#bean protocol

[agencyagencyagency]

Japanese Male Airport Luggage Loader

In Japan on IG a passenger is filming a male airport luggage loader through a window, he is treating the luggage so gently. This man is laying each suitcase down on the conveyor belt that takes the baggage into the plane like an adult: slow, responsible, with perception, with agency, intentional, calmly, focused. He is a man not a boy because he is not exhausted, he is not rushing or stressed. The luggage doesn’t take on the energy of Picasso’s weeping woman. 

The curse is not being passed on (The Iliad, or The Poem of Force Simone Weil). We can make choices that create the conditions for this state to exist (a Sovereign State). I work in a box factory in Melbourne. I am weak and exhausted from metabolic syndromes, at 10am I say “time for mothers matcha” and spend $8 on a matcha. Often I buy two and slam them like an alcoholic, if people weren't watching I would buy two everytime. Ander watches and says “woah”. When Liam was alive once after school we drank together, he said “wow” after I skulled my glass bottle VB.

“It requires to be generally recognized, and above all by leaders themselves, that consent and not fear of punishment or hope of reward constitutes, in fact, the mainspring of obedience, so that submission may never be mistaken for servility.” Everything I do is in hope of reward or fear of punishment—over cleaning the house, working three days a week instead of two because I desperately want to protect my casual position to afford entrance to the bourgeois world of shoppers. I’ve never known a better job, and it rapes me of my life force. Fluorescent lighting manual labour and I’m a girl.

Karen Hurd’s no list (no sugar, caffeine, flour, dairy, exercise, cold drinks, preservatives, alcohol, soy, cinnamon, fruit, supplements, herbal tea, coconut oil, fatty meats, fragrances, cured meats, less than 9 hours sleep a night) protects the worker from the work and transforms the workers physiology into a site capable of choice, consent (responsive not reactive). The worker begins to be able to tolerate the work. The work stops registering on the worker (the worker and the works footprint is reduced). The cell that is a sponge stops being covered in wax (Traditional Chinese Medicine grease on the doorknob analogy).

After three cell mitosis (~9 months) I can place the JB Hi-Fi boxes on the scale precisely and with control. I lift the boxes and put them down on the pallet without a biological (and therefore emotional-spiritual) tax. I don’t pass on the Force. I pass on the Power (David R. Hawkins) I am an example of possibility, of expansion. It’s important to be the example. I didn’t write on this blog because negative marketing (death art) is the world standard and I wanted to point out pro-life positivity, change and transformation (Krishna), and Inspire, instead of highlighting what I reject. I was stuck under the line of courage on David R’s “Map of Consciousness” so I didn’t have the Vision to forge my attention towards what's beautiful. 

Millennials have smoothed our environment with homeless graphic design and when I mention it I amplify it. Where your attention goes, grows. Working against millennial-nation homeless graphic design requires turning towards what’s beautiful, turning your back on the problem. Painting with your back against the world (Agnes) applied to diet and routine behaviour. “It should also be realized that those who command, obey in their turn, and the whole hierarchy should have its face set in the direction of a goal whose importance and even grandeur can be felt by all, from the highest to the lowest.” Luis Mojica, Peter Levine's somatic experiencing (SE) and Karen R. Hurd’s “bean protocol” assist the goal of such grandeur we should all be faced towards, which is the goal of liberation and agency. Real Consent. Difference, novelty like Terrence McKenna talks of. Prison abolition.

When our physiology has space we can become Of Service like the Japanese plane luggage worker. There is separation between the job and the person. In the Separation between an action and its consequence lies Agency. I don’t have children or a boyfriend if I follow the protocol I tend to the land to create the conditions that would allow for that infrastructure to take if the building blocks (seed) present themselves, right now the land is arid and hostile. If sperm doesn’t come at least I ploughed the land so it could have happened if He did. Being adult means participating in preparation, with and through grief. I chose to drive to Ballarat to see a tree instead of going to Ikea to buy two pillows for my bed to replace the old ones from six years ago. 

I chose to go see Rex’s show at Strawberry instead of getting a gym membership to Ascot Vale Leisure Center. The Will to allow contact with disappointment creates the conditions to accept reality which allows the past and the future to transform into the present—I assume this is the process of grief (wouldn’t know). I wanted to buy Glamorama from Rainbow’s mobile library in Footscray I also didn’t want one more symbolic stand-in for what I actually want that isn’t here. You don’t consent to what you’re compulsed to do.

The pastor from Seventh Heaven being a pedophile activates my sex drive for the first time in two years. “An employer who is incapable or guilty of an offence against his workmen ought to be made to suffer far more, both in the spirit and in the flesh, than a workman who is incapable or guilty of an offence against his employer. Furthermore, all workmen ought to know that this is so.” We recreate our formative traumas. We are looking for a corrective experience. It’s not your fault but it is your responsibility. Looking good in clothes is about your body not about the clothes (clown meme level one). Looking good in your body is about your self-relationship—self-acceptance and acknowledgement of reality—not about your actual body (clown meme level two). I don’t join Essendon Canoe Club. I do nothing. I ask God to relieve me of my eating disorder and I carry on with the day.

I’m laughing because on Twitter someone said “be there now.” Terrence McKenna said no one escapes, I know that some people enter. Duncan Trussell and Dr. Bruce Damer say the fruiting body of caffeine was skyscrapers and trains but coffee is a taxman and everything has a price—now I’m on chemotherapy and don’t even have cancer (just a spiritual disease with no known cure). Ones quality of life is improved when insulin levels function within nontraumatic scales and then one’s sex drive is returned.

We don’t need to use people-places-things to “secure” our “safety” and we move from a life of nonconsensual self-reliant reactive pattern behaviour to a creative responsive autonomous interdependent God-reliant life. You can love more, you can feel more love, you can give more love when you aren’t dependent on Perception to survive. I’m trying to become an Aboriginal capable of Service (before Socialised Patterning, before the wax all over the sponge).

[starstrewnspore]

[catspawcreates]

A week ago I thought I was drawing Korosu, and this bean took the spot instead 😹

Protocol is so silly. Even if he’s not looking for love, he wants you all to feel loved in your lives!

Blank version below

I adore this cutie pie platonically. He’s very fun to draw, but it’s both a blessing and a curse not having to draw hands, but still figuring out how he’d hold things 🙀

[martynsimp69]

mr. sv if you see this i swear to god its just tumblr tradition we do this to all ccs who join the website please dont worry about it

[autumnalfallingleaves]

The Kitt family willingness to beat the absolute living shit out somebody (Eva squaring off against Besteel multiple times [spitting in his face, calling up sand-snipers to kill him]; Rovender going through Besteel's stuff and being like "I will take this gun :)"; both of the former willing to beat Hailey up on multiple occasions; Eva whaling on Eva Eight for slighting Muthr; Eva, Rovender, and Antiquus all being willing to beat the Taxidermist up; Eva actually beating the Taxidermist up; Antiquus verbally eviscerating Loroc; Rovender threatening to beat up/kill Redimus if Redimus allows for Eva to get hurt; etc.)

[aster-go-brrr]

JUST TELL HIM IT'S TOFU???

[jadeshifting]

— A GUIDE TO CLASSES AT EVER AFTER HIGH.

