#as opposite reactions to this quote

[micamicster]

If your banker breaks, you snap; if your apothecary by mistake sends you poison in your pills, you die. True, you may say that, by exceeding caution, you may possibly escape these and the multitudinous other evil chances of life. But handle Queequeg’s monkey-rope heedfully as I would, sometimes he jerked it so, that I came very near sliding overboard. Nor could I possibly forget that, do what I would, I only had the management of one end of it.

Moby Dick by Herman Melville (chapter 73, The Monkey-Rope)

Max's version /

[paperconsumption]

i should go on twitter far less often it just makes me mad

[chilikit]

disneyland is temporary. biting senators is forever.

[ninewheels]

I’m not responding to this post directly because I don’t want to pick a fight and this person gives off the strong vibe of someone who does not want to hear a contrary opinion--and in fairness, why should they want to from some internet rando like me?--but there was one in the tag for Everything Everywhere All at Once celebrating the movie “says” that villains look like cops, IRS agents, and entitled white women with dogs

and I just

It really goes to show you how much what a film says is based on what the viewer brings to it rather than what’s in the text, because EEAAO is so intensely (and, the directors have said, intentionally) a film that wants you to imagine other people more complexly and look at them with compassion, where the climax revolves around helping these people (and goes out of its way to humanize the IRS agent in particular) and watching this movie and thinking any part of the point is that the people Michelle Yeoh beats up in some scenes look like kinds of people you have already decided are bad kinds of people is just kinda sad

[hogwartsfirebolt]

the game’s the game

“What was going through your mind when you spotted the Snitch?”

Two camera shutters go off like lighting, but Draco doesn’t blink. It’s almost the end of the season, and he’s done a press conference every week. He’s used to them.

“Fucking finally,” he answers, and the journalists all laugh. They think he’s joking, and he can already imagine the articles they’ll publish tomorrow pronouncing him cheeky and funny, but he means it wholeheartedly. Six hours in the sky, drenched all the way through his pants in rainwater, and facing the very best player in the league? He had half a mind to jump off his broom if only to have the game end somehow.

“This is the second time you face PU and well, Harry Potter, this season,” says another reporter, a young, pretty woman with her hair pinned up and a reverent tone when she speaks Potter’s name. Like everyone. “Are you expecting to encounter him at this year’s Cup? And if so, how does that make you feel?”

Draco breathes out hard through his nose. Across the room from him, sitting at his own table against the wall opposite, Potter’s doing his own press conference. He’s wearing a hat backwards, the light blue of his team hoodie contrasting with his golden-warm skin tone. He has a hand to his chin, rubbing his short beard in thought at some question he’s being asked. Probably about just how sweet it had been to snatch that Snitch right from under Draco’s nose. He’s earnest and so gorgeous Draco can’t stand the sight of him.

“The game is the game,” Harry’s voice carries, clear and chesty, deeply masculine as he says his favorite little quote that means absolutely nothing and that fans have been yelling and tattooing on their bodies the whole season. “We don’t take any victory for granted. Coach has been running us to the ground, she won’t stop until we have that trophy in Puddlemere, and we’re doing our best to make her proud.”

“Oh, I’m certain we’ll face them at the Cup,” is what Draco answers at last. “Honestly? I think no other team comes even close. We’ll face them, and then we’ll bring the Cup home to Appleby. As Potter himself likes to say, the game is the game.”

All the cameras around him go off, the sound of Quick-Quills scrabbling and the reporters’ scandalized gasps at his use of Potter’s quote. He grins, puts his olive green Arrows cap on and stands to leave. He needs a fucking shower.

Later on, he’s sprawled on his hotel room couch, drying his hair with a towel and watching a replay of the game on the enormous television, making mental notes about his own flying, his mistakes, the times he dove too soon or hovered too low. When the screen follows the blue jersey with POTTER 7 emblazoned across the back, he looks closely, trying to spot mistakes but knowing he won’t find any. Potter’s probably the best flier of the century, and Draco loves Quidditch too much to lie to himself about that.

He’s admiring one of Potter’s physics-defying feints when there’s a knock on his door. Immediately, his heart takes up a gallop, and he has to press a hand to the center of his chest with a frown.

“Calm the fuck down, Malfoy,” he mutters. It’s a disproportionate reaction and he’s irritated with himself for it. It’s not as though it’s the first time. Or the tenth.

He pauses the game with a flick of his wand and makes his way to the door, through the archway that separates the TV room from the kitchenette. A quick look at the archway across the suite to make sure the bedroom is as he left it, and he’s at the door, taking a deep breath.

Potter’s grin is huge when Draco opens. He’s foregone all his team outwear, and is now in a familiar, worn leather jacket and a black sweater. His hair is wet, as though he rushed after his shower so he could get here quicker. Draco opens his mouth to say something, but before he figures out what, Harry pushes inside, turns around and presses him against the door, big hands gentle on Draco’s waist. Draco’s heart hasn’t gotten the “this isn’t the first or tenth time this happens,” memo, and is still running a marathon inside his chest, so he says nothing.

There’s a plastic bag in Potter’s hands. Dinner, probably, he usually brings dinner when they meet after a game. His wide smile reveals white teeth, a crooked canine that Draco knows is a baby tooth that never loosened. Round, stylish glasses cover the most intoxicating green eyes Draco has ever seen, and they’re shining with tonight’s victory. And Draco might be — definitely is — the world’s sorest loser, but he’s also the world’s biggest slut for Quidditch excellence, and he has it right here, holding him against his hotel room door.

“The game is the game?” Harry asks, amused, already leaning in, the hand on Draco’s waist moving to wrap the whole way around him and pull him close.

“Just some stupid phrase I’ve heard from a dickhead,” Draco answers, but the words hold the shape of a smile and are uttered right into a kiss there at the end.

It’s always a race at the start. They're both high from the game, still in that mindset, and it’s a competition to see who can undress quicker, who can make the other harder, who can earn the first moan and coax the first orgasm of the night. But after that first one, after Draco’s jaw aches dully and Potter is softening between his legs, everything slows down a little. Potter helps him up and they share the tacos Potter brought, watching the last minutes of the game they played earlier with Draco’s legs up on Potter’s lap, where he’s massaging his knees, his quads, making sure he’s not achy from kneeling for him.

“I really fucked that one up,” Potter comments. His tiny self on the screen just pulled out of an impossible dive at what looks like a 90 degree angle. He sounds earnest, which is the only reason Draco isn’t kicking him right in his beautiful face.

“I hate you so much. Only you would call that a fuck up.”

Potter hums, his massaging hands moving from Draco’s calf to his heel, his thumb pressing into his sole. On the screen, tiny Draco swerves a Bludger aimed to his head, and his teammate Owen is flying to him to make sure he’s alright.

“That guy is so into you,” Potter points out.

“I know. We fucked all through rookie year.”

Potter turns to look at him so fast it must hurt his neck. Draco raises an eyebrow, confused at the strong reaction.

“What?”

“I — I don’t know,” Potter says, suddenly sheepish. His hands haven’t stopped moving over Draco’s foot. Potter’s skin is dark, but Draco can still make out the blush spreading across his cheekbones. “Isn’t it weird? He’s a teammate.”

There’s something he’s not saying. It’s evident in the way he bites his bottom lip, in the way he obviously wants to look away but is too ridiculously brave to actually do it. Draco’s heart thumps inside his chest, so hard he’s sure it must be audible to Harry too.

They’ve never named this thing between them. The first time they did it, after the quarter finals one year before, with Potter’s ill advised kiss that ended with them fucking in the showers of the stadium after Potter had wiped the damn dust with Draco on the pitch, they agreed to keep it quiet, and that was the last they discussed of it. It’s going on fourteen months since then, and they’ve done it at least once a month, when the league brings them to nearby towns, and sometimes when it doesn’t and they take a quick midnight Portkey to each other to blow off some steam.

Draco had never in his life been as well-fucked as he’s been this past year, and he definitely doesn’t want to lose it. Potter’s always been honest and open with him, vocal in bed about how much he wants him, filthy in his occasional text messages when they’re apart, but he’s never given any indication that he wants anything other than exactly what they have.

“It’s not weird,” Draco says slowly, unsure of what to think of this exchange. “We stopped a while ago. I was clear that I didn’t want — that I’d rather we stayed friends and teammates, without any complications.”

