind. You moaned his name while open more your legs and using his knees for balance. 

“C’mon baby, reverse ride me” he said and watched you starting to move on him. “Do the perfect Head Girl wants to cum?” he whisper in your ear while tugging your hair into a ponytail so your back are arched letting his dick hit you just right. You were riding him so good that all that came out of your mouth was a breathlessly “please”

Not wanting to be so hard on you Sirius moved one hand to your clit and started to rub it because your man knew that you hardly cum just with penetration. As the growing pleasure of your orgasm was building up inside you Sirius painting on your neck just made everything ten times more delicious, you moved your hand to tug his hair while instinctively your other one grabbed Sirius’ arm that was rubbing your clit as you hit your peak. 

“Sirius...FUCK” those worlds only encourage your boyfriend to hold you still to seek his own pleasure. He came whispering “Oh love” on your ear and you stood still after ride him a little bit more until your climax passes and your hearts beating calm down. 

“Come on Head Girl, let’s put you in bed” Sirius said after kissed you passionately fully dressed only with messed hair, red swollen lips and opened trousers, open shirt and open robe. He gave you your pieces of clothing including your panties throwing your robe over your upper body before carrying you he hand you the Map and your wands then left the common room towards his bedroom hopping Prongs and Wormtail slept a long time ago and would not see you two aftersex sneaking to Sirius’ bed.

A/N 2:  Idk if the Preferect and The Head Girl can patrol  but for my storie they can. And about “abaffiato” it’s says on intenet that was Snape who invented the spell while studying at Hogwarts, thats why the Reader don’t wanted to tell Sirius, also I made Severus being a Preferect don’t know if he ever was. 

[the-cydonian-texts]

It had to be you (Count Orlo x Female Reader)

Chapter 2 : Butterflies

Summary: Orlo takes you to the library to show you one of his favorite books. A first time none of you will ever forget.

Warnings: Cursing. Fluff with a pinch of angst. Self-loathing.

Words: 2625

Notes: Second chapter is out!!!  It took me way longer than I thought and wanted, but I’m really happy I can finally share it with all of you. I hope you enjoy reading it.

Read it on AO3

Gif by:  julielilac

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Just a couple more minutes of sorting dirty laundry, and your shift will be over, something you are extremely thankful for. It was a particularly long day given the fact that you had to avoid Marial’s interrogatory the whole time, while you wondered yourself when would you get to see Orlo again. You are aware that you met four days ago but haven’t stop thinking about him ever since, wishing at least a portion of his thoughts were directed to you too.

Love at first sight was something you didn’t believe in; to you, it was like a unicorn: beautiful, perfect, but non-existent. Still, your mind was busy trying to figure out the meaning of all those things Orlo managed to make you feel in such a short time.

“So, are you finally going to tell me what’s going on?” Marial breaks the silence and, with that, your line of thought. Impatience in her voice almost palpable.

“What do you mean?” You blatantly answer, knowing pretty well what she means.

“Please don’t take me for an idiot! You perfectly know I’m talking about you and Orlo.” Marial looks you in the eye as if she was trying to read your mind.

“Oh, that!” You laugh while doing a great job hiding your nervousness. “Well, I was coming late to work on my first day because I got lost, and he helped me find the way to the Empress’ chambers. Happy?” You know your friend so well that you are certain a short answer like that won’t be enough for her. Still, you cross your fingers hoping she would leave you alone.

“Oh yeah? And what about the stupid expression on your face once he left? Was it thankfulness too?” Marial laughs. “Come on Y/N! Admit it. You like him.”

“Marial, it’s been a long day. Please let me finish my job.” You try to sound more tired than you actually are. “Besides, what if I do? Is there any problem with that?”

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to mess around with a member of Peter’s court, I’m sure there are far better options than Orlo.” Marial makes a pause, nonchalantly grabbing a tray from the tee table. “Anyway, if he ever lets you get on his pants, please let me know if his cock is so small as everyone says.” She snorts.

“Oh, you too!? For fuck’s sake, Marial!” You harshly toss a piece of clothing into the laundry basket. “What is wrong with you people!?” Your comments certainly catch your friend off guard. She remains still, staring at you while you angrily finish your tasks. Once you are done, you wave at Marial with a forced smile and leave.

As soon as you open the door to the hallway, you see Orlo from afar. He’s walking back and forth and making gestures with his hands like he was arguing with someone; his gaze focused on the floor. The Count doesn’t even notice you are standing there, staring at him with a tender smile on your face. Finally, you decided to approach him.

“Orlo? Is everything okay?” You calmly say trying, not to scare him.

“Fuck!” He gasps. “Y/N! I-I-I… Sorry.” Orlo says, looking you in the eye, then turning around for a moment as if he wanted to walk away from you, keeping his arms at his sides, constantly clenching his fists. His eyes still staring at the floor.

“It’s okay, Orlo. Just take your time.” You say before remaining quiet, giving him time to put himself together.

“I-I was… Um… I was wondering if you…” Orlo finally turns around. His eyes, still reluctant to meet yours. “I-I was wondering if you would like to… Um… to read something with me?” The words tremble out of his mouth, his voice in a higher tone than usual. A mixture of doubt and hope in his eyes tells you that, as much as he tries, he is not entirely prepared for a negative answer.

Your heart races at his invitation, as your mind only thinks on one possible answer: yes. However, you don’t want to show how desperate you are to spend more time with him since you are still not sure if Orlo feels the same about you.

“Right now!?” You’re surprised at how serene you sound knowing this time you’re the one dying inside to get a positive reply.

“Sorry, I-I should have known… It’s-It’s late. You’re tired… I-I’m sorry.” He makes a gesture with his hand as if he was trying to send his thoughts away.

“No. Wait. I’d love to!” And there goes your willpower.

“Do you!?” Orlo’s face lightens up, and his big brown eyes appear brighter than ever.

“Yes! Of course!” You reply. Your heart bursting into flames just from the thought of spending time with him. A soft sigh escapes the count, relieving all the tension he was storing inside since he thought of proposing you to read together.

“In that case. May I show you one of my favorite places in Peter’s Court?” Orlo says. His eyes sparkling like he was about to show the secret of the universe.

Seeing him smiling like that is like watching a child staring at the stars, wishing one day he could visit them all. The sight makes you feel warm inside, and you are more than thankful to be sharing this moment with him.

“After you, Count Orlo.” You say ceremoniously, making a gesture with your hand encouraging him to take the lead.

“Right.” He replies, blinking a couple of times while nodding. “This way, please.”

You walk by his side without saying a word fearing it would break the spell you both are into. Your body seems to be floating next to Orlo; your thoughts only focused on him. He is surely taking you to the court’s library, and your heart races at the thought of getting to know Orlo better.

***

“Here we are!” Orlo announces before opening the library door. You walk past him like dragged inside by an invisible force. The count studies your expression, hoping with all his heart that you find the place just as magical as he does.

Though not very well illuminated and dusty, you feel like you’ve just discovered Atlantis. You wander around the place admiring with wide-opened eyes the countless volumes stacked in the shelves; delicately touching those at your reach with the tip of your fingers. If you could spend the rest of your life reading all of them, you would find the end of your days with a bright smile on your face.

“I better had memorized the way over here, if we’re going to keep reading together in the future.” You joke turning around to look at Orlo. He stumbles as you caught him off guard after he was looking at you like he was witnessing dawn for the first time.

“Do-do you mean you would like to… do this again?” His face turns red and his gaze jumps repeatedly from your eyes to the floor and back. You wonder how long would it take until Orlo can remain calm by your side, although you have to admit that seeing him all bothered and jumpy makes it extremely hard to control your desire to kiss him.

“Well, you don’t think we’re going to read all those books in one night, do you?” You wink at him like partners in crime do. He chuckles, instantly taking his eyes away from yours.

“Sh-shall we read, Y/N?” He proposes. His hand bringing your attention to two small sofas placed next to a small shelf; a chandelier resting on a table right in the middle of them. In other circumstances, you would say this is the perfect set up for a romantic evening, but considering how Orlo reacts when you touch him or even smile at him, such an idea is  sadly far from occurring to him.