MYTHOLOGY. taught by Mrs. Psyche

this class delves into the legendary tales and divine histories of various magical realms, exploring the origins, powers, and legacies of gods, mythical creatures, and legendary heroes. Mrs. Psyche, an expert in ancient lore and celestial wisdom, guides students through epic sagas, divine rivalries, and the cultural significance of myths across Ever After. expect interactive lessons, dramatic reenactments, and the occasional visit from an actual deity if you’re lucky—or very unlucky

HOMEWORK. expect essays on the morals and hidden meanings in classic myths, plus creative assignments like rewriting a legend with a modern twist PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. show curiosity about myths from all cultures and always be respectful of love deities—Mrs. Psyche takes their stories very seriously AVOID MISHAPS. don’t mix up gods from different pantheons in your presentations—calling Zeus “a Norse deity” is a one-way ticket to an exasperated sigh

KINGDOM MANAGEMENT. taught by Mrs. Her Majesty, the White Queen

future rulers, nobles, and aspiring leaders learn the ins and outs of running a kingdom, from diplomacy and lawmaking to organizing grand balls and handling royal scandals. the White Queen, known for her composed yet commanding leadership, teaches strategy, ethics, and governance through real-world scenarios, often incorporating Wonderlandian logic puzzles to test students’ problem-solving skills under pressure

HOMEWORK. drafting decrees, designing economic policies, and writing conflict resolution strategies fit for ruling a kingdom PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. always address her formally, take notes in impeccable script, and never question the importance of royal protocol AVOID MISHAPS. never suggest solving political disputes with a sword—she insists that diplomacy, not duels, is the mark of a true ruler

ADVANCED ELFONOMICS. taught by the esteemed Fairy Queen

this elite course teaches students the intricate financial magic behind running a kingdom, from managing enchanted trade routes to understanding the unpredictable fluctuations of the golden bean stock market. the Fairy Queen, with her keen business acumen and ancient fae wisdom, ensures her students master the art of wealth accumulation, resource allocation, and the occasional negotiation with mischievous leprechauns

HOMEWORK. balancing enchanted budgets, predicting market trends in fairy-tale economies, and occasional field trips to enchanted banks filled with gold PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. keep your calculations accurate and your economic theories sound—Fairy Godmother investments rely on precision, not guesswork AVOID MISHAPS. don’t accept enchanted gold from leprechauns or trickster fairies—it will vanish overnight, and your grade will disappear with it

GRIMMNASTICS. taught by Coach Gingerbreadman

a fast-paced, action-packed class that combines acrobatics, endurance, and skills fit for any fairytale hero or heroine. with Coach Gingerbreadman’s lightning-fast speed and high-energy training style, students practice enchanted obstacle courses, daring escapes, and storybook stunts that would make even the most daring adventurer sweat. the class focuses on developing strength, flexibility, coordination, and agility, blending magical elements with traditional gymnastics techniques

HOMEWORK. none! ( whew ) but in class, expect daily obstacle courses, tower-climbing drills, and team challenges that involve fleeing from imaginary witches PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. keep up, move fast, and don’t complain—Coach G is all about agility and endurance, and he does’t slow down. ever AVOID MISHAPS. never eat anything left unattended in the gym—there’s a 50/50 chance it’s either an energy-boosting enchanted snack or a curse-laced trick. you never know!

CHEMYTHSTRY. taught by Professor Rumplestiltskin

a mix of potions, alchemy, and enchanted chemistry, this course teaches students how to brew everything from love potions to transformation elixirs—if they can handle Professor Rumplestiltskin’s cryptic riddles and tricky assignments. with an emphasis on magical reactions and the delicate balance of ingredients, students must be precise, or they may find themselves accidentally cursed or turned into gold

HOMEWORK. brewing potions, analyzing alchemical reactions, and testing the properties of enchanted elements PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. follow instructions to the letter—Rumplestiltskin loves precision and has a zero-tolerance patience for careless spell-mixing AVOID MISHAPS. never, under any circumstances, agree to any kind of “trade” with the professor in exchange for an easier assignment. it’s not worth it, trust me

DAMSEL - IN - DISTRESSING CLASS. taught by Madam Maid Marian

a staple for traditional storybook heroines, this class teaches the fine art of swooning at the right moment, perfecting the helpless-yet-charming gaze, and calling for help in a voice that carries across enchanted forests. Madam Maid Marian ensures her students master the delicate balance between appearing vulnerable while subtly manipulating the situation to their advantage—because even the most distressed damsels know how to work a fairytale in their favor

HOMEWORK. practicing swooning, perfecting a well-timed gasp, and composing letters of woe to imaginary rescuers PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. always act appropriately dramatic when learning proper distress techniques—anything less than peak theatrics is disappointing AVOID MISHAPS. don’t accidentally outshine the prince in a rescue simulation—nothing gets you on her bad side faster than saving yourself ( no matter how blitheringly useless your rescuer may be )

CREATIVE STORYTELLING. taught by Professor Jack B. Nimble

in this dynamic and expressive class, students learn how to craft compelling narratives, whether for written tales, theatrical performances, or enchanting oral traditions. Professor Jack B. Nimble, known for his quick wit and lively teaching style, encourages students to think outside the storybook and experiment with different genres, endings, and perspectives, ensuring their own tales are just as spellbinding as the ones that came before them

HOMEWORK. writing fairytales with unexpected endings, crafting riddles, and creating engaging oral stories to be performed in class PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be witty, be original, and never deliver a boring story—Professor Jack lives for quick thinking and clever twists ( students still whisper about the time he literally fell asleep in the middle of a student’s story ) AVOID MISHAPS. avoid clichés at all costs—it says in the syllabus that if he hears “once upon a time” too often, he might jump out the window in protest

ADVANCED VILLAINY. taught by Mr. Badwolf

for those embracing their darker destinies ( or just wanting to understand the mind of a villain—it’s an elective, too ) this class explores the art of scheming, deception, and tactical villainy. Mr. Badwolf, with his menacing charm and years of experience causing trouble, teaches students how to craft masterful monologues, execute dramatic entrances, and plan foolproof plots—complete with an emphasis on avoiding the classic pitfalls that lead to a villain’s downfall

HOMEWORK. devising foolproof villainous schemes and identifying weak points in heroic plans. bonus points for sabotaging another student’s assignment PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. show ambition, strategy, and more than a little bit of wicked flair—Mr. Badwolf respects students who think like masterminds AVOID MISHAPS. don't act heroic in class—while he tolerates reform-minded students, he won’t hesitate to assign extra homework as punishment if he feels anyone's too generous or kindhearted

FASHION DESIGN. taught by Mrs. Fairy Godmother

a dream-come-true class for aspiring designers, where students learn to craft magical ensembles, enchant fabrics, and create garments that are both stylish and spellbinding. with Mrs. Fairy Godmother’s expertise in transformation magic, students practice stitching together gowns that change color at midnight, boots that walk on air, and accessories infused with fairy dust. bonus points for those who can design an outfit fit for a royal ball and an epic quest. the class blends traditional design principles with a touch of enchantment, encouraging students to create outfits that reflect their unique personalities and tell their own fairy tales

HOMEWORK. creating mood boards, sketching outfits, and crafting magical garments with enchanted fabrics PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. always keep your workspace neat and clean, and your designs fabulous—Mrs. Fairy Godmother has high standards for both AVOID MISHAPS. never leave unfinished projects unattended—one rogue swish of a wand, and your dress might sprout wings or turn into a pumpkin

BEAST TRAINING & CARE. taught by Professor Poppa Bear

from training fire-breathing dragons to taming mischievous talking mice, this class prepares students for handling all manner of enchanted creatures. with his warm but no-nonsense approach, Professor Poppa Bear teaches students how to communicate with beasts, provide proper magical care, and even ride or befriend some of Ever After’s most fearsome ( or snuggly ) creatures. the class emphasizes the importance of empathy, respect, and responsible stewardship when interacting with enchanted beings

HOMEWORK. taking notes on enchanted creature encounters you have outside of class, studying their habitats, and practicing magical grooming techniques. assignments are much easier for students who have their own mystic beast as a pet PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be patient, compassionate, and firm—Professor Poppa Bear believes good beast tamers must balance kindness with authority, and he won't hesitate to crack down on students he feels aren't being tolerant and kind with the creatures AVOID MISHAPS. always double-check what you're feeding the creatures—accidentally giving a griffin a fire-breathing potion will not end well

CROWNCULUS. taught by Mrs. Her Majesty, the White Queen

a blend of advanced mathematics and royal economics, this class teaches students how to manage kingdom finances, calculate treasure values, and strategize for economic prosperity. the White Queen ensures that students grasp complex numerical concepts while also understanding the practical application of numbers in ruling a kingdom, proving that math isn’t just about numbers—it’s about power and magic, too

HOMEWORK. solving royal tax equations, balancing enchanted budgets, and calculating castle construction costs PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. always show your work neatly on your notes, respect the logic of numbers, and never bring chaos into her perfectly ordered classroom. loose fairy dust or torn paper is a one-way ticket to getting sent out to the hallway AVOID MISHAPS. never argue that "magic can just fix the math"—that’s a fast track to an exasperated glare and extra equations ( though she'll pretend you were chosen at random for them )