“Right,” Potter says. He sounds relieved, and Draco feels like he’s three steps behind the conversation they’re having. He’s about to ask, but Potter’s fingers on his calf smooth over an old knot and he groans instead, letting his head fall back onto the couch cushion.

“That feels great,” he says, and Potter repeats the motion.

“Yeah. I think you pulled it when you made that X turn.”

The turn he made to try to beat him to the Snitch, he doesn’t say. How he had enough awareness to know Draco attempted it while diving for the Snitch himself is beyond comprehension, but Draco has long accepted that Potter is simply insane about the game. He notices everything, considers everything, takes every risk. If he weren’t a player himself, Draco knows he would be following Puddlemere and Harry wherever they played for the entire season, wearing a pale blue jersey with the number 7 on it.

“Probably,” Draco says, closing his eyes and groaning again when Harry keeps pressing the same point. After a moment, he feels something softer brushing his calf, and opens his eyes to find Harry bent over his leg, kissing a path up towards his knee. He can’t help the embarrassing little sound he makes, and Harry’s laugh is a puff against his skin as he keeps moving up, breath warm on the wet trail of his kisses up Draco’s thigh. In the background, the presenters are going crazy over a feint Harry pulled, the sound of the audience carrying all through the stadium and out of the TV speakers.

Harry has made his way high up and is kissing Draco’s birthmark, a brown, apple-sized beauty mark an inch below his groin when he lifts his head to ask, “Why didn’t you want to?”

Draco can’t believe he’s using his mouth to speak at that moment. He licks his lips, trying to make sense of the question.

“What? What are you even — ?” He tries to sit up a little, but Harry moves over him instead so they’re eye-level without Draco having to move at all.

“With Caddell. Why didn’t you want to keep seeing him?”

“Owen? Why the fuck are we talking about —,” Draco lets his head drop down onto the cushions again, a sigh punched out of him. Harry takes pity and leans forward to kiss him, lips soft over Draco’s, knowing exactly how to coax his kisses out of him the way he likes best.

“I just want to know,” Harry whispers against his lips. He’s breathless just from touching Draco, from rubbing his legs, from kissing him. Fuck, this is insane.

“I like him, but it wasn’t very exciting.” Draco says. He closes his eyes as Harry begins to kiss down his neck, and tries to really think about it, because he’s not even sure himself. “I wasn’t willing to risk our teamwork when what we had wasn’t even that … electric. I don’t know. This sounds insane.”

Harry shakes his head, his beard rubbing against Draco’s collarbone. “It doesn’t. I get it.” He bites on the delicate skin connecting neck and shoulder, licks a path down his chest. “I get electric.”

“Fuck yes you do,” Draco says, nonsensical, but he feels he can’t be blamed when Harry is brushing his lips over his nipples, broad hands moving around Draco’s body to secure a grip over his ass.

“Is this?” Harry asks, mouth nearing the V of Draco’s hips, the edge of the trail of hair leading to his crotch. “Electric?”

Draco swears, fingers running through Harry’s hair and finding a grip, hard. “If you don’t put your mouth on me right now I swear I — yes.”

He spreads his thighs to accommodate Harry between them, one hand gripping Harry’s hair and the other curled around the cushion over his head. It is electric, the way Harry knows exactly which buttons to push, sliding a finger inside him while keeping him on his tongue. He’s a prodigy in this too, the star player who knows every move in the playbook that is Draco’s body.

It feels like no time at all, no effort at all before Harry is pulling back, dragging Draco closer by the waist and working himself inside. The feel of it, the sound of them together, the look into Harry’s open gaze, his sweat dripping onto Draco’s chest and his hands underneath Draco’s back, holding him, pulling him onto him, have Draco nearing release almost too fast for his liking, but the night is young and it’s been so long that he lets himself go, a cord snapping in his core, eyes open as he watches Harry watch him come apart.

“Come on,” he says once he’s come down, lifting his hips, shifting his weight onto his shoulders. “Show me what you got, Potter.”

Harry groans and leans forward, kisses Draco’s jaw and his neck, and drives his hips faster. Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s back, moves with him as much as he can in the tight embrace, and remains close as Harry meets his own peak and tumbles down the edge.

They lie together for a couple minutes afterwards, panting into each other’s skins, basking in the afterglow.

“Some pro-athletes. We have the stamina of two eighteen year old virgins,” Draco mutters into Harry’s hair after a while, and feels Harry’s chest rumble with his laughter. The room is cast in the warm glow of the foot-lamp that stands beside the sofa they just fucked in, exactly like two eighteen year old virgins having the chance to touch for the first time in their lives.

Harry always goes boneless and slow after a good lay, so Draco eases him off his body with tenderness, a gentle hand to Harry’s chest, followed by a kiss.

“Let's go to bed, yeah?” He whispers.

Harry groans. “I don’t want to move.”

“That’s too bad, because I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed. Some idiot drove me to the ground on the pitch today.”

He stands up and shakes out his legs, testing the soreness of his muscles. There’ll be an ache tomorrow, but nothing he can’t handle.

Despite his complaint, Harry is already standing up too, coming up behind Draco, a hand finding its way to the flat of his belly, his forehead on Draco’s shoulder as though he can’t bear not to touch him for even a second.

“Bed it is,” he declares against the skin of Draco’s shoulder, sounding halfway asleep already. Draco huffs a laugh and pulls him towards the bedroom, pausing at the kitchenette to grab two glasses of water that he watches Harry drink in three gulps, a couple drops sliding down the sides of his mouth, into his beard and down his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What?” He asks when he catches Draco watching him, and Draco shakes his head and pulls him to bed. He’s so handsome it’s genuinely upsetting sometimes. Draco thinks he’d throw a tantrum about it daily if it weren’t for the fact that he gets to touch him.

They try their best, but they don’t manage a second round before their eyes fall shut, tucked into each other like two hands cupped under a stream of water, tumbling into a satisfied, exhausted sleep.

Harry wakes him with a kiss before daybreak, the last of the night chilling the room and puckering Draco’s skin.

“Do you have to go already?” Draco asks, one eye still closed and a hand curled possessively around Harry’s bicep, not entirely on purpose.

Harry shakes his head, kisses him again with a gentleness that is meant to go nowhere but extend this kiss, warm and sweet.

“I thought we could talk.”

Draco is nodding before fully grasping the meaning, but even once he does he’s not tempted to back away. Must be the night, still cocooning them, must be Harry’s arms around him that are making him brave, but he’s not nervous anymore, not now that he’s remembered what they’re like, together.

“It is electric,” he says, suspecting that’s what Harry wants to talk about. “It’s always electric with you.”

The smile blooms slowly, lighting up Harry’s face from within, his beautiful eyes, unhidden this early in the morning, his glasses still on the bedside table. Harry sits up a little, clears his throat. It seems like he’s been gearing up for this, he’s squaring his shoulders the way he does before trying a dangerous feint, before performing a play that will have Draco biting dust. This insane, wonder of an athlete. Draco forces himself to shake the last of the sleep away, to focus on him, on what he wants to say.

“I know that … so many of us want you,” Harry starts. “On your team, on mine, the whole league, actually. But I —”

He looks like he’s stating an absolute truth, like he has irrefutable proof, and Draco is taken aback. He knows some of the guys find him attractive, but that’s not the same as being wanted. He shakes his head. “What? Where did you get that?”

“I’ve talked about it with the guys, but that’s not the point,” he adds hurriedly when he sees his eyes widen. Draco hasn’t said a word to anyone, not out of shame, but out of sureness that they were sneaking around, that they were making it a point to hide. Apparently, he was wrong. Harry continues, “What I want to say is … I know we’ve not agreed on anything, that you’re free to want others, be with whoever you want to be with. I thought that you knew where I stood, that if you weren’t saying anything it was because you didn’t want the same thing I did, but it’s been brought to my attention that if I’ve not made an honest offer, I can’t assume you’re saying no.”

Draco’s heart is hammering inside his chest, inside his throat. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but if he’s right, it seems Harry is saying …

“I don’t want this to be a once a month thing. I want to bring you home, I want you to meet my family, and I want the guys to know that I’m saying no to all the people they set me up with because I’m taken and completely uninterested in anyone else. Are you … is that something you want, too? I know you might have better offers, but I – ”

The covers crinkle under Draco’s knees as he sits up, throws a leg over Harry’s body so he can fully sit on his lap and brings him forward by the neck.

“You beautiful idiot. What could be a better offer? Why would I care about any other offers when I have the best one right here?”