“Of course! Have you something special in mind?” All of this feels like the beginning of a magical adventure where anything could happen, and it makes your heart jump with anticipation. Quietly, you sit on a sofa examining every single one of Orlo’s movements. You dare to think that the count knows the library better than Peter himself knows Russia.

Orlo takes a book from the shelf and sits on the other sofa. He adjusts his glasses and reads the title of the book, taking time to pronounce each word in the right way and pace. He doesn’t speak on a higher and uneasy pitch anymore. His voice, now calm and deep, causing you to blush with arousal.

“Do you know it?” Orlo’s eyes leave the volume in his hands to meet yours. His eyebrows slightly lifted as he waits patiently for your answer.

“I’m- I’m sorry, but the name doesn’t sound familiar to me. What is it about?” You answer while trying to steady your racing pulse. Without even noticing, you move to the edge of the sofa and consequently, closer to the count.

In a brief moment, Orlo gives you a summary of the subject of the book; leaving you with more questions than before. Not because he wasn’t able to encapsulate the cunning plot and compelling storytelling of it without revealing anything important, but because he knew exactly what to say to awake in you the burning desire to immerse yourself in the pages of the volume, and discover, with your own eyes, the thrilling secret it holds.

“May I?” You reach out a hand to Orlo asking him to give you the book. The count nods handing it to you.

Opening the book on its first page, you began reading. Your voice trembles as you struggle to fully concentrate on the words before you. It’s been a long time since you read something out loud, and the fact that the one listening to you is the most interesting and clever person you have ever known is far from being helpful. You want to show him that you’re more than a servant, that despite where you come from you are worthy of his admiration and friendship.

“Please, take your time Y/N. I recon reading out loud could be intimidating, also I can tell you haven’t done it in quite a while, but I won’t judge you for it. Emotions are what matters here.” It relieves you that Orlo seems to be able to read your mind. His reassuring comments and the sweet tone in his voice, manage to calm you down.

Resuming your reading, you soon find yourself getting lost in the words dancing harmoniously on the pages in front of you. Time appears to stop and your heart beats to the rhythm of your voice. Your body doesn’t belong to you anymore, as the story uses it as a way of coming to life and take shape in this mortal world. Orlo doesn’t move; his eyes fixed on your lips, not wanting to miss a second of this hypnotizing moment. He listens to you like he is listening to the most beautiful melody anyone has ever written. The count has read this book so many times before that he could recite it word by word without making a single mistake, but right now, he feels like he is witnessing its story for the very first time. Suddenly, a soft sob brings you back to the library, to the present. You lift your eyes from the book to look at Orlo. Tears coming down his face.

“Orlo, are you alright?” Your words seem to break a spell and Orlo jumps on his chair, instantly beginning to wipe his tears away.

“Shit! I-I-I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t let my feelings take hold of me… I’m-I’m such an idiot… I-I am truly sorry, Y/N.” A pained expression appears on his face and your heart shrinks. The count rests his elbows on his knees and tries to hide his face in his hands. In a heartbeat, you kneel next to him. Orlo frowns confused by your reaction and gives you a blank look. You cup his face in your hands gently brushing his tears away.

“You don’t have to apologize, Orlo. There’s nothing wrong with letting your true feelings show, and I’m never going to judge you for that…” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper. “As a matter of fact, I find it refreshing. It proves, that unlike many others here, you do have a soul.” The muscles on Orlo’s face loosen.

“Thank you, Y/N.” Tears begin to gather in Orlo’s eyes again. No one ever has told him such kind words before and he feels moved beyond words.

Unhesitatingly, you close the distance between both of you until your lips are softly pressed against his. Orlo lets out a sharp sigh as his muscles tense; you almost break the kiss thinking he would be offended by your boldness. Instead, he closes his eyes melting under your touch.

Orlo stays still as you stroke his cheeks; just like yours, his breathing is shallow and quick. You don’t dare to move your lips against his, as you don’t want to rush him. Instead, your mouths remain squeezed together.

How many times did you recreate this scenario in your mind, wondering how would it be to be kissing Orlo; to be touching him and feeling his warmth. But no thought did justice to the actual moment, as his lips were softer than you could ever imagine. Being so close to him awakes a storm of feelings you never thought of being able to experience. Your heart burning with passion and affection; the butterflies in your stomach having a wild party. Slowly, you pull away. None of you says a word for a moment, allowing each other to settle.

“I’m sorry, Orlo.” You stand up abruptly. The magical spell of a longed kiss soon replaced by the venom of reality. How could you be so naïve to let your mind fantasize about you and Orlo? A servant and a noble will never be together and you know it. People like you aren’t entitled to dream as serving is your only purpose in life. Moreover, how could you be so stupid to think that one day you could be at his level?

“I shouldn’t have… It’s late… I-I have to go.” A soon as you try to leave Orlo grabs your hand.

“P-please… Promise me you’re… going to finish reading it.” His eyes still wet with tears, unknowingly begging you to stay with him, as he places the book in your hand.

“I promise… Good night, Orlo.” You say holding back your tears, leaving the library in a rush.

“Good night, Y/N.” Orlo’s reply is barely audible.

Defeated, the count sinks in the sofa unable to process the swarm of feelings and thoughts he was left with after you were gone. The crushing feeling in his chest becoming harder to ignore; tears running down his face as he desperately seeks answers. Whatever he did wrong, he wishes he hadn’t done it. He could not bear losing the only spark of joy and hope he has ever found in such a rotten place like Peter’s court. Soon, it is all too much to handle and Orlo falls asleep, right there in the library, accompanied by his beloved books and the dying light of the candles.

Tomorrow, the count will wake up under the weight of guilt, being certain that he ruined any chance he got with you. He will also punish himself for thinking that such a loser like him could ever be enough for someone like you. Maybe one day you’ll realize he is not the one you need, after all, he is nothing but a loser and a coward. 

[tscmu]

- double unrequited

- the second years argued. a lot. youd think the lot of them were conjoined at birth. so it wasnt surprising when a girl came into the mix, and tore their hearts into pieces, huh?

w/c- 1717 pairing/s- atsumu x fem!reader, suna x fem!reader and a lil bit of osamu x fem!reader ;) genre- idk lmao but theres a lil angst ig warnings- secondhand embarassment, TINY mention of pornography, heartbreak a/n- THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE EHEHEH anyway my writers block’s kinda over????anyway read 2 da end for a surprise twist ;))) 

as the sun started to set over the small area of the hyogo prefecture, all was calm. birds chirped every now and then, flying through the cold skies, enjoying the october buzz in the air. trees’ leaves were littered over the pavement and roads, crunching whenever they were squashed by an oncoming boot. however, if you were to wander through the inarizaki high school grounds on that day, you would hear a buzz of arguing from a specific gym.

“for fucks sake! samu, help yer dear brother out here.. it's pronounced gif, not whatever this ‘jif’ crap is!” the blonde haired, tall setter of the volleyball team leaned backwards on the bench, staring at someone behind him. the latter was the similar looking, gray haired opposite hitter, who just rolled his eyes at the comment.

“first off, yer no calling me yet ‘dear brother’ again. you’re getting zip from me.” he said, taking a glug out of his bottle as the blondie yelped in shock. the slightly taller, brown haired middle blocker giggled to himself. “plus, its technically jif anyway, everyone just says gif because its what society projected onto us.”

“oh, shut up with all that logical bullshit.” the blondie rolled his eyes, standing up and slamming his bottle down onto the space that was left. “oi, kita, ‘s break over?”

“i mean, technically ‘s over whenever ya want it to be. just go spike some balls or something if you’re bored.. oh, hi!” the shorter, white-and-black haired captain slowed down talking, turning to look at the door. all the boys turned around shortly after him, staring at whoever was there.

as you stood against the door, your hair blowing slightly with the wind behind you, your face slightly sweaty having run all around the school, most of them were mesmerised. your face flushed a deeper shade of red after seeing all their eyes glued to you, and you laughed a little.