ADVANCED WOOING. taught by Dr. King Charming

whether it’s serenading a princess from a castle tower or sweeping a prince off his feet at a royal ball, this class covers the fine art of courtship. Dr. King Charming, an expert in chivalry and romance, teaches students how to compose love letters, master ballroom etiquette, and perfect the dramatic, wind-blown hair flip. special guest lectures from famed love interests ensure students are well-versed in only the most effective wooing techniques ever after

HOMEWORK. writing needlessly lengthy sonnets, practicing your dramatic entrance, and perfecting grand romantic gestures PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. exude confidence, use flowery language, and always demonstrate princely manners—Dr. Charming believes wooing is an art, and it helps if you act with decorum even outside of tests and assignments AVOID MISHAPS. don’t mix up your love letters—accidentally delivering the wrong one can lead to legendary levels of fairytale drama ( Dr. Charming won't admit how he knows, but he seems suspiciously adamant on it )

COOKING CLASS - IC. taught by Professor Momma Bear

a cozy yet rigorous class where students learn everything from baking enchanted pastries to brewing hearty, storybook-worthy stews. Professor Momma Bear, warm but strict, teaches students the magic of home-cooked meals and how to avoid common culinary disasters—like accidentally putting a sleeping spell in the soup ( more common than you’d think. shocking, i know. ) bonus points for anyone who can craft a meal fit for both a royal banquet and a humble woodland picnic

HOMEWORK. baking enchanted pastries, perfecting porridge temperatures, and learning potion-infused cooking in the communal kitchens—they're open late at night, which is when lots of students do their best work PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. follow the recipe to a T, respect the kitchen space, and always clean up after yourself—Professor Momma Bear runs a strict but cozy classroom, and surfaces need to be crumb-free for that to happen AVOID MISHAPS. never leave the oven unattended—one careless mistake and your muffins might gain sentience ( or explode )

DARK SORCERY. taught by Baba Yaga

for those required to ( or foolish enough to ) dabble in the shadows, this class explores the ancient and forbidden arts of dark magic. Baba Yaga, cryptic and terrifyingly wise, teaches students the ethics of wielding power, the risks of curses and hexes, and how to summon forces beyond mortal comprehension—strictly for academic purposes… of course. students who can keep up with her demanding lessons will most certainly find themselves walking the fine line between greatness and peril, just as intended

HOMEWORK. expect assignments on hexes, shadow magic, and extremely ethically questionable but highly effective spellcasting techniques PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be respectful, but not a suck up... listen carefully, but don't hang onto her every word... and never waste her time—Baba Yaga is a fickle old witch who does not tolerate foolishness AVOID MISHAPS. don’t touch any of the professor’s personal artifacts—one single misstep, and you might find yourself cursed for a week ( or a lifetime )

WOODSHOP. taught by Mr. Geppetto

in this hands-on class, students learn the craftsmanship of enchanted carpentry, from crafting magical furniture to carving living marionettes ( though talking puppets are strictly optional. ) taught by the legendary woodcarver Geppetto, the course emphasizes precision, patience, and the importance of working with enchanted materials—because nobody wants a table that turns into a frog mid-banquet

HOMEWORK. crafting intricate wooden figures, repairing broken fairytale objects, and designing enchanted furniture to be presented to the class while Geppetto ooh-s and aah-s encouragingly and inspects it from every angle PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. pay attention to detail, measure at least twice before cutting, and never be careless with your tools ( wouldn't wanna lose a finger... or more ) AVOID MISHAPS. never bring anything to life by accident—Mr. Geppetto still has opinions about unexpected animated puppets, most of them aren't as perfect as his

DEBATE. taught by Mrs. Her Majesty, the White Queen

a battle of wits, logic, and eloquence, this class teaches students how to construct compelling arguments, navigate royal negotiations, and win verbal duels with precision. The White Queen is a master of both reason and Wonderlandian riddles, and she ensures her students can debate everything from kingdom policies to whether a dragon’s hoard should be considered taxable income. though, of course, you always have to shake your opponents hand before and after a debate—and sometimes halfway through, too ( “debate is nothing without decorum, dears” the teacher chirps. )

HOMEWORK. researching historical disputes, and crafting persuasive speeches and arguments to perform in class PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. speak clearly, argue with logic, and maintain perfect etiquette—she values reason and refinement above all else. a perfectly crafted argument could be given zero-sum marks if you use foul language while presenting it AVOID MISHAPS. don’t descend into nonsense logic—Mrs. Her Majesty and the subject of debate as a whole has no room for "because I said so" as a defense

GEOGRAFAIRY. taught by Professor Jack B. Nimble

a whirlwind tour that covers every enchanted land, hidden kingdom, and magical realm, this class ensures students can navigate their way through both real and mythical landscapes. Mr. Jack B. Nimble, quick on his feet and sharp in his knowledge, teaches students how to read enchanted maps, locate legendary landmarks, and survive the treacherous terrains of places like the Swamps of Sorrow or the shifting sands of the Ever After Desert

HOMEWORK. memorizing magical trade routes, mapping enchanted forests, and planning efficient royal journeys, especially for high-stakes travel like royal carriages or valuable trade stocks PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. stay sharp, think fast, and always be ready for pop quizzes—Professor Jack moves just as quickly as his name suggests AVOID MISHAPS. don't mistake one enchanted swamp for another—some have quicksand, others have talking alligators, and both will fail you the test

DRAGON SLAYING. taught by Dr. King Charming

an action-packed course for aspiring heroes and knights, this class covers everything from identifying dragon species to the safest techniques for confronting ( or befriending ) them. Dr. King Charming, ever the gallant warrior, teaches battle tactics, shieldwork, and the art of delivering a victorious speech while standing atop a defeated beast. students are encouraged to find creative, non-lethal ways to deal with dragons—because a slayed dragon often makes for a very angry dragon mother ( you don’t wanna deal with one of those )

HOMEWORK. designing battle strategies, practicing swordplay ( safely and with supervision ), and studying legendary dragon encounters PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be courageous ( he hates students who cower ) and cultivate a healthy respect for dragonkind—Dr. Charming does not tolerate arrogance or killing out of malice AVOID MISHAPS. never mistake a friendly dragon for a feral one—Dr. Charming is not amused by unnecessary heroics or violence without reason

RIDDLING. taught by Professor Sphinx

a brain-twisting class that challenges students to master the art of riddles, trick questions, and mind-bending wordplay. Professor Sphinx, with her cryptic wisdom and smug amusement, pushes students to think in loops, uncover hidden meanings, and craft riddles so clever that they impress even her. only those with quick wits and sharper tongues will excel. there’s a silent booth tucked into the back of class where students can take solace in five minute time-outs if they get a riddle-induced brain-ache

HOMEWORK. solving some of the most famous and ancient riddles from fairytale history, crafting the trickiest trick questions, and debating paradoxes ( there has to be some end ) ( spoiler alert: there isn't ) PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. think outside the box and embrace the art of wordplay, she appreciates students who attempt to match her riddlish intellect ( though they never fully can. ) never give an obvious answer—she doesn't tolerate laziness AVOID MISHAPS. don't answer a riddle too quickly—Professor Sphinx loves watching students squirm in confusion, she'll snap if you think one is "too easy"

POISON FRUIT THEORY. taught by Mr. Henchman

a darkly fascinating course that delves into the study of enchanted produce, venomous flora, and the alchemy of cursed concoctions. Mr. Henchman, an expert in apple-related treachery from first-hand witnessing, ( and doing most of the dirty work himself shhhh ) teaches students how to identify, craft, and counteract, certain poisons—purely for academic purposes… of course. only the most careful and exceedingly precise students avoid an accidental nap at some point

HOMEWORK. identifying toxic ingredients, testing non-lethal potions, and studying famous fairytale poisonings—students are absolutely not permitted to handle lethal poisons outside of class time, no matter how funny Mr. Henchman thinks it would be PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. be cunning, precise, and always ask about antidotes—surprisingly enough Mr. Henchman values ambition and intelligence over blind villainy AVOID MISHAPS. this should go without saying, but don’t ever eat anything from the classroom—regardless of whether it’s an extra-credit challenge or a standard study subject, it’s all dangerous

HISTORY OF TALL TALES. taught by Professor Paul Bunyan

a larger-than-life class where students study the greatest exaggerations in folklore, from beanstalk-climbing farm boys to men who lasso tornadoes. Professor Paul Bunyan, with his booming voice and legendary stature, teaches the importance of hyperbole, embellishment, and how a good story can shape the world. except storytelling assignments where size does matter, and extra credit for every surreptitious golden object you can cram into your tale