They’re kissing, and Harry’s gasping, and Draco’s frenzied heart pounds against his sternum. He nods into the kiss, feels dizzy with how much he wants what’s being offered. Fuck. There’s nothing he wants more.

Harry pulls back a little, whispers: “Does this mean we’re — ?”

“Yes, fuck. It’s — The game’s the game.”

“What — That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Shut up. It’s your quote.”

Then they’re laughing into a new kiss, and it’s not the first, or even the tenth time they’re together like this, but Draco’s heart still goes crazy for this man, for his unlimited talent, his openness, his electric company. Quarter finals are coming up, then semis, then they might meet again on the pitch and Draco might lose and throw a strop and want to tear the hair out of his head over the beautiful Quidditch Harry plays, and then they’ll get to go home and celebrate a victory. No matter who takes the trophy. That’ll be the game.

Read On Ao3

[luxthestrange]

TOKREV Incorrect quotes#41 Are you blind?-

When Emma saw how...You, her best friend...her most normal friend started to get along with Mikey...she dragged you away to the girl's bathroom

Emma: What is going on...between You...and My brother?

F!Y/n:What?-Nothing!-

Emma: WAIT I'LL FIGURE THIS OUT!-what is the one thing you never want tooooo~

F!Y/n*Looking embarrassed* Emma Pleeease...

Emma: WOAH-...must be really baaad...like reaaally unspeakable-OH MAH GAWD YOU FINALLY REALIZED YOU MIKEY!?*Covers mouth*

F!Y/n*Covers mouth also but raises brow*...wow your pretty good-

Emma*Purging in the toilet*BWEEEHE-

F!Y/n:c-come on Emma is it THAT bad?...

Emma*Gasping wiping her mouth coming back to you*...Sorry, Hon...It was like... an involuntary reaction-Your so smart, mature, level-headed!...and Mikey is...the opposite!THE MATH AINT MATH-ING

[iwritefandomimagines]

I COULD KISS YOU — GREG HOUSE

masterlist

pairing: greg house x reader

description: when an offhand comment to praise house for helping you diagnose a patient leads to the silent treatment, you’re both forced to confront the feelings that had been lingering unspoken for too long.

warnings: swearing, angst to a teeny bit of fluff, may be a lil ooc as i’m still iffy on fleshing out how i write the house characters but i’m trying <3

author’s note: had this idea and got excited so bashed it out quite quickly while i was motivated af — hopefully you enjoy !!! let me know what you think

“Gregory House, you bloody genius,” you exclaimed, clenching your fists in excitement, unable to stop the words that came flying out next, “I could kiss you!”

You’d been trying to diagnose your patient for nigh on a week now, and with the young boy’s symptoms rapidly progressing and his condition rapidly worsening, House’s diagnostic expertise provided exactly the breakthrough you needed.

You were ecstatic — mentally piecing together just how he had to be correct — and so without another word you practically skipped out of his office to run some tests and reach the certainty needed to treat the boy as soon as possible.

What House had suggested made perfect sense, accounting for every symptom and every adverse reaction to the treatments you had tried so far, and though you usually mocked his tendency to always smugly assume he was right, at present you were immeasurably grateful for his input.

You were disappointed, then, when you rushed to tell him that the young boy was responding incredibly well to the treatment he suggested and he simply gave you his smug “I-told-you-so” smile and rushed away from you.

He didn’t speak to you again for the rest of the day, choosing instead to actually take time to visit his patients rather than deal with encountering you again.

“What did I do to piss House off?” you asked Cameron, Foreman and Chase shyly as you stood near the nurse’s station with them.

They all just eyed you like the answer was obvious, but Chase shrugged, “When has anyone ever needed to actually do something to piss him off?”

“No, he won’t even talk to me right now,” you frowned, brows furrowed, “It’s weird. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong since this morning.”

The group all looked between eachother, as though deciding who would be the one to have to tell you the honest truth.

“Probably something to do with your little ‘I could kiss you’,” Chase replied, doing a terrible impersonation of you and batting his eyelids flirtatiously as he quoted you, “He didn’t seem to like that very much.”

Your mouth was parted in confusion, “Firstly, I do not sound like that. But secondly, why would he give me the silent treatment for that? Is the idea of kissing me that repulsive?”

Cameron scoffed, rolling her eyes, “You’re both as oblivious as each other, Y/N… He’s ignoring you for literally the opposite reason.”

You shook your head in disbelief.

Was she seriously trying to tell you that House was ignoring you because he didn’t like you joking about kissing him?

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“It’s literally painfully obvious, Y/N,” Foreman groaned, “You’ve had this weird sexual tension going on forever and given that he’s usually bad at giving a damn about people, he gets weird about you. And he obviously has feelings for you, so it rubbed him up the wrong way.”

Chase chuckled, “They’re right. He’s only mad at you because you’re the only person he’s never mad at but you hurt the feelings he apparently has.”

You pondered what he was saying for a moment, trying to piece together whether there was any semblance of truth behind their explanation for House’s weird behaviour.

Truth be told, it was the exact kind of petty and ill-fitting behaviour you’d expect from House.

For such a brilliant man, he could be utterly childish at times, especially if he wasn’t getting his way.

Your relationship had always teetered on the edge of professionalism — he was always making flirtatious comments, he always took your suggestions on board more than the others, always sung your praises to your peers and superiors.

Whilst everyone else was certain it was proof of his feelings for you, you had just thought he appreciated that you never pried into his life unless he offered to divulge information himself, and you were excellent at your job.

Of course, you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed your ambiguous relationship, given the crush you had harboured since very early on in your acquaintance. That’s why you always flirted back, always made sure your input was carefully though out, and why you were always singing his praises too.

But it was Greg House — a man who so famously behaved as though he didn’t care about anyone. So of course you didn’t think that things would ever progress past your unprofessional professional relationship.

“Where is he?”

“In his office,” Cameron smiled, “He told me to make sure nobody bothered him, and I think he meant you because he’s still throwing his toys out of the pram.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, “God, he’s ridiculous. I’m going to go and talk to him. Or try, anyway. Wish me luck.”

“Is this House we’re talking about?” Dr. James Wilson made an appearance at your side now, his brow quirked in curiosity as he butted into the conversation.

You nodded, “He’s being a baby instead of actually talking to me about why he’s mad.”

You hoped he’d have some kind of more concrete explanation, given that he was the only person House was even remotely honest around.

“He’s hardly an expert at talking about his feelings, is he? Or having them, actually,” Wilson chuckled, “But he’s been grumbling all day. Please do go and speak to him. For my sanity’s sake, if not your relationship’s.”

“Slow down, Wilson,” you scoffed, but though you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself, you couldn’t deny the fluttering in your stomach at any sort of reference to you and House’s potential relationship, “I’m going!”

You entered the room without even knocking, folding your arms over your chest with a stern expression on your features as you strode towards his desk and stood firmly in front of him.

“I’m busy.”

“Busy being petty and ignoring me?”

He looked up now, narrowing his eyes as he realised you were not going to meekly scuttle away like you had done every other time he’d dismissed you today.

“What makes you think that?” sarcasm dripped from his words, “I just so enjoy spending time getting to know my patients and doing paperwork!”

You huffed out a sigh, frustrated by him already trying to dodge the subject, “Greg.”

“Y/N.”

“Greg!”

“Y/N!” he matched your tone just to challenge you, and you scoffed, “Are you really going to be like this?”

“Like what?”

“So deliberately evasive?”

His lips drew together in a thin line as he eyed you carefully, “How’s your little boy from this morning?”

“You are so fucking frustrating, Greg,” you scowled, “Can we have an adult conversation here?”

He appeared to ponder over another joke to make, but apparently for the first time in his life thought better, as he remained silent and waited for you to continue.

“I’ve been so stressed out about that kid, and you helped me to help him massively — he’s likely to be discharged by tomorrow. I was so happy, so relieved, and I said I could kiss you,” you began, avoiding his gaze at first until your final sentence, “And it was a silly offhanded comment about how grateful I was, but at the same time I honestly could’ve kissed you because I quite honestly want to a lot of the time.”

Oh my God — you’d stunned the Greg House into silence?

Your breathing was jagged, “I don’t know if you’re just being an ass because you don’t like being on the other end of jokes, or if the team actually aren’t just blind hopeless romantics and you actually care about me. But I just wish you’d talk to me instead of doing all this and making me feel like you don’t care at all.”