“oh, sorry, i’m trying to find the girls basketball gym!” you smiled, tilting your head a little. “is this volleyball? sorry, i’m new, i just got told to go to the basketball gym after school for the first practice, but i have no idea where i'm meant to be going!” you giggled slightly, making atsumu and suna go pink. “sorry for disturbing you!” you waved slightly, hopping back down the stairs up to the doors. however, you stopped after hearing footsteps and voices behind you.

“it’s oka-” kita started to say, before sighing, seeing what was happening before him.

“i’ll help you!” atsumu shouted after you, grabbing his jersey in case you were cold.

“i can show you!” suna also shouted, pushing atsumu out the way and grabbing his bottle.

“simps..” osamu and aran both said, shaking their heads as the two boys continued to shove each other.

“no, i will.” the former's voice turned serious, slowing down as they reached the top of the steps. suna frowned, and opened his mouth to say something else, but they both got distracted as they heard your mesmerising laugh again.

“you can both come, if you want, i really don’t mind!” you smiled, doing that little head tilt again. they both nodded instantly, before frowning at each other as soon as your back was slightly turned. “okay, so i’ve walked in on about ten other clubs..”

ever since that moment, it was just a competition of who could win you over. the rest of the boys had moved on, teasing them both for their pure urge to beat each other. all of the boys argued, but nothing was ever as heated as atsumu and suna’s debates. there was a new one every time they went to practice, from something as big as the death penalty to something as tiny as how much diluting juice you put in the glass before you add the water. it was stupid, but they‘d been like that for years now.

but with this argument, it appeared neither of them were actually ahead of the other, like it usually ended up.

suna went for a more romantic approach with you. offering to walk you home, waiting for you after classes, walks through random forest paths on sundays. it wasn’t what he was used to, he’d never paid that much attention to girls. they all seemed to fawn over the miya twins anyway. but it was when you seemed to pay genuine attention to him, it caught his interest. 

obviously he found girls attractive, but the girls he saw online were never the same as girls in real life. not even just porn or anything, even in romance films, they were all so secretive. he didn’t really have the charm either, so he found himself just waiting for a girl to make a move, and if she didn’t, he’d just.. give up. you were unique to him, though. it got to the point where you’d wait for him after class too, wait at the front doors for him to come out so you could walk home, texting him at 9 in the morning asking if he wanted to go on that one walk again you did about a month ago. it took him by shock a little, but he didn’t want it to stop.

whereas atsumu, on the other hand..

to be frank, girls weren’t a big deal to atsumu. he’d always had that blessing of girls fawning over him, so he’d never had to worry about ‘winning over’ a girl. but it hit him when he met you.. he was gonna have to fight for you, wasn’t he?

he visioned you as a more.. modern girl. he assumed suna would go more traditional, the man had no experience with girls, for god's sake. he basically assumed he would win you over.. who wouldn’t pick him over anyone? and so he started. he did with you what he did with every girl, midnight drinking on a random roof, random shopping trips into town, secret lunchtime conversations behind the school. he didn’t think much of it at first, why would he? you were just another girl he’d probably date for what, a week or so, then you’d dump him after actually realising what he’s like. he couldn’t picture himself settling down. but.. you changed him, in a way. he finally found something he wanted to work for.

what was the one thing in common with these stories though?

you never actually showed any form of romantic interest in either of them, throughout this whole ordeal.

so then, after what felt like years, two days before atsumu left for the training camp, they decided it was the day. the day to confess.

neither of them actually knew about the other's plans, it was just pure coincidence they saw this as the opportunity. atsumu because he could try to sweep you away with him to tokyo, suna because he could tease atsumu about it while he was gone. it was a good plan, on both sides., you had to admit, after hearing it a while later. 

“the fuck’re you murmuring for?” atsumu frowned, turning around to look at suna, whose head was in his hands.

“mind your business..” the latter muttered, murmuring under his breath again, making atsumu shake his head. he wasn’t scared, why would he be? you were bound to say yes, for the past few months you’d been spending time with him. you knew what he was like, as he did with you.

“eh, suit yourself. i need to find y/n..” he said, picking up his jacket.

“what? y/n? but i need to find her!” suna snapped back into reality, his eyes wide as atsumu glanced at him

“..yeah. well, you can speak to her tomorrow or something, this is important.” he said in a careless manner, starting to walk towards the door, but stopping short, seeing the door slide open.

“oh! hey, tsumu!” you appeared from outside, your faux fur hood tickling your neck as your beaming face came into the light from the slight darkness behind you. it couldn’t help but make him smile.. god, he couldn’t wait to call you his. suna, from behind him, felt himself smile too, you were stunning. “you ready?” you looked behind atsumu, but as he whipped his head around, he realised you weren’t actually looking at suna either.

“yeah, your place tonight?” oh. oh no. as atsumu realised what was happening, his mouth dropped open. osamu stood up from the bench, his jacket slung over his shoulder as he crossed past both suna and atsumu, kissing you on the forehead.

“you bet! god, my mum’s been so excited to meet you.. bye boys!” you waved at both suna and atsumu separately, going back to chattering to osamu.

“what.. the fuck?” suna said, frowning. atsumu joined him, still in a state of shock.

“yeah, what the fuck?” he turned around, mouth still open.

“oh, you didn’t know? they’re dating, have been for what, a month or something now?” kita smiled, while aran tried not to burst out laughing to his right. “during the christmas holidays, they hung out a bit. i think y/n came looking for atsumu, but he wasn’t in, so she decided to chat to osamu instead. did you seriously not know?” kita laughed a little, and atsumu’s shock turned to anger. ths, of course, made suna burst out laughing.

“what the fuck? no, what the actual fuck? how did i not know the girl i was in love with was dating my brother?” he looked around a little, looking for assistance, but all the boys were snickering at him.

“now i think of it, that was extremely obvious.” suna said, laughing more by the second. he was sad, of course he was! the girl he was falling drastically in love with had a boyfriend, and he had no idea, that would break anyone's heart. but.. this was extremely funny.

“fine, lets just go then.” atsumu humphed, dragging his feet as he walked to the door. “to be fair, she was looking for me. probably liked me more.” he said as they reached just outside the door, and suna shoved him into the wall. “oUCH! THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?” he yelled, making kita chuckle to himself.

these idiots.

[duckbeater]

Some Notes on A. S. Hamrah

A lifetime ago, I thought it’d be rewarding to teach A. S. Hamrah’s “A Better Moustrap” to first-year students struggling through their second semester of basic comp. I wanted to wow them with Hamrah’s heedless deployment of unsettling theses, argued crisply and irreverently, in an essay that supplies a plausible solution to its concerns (a rarity among most rhetorical appeals, whose authors left my students stimulated but empty-handed). Very in the vein of “A Modest Proposal,” “Mousetrap” confronts a social ill—fetish videos where women crush small animals to death under their Stilettos—yet proposes a non-ironic salve: “crushies,” where “the must-have plush-toys of the Christmas rush will be smashed underfoot.” Most of my course was based on weird internet shit, which I thought (I still think) mostly anyone can appreciate, especially the young. “Mousetrap” is full of that weird-internet-shit jouissance.

“Reading this is like eating your favorite food,” I told the class. “You’re just gonna shovel in ideas. They’re all delicious. Eh, they’re pretty weird, too. But it’ll be fun.” It wasn’t fun. Nobody read the essay. Moving through its arguments, in front of twenty-five nineteen-year-olds and a few grandmothers, was embarrassing. I had to dissect Hamrah’s great takes on crush video culture, his movements through film history, his appraisals of Mickey Rooney, then his wider and, to me, scintillating prognostications on American adulthood—an adulthood most everyone in the classroom (accepting the grannies) was soon to inherit—totally alone. “Do you watch these videos?” one student asked. “Then what’s your fetish?” asked another. “Bryson fucks books!” became the consensus. (“I fuck your dads!” I thankfully did not say but very much wanted to. I was a coward; this partially explains why no one bothered to complete my assignments.)