HOMEWORK. exaggerating your own legendary feats into tall tales, researching folklore heroes, and reenacting famous larger-than-life moments PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. show enthusiasm for exaggerated storytelling and never question the truth of a tall tale—Professor Bunyan appreciates a good yarn, says puzzling into it "takes away the fun" AVOID MISHAPS. don’t get caught underestimating the size of the stories—or of Professor Bunyan’s pet blue ox, Babe

DIPLOMACY 101. taught by Mrs. Fairy Godmother

an essential course for future rulers, ambassadors, and anyone hoping to survive royal politics, this class covers the art of negotiation, conflict resolution, and fairy-tale-level etiquette. Mrs. Fairy Godmother, an expert in wish-granting diplomacy, ensures that students can turn any total pumpkin of a situation into a golden carriage of opportunity—preferably before midnight

HOMEWORK. drafting peace treaties, mediating minor disputes between friends or classmates, and practicing polite yet firm negotiation techniques PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. mind your manners, choose your words wisely, and never raise your voice—Mrs. Fairy Godmother believes in charm over conflict, and that manners always win AVOID MISHAPS. try not to use magic to solve conflicts too quickly—diplomacy requires finesse and effort, not a bibbidi-bobbidi-bandaid

CASTLE DESIGN. taught by the Three Little Pigs

a structural and aesthetic architecture class that teaches students how to design the perfect castle, from grand ballrooms to impenetrable fortresses, and everything else a benevolent ruler ( or evil sorcerer ) could need from their abode. the Three Little Pigs, having learned their lesson more than once after their own architectural mishaps, are now experts at crafting with only the pinnacle of quality materials, and they guide students through the balance of beauty and functionality, ensuring that no tower is too tall and every drawbridge is both sturdy and stylish

HOMEWORK. drafting blueprints, constructing model castles, and ensuring defenses against huffing and puffing in your structures PLEASE THE PROFESSORS. always prioritize structural integrity in your projects—they still have very, very strong opinions about weak materials AVOID MISHAPS. never, ever suggest using straw or sticks unless you want a three-pig class-long lecture on the merits of proper fortification

BEWITCHING SONG. taught by Ms. Aquata of Atlantis

a mesmerizing music class where students learn the magic of vocal enchantment, from siren songs that lure sailors to sleep, all the way to battle hymns that rally armies. Ms. Aquata, hailing from the royal family of Atlantis with her haunting voice and knowledge of forbidden harmonies, trains students in the delicate balance of melody and power—reminding them that some songs come at a price

HOMEWORK. composing enchantments through song, practicing vocal spells, and analyzing the most famous fairytale musical enchantments ( of course, the teacher is partial to songs from the tale of the Little Mermaid, though she pretends she doesn't have favorites ) PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. stay in tune and on key, embrace the magical melodies, and never mock merfolk music—Ms. Aquata takes her siren songs very seriously, even if they sound like dolphin noises to the untrained ear AVOID MISHAPS. avoid singing the wrong notes—one slip, and you might accidentally charm your classmates into an impromptu dance number ( music magic can be... fickle )

ANGER MAGICMENT. taught by Mr. Badwolf

a course designed for students with fiery tempers and villainous bloodlines, this class focuses on channeling rage productively instead of, say, blowing houses down. Mr. Badwolf ( you know… the Big Bad Wolf ) with his own history of temper issues, teaches students techniques in deep breathing, mindfulness, and how to redirect fury into something slightly less destructive—like competitive sports instead of rampaging through villages

HOMEWORK. journaling your emotional responses on the day-to-day, practicing breathing exercises, and resolving conflict without growling PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. keep your temper in check, use calming techniques, and don’t provoke classmates—Mr. Badwolf knows firsthand how bad anger issues can get, he has no tolerance for trying to set off others AVOID MISHAPS. never howl in frustration—it sets off an automatic... pack response from Mr. Badwolf, leaving him embarrassed and you in detention

EXPERIMENTAL FAIRY MATH. taught by Dr. Sandman

a mind-boggling fusion of numbers, magic, and dream logic, this class teaches students how to manipulate enchanted equations, calculate impossible probabilities, and solve numerical riddles that make reality bend. Dr. Sandman, a master of both dreamscapes and abstract concepts, guides students through numerical paradoxes and whimsical calculations that only make sense if you never think about them too hard

HOMEWORK. solving numerical paradoxes, creating reality-warping equations, and exploring mathematical dreamscapes—make sure you can get back to your dorm when you're done studying, though PLEASE THE PROFESSOR. keep an open mind, embrace dreamy logic, and don’t expect normal numbers—Dr. Sandman sees math through a magical lens, try to see things from his point of view AVOID MISHAPS. never fall asleep mid-equation��you might wake up inside a calculated alternate reality

[aliceoverzero]

The Stronghold Protocol event is super funny with how it shifts the perception of Rhodes Island. Amiya outright states that their best defense is to simply use superior scouting and mobility to avoid fights, but then you actually get into the gameplay and the idea of the smol bean pharmaceutical company becomes baffling. This mobile fortress is an open world Rainbow Six Siege map that is nightmarishly balanced against the attackers.

Enemy factions that actually try to go in for the attack should be doing press releases in the vein of "I am proud to announce that we are mobilizing for an invasion of Rhodes Island, inspired by the leaked video game Don't Invade Rhodes Island."

[armyofpsychictrashcans]

I like to imagine that in the original tma universe coffee just, like, sucks.

For no reason it's just the way it is over there.

celia wanting tea vs everyone else from the oiar drinking coffee she really is from another universe

[confuzing]

I have this idea for an SVSSS fic where SQQ winds up regularly sharing dreams with both his LBH and OGLBH. I'd need to do a reread for it but I'm gonna post the broad strokes because I can't stop rotating it in my mind.

It's Abyss time but SQQ puts his foot down. No he's not pushing his Binghe into the Abyss, shut up System. Oh you're going to kill him? Then do it.

Then he throws his sword away and pulls LBH away from the Abyss.

SQQ: Ok honey I'm maybe about to drop dead but it's not your fault ok?

LBH: WHAT???

And then the System does indeed try to rip SQQ's soul out- except LBH, right there and terrified, mentally grabs hold of his Shizun's soul and won't let go.

MQF rolls up to a fucking nightmare, SQQ is in the process of having his soul ripped out by some kind of mystery curse? LBH is burning through his own supply of qi to stop it but that's a napkin on a stab wound- Liu Qingge put your sword down right now! Yes MQF can see LBH's part demon, now help him keep SQQ alive or fuck off - you too Sect Leader!

Meanwhile the System is glitching out, and decides to initiate a Punishment Protocol because this mess is all SQQ's fault and he won't die like a good user.

So it dumps him in the dreams of OGLBH, who's just been pushed in the Abyss by his own Shizun.

Faced with a very upset teen Binghe, SQQ does the only thing that he can. He hugs that boy and tells him none of this is his fault and he didn't do anything wrong.

It probably only works because OGLBH is very upset and desperate for comfort- and when OGLBH said "SQQ??" incredulously SQQ says "No, I'm sorry I know I look like him" and this man doesn't act like the SQQ he knows at all, and he gives really good hugs.

SQQ is stuck in OGLBH's dreams when he's not just... nowhere and after a few more short hug sessions (OGLBH can't usually sleep for long) OGLBH finally asks who exactly SQQ is then?

Right around this time MQF figures out how to stabilize SQQ without requiring LBH to be awake and actively channeling qi the whole time. So LBH passes the f out and goes to look for his Shizun, turning up right when SQQ is dreaming with OGLBH.

After a little Binghe stand off SQQ sits them both down and decides to just, tell them everything -he can here, the System can't stop him and it's already killing him what else can it do?

So he tells them about parallel universes, and his own original world, about Proud Immortal Demon Way, and his decision, upon waking up in his favorite book in the villian's body, to meddle every way he could. He tells them about the System and explains that it probably sent him here thinking OGLBH would hurt him, thinking he was OGSQQ. Everything.

Eventually MQF and a bunch of other cultivators untangle SQQ from the System, letting his soul come back to his body but leaving that door open between his mind and OGLBH's.