He pulled himself up onto his feet, grabbing his cane to lean on as he inched closer to you.

“It’s a bit of both,” his voice was low, and you were sure that if you didn’t know him better you might believe him to be shy about telling you the truth, “I’m not good at caring, and I don’t usually like caring, but I guess I do. Sue me!”

You took another step forward, so that you were so close you were breathing right in each other’s faces.

You were trying to be brave and command the conversation, but your stomach was doing backflips as it dawned on you that what he meant was that he really did feel the same about you.

“Why would you go silent on me then instead of talking to me about it?” you bit your lip as you spoke, and caught notice of how his eyes trailed to your lips as you did so.

He swallowed thickly, “Didn’t feel right to. Hardly professional, is it?”

“Oh, because you’re the picture of professionalism usually aren’t you?” you laughed dryly.

“Point taken,” he shrugged, “Maybe I was little scared. And we’ve got a good thing going, it’s a risk pushing things any further.”

You weren’t happy with that, not when this was Greg House — king of taking risks and breaking rules — and you were certain that it was a risk worth taking anyway.

“When has risk ever stopped you?” you asked, whispering now as your eyes darted between his and his lips whilst he mirrored your behaviour.

“Point also taken,” he mumbled, before finally taking the plunge and bringing his lips to yours in a heated kiss that you leaned into immediately.

He quickly leaned back to sit on the edge of his desk, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you to stand between his parted legs.

You pulled back, suddenly aware that anyone could come in at this moment and see you — and whilst the biggest risk here really was endless teasing from the team or a scolding from Cuddy, you did still have some things to discuss too.

You didn’t want to ruin the moment, overcome with giddiness at what had just happened, but you wanted to make your feelings clear; Even if it was to a man who would probably make a jokey remark and underplay his own feelings.

“I don’t know your relationship history, and I don’t care to,” you shrugged, moving your hands to your hips but hardly moving away from him, “Well, I’m not rushing to. I can assume it’s not great, but I just want to take every day as it comes and see where things go because mine isn’t great either. I’m not gonna hurt you, Greg.”

The sincerity in his eyes as he gazed up at you made your heart melt, and you could tell that somehow, some way, you had gotten through to him.

“Don’t make promises you can’t be certain that you’ll keep, Y/N,” he mumbled, before shaking off his own words and standing back up to stare into your eyes intently, “But fine. Because it’s you, I’m willing to try. Provided there’s more of this,” he kissed you again before continuing, “And less of them ogling and concocting their little romantic stories about the lovely doctor Y/N and her damaged old fool.”

You turned around to see the entire team peering through the window, all smiles and whispered chatter at the sight before them.

You raised your middle finger to them, turning back to look at House and stepping back a little from him.

“Unfortunately, those nosey fuckers are not going anywhere,” you rolled your eyes, “If you’re willing to try then we’re going for dinner. Tonight. And we’re going to have a good time, and not talk about this place or about anything you don’t want to.”

He nodded, “I’ll pretend I’m not furious you’ve robbed me of making the grand romantic gesture of being the one to ask,” he cocked his head as he joked, truthfully very much pleased you were the one to ask and confirm that your interest in him was genuine, “But sounds good to me. I’ll wear my nicest tux, eh.”

“Yeah, yeah, ha ha,” you hummed, “Now I’ve got a living patient to go and visit thanks to you. Enjoy your afternoon with that lot,” you gestured to your friends, who were all still stood there watching you, “Good luck. Oh, and pick somewhere to book for us to eat. That can be your grand romantic gesture, hm.”

“Gee, thanks,” he laughed, shaking his head, “I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” you grinned, swanning out of his office with the biggest smile possible painting your features.

You nudged past your friends as they watched you walk down the corridor, happier than they had probably ever seen you in the time that you’d known them.

They immediately filed into House’s office when you were out of sight, and his head fell back in irritation for a moment despite the smile still gracing his lips.

“Things went well, then?”

“Go away,” he replied, “I’m in a good mood for once, and you idiots aren’t going to ruin that, alright?”

“Woah, okay,” Foreman laughed, “Who are you and what has Y/N done with Greg House?”

———

thanks for reading !!! i hope enjoyed and this wasn’t too ooc lol. let me know what you though pleaaase & if you’d like — feel free to request!

in the meantime, here is my masterlist!

[mycadences]

When Elain was about to be thrown into the Cauldron (so this was before she even entered the "oh so evil and corrupt" Cauldron that "definitely twisted and created fake mating bonds!"), notice who was the one who had a visceral reaction:

Also notice how I didn't include Azriel's reaction? Yeah. Because he had none. Azriel had no reaction to Elain's greatest trauma -- her transformation into a High Fae. I can't even find any quotes during that scene, and if you don't believe me, grab your copy of ACOMAF and verify it for yourself. This is why they are definitely NOT mates. Meanwhile, Lucien tried to help Elain although it was their first meeting, so how it possibly be that their mating bond is fake and created by the Cauldron when he felt the bond even before she went in?

In fact, during ACOMAF, Azriel was heavily implied to be shipped with Mor:

But Mor, as we all know, was likely retconned and revealed to be bisexual in ACOWAR (with a greater inclination toward females), putting an end to their ship.

Meanwhile, contrast Azriel's reaction toward Elain's violation to how Cassian reacted when Nesta was going through the same thing:

Cassian's wings were shredded. He was in a sea of agony. And yet when Nesta was being thrown into the Cauldron, he was fighting to stay conscious at her screams. Because Nesta is his mate.

The same way that Eluciens are undeniably, irrefutably mates, evil Cauldron be damned.

Alternatively, you can also contrast to this scene:

Azriel is the Night Court's Spymaster. Yet he didn't leave a single one of the Hybern soldiers alive for questioning? He killed them all immediately, suggesting that he was in a fit of blind, uncontrollable rage.

Which one screams mate behavior to you?

Edit to add: I finally found it! The evidence that Azriel knew to keep at least two enemies alive for questioning, so it was obvious he was incapable of thinking clearly when he killed every single one of the Hybern soldiers who hurt Gwyn.

In this scene (in ACOSF), Cassian and Azriel were attacked by Autumn Court soldiers, and if Cassian knew the reasoning behind keeping two soldiers alive, obviously Azriel (the actual Spymaster) would, too.

"But -- Elain was wearing a cobalt blue dress when she met Azriel!"

Yeah, so? Nesta was wearing an amethyst dress when she met Cassian...

... and she ended up with Cassian, didn't she? If cobalt is Azriel's color then crimson is Cassian's (these are the colors corresponding to their siphons btw), and if SJM intended the scene to be a parallel, wouldn't she have Nesta in a crimson dress?

Also tons of people wore cobalt outfits. Feyre, Eris, Helion, even Vassa in ACOSF. I guess we should start shipping Vassa and Azriel! Azris shippers should celebrate, since by Elriels' logic your ship is confirmed!

And if you really want to compare outfits, I think it's significant that both Azriel and Lucien draped their coats over Gwyn and Elain respectively in light of their traumatic experiences. This is how you do a proper parallel.

Even SJM herself alluded to being an Elucien shipper:

Yes, this was from her actual Pinterest account before she took it down. If you search online for it, you'll find other people talking about it and that this is true, it's not just some random fake account lol.

Elriels claim that Gwyn is the red herring in their ship. I propose the opposite -- Elain is the red herring in Gwynriel's ship, like how Azriel is the red herring in Elucien's ship. Because think about it, if Elriel were really meant to be, why would SJM need to introduce Gwyn as a potential love interest for Azriel? She already had one red herring in Lucien, did she really need a second one? No, she didn't. So why? Why does all the evidence, new and old, point toward Gwynriel and Elucien and not Elriel?

Because there was never Elriel. Elriel were never mates, nor would they ever be. There was only ever Elucien (which came first) and Moriel (but Mor was retconned into being bisexual), which eventually gave rise to Gwynriel and highly likely Emorie (Mor x Emerie).

[exactlycleverpirate]

What happened to Lemuria and Rafayel?

A mix of facts and theory. I try to quote where I got stuff from in the game, but let me know if something is unclear.

This is a monster. For TLDR, jump down to the bold words, as this sums up the general idea of this post.

SPOILERS for Main Story, Anecdote 3, and some Memories.

(MS stands for Main Story)

What we know:

Rafayel is Lemurian (Ebb and Flow and MS Chapter 7)

As a child, a long long time ago*, he lived in a Lemurian community in the ocean, specifically in the Deep Sea. He would sneak away from his home to explore the ocean and the surface world. (Nightly Stroll, Whalefall Lament,  Ocean At Night).