Flying solo—or falling sans parachute, as the case may be—through Hamrah’s film criticism and cultural reportage of the last decade has probably been a shared experience among his far-flung admirers. Finding his byline in Bookforum or the obscure domain of the International Federation of Film Critics or mirrored pages from the defunct Hermenaut was usually the result of a periodic Google search. If he appears more regularly now, and more regularly in prestige venues, that’s the fault of n+1, where he’s contributed reviews tri-quarterly since roughly 2008.

Indeed, it was Hamrah’s initial, online-only contribution that inspired so much ardor and devotion. “Oscars Previews” provided bright, bursting capsules—the gleeful bitchery of a best friend's phone call. Apparently this quality was transliterated from its material creation, when he reported the piece to his editor, Keith Gessen, over a phone, after complaining he didn’t have time to write the thing. Each entry in this salvo (none are more than a hundred or so words) lands with a zinger. They have the polish of a joke, featuring a setup, some reinforcement and then a payoff. He even plays some of his capsules against each other as callbacks. The entirety of Hamrah’s entry on Michael Clayton reads: “There was a lot of driving in Michael Clayton. I like driving in movies but after a while Michael Clayton started to seem like a car ad—though it showed how a car ad can be liberal. That’s a message for our times.” The wit is authoritative, hypnotic, dismissive. The taste behind these pronouncements felt sui generis, and the criticisms brief enough to be dispatched verbatim without attribution. I was a senior in college when I first read Hamrah. I had a busy season of parties at professor’s houses and dined-out on his opinions for weeks. 

This is not to say Hamrah only works when you’re young and grasping for style. But I do think it’s evident now that his short forms are the seedbed for his long form successes, paper sketches for the larger canvas. When you read enough of Hamrah’s capsule reviews, you get the sense he’s reporting exactly (or only) what fits into his little joke, sometimes you can even hear him reaching for his beats. When you read a whole book of them, you get the sense Hamrah’s less interested in the works under review than in his performance of reviews, his performance of freedom and audacity.

—

The Earth Dies Streaming, apart from film writing, is a log of Hamrah’s fascination with his persona, his brand of humor and arch sensibilities. He’s not exactly a curmudgeon—he wants readers to know he’s tried too many drugs to be a curmudgeon (comparisons to acid trips crop up, as does “bad speed”)—and he’s not exactly an academic (despite his Ivy League bona fides as a corporate semiotician)—and he’s not even a movie reviewer in the jejune, crass, sell-out way so many movie reviewer must be in today’s enfeebled, saturated, and deeply compromised market (he tries “to never include anything in [his] writing that could be extracted and used for publicity”). This is where I trot out a gif of Amy Poehler playing a Cool Mom in Mean Girls. Hamrah’s bobblehead offers virgin daiquiris to teenage cineastes. “I’m not like a regular film critic,” he says, “I’m a cool film critic.” The tits, the wink, the velour sweatsuit.

Other irritations. Hamrah’s insistence on the inferiority of animated films and his churlish dismissal of Miyazaki’s contributions to the medium’s history. He’s always on accident catching some part of a children’s movie—on an airplane, in a public clinic—and using these unsatisfactory experiences to comment on the aesthetics and advancements of animation at large. It’s a hobby horse he flays as often as Adorno assaulted jazz, and (to both their credits), slightly adorable for how insistent and under-thought. If only, as he does in “Jessica Biel’s Hand,” he would immerse himself in the backlog of lauded animation from this century and the last, he might, for once, be able to say something interesting about it.

Hamrah’s stance against feature-length animation is nearly as looming and placeless as his stance against other films critics, whom he evidently reads closely but can never be bothered to cite. His essays are peppered with a dreaded sea of bought-off weekly reviewers whose pedestrian tastes frustrate him. This, despite the regularly insightful, playful, and overall helpful criticism of David Edelstein and Emily Yoshida at New York; Dana Stevens at Slate; Manhola Darghis at the Times; Justin Chang in Los Angeles; and the fairly dour takes of Peter Debruge in the industry’s digest, Variety. Hamrah alludes to David Denby’s work in Streaming’s introduction, then names him outright in a later capsule review of Little Children. Otherwise, your guess is as good as mine as to with what critical consensus Hamrah finds his views out of alignment. These are critics and journalists who, obliged by deadlines, report weekly on their film-going habits. That they have new things to say even once a month is a miracle, but that they do so four to ten times a month is frankly incredible. (It must be evident that I’m a fan of movie reviews and film criticism. I work an office job where between menials I find intense delight and distraction in the work of daily reviewers, and I carry around with me an ungainly amount of knowledge regarding box office performances and future releases that in all other ways I have no interaction: I go to the movies maybe three times a month, often by myself, and often I see low-brow flicks. Last weekend I saw the third How to Train Your Dragon movie; the weekend before that, Isn’t It Romantic; a weekend before that, Roma. I saw these movies on the advice of daily reviewers, and Roma only after reading Caleb Crain’s celebration of it.)

I volunteer Richard Brody and Christian Lorentzen as Hamrah’s contemporary intellectual kin, with caveats. Brody’s work is too mystical, too mythical to properly critique his subjects, and his symptomatic readings, which border on the Lacanian in terms of the extraneous and deranged, become hulking apertures that always overtake whatever work is under discussion, squashing them. Also he is never, ever funny in his reviews. Brody is a curmudgeon, and what he criticizes rarely appears in the films themselves but float around the films’ receptions, financing or forebears, and when he ventures into specifics—a film’s lensing, its sound, the actors and their acting styles—his descriptions become ridiculous. Lorentzen, as with his book reviews, writes to a word count. (There is no other reason for the amount of tedious plot summary in a Lorentzen take-down.) If Hamrah sounds like these critics, it may be because all three are careful in their dissents to let the filmmakers know they think they’re complete assholes. When these three do find praise for a work, it’s the entirely appropriate object of adoration, art-house and independent, or, gotcha!, a studio event they appreciate for more correct, more interesting, and more nuanced reasons than everyone else.

What sets these critics apart from the daily reviewers I listed above, may be the daily reviewers’ capacity to surprise and be surprised. Perhaps they saw a movie with a daughter and her friend; they appreciated a family flick in context; they were caught unawares by stray scenes in a larger, unsuccessful work, and appreciated glimpsed wisdom. They have hope yet for a return to better forms. These reviewers are flexible and receptive; they are as likely to be charmed as they are to be chagrined. Even when Brody, Lorentzen and Hamrah are surprised by the quality of a work, they take it as an affront to their sensibilities and bridle, like horses suspicious of an open gate. Why were they not warned? Why should they trust this development? Their reflexive, ingrained annoyance, occasionally flowering into high dudgeon, fills their actual reviews with foregone conclusions. One does not visit their writing for news, or for new takes, for synthesized connections, or revelations of form. One visits for the comforting familiarity of a flagging standard—“a continuity of aesthetics that [has] become an aesthetics of continuity,” if I’m remembering the St Aubyn phrase correctly.

Criticism this entrenched in its own personality ends up toothless. It’s why Renata Adler, for instance, will be remembered for her reporting and not her film criticism. Despite its bite—and it’s quite biting—it rarely leaves a mark. Hamrah never cites Adler—nor do I think he will. His prose and her prose are rather too alike. He must sense the comparison coming, and dislike it, because Adler is not particularly well informed on film and filmmaking. Her amateurish moonlighting grated in 1968, and it grates now, but only for its prosumer-level expertise. Her prose (like Hamrah’s) remains indelible, deadpan, and addictive. When I recall the subhead to Kyle Paoletta’s appreciation of Hamrah, “Always On: A. S. Hamrah’s film criticism is a welcome corrective in an outmoded field,” I consider Adler’s own attempts at the form, as a corrective. And I find them contiguous with other platforms discussing same, places like Slate, Twitter, and The Ringer’s Exit Survey, which preempts the leap from hot take to tweet. (Q: “What is your tweet-length review of Venom?” A: “What if All of Me (1984) but action and also tater tot–loving aliens?”) What I’m saying is this: Hamrah’s form is not novel. His tone is not novel. His writing is, however, very convenient (brief, digestible) and entertaining, and he’s been adding more personal atmosphere of late.