From there I just have ideas I'd want to explore, some of my favorites:

-OGLBH finding out about Without a Cure and that SQQ isn't telling his Binghe about the easy fix and having to decide if he's going to spill the beans or not.

-Every time I think about what to do with SQH I wind up thinking about what would probably be a whole side fic of court wranglings, political assassinations and interspecies dating drama after SQH runs away to hide with MBJ when SQQ wakes up and goes "you're cursed too right?"

-Both Binghes and their Meng Mos coming along on SQQ's scenic tour of SJ's traumatic backstory (I just need SQQ to hug that little tea-soaked Binghe only for him to split into the two older Binghes because when they entered this memory both of them inhabited the baby Binghe's avatar)

- The whole sect deciding that actually LBH is their half demon son and none of the other sects better even look at him funny. (The biggest reason for this might be SQQ waking up from being cursed and immediately threatening to kill everyone in the room and then himself if anything happens to LBH even though he can't even sit up. Also like, the kid's been crying nonstop for days now, not exactly scary demon behavior. Kid needs a hug and some juice)

-A very fraught conversation when OGLBH gets out of the Abyss where he tells SQQ he's going back to the mountain and SQQ refuses to ask him not to kill everyone because he knows exactly what OGLBH suffered at the hands of those alternate versions of the people SQQ loves.

-Every now and the the Binghes just meet up to hiss at each other like angry cats

[starstrewnspore]

jonathan sims never attended parties in uni because he thought they made him look unprofessional and didn't approve of the activities. samama khalid never attended parties in uni because he is epileptic and there was This One Dude who always brought a shitty disco light and put it on the highest surface he could reach

[potatoeenjoyer]

I feel like the fears are a lot more interconected in protocol,for example in 33 there is clearly the influence of what would have bean the stranger and the vast but they are a lot more colaborative,there is no direct oposition like in magnus,it seems that what brought the fears to this world also unified them more than their original shape in the magnus universe.

[liv2post]

Professors and Plants

Severus Snape x Herbology!Reader Wordcount: ~2.4k Summary: You're the new replacement for Professor Sprout and one day you require someone to plant-sit for you.

Read here or on ao3

Severus was struck the first time he saw you enter the Great Hall for breakfast at the start of the new term. You were Professor Sprout’s replacement as well as her cousin, but most people wouldn’t have thought the latter due to your appearance. Your dark robes resembled his and you donned a pair of boots with yellow thread sewn into the tops of the soles. What really stood out was your hair. It was snow white, transitioning into black at the bottom third of your hair length like a gradient. Your eyes met his and held his gaze for no more than a second as you took the last available seat that happened to be at the opposite end of the head table.

Despite your dark appearance, you were perfectly amicable and polite with the other teachers, even Lockhart, but you weren’t one to ever start conversations with any of them, preferring to keep more to yourself unless someone wished to converse with you. 

The first time he talked to you was that same day before classes would start tomorrow to get a proper read on you. 

“Hello, Professor Snape,” you greeted mildly, turning away from a Sopophorous Bean plant to face him as he barely clicked the door to the greenhouse behind him.

“How do you know my name?” His eyebrows furrowed and his soft baritone voice floated through the air.

“I know your first name, too. We went to school together, but you were older. I graduated just before you took over for Professor Slughorn.”

“I see…”

“Is there something you need from me?”

“Dittany leaves. Surely, Pomona left a plant or two in your care.”

“She most definitely did. Will a standard 16 oz jar’s worth do?”

“Yes.”

You smiled softly, retrieving a mason jar and a pair of snippers, and began trimming the fuzzy green leaves of one of the tall dittany plants that sat in the corner. “Did you and Pomona have any arrangements?” you called back to him.

“Arrangements?” Snape repeated, his eyes flicking over a decorative succulent whose pot was shaped like a mushroom before looking back at you. 

“Given our positions, I imagine you and I will be supplying each other with inventory and remedies or what have you. I was just wondering if you and Pomona had any arrangements that made each other's lives easier or more efficient work-wise. Do you like your ingredients bottled a certain way? Are there certain things you find yourself running out of more often than others?”

“We didn’t have any specific protocols established. Pomona was annoyingly protective of her plants,” he stated coolly. “But…now that you mention it, my store of wormwood tends to fluctuate. The younger years can be…unapologetically wasteful.”

“Noted. I will try to remain well-stocked on wormwood. And by the way,” you screwed on the jar lid, the glass filled to the brim with leaves—not so compactly that they were squashed inside, but certainly not leaving much wiggle room either, “I’m not as crazy a plant lady as my cousin is. Minerva tells me you're quite competent at your job and it sounds like I can trust you so…if you ever need to grab something feel free to come and go through the greenhouses as you please. I just ask that if I happen to not be present to leave a note citing what you took and the quantity. Y’know, for proper record keeping ‘n all. If I know what I have then I know what I can still provide you with.”

Snape nodded lightly. “Yes… That sounds practical enough.”

“Good,” you hummed, handing him the mason jar, your fingertips just barely brushing as he took it from you. “Glad we understand each other."

______________________________________________________________

Duties aside, you and Professor Snape got along rather well. He respected your need for notes and wrote what he took crystal clear, signing them off with “S.S”. You delivered ingredients he’d sent for in a timely manner, ensuring they weren’t overly compacted or bottled improperly. He returned the courtesy when it came to any potion meant to help your plants’ growth, sometimes brewing them fresh rather than giving you a bottle that had sat on the shelf for months at a time. Sometimes he’d add a sarcastic little comment on the notes about a student or a certain DADA teacher who you’d both found to be pretentious. 

From the notes blossomed more sociable interactions. Despite being separated by multiple floors, your classes were within the same vicinity of the castle’s layout, which meant, more often than not, you’d run into him when descending down to meals as he ascended up. You’d walk with each other, and talk a little bit, whether it be about incidents in the classroom or happenings informed to the both of you from the Prophet. The conversations would continue at meals where you’d start sitting next to one another. You didn’t get to know each other beyond a collegial level until around early November when the temperature started to get colder every day and the leaves were a vibrant wash of yellow, orange, and red. Your open-door policy on your greenhouses remained the same, but you had clarified that if he ever wanted to have tea or escape the chill of the dungeons, that open-door policy extended to your warm and cozy office. One day he knocked and when you opened the door he simply stated, “It’s cold,” before you promptly held the door back further, allowing him entry. 

You’d drink tea often, sometimes while the both of you graded, passively enjoying one another’s company as you did so, sometimes sitting on the couch or chairs and having direct conversations with one another. You compared each other's schooling experience with one another, gaping at the fact that he knew so many curses and had even invented a few spells. He confessed that it was actually Lockhart’s position he wanted, not to teach potions. 

“I didn’t take you for a Hufflepuff when I first saw you,” he admitted one afternoon.

“Was there anything else to take me as, Severus? My being here was not only to satisfy the Herbology teacher role, but also to fill the Head of Hufflepuff spot.”

“Of course, just outwardly…you didn’t seem the type. And the students have joked that your creatively witty chiding ought to have landed you in Slytherin.”

You exhaled quietly. “My whole family is mostly Hufflepuff with a few Gryffindors sprinkled in, but even so I understand my general dark attire and reticence made me a bit of a black sheep amongst my peers. I can’t really disagree with you much on that second point. All I can say in my defense is that my loyalty is sharper than my tongue. If you ever need a reminder that I am indeed a Hufflepuff, know that I am always wearing this.” You rolled up the left sleeve of your dark robe to reveal a beaded bracelet around your wrist, each bead yellow with black text stamped in on the sides, spelling out “HUFFLEPUFF.”

An unexpected, incredulous smirk tugged on Severus’s lips. “You really wear that all the time?”

“Only when I’m not bathing or sleeping. My sister made it for me after we got sorted. We, unfortunately, were not placed in the same house… Don’t look at me like that!” you chuckled at the mostly feigned repulsed expression regarding your sibling's sickly sweet behavior. “I happen to like this bracelet, thank you very much!”

“Who knew under your robes was something so garishly bright,” he sneered playfully.

“You’re not as slick as you think either, Severus. Don’t think I didn’t see that Slytherin scarf beneath your cloak at the last Quidditch match,” you eyed him knowingly. He parted his lips to refute but found he had no argument and grumbled while blushing against his tea cup.

______________________________________________________________

“Pardon me, Professor Lockhart, but could I speak to you for a moment?” 