*(What is a long, long time ago? 10-15 years? 800 years? He says his age is “24…probably” (promotional video). What does that mean? Has he forgotten exactly when he was born or is he alluding to the fact that he is much older? He made his vow to MC when they were both children (MS Chapter 7.11). Was that current MC or a previous reincarnation of her? If current, then he must be actually around 24. If a previous life of MC, then he could easily be 800 or more.)

Lemuria was believed to be mythical, and/or to have disappeared thousands of years ago. It was confirmed to really exist when, on December 31st, 2034 (the same year the Deepspace Tunnel appeared and the Chronorift Catastrophe occured), a tsunami and earthquake southeast of Linkon opened a rift in the ocean, revealing an ancient Lemurian city (MS, in-game article, and promotional video). When asked how he can be alive today if Lemuria disappeared thousands of years ago, Rafayel says to think of him as “a lost pearl that washed up on the beach”.

Other Lemurians are still alive. Rafayel’s Aunt Talia appears to be a Lemurian herself (his only remaining family) as she has known him a long time, knows about Lemurian ceremonies and other Lemurians, etc. In 2047, a Lemurian named K died. Rafayel attended his Seamoon Ceremony (essentially a funeral of sorts, returning him to the ocean to pass on and return to the water from whence he came), as did other remaining Lemurians (Anecdote 3). 

Now that we have that foundation to work with, let’s start with Louis’ Tale in Anecdote 3. 

For the sake of argument, I am going to assume that Louis got most of the story right, since Rafayel doesn’t contradict him on most points, aside from dismissing him in general, which I feel was to downplay how close Louis was to the truth.

They are discussing the opera Rafayel just performed in, particularly, the Siren’s Ballad. In the opera, the siren is a woman and the human is the man (played by Rafayel). Louis says they got this wrong. The Siren was “a charming, handsome merman”. Presumably this Siren is Rafayel.

Simple enough so far, but now it gets confusing.

The Siren (Rafayel) “met a woman on the beach, but she took his tail and cut off his scales”. This sounds similar in some ways to MC, but opposite in others. MC was a child, not a grown woman. And Rafayel got stranded on the beach (No way out, no hope, and waiting to die) and MC rescued him from death, rather than taking his tail and scales. 

However, if we assume Fragrant Dream was a memory and not just a dream (Rafayel acts as though this dream is significant somehow), Rafayel gave a scale, his blood, and his voice to save MC, and ultimately sacrificed his life for her, in some past life. The perfume (bitter like fermented aquatic plants, the same description as the potion in the dream) that brings the possible memory to MC’s mind is from Your Fragrance. Rafayel has some very strange lines in Your Fragrance when he is under the apparently intoxicating effect this perfume has on him. He says the perfume smells familiar, then goes on to say:

“It must be an allergic reaction. This isn’t perfume. How dare they use such underhanded methods to trap me…”

“Who gave you the perfume?”

“Are you trying to run away again?”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re gonna lock me up again… You’re with them, I just know it. Don’t think I’m unaware of what you’re about to do. (MC name), I won’t fall for it again. Not this time.”

This all implies that Rafayel was trapped and locked up in the past. And that on at least some level, he feels like MC played a role in him getting tricked. (Which might explains why he considers abandoning her when she is drowning in MS Chapter 7.11. See an alternate theory for this here.)

Back to Louis’ story, he describes the fate of the woman. The Siren is on the verge of death, and he sings the Siren’s Ballad. (Later, we learn this portrayal of the Siren’s Ballad is inaccurate: ““Siren's Ballad” isn't a song of revenge. It's an elegy sung for Lemuria”.) According to Louis, “Ultimately, the woman on the shore passed away with a smile as he sang.” Obviously, MC is currently alive. Did Louis get this wrong? Was this a past life? A different woman?

Louis then describes what he believes those who die by the Siren’s song experience. 

“People lured by the siren's ballad don't die peacefully. Their smiles are just a mask bestowed by the Siren. Instead, as they near death, they witness bizarre visions as they're plunged into endless torment.” 

The man, Mr. Fallon, who died during the opera is described as having died of no obvious cause with a smile on his face. After singing during the opera that Mr. Fallon died watching, Rafayel goes backstage. 

“A searing pain throbs in his throat, pulsating in tandem with his heartbeat, rapidly stimulating his nerves. As he touches his Adam’s apple, he pulls out a new tie from his leather briefcase, a smooth satin entwined between his fingers. The cool texture gradually envelops his neck. It’s like sheathing a blade.”

This strongly implies that Rafayel used his voice for something more than singing, hinting at it being a weapon. I think it is safe to assume Rafayel somehow killed Mr. Fallon man with his song, presumably in the way Louis describes.

Another interesting thing of note in this part of Louis’ description is: “A blue pattern, representing the Siren, appears on their chests. It's a constant reminder of the sins they committed against the sea.” At first, I thought this may be the pattern we see on Rafayel’s chest in Chapter 7.11, implying he sinned against the sea, but on rewatching it, I realized that the mark is red, not blue. So I am inclined to go with my first impression that Rafayel’s mark is related to his bond with MC (since it responds to her calling out to him).

So, now that we are thoroughly confused about what has taken place between Rafayel and MC, let’s move on to the next part of the story. This is when everything takes an even more heartbreaking turn.

“The Siren returns to the sea, believing everything has ended. But he discovers his underwater kingdom has turned to ruins, soaked in blood. His people have either vanished, turned into bloody foam, or were kidnapped. His homeland has turned into a silent, deserted city overnight. Oh, and as for the name of this underwater kingdom - Lemuria.”

(Interesting side note: After this part of Louis’ story, Rafayel’s meal is served: “a fish laying amidst white rosemary”. Rosemary symbolizes fidelity and remembrance.)

Later, in his memories, Rafayel adds to this scene for us.

“The young boy sits alone in the middle of the coral reef, softly humming “Siren's Ballad.” Waves lap the shores, staining it dark red. The color blends almost seamlessly with the bloody setting sun in the distance. Those who deceived him have long since sailed away on their massive ships, laughing all the while. “Siren's Ballad” isn't a song of revenge. It's an elegy sung for Lemuria.”

He also remembers:

“The dying cries of his people echo in his ears, fizzing and crackling like a broken record that's been ground into pieces.”

“In the darkness, the shadows of those he personally laid to rest emerge and drag him down, lower and lower into the depths.”

Now, let’s talk about the painting Raymond bought from Rafayel. 

But first, let’s talk about Raymond. He is a former patient of Zayne’s with a congenital heart disease. In his mansion, he has a giant fish tank with no water in it. Instead, it has a dull and pale skeleton. (MS Chapter 2.2-2.3)

“Fin-like bones protrude from its pelvis. This skeleton lacks legs, its spine extending like a long string. Its pose is ominously beautiful, resembling a girl sitting cross-legged.”

I think it is pretty safe to say this is a real Lemurian skeleton. 

Additionally, Zayne notes that “According to the Akso remote monitor, your vital sign data has improved. The equipment also determined your age to be far younger than what it actually is.” In other words, Raymond’s health has improved, and he is unnaturally youthful for his age. Raymond even suggests he should be dead by now and asks Zayne if he is curious as to why he is not dead. Zayne admits to initial curiosity, but then moves on.

Before K died, he said “They took away my scales and drew my blood. Over and over again. I’m no longer Lemurian.” The doctor told Rafayel that K had endured “such agony”. This appears to be something many of the Lemurians on land are facing or trying to hide from.

In Rafayel’s Myth (Chapter 3), it says that the humans of that time believed:

"Every Lemurian was blessed with beauty. Their tears turn into glimmering pearls, their voices brought dreams of wonder, their blood made one live forever or could even resurrect the dead. Once you tamed a Lemurian, they were the most loyal, powerful servant. They listened to every command, even if it cost them their life."

Even if only parts of this are true, it shows that Lemurians are considered highly desirable as slaves or for parts. And the part about the blood seems to have at least an element of truth, given Raymond's health.

It seems reasonable to conclude that Raymond has been harvesting something (scales, blood, etc) from Lemurians to unnaturally lengthen his life and make him younger.

Now enter Rafayel’s painting. 

He used blood red coral, infused with Metaflux, from the ruins of Lemuria for this painting.