So the named lodestars in Hamrah’s critical firmament: Pauline Kael, Susan Sontag, Jonathan Rosenbaum, J. Hoberman and Manny Farber (to whom Hamrah pens an exceptionally sweet and informative essay). Hoberman, the only critic still alive among these titans, shares Hamrah’s acid tongue and penchant for political excavations, while doing his readers a courtesy by assuming not all of them attend film festivals or live in limited-release area codes. The same semester I taught “A Better Mousetrap,” I taught Sontag on sci-fi movies and Hoberman’s seminal “21st Century Cinema: Death and Resurrection in the Desert of the (New) Real” (later to become his book-length essay, Film After Film). Hoberman can be as tart and irreverent as Hamrah, but he’s not above recounting plot summaries. He’s both a guide and a rebel. I suppose, following my own argument, if in fact I’m making one, this makes Hoberman the better critic—a classification that would not hurt Hamrah’s feelings. (This would hurt very few film critics’ feelings.)   

—

Very little of the above matters. I had hoped to answer why, then I got bored (then I had to go to work; after that, I had to design a booth for a marketing expo in London; then I lost the thread). When I was in Brooklyn last December, I dropped into the Spoonbill on Montrose. The first book I bought on my second time in New York City was Hamrah’s The Earth Dies Streaming, and I carried it about like an obsessive as I made my way by foot to Prospect Park. I devoured it in a few days. I devoured it again on the plane ride back to Chicago. And I’ve read all the capsules before, and most of the essays—they’re usually posted in front of paywalls. If I quibble with Hamrah, it may be because he’s made me a better writer, and surely a better thinker, yet I found that I disliked my own dismissiveness and superiority, my own rigidity. If I can name my influences, I thought, I can break from them. But this is unso. 

[thedogsled]

So it is no surprise that I have strong feelings about Misha’s statements last night. I’ve put his whole statement under the cut thanks to @lil-uhura and I hope they don’t mind, because I think the whole thing is pretty important, not just the bits that have made it to gif form so far.

It’s been 9 years.

That’s right, it’s been 9 years. Years since Misha had his unfortunate first run ins with excited Destiel shippers, years since that video where he blundered over the meaning of the word ‘queerbaiting’ and what it meant in terms of the people watching. We knew back then he’d been told off about it, but here we have him outright talking about the rules, about the way that the cast was asked to keep quiet about it - particularly at Creation cons.

He felt threatened. That ‘or we’ll cut off your hand!!!’ thing. And that was all supposition from us. If you’ve watched videos of Misha at cons you see him crumble into his shell for a little while, subdued, like he’s nervous of the question coming up, and then we got years - years - of careful question dodging any time it did. We watched him blossom back into something more confident, but it’s an emotional road to watch, and if you’re even vaguely introverted imagining how someone feels in that situation, your heart hurts for him. In the end, too, we know full well the Destiel questions don’t get through except by fluke anyway (and this one was clearly meant to be a question about Dean).

And now here we are. Things are clearly changing. No longer is it ‘We don’t talk about Destiel in the writer’s room’ re. Bob Singer c. 2014. It’s ‘We have conversations about it.’ It’s like a weight has been lifted off. It’s like...maybe it’s okay, now, and he feels safer in his job, and at cons, and like the sound of haterade isn’t going to get him fired. He, and everyone else, know how important he is to the cast because listen up fuckers, he’s the third lead, and you can take that definition from my cold, dead hands.

But more than that, for fans of Destiel this is a weight off our shoulders. We’ve always felt that we were seen as the dirty little secret of fandom, and the fact that Destiel was a banned subject even after (2014 ffs!) it was put on stage in the show and the two main characters argued about how it should be pronounced - that Misha still thinks he’s going to be told off for discussing it is goddamn heartbreaking.

You want to know why the cast is uncomfortable at cons when Destiel comes up? It’s clearly not because they’re grossed out, that they don’t want to talk about it, it’s because they have never been allowed to. God forbid another ‘queerbaiting’ conversation end up happening, because if you Google destiel and supernatural that damage to its reputation is still there. They don’t want to get told off. They don’t want ‘their hands cut off’. Like not actual hands, guys, but you get my drift.

If this trend can continue, if the fetters can be taken off a little bit, it is better for the actors as well as the fans. It’s honestly about time, and it is...my god it is just a little bit depressing that engaging with an active, vibrant part of the fandom has been banned for so long! It’s no surprise that Destiel fans can feel cornered out of those fandom interactions sometimes, curiosity ignored. I want change here, because while nothing about discussing the brother’s codependency has been off limits, this has been. It’s not that ‘Destiel doesn’t exist’ after all, it’s that, at Creation cons, it’s banned from existing, and that isn’t okay. If that dichotomy is changing then fan-fucking-tastic. It means a lot to so many people.

Anyway. Read more for Misha’s words, and go watch it if you can.

My thoughts on Destiel, Uh God I mean I could go on and on and on and on. And you know, it's funny, there was a time… I'll tell you this, I'll tell you my perspective on the conversation about Destiel which has been a very interesting journey. When I first got on the show I broached the topic because I had Googled and discovered, I discovered completely unaware (nobody told me about this stuff) but I was just like, I got on the show and basically I think I was Googling to see if the fans liked me to see if I was gonna get killed off. I was like, are they gonna kill me? Do they like me? And I Googled around and I found out that what they really liked was me, my character giving Dean's character a blow job. I didn't even know what fan fiction was, I'd certainly never heard of slash fiction. And so I found this essay that somebody had written and I was like, “Wait, but this doesn't seem like it's from a script.” And then it was like all of a sudden like, “Wait, I didn't really see in any script Dean unbuckling Cas’ pants…” 

So anyway, I broached it at a convention and when I did, there was this gasp of horror like “Oh my God, my dad just found my porn.” Everyone was horrified. And then, and then, and then there was a period where there was this little bit “maybe we can talk about it, maybe we can't” and then it was banned, nobody's allowed to bring that up anymore at the convention and if you do, you'll have your hand cut off. I think now, people just don't, somehow people don't really care anymore. It's like “it's fine, we can talk about that. I know, you've seen my porn. It's fine, whatever.” 

 So I think that's been kind of an interesting arc to watch, the interplay of how either collectively ashamed or appalled everyone is over this has sort of dissipated into just like “Eh, whatever, everyone's a pervert.” By the way, I'm going to get into trouble for using that term because I always get in trouble from somebody when I talk about this at all. But I also think that like Jensen and I have had conversations about it. We've all had conversations about it. It's something that I think we all kind of feel like “Great, good on you.” We, Jensen and I don't write a ton of Destiel, but that's just because we live it, all the time. 

[atrainernamedradish]

Starter Tier List

This concept was done by a Poketuber by the name of Aura Guardian. I liked the idea of it so much that I did my own version of a few weeks ago while I was “watching” the video.

While most tier lists are based off of skill this one is based off of pure opinion. It will be ranked like your typical American grading system of A-F while adding in SSS Rank like you find in a lot of Japanese games using rank.

Rank F - Sceptile

This is the weakest Gen 3 starter for me. There is nothing I like about it., well maybe except its shiny. I don’t find Treeko cute/cool, despite my fondness for The Mystery Dungeon series I don’t like Grovyle’s design, and Sceptile (nor Mega Sceptile) appeals to me. There are better grass starters.

Emboar

Tepig is cute. That’s the ONLY reason this line is higher than the previous one.

Greninja

(I am about to get SO much backlash for this!)