The DADA teacher replied with an “Of course, dear” as he followed you to a spot off to the side from the entrance of the Great Hall after you had finished lunch one Friday afternoon. Severus eyed the both of you as he himself was slowly exiting the Great Hall as well. He slowed his pace down significantly as he floated through the corridor so he could pick up on what you two were saying. You had never willingly started a conversation with Lockhart before.

“...going to be gone this weekend. Leaving tonight, actually…

…take care of a few plants…? I left instructions in Greenhouse 4…”

“...ourse I can! Watering a few plants should be easier than defeating a vampire or two…”

You wanted Lockhart to plant-sit for you this weekend? That actually stung him a bit. Why wouldn’t you ask him to plant-sit for you? He was perfectly capable of doing so and he knew your greenhouses like the back of his hand. Did you not actually trust him like you claimed to?

He kept silent on the matter, his expression remaining impassive as he saw you off to the midnight train in Hogsmeade that same night. 

“See you Monday, Severus,” you bid softly, lightly patting his upper arm before stepping off the platform and disappearing into the night on the train until it was no more than a dot in the distance.

Severus didn’t trust Lockhart to do what was asked of him. Not one bit. Unless it was DADA-related or stroked his ego directly, the man couldn’t be bothered to accomplish what was asked of him. He imagined the fool would pass off the task to a student. Severus unlocked Greenhouse 4 the next morning and found the instructions you had left behind for Lockhart. They were simple and bullet-pointed, detailing exactly what to do and where he could find what. All that was asked of him was to spray a batch of Alihotsy plants with a germinating solution that sat on the third shelf in the supply cabinet, rotate them out of the sun at three o’clock each day, place them back at dawn, trim the matured leaves and store them in a jar. “Eventually to be delivered to our amazing potion master,” it noted, making him smile.

Severus kept a watchful eye on Lockhart that first day. Lockhart remained in his office until lunch, and after that made a trip down to Hogsmeade, no doubt to drink and find some entertaining company. At 2:45, Snape went up to Greenhouse 4 and confirmed that nothing had been moved from when he entered there this morning, the germinating solution still sitting in the exact same spot. He sprayed them all heartily and shifted the plants to a shelf away from the sun’s sight. A few leaves had matured so he gingerly snipped them from the stem and placed them in a standard mason jar. He also noticed several snails trying to sneak their way into some Potted Mandrake and disposed of them as well as repaired some worn netting protecting the Shrivelfig that was meant to keep out aphids.

He came by Sunday morning and treated the Alihotsy the same, making sure to place them in the sun at dawn so they had absorbed plenty of light by mid-afternoon. Once again, Lockhart hadn’t even bothered. 

______________________________________________________________

You returned Monday morning while everyone was at breakfast. Upon stepping into Greenhouse 4, you sighed in relief when it looked as though your plants had indeed been taken care of in your absence. You smiled pleasantly when you noticed some protective netting had been repaired, a task you planned on getting to when you had returned, but your smile broadened even more when you noticed a muddy boot print on the ground, one that did not at all belong to Professor Lockhart.

“Thank you for taking care of the Alihotsy this weekend,” you said to Lockhart who happened to be passing by the door that led down to the kitchen as you had come back from retrieving a snack that would substitute breakfast.

“Huh? Oh!” The man quickly recovered. The look of confusion lasted not even a second before plastering on a smile. “Yes, it was nothing! You can always count on me, Y/N!” he winked. You nodded once, drifting away from the man in favor of walking alongside the potion master who was breezing by in the same corridor.

“Hi,” you greeted. 

“Welcome back,” he replied, hiding his delight at your return. 

“Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

“Not particularly, though I was tempted to push Lockhart down a flight of stairs multiple times.” 

“Aren’t we all,” you laughed.

He walked with you all the way back to your office, select words hanging on the tip of his tongue until finally, he couldn’t hold them back anymore as you pushed on the handle of the door.

“Lockhart didn’t take care of your plants,” Severus blurted. 

“Oh?” Your hand slipped from the handle to face him with feigned curiosity.

“I didn’t trust him and…was proven correct when he ignored the task and instead spent his time in Hogsmeade, so I took care of them,” he explained carefully.

You smiled sweetly at him, lacing your fingers together in front of you. “I know, Severus.”

His breath caught in his throat. “You do?”

“Mhm. Truthfully it wouldn't have been the end of the world had those plants gone a couple of days without treatment, but I wanted to see what Lockhart would do and how he’d react to receiving false praise. I can’t say I’m surprised by the results, really. He’s as phony as ever.”

The potion master smirked. “Quite.”

You took a small step forward, stood on your tippy toes, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, making him flush pink when you pulled back and looked at him with twinkling eyes. “Thank you for taking care of my plants, Severus,” you murmured, affectionately squeezing his shoulders, before slipping inside of your office. Severus stood frozen in shock, his heart drumming in his chest before he managed to stop his brain from short-circuiting further. Without warning, he entered your office as well—you did have an open door policy after all—where he received another kiss. And another. And another…

He should plant-sit for you more often.

[altee-221]

The International Crisis of Carlos Sainz Sleeping Wherever He Wants

It starts, as most things do in Formula 1, with an inshident. Not dramatic. Not a crash. No radio message about tyre deg or race strategy.

No, it starts when Carlos Sainz falls asleep in his car.

Not in the garage. Not during a long debrief. Not between sessions.

On the gravel.

After an FP1 red flag.

Helmet off. Arms crossed. Head back. Asleep.

Sky1 Camera Feed, 11:42 AM

David Croft: “I—I believe we’re looking at Carlos Sainz… taking a nap?”

Naomi Schiff, delighted: “He’s napping in the car. Look at that posture—he’s fully out!”

Martin Brundle: “I once saw Prost do that during a rain delay in ’87, but he had a pillow. Carlos has… nothing.”

Camera zooms in: indeed, Carlos is just... sleeping. Fireproofs slightly undone, boots still on, one hand resting lightly against his seatbelt. Peaceful. Serene. Unbothered by gravel or cameras or Max Verstappen crouching beside the car like he’s seeing God.

The Grid Reaction: Immediate

Lando: “This can’t be normal.” Oscar: “Is he breathing?” Charles: “He does this. You get used to it. He once fell asleep against my suitcase during boarding.” Max (still crouched): “No, but like... do you think he’s cold?” Oscar: “Do you want to give him your jacket?” Max (already unzipping): “Shut up.”

And quietly, from just behind the marshals, there’s Teto. Calm. Holding a folded blanket. Already walking forward like this is exactly what he expected. Because of course it is. He doesn’t say anything. Just sets the blanket across Carlos’s chest with practiced ease, gives Max a subtle nod of acknowledgment, then sits cross-legged beside the car.

Pulls out his phone. Starts scrolling. He’s done this before.

The Next Week: Media Day

Carlos falls asleep on the PR couch.

Not next to it. Not reclining.

On it. Facedown. Half of him on the actual cushions, one leg hanging off, a press officer's clipboard under his cheek like a pillow. He is out cold. Lando walks in mid-interview, sees him, gasps, and just—very gently—places a soft McLaren hoodie over Carlos like a mother bird.

Sky1 cuts the scheduled interview with a rookie to zoom in.

Jenson Button, narrating like Attenborough: “The Sainz has entered Stage 2 slumber. Note the absolute surrender of spine. Only creatures completely confident in their dominance sleep like this in shared territory.”

The Blanket Situation

No one can trace when it started. But everyone knows who’s responsible.

Teto.

He is the blanket guy. He is Carlos’s emergency weather system, mobile sleep technician, and unflinching moral support.

The paddock has theories:

Did Teto custom-order the fleece ones?

Why do they all match Carlos’s eyes?

Does Carlos even know where they come from?

(He doesn’t. He once looked down mid-interview and blinked at the blanket around his shoulders like it had simply appeared.)

Oscar: “I never see him carry them. One minute he’s just Carlos, and the next—he’s tucked in.”

Charles: “Like a sleepy forest prince.”

Lando: “More like a nap threat.”

Max (grumbling): “He looks so safe when he sleeps. It’s unfair.”

The Paddock Protocol: Operation Siesta

Over time, it becomes… a thing.

When Carlos naps, you leave him be. You lower your voice. You bring him water for when he wakes up. You let Teto do his job.

It doesn’t matter where:

On the floor behind the Pirelli tent? Napping.