When MC resonated with the painting in Raymond’s house, this is what she experiences:

“A stunning oil painting hangs on the wall opposite of the sofa. It depicts a brilliantly blue sea with cascading white waves. Each brush stroke feels alive as if countless fairies are jumping out of the water.

At the edge of the sea, the water is gradually stained crimson like something is being torn apart, swallowed, and coalescing into a blood clot.

The gloomy weather, the sound of the ocean - a salty humidity slowly creeps into my hair.

A girl by the shore, the lower half of her body submerged in the water. Strange. It's almost like she’s crying and laughing at the same time.

The swirling fog carries a faint, ethereal melody on the sea breeze. It sounds like a song, yet is also a lament.”

Mermaid Song plays in the background while MC is resonating with the painting. The translation of it is: 

“A fish in your hand. Please burn with passion. Nets of moonlight. With coral, a prison. When waves kiss the morning sun. The scent of roses pierce. With a fish in your hand. Blood. Blood. Blood covers the sea.”

When MC visits Rafayel’s art gallery, we learn a bit more about this painting.

“When I was a kid, I had dreamed I turned into a fish.

I swam and swam and swam from the deep sea, seeking a place beyond the water's surface. Only to end up in blood-red seawater.

It was the first time I ever saw such a color. Who knows how many years I've spent trying to recreate it. But I never really could get that same shade of red.

It was always a slightly different hue, you know...”

All of this put together paints a scene along these lines for us:

A young Rafayel returns from an encounter with a human woman on the beach (MC?). He finds that Lemuria is in ruins and empty. He swims to the surface. It is nighttime on a coral reef. There is a smell of roses in the air. As the sun rises, he sees that the water is filled with blood. Perhaps there is a Lemurian girl there singing mournfully, or the girl in the painting is representative of Rafayel’s experience and the experience of other survivors. (Perhaps it is even her skeleton in Raymond's home). Some Lemurians are dead or dying in the water or on the beach. Rafayel hears their dying cries and returns those dead on land to the sea to become one with the water. He then sits alone on a coral reef, surrounded by bloody water, singing an elegy for Lemuria as the sun sets. He knows he was deceived and that his deceivers have already sailed away. Some of the Lemurians have been kidnapped and taken away with the deceivers.

("A fish in your hand" from the Mermaid Song seems to refer to the Ocean Emissaries (little blue fish) that come from making a Lemurian vow (though Rafayel also seems to be able to summon these on command). Is this a reference to the promise between Rafayel and MC? How does that play into the rest of this scene?)

Given how vulnerable Lemurians are on Ebb Day, I think it very likely that this occurred on Ebb Day. (Perhaps this vulnerability was revealed to those who killed the Lemurians by MC or Rafayel himself. Did one or both of them trust the wrong people with this information? This also might be why Rafayel was stranded on a beach in the first place when he met MC.)

So now we have some kind of a picture about what happened to Lemuria. Is this ancient or recent history?

Either way, Lemurians still live and are still being harvested for parts.

Louis concludes his story by asking Rafayel, “When the Siren returns to the beach…How does he exact his revenge on those responsible for Lemuria's destruction?”

To which Rafayel responds, “I think he’d first learn from them. He's gotta study their wits and cruelty, you know.”

Which brings us back to Mr. Fallon dead with a smile on his face at the opera. And also Raymond drowned in his bathtub after carving fish scales into his body. The painting has vanished from his home. (MS Chapter 7.3)

I think this is why Rafayel has a bounty on him, since those participating in harvesting Lemurians are being killed by him, but can't exactly go to the authorities about it.

I also think Rafayel is not solely motivated by revenge. He tells Aunt Talia “Not every Lemurian survivor can wait.” Somehow, what he is doing is supposed to prevent other Lemurians from ending up like K.

Talia notes that Rafayel has changed "After that incident in Lemuria." He seems unrecognizable. Past Rafayel was like a blazing flame, whereas he "now resembled a reef battered by relentless waves - outwardly cold and hard, yet riddled with cracks, vulnerable to crumbling from the next wave." Talia is helping Rafayel gather information for his goal, but she isn't convinced that they are doing the right thing.

What are your thoughts? Was this helpful? More confusing? Is Rafayel ancient or young? What the heck happened between Rafayel and MC? Let me know your thoughts!

[duncanor]

'Saw some folks discussing the wedding imagery of Wolfwood death on Twitter today. And one take was about Vash rejecting Wolfwood and pretty much leaving him at the altar because he couldn't give him the smile Wolfwood wanted and even cut him off.

And honestly, I think it's the opposite.

Vash is the one who proposed to him. Asking him to share his tomorrows with him.

The quote both a demand and an implied confirmation that it's two-sided.

However, Wolfwood is the one who ends up leaving Vash at the altar as he dies. The metaphorical wedding ring coming off as he expire. (as pointed out by @Jeneorarock earlier today)

In a way, I get why Vash reaction in this scene comes off as a rejection. But it isn't a rejection of Wolfwood himself,

It's a rejection of a future without him by his side. It's impossible for him to execute Wolfwood last wish as much as it is impossible for God to grant him what he begs for.

In conclusion, they truly do have the worst wedding of all time.

[hedgehog-moss]

Loved your mentioning of learning poetry by heart: this is something I haven’t done since school! What are some of your favs that you’d suggest to ease my brain back into it?

(Française ici donc les options 🇫🇷 autant que anglais sont welcome :) merci!)

Hi :) You can look at the poem tag of my quote blog if you want—some of the ones I've learnt by heart (or excerpts from them) include this one by Sara Teasdale - Nanao Sakaki - Velimir Khlebnikov - Wallace Stevens - Rabindranath Tagore - Archibald Macleish - Howard Nemerov - and these paragraphs by Henri Peña-Ruiz which I consider prose poetry... My favourite French verses (from Corneille, Aragon, Anna de Noailles, Hugo, Valéry...) are all alexandrines and I find it to be the easiest type of verse to remember, as the structure is so rigorous and consistent. I sometimes translate English poems into alexandrines (like this one) to make them easier to learn in this more familiar form—I think even after all this time English prosody still feels foreign to me; the patterns of sound and rhythm in French are more deeply embedded in my brain so it can more easily predict what comes next...

Re: easing your brain into it, I guess that depends on your style of learning? For me the best way to learn a text is to spend time with it in written form, be it by translating it, or by writing it down by hand (slowly) and then (sometimes) keeping it for a while in a place where I often stand idle, like taped to my microwave so I re-read it as I wait 1 minute for something to heat up.

One thing I like about learning poems is that it's a costless, always-accessible way to get a sense of personal accomplishment. Beyond that, I've got three categories of poems I like to learn for different reasons—I'll go into some detail in case it can help you figure out what you're after :)

1. Classic poetry, because it's just fun to have little snippets of ancient tragedies or epic Victor Hugo poems living at the back of your mind and accompanying you through your own everyday tragedies—as an overdramatic person who tends to feel devastated or exasperated over tiny stuff, it helps me to take some distance from my feelings. Like if I spill a bucket of manure on my boots and my first reaction is rage and despair and my second thought is a couple of verses by Euripides where Iphigenia bemoans her relentless fate, it's a way to make fun of (and get over) myself.

My grandmother did this a lot, she knew so many poems by heart and often used them ironically. If I went whining to her when I was little she'd recite to me the last few verses of Alfred de Vigny's La Mort du Loup (it sounds better in the original but):

[...] With all your being you must strive To that highest degree of stoic pride [...] Weeping or praying—all this is in vain. You must instead shoulder your long and heavy task In the way that Destiny has seen fit to ask Then suffer and die without complaint.

(Let me tell you, that's just what a five-year-old wants to hear after scratching her knee at the park) But really I admired this treasury of poetry she carried within her, especially as she only went to school until age 14 and came upon most of it thanks to her own curiosity; as well as the way she used it playfully in everyday life, using dramatic classical verse to de-dramatise minor annoyances.

2. Nature poems are great in the opposite way, to magnify minor positive things :) Like seeing a fox and having a few lines by Mary Oliver come to mind, seeing a frog and thinking of that Basho haiku... I recently discovered Jean-Michel Maulpoix and I also love his nature poems, like 'The recovery of blue after a downpour', the way he describes snow melting in the spring, or golden-blue evenings:

[Snow] takes some time to leave, but delicately. She doesn’t insist, hardly persists, never roots… She gives way. No one else dies so merrily With such good humour Unmatched is her disdain for eternity…

L’azur, certains soirs, a des soins de vieil or. Le paysage est une icône. Il semble qu’au soleil couchant, le ciel qui se craquelle se reprenne un instant à croire à son bleu.