I am going to have to go with Ace Trainer Liam here and say that Frogadier looks so much better than Greninja. Not only is Greninja so awkward looking but I hate its level up moveset! Originally I thought it had no business being a dark type, but honestly I’m feeling this way towards its water typing. You can argue this for its dark typing, but the ONLY reason it’s a water type is because it’s a frog (and maybe it being blue...). And unless you’re running a Protean ability Greninja than the damn thing is not that good! In my playthrough of Y with Greninja (I like to play with a starter to give it a chance) it was the weakest member on my team! My Aromatisse was far more viable and it’s not even on a competitive radar!

Charizard

Charmander is cute. I have fond memories of the anime with the entire line. I can understand why Charizard is a fan favorite. But I don’t like the way Charmeleon looks, and there are better fire starters. Sorry Charizard. Nice shiny though!

Rank D - Chesnaught

Generation 6 had some of the weakest starter designs I’ve ever seen. While Chesnaught appeals to me... the rest of the line not so much. Ironically Chespin was my reluctant pick for Gen 6, and I say this because the first evolutions are underwhelming, but a certain unnamed starter from this trio took its place.

Meganium

This starter line is okay. That’s the only reason why it is where it is on the list. I have nothing bad nor good to say about it. It’s not my favorite or despised either.

Infernape

Infernape looks pretty badass. It’s pre-evolutions I honestly don’t care for. Plus it has better competition in this trio.

Rank C - Feraligatr

Totodile is cute. Feraligatr is pretty badass. Croconaw... dear God that thing is ugly lol! It’s resonates better than the Meganium line and that;s why it’s higher on the list.

Swampert

It has a solid design and typing. It’s am automatic secondary pick for the trio it’s in.

Incineroar

This starter has come a loooong way! I initially despised this entire line! But after bonding with it I have a new found perspective of it. Unfortunately Litten is still unappealing to me, but I blame the 3D model. I though Torrecat was pretty damn ugly upon its reveal, but Pokemon Refresher showed how cute it was~ I also adore its sassy personality~ Incineroar grew on me as well. I used to find its design horrendous but then I figured out what about it I loathed, and that my friends... is its hands! They look cartoony being way too big on the Pokemon and it looks like it had all fingers instead of fingers and a thumb. Other than that... it has great charisma and I’m glad I gave the line a chance~!

Blastoise

There are not enough good middle stage evolutions for starters, and by God Wartortle is sooo adorable~! The ears just slay me~ But aside from my gushing Blastoise has a well designed water starter line. It;s not my favorite but I have nothing bad to say about it.

Rank B - Samurott

Oshawott was an easy choice for me among the Gen 5 starters. It was adorable and it won my heart instantaneously~! The final evolution in the form of Samurott wasn’t my favorite at first, but it’s grown on me~ Just wish the move pool was a little better... (Also! It should have had fighting not Goddamn Emboar! D<)

Serperior

Sassy and cute things are my weakness and Snivy was no exception to that rule. While I’m not a big fan of the middle evolution in this line, it doesn’t waver its place on this list. At some point I will use a Serperior to better appreciate this Pokemon.

Torterra

While I have not officially used one in the official Pokemon games I never realized how badly I needed the dual typing of grass and ground. Grotle was a God send in Pokemon Glazed for that stupidly overpowered first gym! (The game was great but for fuck sake the beginning of it was a pain in the ass for no reason other than that dumb idea that harder = challenging!) Torterra is a beast and one day I will finally add it to an official playthrough~

Empoleon

While I love the unique typing this final evolution has... sonavabitch do I hate the fact that it’s weak to a type it should be able to take out...! To be honest I’m not a fan of the middle evolution. It looks super awkward and doesn’t fit in with the cuteness of Piplup and the regalness of Empoleon. But in generation 4 there isn’t a contest for starters when you have such an adorable little starter who becomes something that classy and badass!

Rank A - Delphox

Fennekin was my least favorite of the first evolutions for the Gen 6 trio. While it’s still not my favorite in design, in fact, all the Gen 6 starters are unappealing to me, I adore what it becomes. Just like Torterra the unique typing of fire and psychic is desirable combination I didn’t realize I wanted (I know Victini has it but I don’t use legendaries)~ While I have used one in Pokemon X my official introduction to this Pokemon was in a fanmade game called Pokemon Insurgence (it is an amazing game which I highly recommend to any Pokemon fan), which may it and the other Delphox R.I.P. since they both perished in my egglocke 3;= While Braixen is the best designed out of the line Delphox isn’t half-bad~ That model cry though... *shudders*

Primarina

Popplio was kinda cute when first revealed. When Primarina was leaked I instantly fell in love with it~ ...Brionne... well... I hate it initially. I thought it was goofy looking upon its reveal. HOWEVER, Pokemon Refresher changed my mind so fast on that! Brionne is still awkward looking but in an adorable way now. It makes my heart melt~ I simply love Primarina and he was the star of my Ultra Moon playthrough~!

Venusaur

That’s right ya’ll, I’m a Bulbasaur fan! I chose easy mode and ain’t lookin’ back! What can I say about this dinosaur plant thing...? It’s just so cute~! And grass types are in my top 5 favorite types. While Ivysaur is a bit meh for me I can tolerate it better than other middle starter evolutions. Venusaur is just a huge more mature Bulbasaur with a big of toad in him now and sometimes all you need is for the little guy to just get a bit bigger, ya know?

SSS Rank - Blaziken

There’s no competition when it comes to playing Hoenn for your’s truly. I picked Torchic in my first playthrough of Ruby and I did the same when I picked up Omega Ruby. The only reason this starter choice is on the low end of the top is because of Combusken. I don’t hate the design but I don’t love it. To be honest I prefer Mega Blaziken’s design to normal Blaziken, but Blaziken is love none the less~<3

Decidueye

It took me FOREVER to pronounce this little shits name! But despite that lol, I simply adore this entire line~! I was Team Rowlet the moment I saw the little guy~<3! It is just so insidiously adorable, and the anime has not helped (need to actually watch it, but thanks to screen shots/GIFs none the less lol)! I don’t care what anyone says I love Dartrix~! He’s so cute and sassy and oh my God his freaking out over his hair just... *bemoans*! I love it...! Decidueye was the other starter leak I fell in love with. It’s just so cool looking and it fits with the rest of the line~ The entire line is just cute and cool and Gen 7 really had some good starter designs~ But even something so cute and cool as the Rowlet line was still beaten in the end...

TYPHLOSION

Cyndaquil is my favorite starter of all times. Pokemon Silver to this day, and that includes awesome remakes, is my favorite Pokemon game! And when I initially got the game as a pre-teen up to when the games were ported to the virtual console Cyndaquil was always my choice for a starter in Johto. Sadly I had fallen out of Pokemon for a brief time so I missed out on Heart Gold & Soul Silver (ROMs don’t count dammit lol!)... Cyndaquil is just the cutest thing while Quilava is both cute and cool with Typhlosion just being such a BAMF! The entire line proves that you can be simplistic and still have a good design. All Cyndaquil did was get bigger and meaner and it works~! And that’s why it’s on the top~! ^v^

[anacajic]

Crispr and the story about the bees

2018-2021

I have noticed that I reference bees and bee behaviour a lot. Started thinking why and how can I conect it to everything I do. From the swarn behaviour of the bee (communication trough vibration) to the crispr bee and making them glow in the dark. 

My grandad was a beekeeper. I loved watching him handle them. I loved watching the behaviour between him and the bees. I didn’t understand much when I was a kid but I understood that there was a comunication between the bees and my grandad. As I grew I got interested and reaserched their behaviour and the importance of it in their communication with eachother. I started reaserching the paterns, the honey , the idea of them in our ecosystem and the importance of their “job”. 

Fast forward to 2019 my grandad was long gone but the bees were still there. That was their home and all they knew. Watching them sparked the idea in me to make them glow in the dark as I reaserched crispr out of pure interest in gmo tehnology. Many would argue this is science fiction but I would say this is just science. People are making glow in the dark monkeys nowadays and crispr is wildly used. I had this idea of a closed ecosystem that would house the glow in the dark bees . Why? Because a bee that glows in the dark and is geneticly modified can easily ruin the ecosystem we now know . But would their sting have medical properties? Maybe . It is a concept a theory. I would need a lot of scientists and profesionals working on this to find out what would actually happen if bees had crispr. 