Curled up under a media table at Silverstone? Napping.

Curled up on the floor behind the tire warmers in Singapore (his foot tucked under Teto’s leg), you guessed it, Napping

Or sprawled across three bean bags and an innocent Oscar Piastri during a driver briefing delay (Oscar did not blink for 19 full minutes),because the AC was just right? Napping.

On Alex Albon’s shoulder during a strategy presentation? Very much napping.

Papa Sainz Cameo: The Ultimate Pillow

When his father is in the paddock, it’s over.

Carlos Jr. doesn’t nap.

He burrows.

He’ll find Papa Sainz in any paddock, any location, and immediately curl up next to him like a sleepy cat. Legs tucked in. Head on shoulder or chest. Sometimes even draping one arm across Papa’s lap like he’s recharging.

The first time it happened, Max walked into the Williams motorhome, took one look, and immediately turned around with a whisper of “nope. I’m not emotionally prepared for this today.”

Charles has a photo of the moment saved in a folder titled “No One Will Ever Be This Comfortable Again.”

One Night at the Factory

It’s late. Everyone’s gone home but a handful of engineers and media staff. The lights are half off. Someone’s finishing a debrief slideshow for the next day.

And then someone whispers, “Shhh—Carlos is asleep in the simulator room.”

Teto is already there, leaned back against the simulator rig. Carlos is curled up beside him, one blanket tucked under his cheek, another across his knees. Teto’s still scrolling on his phone, other hand lightly resting on Carlos’s shoulder. Like an anchor.

Everyone immediately moves softer. Someone dims the screen. Someone else places a folded blanket on the desk near him. The intern who almost bumped his chair gets a quiet thumbs up from George.

No one talks above a whisper for the next twenty minutes.

Sky1 Running Segment: “Where Is He Sleeping Today?”

Episode 1: Carlos asleep between tire stacks, one glove tucked under his head.

Episode 2: Carlos curled up on Charles’s lap. Charles is frozen, wide-eyed, afraid to move.

Episode 3: Carlos in a pit lane equipment cart, legs hanging off, hat over his face like a cowboy from a sleepy Western.

Final Scene: Post-Race Chaos

It’s been a long double header. Everyone’s tired. Logistics is a nightmare. The rain’s started again.

But in the middle of the McLaren hospitality suite—surrounded by backpacks and post-race snack boxes—is Carlos. Curled up, one arm slung over Oscar’s shin, face half-hidden in Lando’s hoodie. Max has draped his own jacket over him like a human tent, and Charles is sitting guard with his arms crossed and an expression that dares anyone to interrupt.

No one does.

Not even the camera crews.

Not even the team principals.

Because there, in the calm eye of the storm, the sun himself is asleep. And everyone—without quite knowing why—feels warmer just knowing he’s resting.

Blanket. Peace. Sainz.

The paddock’s favorite lullaby.

love,

Tee

[rottenpumpkin13]

I want to see AGSZ being teachers for a day to preschool kids and they had to read the kids a cool story

Genesis: "Children, dearest blossoms of Midgar's future, I welcome you to expand your literary knowledge. My darlings, through stories, we glimpse eternity. Through rhyme, we become divine. Now let us begin…" " *He flips open an ornate, leather-bound book* "Chapter one of the Kamasutra—"

Angeal: "GENESIS NO."

*Angeal tackles him full linebacker style*

Sephiroth: "For the record, I did not volunteer. I was ordered by upper management under threat of further 'team building activities.' I've been issued this book." *He holds up The Little Engine That Could* "Let us begin. The little engine puffed and puffed. 'I think I can. I think I can'…." *He pauses. Lowers the book. Looks down at the toddlers like they're cadets* "But why? What systemic failures caused this engine to bear the full burden of labor alone? Where was union support? Who profited from this mountain being climbed?" *The children start crying while Sephiroth sits there awkwardly*

Angeal: *gripping Jack and the Beanstalk with quiet rage* "Jack traded a cow for beans. What an interesting financial decision." *he angrily flips a page* "And then the beans grew into a giant beanstalk overnight??" *page flip* "And Jack climbed the beanstalk and found a castle in the clouds with gold and treasure and—"OH OKAY. JUST WALTZ INTO THE SKY AND GET RICH. THAT'S TOTALLY A THING THAT HAPPENS. NOT LIKE SOME OF US HAD TO WORK THREE JOBS TO AFFORD FOOD. JACK IS A CLASSIST PROPAGANDA MOUTHPIECE." *he sets the book on fire with materia, the children scream*

Zack: *in front of a chalkboard like he's briefing for an op* "Alright, squad! We were supposed to read Mog the Moogle Goes to the Carnival, but I skimmed it and honestly? Mog doesn't follow protocol. He goes in unarmed. That's how you get K.O.-ed." *He draws a crude moogle outline: giant head, pompom, angry face* "This is a moogle. Looks cute. Wrong. These guys can actually kill you. If you see one in the field, you gotta assess: is it here for hugs, or is it here for war?" *One kid whispers that they thought moogles friends* "Friendship ends when Mog casts doom, kiddo. Now—what do you do if it starts flapping its wings and saying kupo?" *Silence. Zack slams a pointer against the board* "EVASIVE MANEUVERS."

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

L x Reader pt. 3: The Billionaire and the Prostitute

Hope you enjoy, and this is a friendly reminder that you can also find my works on Ao3! all my works are much easier to look through there, and the chapters are in one spot :)

getting ready were such a chore.

It was part of the job, to get all pretty, and you enjoyed it most of the time, but sometimes it felt so tedious. Pick out lingerie, put it on, pick out a dress, put it on, pick a makeup look, beat your face, pick a hairstyle, spend an hour on it. at least you looked hot at the end.

Just as you put the finishing touches on your lip stain, your computer dinged. You were about to leave, was it worth answering? You checked the clock, and found there was still some time before you had to go. You opened your email, and saw it was L himself.

I have sent someone to pick you up. No need for a taxi. Please be outside by 10:30.

-L

The protocol he had designed stated you needed a taxi...but if he was offering, why not. It was safer for you that way, fewer strangers to deal with. You didn't respond, he'd know you read it when you got there. By 10:29 you were standing outside, and at 10:30 sharp a black limo came to collect you. It was driven by the same man who had driven you last time, the old guy with the mustache. You got in the back, and once you were settled he took off.

"...must suck that he makes you drive so late, huh?"

"For L, It's a pleasure."

Well shit. Small talk was not your thing, why you tried you'll never know.

When you arrive at the hotel an hour later, you hurry out. the ride had enough tension to cut with a knife, no way you were staying longer. By the time you made it to L's penthouse, you were more than happy to get to business, to give you something other than your awkward conversation to focus on. You knocked three times, and he called to you.

"Come in," he said, just as before, with that same patient tone.

You walked in, a little more comfortable now, and went straight to the living room. He was sitting there, just barely settled in. That same crouch...kinda like a frog. He looked up at you, two plates in front of him.

"sit."

You obliged and sat across from him, just like last time. The plates, now that you could see better, had slices of cherry pie. It looked warm, fresh...a dollop of whipped cream topping each, with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream on the side. "You said you liked cherry pie."

You did, didn't you? In that email you sent back. You were glad you chose to be honest, instead of lying for the sake of ease like you considered doing. "Thanks," you nod, taking a plate. There were silver forks by them, and you took one. He watched you, not yet touching his own. You stuck the fork in the pie, and the flakey crust easily gave way as the thick compote of the cherries oozed out of the sides. You brought the bite up to your lips, and he leaned forward slightly.

"What, is it poisoned," you tease, a smile on your face.

"No," he answers simply.

You sigh, amused, and take the bite. After some thoughtful chewing, you nod in approval. "Now that is good pie," You say, pointing at it with the fork. L smiles, just a little, his eyes brightening at your praise. "I'm glad it's up to your expectations," he says, moving to eat his own slice.

You eat for a few minutes in comfortable silence, before you speak again. "where did you get this?"

"Watari made it," he responds between bites.

"Watari?"

"Your driver. He's my...personal assistant."

The guy you made that comment to. Double shit.

"You work him hard then," you state. Might as well get ahead of whatever watari has to say later.

"He enjoys it," L assures, scraping the cherry compote off of his nearly clean plate. he was a fast eater.