3. And then there are the poems that proudly serve no purpose. <3 I mean beyond distilling language in a beautiful way. No deep meaning—or no meaning at all, e.g. surrealist poetry. I learnt this passage from Les Champs magnétiques back in middle school:

La fenêtre creusée dans notre chair s'ouvre sur notre cœur. On y voit un immense lac où viennent se poser à midi des libellules mordorées et odorantes comme des pivoines. Quel est ce grand arbre où les animaux vont se regarder ? Il y a des siècles que nous lui versons à boire. . . Prisonniers des gouttes d'eau, nous ne sommes que des animaux perpétuels. . . Nous ne savons plus rien des astres morts ; nous regardons les visages. . . Quelquefois, le vent nous entoure de ses grandes mains froides et nous attache aux arbres découpés par le soleil.

—and I've often recited it to myself just to enjoy these gratuitously nice sentences that aren't here to deliver information. Like Kay Ryan said, "Poetry makes nothing happen. That's the relief of it." It's a nice break, a way to remember that communicating isn't all language is for; beyond the social dimension there's also an intimate one that relies on our own aesthetic sensitivity. Most of the time we look through language, to access ideas, meanwhile enjoying poetry means looking at language, for a change, appreciating it for itself.

I just realised I'm paraphrasing John Brehm here—in The Poetry of Impermanence he wrote something that can be read as an ode to learning things by heart:

When you read lines that seem especially lit up—that move or intrigue you in some way, or that are simply pleasing or even dazzling—don’t focus on being able to formulate a statement about what they might mean, as if you might be called upon to explain the poem, to yourself or to someone else. Just linger with those poems or passages that resonate with you. . . Rest your mind on them; let them live inside you.

[sunnitheapollokid]

a request please from leo x reader daughter of poseidon, how will leo react if the reader teaches her to swim and she has a mermaid tail

🦦┊ ༑ ࿐ྂ。WATERGIRL ‘ND FIREBOY

leo valdez x mermaid!daughter of poseidon reader heacanons!

📬 sunni’s notes : AWE i love this req so much thank you for requesting artist :D I DIDNT KNOW WETHER TO DO HEADCANONS OR A ONESHOT </3 but i absolutely adore this req had so much fun writing it this trope gets me so giddy. hehe okay okay let’s start the headcanons!!

⊹ leo got tired of being in the forge all day and went to go see his gorgeous scrumptious beautiful daughter of the god of the sea girlfriend.

⊹ “my boyfriend?!? out of the bunker?!”

⊹ leo is a big kiss machine, that’s pretty much canon now right? so the minute you guys spend time underwater, not just annie and percy share underwater kisses together

⊹ no siree

⊹ “how’s mi sirena doing?”

⊹ FOLDED.

⊹ percy is a pretty overprotective brother, that’s also canon at this point.

⊹ leo likes to tease percy about how much you guys smooch and all this and that.

⊹ “(name), get your boyfriend to shut his mouth before i drown him.”

⊹ percy loves him (maybe)

⊹ BUT ANYWAYS.

⊹ as i was saying — leo spent time outside of the forge to spend time with you.

⊹ as it so happens, you’ve been meaning to give him a swimming lesson.

⊹ leo lived in texas, there weren’t alot of beaches and he spent most of his time at foster homes, and besides that, this man was the son of the god of FIRE.

⊹ so why would he need to learn how to swim?

⊹ eh, unless he had a mermaid for a girlfriend.

⊹ the minute he sees you in that cute ass bikin though, he’ll do anything for you!! (yes queen eat)

⊹ leo gets shaky in the water, so he likes to cling onto you, your waist, your hands, just any form of clinging once you two are underwater.

⊹ he also loves how pretty your tail is. the way it shimmered under the sun and how much it really compliments you.

⊹ though, if we’re talking about his first reaction to it, it all started during capture the flag day.

⊹ you and leo were on opposite teams and being the adhd kid he is, he got sidetracked and he saw something glisten in the water.

⊹ out of curiosity, he walked over to whatever that gorgeous thing was and it happened to be.. you.

⊹ the sirena of his dreams.

⊹ “díos mio.” he breathed, absolutely and positively speechless.

⊹ he definitely felt like the air out of his lungs escape his lips there.

⊹ he fell in love the minute you submerged out of the water with your bright smile and your pretty tail.

⊹ “hi. leo?” you had the brightest smile ever.

⊹ and he was hypnotized.

⊹ then you almost drowned him in the water because you thought he could swim and you needed to get him away from his team <3

⊹ how romantic!!!

⊹ you guys started seeing each other from there!

⊹ moving on,

⊹ “(NAME) I CANNOT SWIM.”

⊹ “STOP BEING A BABY.”

⊹ the grip this man has.

⊹ you practice holding your breath with him, (even though you really don’t have to since y’know daughter of poseidon).

⊹ “WHY’D YOU STAY UNDER THERE FOR SO LONG?!”

⊹ “SORRY I FORGOT YOU CAN’T BREATHE UNDERWATER!!”

⊹ over time, he grows comfortable with the water. seeing as he had no choice anyway since you’re his girlfriend and plan to keep it that way.

⊹ again, UNDERWATER. KISSES.

⊹ again, when you guys are underwater, he always keeps his hands on you. afraid he’ll like float away or something.

⊹ whenever leo runs out of breath, and he gets too deep into the water, you’ll just quickly connect your lips together and you’ll give him some of your air.

⊹ erm. but he likes to keep the kiss because apparently,

⊹ and i quote, “he needs all the air he can get.”

⊹ and you know how he knows morse code?

⊹ he taps on your skin underwater sometimes, things like,

⊹ “you look pretty.”

⊹ or,

⊹ “i love you.”

⊹ KABSISBSJAHNSS

⊹ anyhoo.

⊹ at camp, you two are best known as fireboy and watergirl.

⊹ campers literally fawn over the trope you two have and it’s adorable to them how much you guys make it work.

⊹ but in conclusion, he loves his sirena.

⊹ and you love him.

[vickyvicarious]

Hello! I was wondering what you make of Seward's phrase "is it possible that love is all subjective or all objective?" I've seen people allude to different meanings on the phrase but I can't quite figure out what it means

I wanted to wait until after 11 October to answer this ask, just so I didn't have to spoiler for the context of my reply. Which is that... my instinct is to oppose Jonathan and Seward's loves for this one. Specifically, in their reactions to the women they love becoming vampires. (I'm choosing Jack specifically to talk about because we get in his head more than we do for the other suitors, though by actions one could argue they fall more on the same side as he does.)

Firstly, let's take a brief moment to talk about the specific words used. Subjective generally means dictated by personal taste, and objective would be based on fact or truth. So, a love that is all one or the other could be very different depending on what the person you love is like. For example, an objective love would appreciate someone's virtues, while a subjective one might find things to love even in their flaws. Or on a larger scale, and much more relevant to how the phrase is used in the book... what would happen when the person you love is becoming a vampire, a creature that is factually and objectively evil and wrong? How would you react, how would you feel?

It depends on your type of love.

Jonathan's love is all subjective. Even though he absolutely hates and despises vampires, once he knows Mina is at risk of becoming one he resolves to join her if need be. He sees her rejected by God when the communion wafer burns her forehead, and he says 'actually no, I think the holiest kind of love is the one that would lead me to join her in her unholy state'. Even when Mina outright appeals to him to kill her if she is too far gone - an appeal to his objective understanding, for him to express his love in a way that confronts the truth of what she would become - Jonathan remains silent and in doing so refuses to make that promise. It's implied that he would be willing to fight the other men in order to protect her, even though they are his allies and friends. His beliefs warp around the shape of his love. He will destroy himself and others for the sake of his love, even if he knows through painful experience how objectively evil vampires are.

Jack's love meanwhile is all objective. Even though he didn't fully understand what a vampire was, he began to lose his love for Lucy as soon as he saw her acting in that way. In fact every time she was acting out of character to be more vampiric before her death, he seemed to notice and be a little put off by it, even though he didn't really seem to realize so much at the time. He outright says this quote when he is watching vampire!Lucy and realizing that he doesn't feel as horrible about mutilating the body of the woman he loved as he would have expected. When he learns Lucy has become a monster, he begins to feel repulsed by her - a process completed when he sees her up close and outright says his love for her is gone: "At that moment the remnant of my love passed into hate and loathing; had she then to be killed, I could have done it with savage delight." His determination to destroy the Thing she now is completely separates her in his mind from her living self. His love gives way to the objective facts. He will help to kill her, and gladly, because what she has become disgusts him... because what she has become is objectively evil.