To make glow in the dark honey there are proteins that can be aded so it can glow in the dark . So I wouldnt actually have to make bees that glow in the dark to make the honey . But the glow in the dark part is a sideeffect of crispr anyways so using crispr by modifying the bees could make them have medical properties that can help humans? Honey made by crispr bees could have healing properties? Those are some questions I’m interested in. I think those questions are newer going to be answered or maybe they will. But we can still wonder.

Crispr

“CRISPR technology is a simple yet powerful tool for editing genomes. It allows researchers to easily alter DNA sequences and modify gene function. Its many potential applications include correcting genetic defects, treating and preventing the spread of diseases and improving crops. However, its promise also raises ethical concerns.

In popular usage, "CRISPR" (pronounced "crisper") is shorthand for "CRISPR-Cas9." CRISPRs are specialized stretches of DNA. The protein Cas9 (or "CRISPR-associated") is an enzyme that acts like a pair of molecular scissors, capable of cutting strands of DNA.

CRISPR technology was adapted from the natural defense mechanisms of bacteria and archaea (the domain of single-celled microorganisms). These organisms use CRISPR-derived RNA and various Cas proteins, including Cas9, to foil attacks by viruses and other foreign bodies. They do so primarily by chopping up and destroying the DNA of a foreign invader. When these components are transferred into other, more complex, organisms, it allows for the manipulation of genes, or "editing."

Until 2017, no one really knew what this process looked like. In a paper published Nov. 10, 2017, in the journal Nature Communications, a team of researchers led by Mikihiro Shibata of Kanazawa University and Hiroshi Nishimasu of the University of Tokyo showed what it looks like when a CRISPR is in action for the very first time. [A Breathtaking New GIF Shows CRISPR Chewing Up DNA]”

https://www.livescience.com/58790-crispr-explained.html

references:

crispr

https://www.newscientist.com/definition/what-is-crispr/

http://www.crisprtx.com/gene-editing/crispr-cas9

https://sitn.hms.harvard.edu/flash/2014/crispr-a-game-changing-genetic-engineering-technique/

https://www.addgene.org/guides/crispr/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKbrwPL3wXE

https://www.jax.org/personalized-medicine/precision-medicine-and-you/what-is-crispr

https://innovativegenomics.org/education/digital-resources/what-is-crispr/

https://www.origene.com/products/gene-expression/crispr-cas9?gclid=CjwKCAjwqcKFBhAhEiwAfEr7ze5UfuWwa0UiBuUzGlPmm6KpiUezL4FidPN8uBSI7m_KhtaNPlKFzxoCjDcQAvD_BwE

https://www.avancebio.com/applications/testing-for-gene-and-cell-therapy/crispr-edited-gene-testing/accelerate-your-therapeutic-pipeline-with-fda-submission-quality-quantification-of-on-off-target-gene-editing/?campaign=1665271856?adgroup=70237063158?creative=349241564315?keyword=crispr?matchtype=p&gclid=CjwKCAjwqcKFBhAhEiwAfEr7zbfdjee7ezfp6w90TUF9-0CbDUTs0fn0NdCo3v6vaogEIgESy-dHBBoCH2kQAvD_BwE

Home crisp kit 

https://www.the-odin.com/diy-crispr-kit/

Bees 

https://www.bbka.org.uk/honeybee-swarms

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZlEjDLJCmg

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ePic3dtykk

https://www.ted.com/talks/marla_spivak_why_bees_are_disappearing

https://www.ted.com/talks/anand_varma_the_first_21_days_of_a_bee_s_life

https://www.ted.com/talks/dennis_vanengelsdorp_a_plea_for_bees

Making of the honey - the old fashioned way

(photos from a private collection - Suvoj, Croatia 2018)

[mcmansionhell]

McMansion Hell Does Architectural Theory (Part 4): Empiricism & the Picturesque (Part 1)

Hello Friends! Today we continue our very fun foray into the 18th Century with some dudes who were like what if, like, we don’t have any innate ideas at birth? Dude, what if -- hear me out -- our ideas are but a product of our sensations and our later reflections on said sensations? 

(I promise there won’t be anymore gifs in this article)

These ideas about the philosophy of our minds are the core basis for what was known as empiricism, a philosophy originating with everybody’s favorite life liberty and property (honestly, mostly property) dudebro from Civics class, John Locke.

My mother must be so proud of me for making this. 

Locke’s 1700 essay An Essay Concerning Human Understanding laid out the foundations of his philosophy and set the context for which beauty is understood within said philosophy. 

Locke’s Empiricism

Locke’s ideas were founded on the concept that humans are not born with innate thoughts - that they were in fact a “blank slate” (tabula rasa) at birth, upon which thoughts become inscribed via a process of sensation: the external information which we receive from our senses - hearing, sight, taste, etc. These sensations are followed by the operations of our minds in reaction to external stimuli including such acts as: “perception, thinking, doubting, believing, reasoning, knowing, willing...”  

Of course we don’t go through the world blinded by our senses. Locke finishes his idea with the concept of Reflection, which is exactly what it sounds like - the mind’s reflecting on its own thoughts and experiences. 

Another core idea of Locke’s was the idea of associationism - an observation that thoughts that are not alike at all somehow become inextricably linked in the minds of human beings. When linked, Locke argues, these ideas can seem impossible to separate. 

We’ve all surely experienced such a thing. For example, some of us can’t listen to My Bloody Valentine ever again without thinking about a bad relationship, or eat Papa Johns pizza without thinking about that weird guy in college who framed a picture of Papa John (carved from an old pizza box) in a fit of boozy glee. 

Of course this philosophy has huge implications for aesthetics.

The Picturesque

Until this time, aesthetics (and by corollary architectural theory) was pretty much entirely based on the Platonic idea of innate absolute beauty based on mathematical proportions, with a few notable exceptions (e.g. our friend, Perrault)

However, Locke’s ideas presented a problem to this idea: how can there be an absolute beauty innately known to all if we are born a blank slate without innate thoughts? 

Importantly, Locke’s ideas of sensation and reflection offered an explanation for a phenomenon Platonic aesthetics could not or did not explain satisfactorily: why human beings find untamed nature, which certainly does not follow a rigid proportional framework, so breathtaking and inspiring. 

This idea was first formally explored through the field of landscape architecture, which, even before Locke’s writings, was expressing exasperation with the Platonically inspired, highly manicured gardening style the British had adopted from the French tradition. 

The whole purpose and ideology of these French gardens was to make order out of nature, to tame it and subject it to a mathematical, proportional scrutiny. 

Orangerie at the Palace of Versailles Photo by Urban (CC-BY-SA 3.0)

At the end of the 17th century, several British diplomats and writers visited China, several of whom wrote in depth about the gardening style found there and how shockingly different it was from the traditions back home. 

The most notable of these gardening diaries was “Upon the Gardens of Epicurus; or, of Gardening in the Year 1685″ by William Temple, a diplomat to Charles I and an amateur gardener. In his essay, Temple marveled at Chinese gardens and their use of “contriving figures, where the beauty shall be great, and strike the eye, but without any order or disposition of parts that shall be commonly or easily observed...” 

It was upon these ideas of beauty being “great and strike the eye...without any order” that the English Landscape Garden was born, and through it, gardening became divorced from the rigorous proportional rules of architecture, and could exist instead as an idealized portrait of nature.

Garden at Rousham House (1737) by the great English landscape designer, William Kent. Photo by Grahamec (CC-BY-SA 3.0)

This idealized view, later rooted in the ideas of Locke’s ideas of sensation, was called the picturesque - wherein beauty (at least in nature) is judged by “the picture one sees” and the mental/emotional reaction to it.

Even our staunchly Palladio-obsessed friend, Anthony Ashley Cooper, Third Earl of Shaftesbury, pounced on this ideology. In his famous 1709 dialog “The Moralists”, Shaftesbury waxes poetic about how much better nature is than any dumb ugly people garden: 

“I shall no longer resist the passion growing in me for things of a natural kind, where neither art nor the conceit or caprice of man has spoiled their genuine order by breaking in upon that primitive state. Even the rude rocks, the mossy caverns, the irregular unwrought grottos and broken falls of waters, with all the horrid graces of the wilderness itself, as representing Nature more, will be the more engaging, and appear with a magnificence beyond the formal mockery of princely gardens.”

Shaftesbury, being a notorious tastemaker, set the stage for a discussion amongst writers and artists that would span most of the 18th century.

Philosophical Debates 

While the ideas of sensation and reflection were easy to grasp within a landscape design framework, they proved to be much more slippery from an aesthetic theory standpoint. 

It was the writer (and close acquaintance of Shaftesbury) Joseph Addison who, in a series of essays from a short-lived journal called The Spectator, would link Lockean empiricism to aesthetics. Addison would also go on to write a play, (Cato, a Tragedy) that would p much end up being the literary inspiration for the American Revolution. 

Back to his 1712 essays on art, Addison describes beauty as a sensation: “The very first Discovery of [beauty] strikes the Mind with an inward Joy, and spreads a Chearfulness and Delight through all its Faculties.”

Addison drifts into uncharted territory when he proposes that “There is not perhaps any real Beauty or Deformity more in one Piece of Matter than another”, citing the common phenomenon of hating something and then coming to like it as time goes on. However Addison cannot deny that there are some things “which the Mind, without any previous Consideration, pronounces at first sight Beautiful or Deformed.” 

This is the heart of the philosophical debate behind empiricist aesthetics: if we are not born with innate thoughts, why, then, do so many human beings find beauty in the same things, especially when experiencing these things for the first time? 

It is the answers to this question that we will explore in next Monday’s installment: Empiricism & The Picturesque Part 2. If you like Burke, Hume, and some really dank fights about how our brains work, you’re def in for a treat. 

To keep you occupied until then, be sure to be on the lookout for Thursday’s Maryland McMansion, which is guaranteed to be devastatingly dank. 

Have a great Memorial Day!

If you like this post, and want to see more like it, consider supporting me on Patreon! Not into small donations and sick bonus content? Check out the McMansion Hell Store - 100% goes to charity.

Copyright Disclaimer: All photos without captioned credit are from the Public Domain. Manipulated photos are considered derivative work and are Copyright © 2017 McMansion Hell. Please email kate@mcmansionhell.com before using these images on another site. (am v chill about this)

[junker-town]

How the f*** do you pronounce Tyrod Taylor’s name?

The NFL has its own “GIF” argument.

The NFL’s biggest controversy isn’t over whether or not Dez Caught It, or the new helmet rule, or a Deflategate — it’s about how on earth do you pronounce Tyrod Taylor’s name.

There are two sides to the NFL’s own “GIF” argument: TUH-rod, and TIE-rod.

I present both sides, and you can make your choice. Though it’s totally TIE-rod. I think?

THE ARGUMENT FOR TIE-ROD

Tyrod Taylor himself says TIE-rod here:

The great Mina Kimes dug in, and said that Taylor’s agent and dad call him TIE-rod:

Tyrod’s agent told me it was TY-Rod. His pops told me it was TY-Rod. I DONT KNOW WHAT TO BELIEVE https://t.co/RFHCPxt4Yh

— Mina Kimes (@minakimes) August 17, 2018

It’s also how he identified himself for NBC’s Sunday Night Football introductions:

Stop the madness! Ty is fine if you call him either. I asked him yesterday how he introduced himself on NBC Sunday Night Football and he said Ty-rod. So there you have it.

— Peter John-Baptiste (@BrownsPJB) August 17, 2018

THE ARGUMENT FOR TUH-ROD

The Browns are trying to police the situation, and have announced that they want people to say TUH-rod now:

BREAKING NEWS: #TyrodGate pic.twitter.com/XLPjnivRI5

— Marc Istook (@MarcIstook) August 17, 2018

Browns teammate Joel Bitonio told NFL Network’s Aditi Kinkhabwala that his name is TUH-rod, and the reason that hasn’t stuck is because Taylor is too nice (shy too, probably?) to correct anybody on it.

This is how good of a teammate LT Joel Bitonio is. He told me Tyrod Taylor’s name is actually pronounced TUH-rod, not TY-rod. And that while Taylor may be too nice to correct people, HE feels it’s important to get it right. From here on out, I will. #Browns

— Aditi Kinkhabwala (@AKinkhabwala) August 13, 2018

The strongest argument that either side has: his mom calls him “Tuh-rod.” But according to Taylor, she refers to him by his middle name, which is “Di’allo.”

WHY DON’T WE JUST ASK -ROD HIMSELF?

“[TIE-rod] is definitely what I’ve heard most of my life, but I mean, my mom calls me [Tuh-ROD], but she also doesn’t call me by my first name.”

That doesn’t help, -rod.

No matter where you stand on said topic, we’re going to appropriately refer to this as #rodgate, because as my esteemed colleague Jessica Smetana has pointed out, if we call it #tyrodgate, then we’re also arguing the name of the gate.

If you have other arguments as to why we should call this man TUH-rod or TIE-rod, dish them in the comments. Let’s argue online.

[darracott]

LEMME GIVE YOU SOME STONE COLD FACTS ON WHY ITS “GIF” AND NOT “JIF”

1. gif stands for graphic interchange format. last time i checked, you pronounce “graphic” with a g and not a j. its not a jraphic interchange format. so keep the same g sound!!! and its not like any of the other letters are changing. the “i” in gif sounds the same as the “i” in interchange. the “f” in gif is the same as the “f” in format. so who the fuck gave you the right to go around switching one letter?? 

2. jif is a peanut butter brand. its just more logical to use the gif version over the jif version since theres already a jif peanut butter. personally, i HATE homonyms. there just confusing, like the whole thing with “no tear shampoo” its tear as in tear a peice of paper, not the tear you would cry. i didnt realize that until last year cuz its so goddamn stupid to unnecessarily use the same exact word but have it mean two different things. usually we don’t have the option, but now we do, so lets keep our moving images and peanut butter seperate please!!!

3. it could be argued that it’s “jif” because usually there is a soft g sound (a “j” sound) when an “i” is following a “g”, like in giant, magic, or engine. but theres also a boatload of exeptions to the rule and no evidence that this rule would apply to acronyms. some of these include begin, girl, and gizzard. so don’t let general rules about english trick you, because theres almost always an exeption to every english related rule...

4. though lots of rules have expentions, try to find one word where its spelled “g-vowel-f” and it makes a soft g. go on, try to find one. you’ve got gift, guffaw, gaff, and more. all pronounced with a hard g sound. so next time you try to slip that little soft g in gif, remember that the f is there, and its watching you.

5. the only logical reason to call it a “jif” is because the dingus creator, Steve Wilhite, who when asked what the real pronucation was, he said it was “jif” after the peanut butter. thats right, this dickhead wanted to cause confusion and chaos via homonyms. he just thought of the jif peanut butter and said, “i want to confuse the shit out of people by adding an uneccicary homonym to the world and defy all the laws of grammar going against it.

6. and dont play that shit with me that “he was the creator, so he must be right!!” so everything steve says about his gif creation is true? so he could say that gifs are a portal to communicat with satan himself and it would be correct? or that if i had a child (my creation) i could say, my child is the antichrist and it would be true because i created it? 

if anyone has counterarguments, im all ears. even if your gonna be wrong. i hope this taught all the hoes out there who pronounce gif with a j have learned their lesson, and next time their slobbery mouths open to say “jif” this post will call to them from the heavens, and remind them what filfithy trash they are. but its not the end- all you uncultured swines can fix yourselves if you would just say fucking gif for once. would it kill you?

see a more detailed webpage here