Obviously, their experiences are different, and perhaps it's not quite such a true binary. Mina's gradual transformation, combined with Jonathan's pre-existing knowledge, is quite different from Jack's abrupt introduction to Lucy's vastly changed self and to the idea of the supernatural at all. But for the purposes of examining this quote, I think it works quite well to set them up at opposite ends of that scale.

.

It's also kind of curious because it calls back to another great line of Seward's: "(Mem., under what circumstances would I not avoid the pit of hell?)" The context of that line is Seward struggling to resist his dark impulses with regards to his treatment of Renfield. And he says this after having noticed himself actively doing something he says he'd normally avoid like the pit of hell, so that means he was approaching it until he caught himself. This is a struggle he repeatedly faces with Renfield, finding himself longing for a cause that he would consider it worthwhile abandoning his morals for, so that he could just give in to these urges.

But while Jack Seward is the person most drawn to the darkness, as we get introduced to the vampires are representatives of the ultimate darkness he backs firmly away. It's only in isolation that he feels so attracted to amoral experimentation; when together with his friends he pulls himself back to be more firmly opposed. His treatment of Renfield is a mess the entire time, don't get me wrong. He never really does right by him. But he doesn't seem to feel that same urge to push him in such a cruel way merely for his own interest/satisfaction. It becomes in the service of a greater goal, the objectively good idea of fighting Dracula. (Again, not saying his methods are good, but his motivation shifts.) He's always been conscious of an idea of what is right to do and he actively tries to follow that, with much greater success when not left to his own devices.

Meanwhile Jonathan has never felt such an intense draw to the darkness. He survived months alone surrounded by evil influences, and it only increased his determination to remain himself/human. He hates the vampires and he feels no true allure to the idea of being like them (outside the allure everyone feels when being hypnotized by them, etc.). He wanted nothing more than a normal happy life, he never longed for a cause that would be worth throwing his morals away. And yet, when Mina begins to turn we see Jonathan decide that this is the circumstance under which he will not avoid the pit of hell. This is the cause he can dedicate himself to as fully as any madman. Jonathan never felt the need to philosophize about trying to avoid such things before he was exposed to them by others, because he has no inherent urge to seek them out. But he also lacks that restrictive hold when a reason does come along.

(To visualize: if there's a pit, then Jack is the person who keeps wandering closer, desperately wanting to lean over the edge and see what's inside. Knowing this about himself, he's tied a rope around his waist to ensure he doesn't slip too far. Jonathan never even went near until he abruptly decides to sprint up and swan-dive straight into it when he thinks Mina's fallen in.)

[shwoo]

My very convincing and not all circumstantial list of evidence that the Bugsnax journalist is attracted to Chandlo (It's very circumstantial):

They try to imitate the way he speaks a couple of times, but based on Chandlo's reactions, they just come off as awkward. Journalist: Thanks, Chandlo, you really "slam dunked" my questions. Chandlo: Bro, that's not- just... don't. Chandlo: I gotta be stronger than a Grumpus! I gotta push my limits, ya feel me? Journalist: [Option 1] I feel ya. [Option 2] Word. Chandlo: (looks unhappy) Uh... (squints) I need your help to bulk up. As far as I can remember, Chandlo is the only one they do this to, or even seem particularly awkward around. They also mimic his speech style in a few places in their journal, but it's unclear whether or not they're just quoting things Chandlo said offscreen. Again, they only do this when talking about Chandlo. Do they want him to think they're cool or something? Because it seems to be having the opposite effect.

Look at this piece of art for Chandlo's main quest:

Assuming the Journalist is meant to have drawn the quest art in-universe, that's an interesting choice of framing. His arm is the focus of the image, to the point it takes up more than half its width. That is a muscular arm with some kind of snout guy attached. I know Chandlo has large arms and is always flexing, but still...

Finally, the descriptions for the interview quests all have variations on "time to ask the [occupation name] questions." For example, they call Wiggle a musician, Floofty a scientist, and Cromdo a salesman. Chandlo, though, gets called a "beefcake". They could have called him a builder, like in his profile, or a carpenter or a basketballer, but they went with beefcake.

[thankskenpenders]

I'm a huge fan of Ian, but one criticism of him that I've seen that I kind of agree with is that he sometimes falls into "look how much I know about Sonic" in his writing. For example, a number of references in Frontiers like Tails namedropping Dark Gaia out of nowhere. It's a nice change of pace from Sega not knowing where they wanted to go with Sonic for like a decade, but it might be too far in the opposite direction. What do you think?

There's definitely a thin line between Ian's love of references and lore and lyric quotes being fun and grating, yeah. I think he tends to do it well, choosing things that will support and enhance the story he's trying to tell rather than just dropping random references for the sake of it, but sometimes it can kinda make me roll my eyes and go "okay, Ian, settle down buddy." He readily admits that sometimes he just really wants to play with all the toys in the toy box.

I think an example I might point do would be some of the Classic Sonic comics for IDW. The Tails special in particular felt like it relied very heavily on Ian being excited to use the Witchcarters again, and to use Flicky Island as a setting, but I felt like the story left me wanting a little more beyond just "this obscure old stuff is back again." (The art in all the Classic stuff is phenomenal, though, of course.)

Frontiers absolutely is jam packed full of references, but I think it works there because acknowledging and building off of decades of continuity is one of the main points of the story in Frontiers. It's part of a greater effort Sega has been making to acknowledge Sonic's legacy after much of the late '00s and early 2010s were spent being kind of ashamed of that stuff and trying to streamline the series. Frontiers, meanwhile, wanted to look back on all those past adventures and their inconsistent writing and figure out how to wring some proper character arcs out of them, so that the cast can reflect on those arcs and figure out what they want to do next. Mining hit-or-miss old material for a compelling throughline like that has always been something Ian's excelled at - it's literally what he did to the Archie comics when he started out - and having the characters acknowledge their past adventures is a part of that. It gives us a sense that Sonic and co. really have gone through a lot together, and that those experiences have shaped who they are today.

It's also worth remembering that a ton of more casual Sonic fans aren't as immersed in the state of the canon or Ian's referential writing style as we are. When Frontiers came out you'd see people say stuff like "OMG, Sonic mentioned Jet the Hawk!! I didn't know Sonic Riders was canon to the main series! I loved those games!" That kind of reaction is probably a big part of why those references are there. Sega wants fans to know that Sonic DOES have continuity, unlike a series like Mario where every game and sub-series is kind of its own thing, and that all the old stuff still matters. And if that's what you wanna do, then Ian's the guy for the job.

[khthonic-echo]

I am from the bottom of my heart begging batfans who have never read a Green Lantern comic in their lives to get their shit straight about Hal Jordan

Hal Jordan and Batman do not hate each other. And if they did, it wouldn’t solely be because Hal is an arrogant ass. If anything they are BOTH pricks in ways literally designed to grate on each other!

Hal and Bruce are thematic opposites. GL= light, emotion & color. Bats= darkness & cold logic. Hal is a rebel who distrusts authority and Bruce is an uncommunicative control freak. They are mutually responsible and valid for their dynamic.

Hal is not just some loudmouth flyboy. He’s ADHD as fuck and does dumb shit sometimes, but he’s actually matured a lot since the Silver Age; specifically being betrayed by Sinestro and/or violated by Parallax can be considered The sobering events for his character.

Hal’s not a womanizer. In the past 30 years I can count his love interests on one hand. Oliver once asked him where to find a good time and Hal offered his gd chess board (and then Ollie rightfully ditched him for being a square).

Hal has canonically dated an alien that was like 80% tentacles. He is an open-minded man alright, and he has seen shit in outer space that rivals anything in Gotham.

The other Corpsmen are full-throttle ride or die for Hal for a reason. Kyle, Guy, and John are 3 very different men with different standards and baggage, and they all will (and have!) take on Batman for Hal’s honor.

I also feel compelled to add that Hal has bottom energy in most of his relationships. Dude is legit drawn to people who can and will step on him.

I know it’s not that deep when all these quirky JLA reaction fics and fake quote posts want an outsider character for the Bats to clown on. But I personally need these folks to know that they do not know who or what Green Lantern is.