"Right," you scoff, laughing a little. You cut off a particularly large bite, and just as you bring it to your lips, it falls off the fork and onto your chest. "damn," you huff, looking down at yourself. You pick up the piece and put it in your mouth, not intending to waste it, and scoop up the syrup on your skin with two fingers. As you bring it to your lips to lick it, you look up. L is staring. It's different staring. For once, and only far behind his eyes, you see...lust. Not interest, or curiosity, or calculation. Hungry, heavy lust. He really did like sweets.

You hold that eye contact, and when your fingers find your lips, you slowly lick the juice from your fingers. You drag your middle finger over your bottom lip, the crimson, gel-like substance smearing across it.

"Come here," you say softly.

It was time to work.

He doesn't hesitate, but he does take his time padding over, his steps slow and careful. He sits beside you, his eyes locked on your lips as he pulls his legs into a huddled up ball.

you wait for a moment, before speaking. "You want to kiss me," you state, as if you were speaking of the weather.

He glances up to your eyes, before leaning in. His hand finds your cheek, his positioning imitating what you had done last time. He had his thumb on your cheekbone and his fingers cupping your jaw, holding you still as he leaned in for a kiss.

You immediately fell into a rhythm, his lips meeting yours again and again as he chased the flavor of the pie. His tongue darted out to taste you, searching your mouth for more. He was slow, gentle, but relentless. He didn't come up for air, he only wanted to feel as he felt the first time.

Your hand slid down his chest, to his abdomen, your fingers trailing lightly across his skin through the fabric of his shirt. Again, he was surprisingly muscular. It wasn't visible, but you could feel it as you touched him, the lean strength hiding beneath.

abs, abs, abs, hip, leg...bingo. He was hard. Much quicker than last time, you liked the efficiency. Your hand gently stroked what it could grab, and he shuddered. Only then did he pull away, though his face stayed close enough for his nose to rest against yours. "I'd...like to move to the bedroom."

"Ooh, I get the bedroom now? I must be a lucky woman," you tease softly. You stand, and he quickly follows. He takes your hand and guides you to the bedroom, his steps sure. He had a one track mind.

The bedroom was simply designed, just as undecorated as the rest of the place. "Do you try to be boring, or does it come naturally," you laugh, sitting on the grey bed sheets.

He shrugs, sitting with you. "This is how it came. I'm not in here often."

"What about to sleep?" You reach back, unzipping your dress.

"I don't," he responds. "Not often." He leans back in for another kiss, and you reciprocate, just for a moment, until you speak again. "What do you mean? People need sleep," you laugh.

He sighs lightly. He wasn't a fan of this conversation, it bored him. "I'm not like most people," he murmured, kissing you again.

You decided it was best not to push it, it's not like it was your business...and it seemed like he was getting impatient. He brought his hand to your neck, holding the nape as he kissed you.

When you finally shimmied out of your dress, his hand slid down your back, searching for your bra.

"Uh, I should probably-" you start, but by the time your words reached him, he had easily unclasped the fabric. the lace fell from you, and you let it slide off of your arms. "How'd you do that," you giggle, tossing the bra away.

"It's a simple mechanism. You did it last time."

"You really are a fast learner," you murmur. He was full of surprises, wasn't he? At this point, you had nothing but your panties, and he was fully clothed. Hardly fair.

"Lift your arms," you order. He does so, and you remove his shirt, tossing it across the room. He gets the hint, and stands to take off his pants. He's less awkward than before, but it's clear he doesn't do this often.

"how rich are you," you scoff, sliding your panties down your legs.

his jeans hit the ground, then his boxers. "Immensely," he responds honestly. "Why?"

"Do you even dress yourself?"

He sits back down, this time farther to the center. "I have more important things to do. Now, I'd appreciate if you would do as you did last time."

You smile and grab his shoulders, steadying yourself as you straddle him. "It was that good last time?"

"I suppose so."

You roll your eyes, an amused grin on your face. His hands find your hips, just like last time, and he looks up at you expectantly.

Carefully, you hold his cock in place as you slowly lower, his eyes downturned to watch you suck him in.

His breathing staccatos as your hips meet his, and you can't help but enjoy how affected he sounds.

"Be quick," he murmurs, finally looking up at you with a new wave of ambition.

You, in no place to hold out or make him ask nicely, complied. You began to rock and bounce, taking a quick tempo as you rode him. Despite this, he appeared...bored. Or perhaps despondent. Or perhaps tired. Whatever it was he didn't seem too excited.

"What," you pant, looking down at him with slight contempt. What, was it not enough? Here you were, giving him your best efforts, and yet he had the gall to look unenthused.

He looked up to you, before slowly wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulled his torso forward until he could rest his chin on your chest, just as before. His eyes were inquisitive, searching, wanting to make sense of something. Then, amongst the sound of skin meeting skin, he spoke. "I have a hypothesis."

"Yeah," you ask, pursing your lips in focus.

He doesn't move at first, but after a moment, he takes your hips once more, and just like the other week, he re-angles you both.

He's hitting that spot once again, and you let out a low, needy groan. He let out a pleased sigh. "I see," he mused, pressing the top of his head into your chest.

You were going to ask, but you couldn't find the words between the desperate moaning and the light whimpering you heard from yourself. He doesn't let up, and in your endeavor for pleasure neither do you.

He can't help but look up at you, to watch your face contort into ecstasy, to watch your throat bob as you swallowed building saliva. So attractive, weren't you? He supposed that was part of your job, to be attractive, but you were very good at it. And you smelled nice. Like skin and florals. Was that perfume? Most likely. He wondered what you smelt like without it. And that makeup. He appreciated the effort, and you did look nice, but his curiosity was piqued. Another time.

You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but you could see he was focused. Just in case it wasn't on you, you comb your fingers through his hair, and when his eyes finally zeroed in on your face, you brought your lips to his. He seemed to come all the way back then, and at the realization of what was happening, that familiar whining returned to his throat. He was close, and the way it's going, so are you.

He was panting, holding you tight, his lashes fluttering. He finally let out a soft, quiet groan, his lips pressed in a tight line as he bucked up into you. The way he jerked and pumped, the intimacy, it had your own hips rolling as your orgasm came crashing down over you, your sounds admittedly just as desperate.

You sit there for a moment, panting between each other. After you regain your bearings, you gently dismount him. "Anything else?"

He was still just a little winded, simply staring at his own limp member, but he responds after some short breaths. "I...do have a request." He swung his head in your direction, a sloppy movement that managed to bring his eyes to yours. "I've been doing research."

"Research? What, like new positions," you ask curiously.

"among other things. I'd like to try missionary."

It was a little funny, the idea that his second position would be the most basic. "Sure. You should probably get some water first."

He nodded, but he didn't move. "Do you need water?"

You took a deep breath and sighed it out, considering his question. "I guess, if you're already getting it," you mumble. You didn't need water. It would just be nice to have.

He nodded once more, before standing and walking out of the bedroom.

You? Need water? Please. Although, it was kind of nice for him to offer.

He returned a few moments later, one water bottle in each hand. He handed you one, and returned to his seat beside you. It was silence as you both drank, before he finally spoke up. "What did you do today?"

You laugh a little. "You don't have to ask me that."

"If I didn't want to, I wouldn't have."

"..." What an annoyingly straightforward argument. "it's boring."

"I didn't ask you to entertain me. Not at the moment. I asked what you did today."

You sighed again. "I woke up, had some tea, did a little yoga, got ready, and came here. See? Boring."

"You do yoga?"

You took another sip of water and shrugged. "Keeps me flexible."

"Yes..." he mused. It was silent for a moment, awkwardly so. "I do capoeira," he relates.

"Oh? What's that," you ask absently, taking a gulp of water. It was that good, rich people water, that tasted pretty much the same. But, Y'know. Richer.

He looks to the ceiling in thought. "It's a form of martial arts, specializing in acrobatics and inverted kicks."

"Ah, so that's where that muscle came from," you hum, a sly smile on your face.

He's still and silent. "Yes," he finally answers, so softly you can barely tell he's addressing you. "I'd like to start now, if you're ready."

"I'm ready," you say quickly. It's not like you needed a break in the first place, he's the one who needed a break.

"Good," he says. "Lay down."

You move to the center of the bed, resting your head on the pillows. "You sure you're ready to do the work?"

He shifts to face you, his body nearer to yours now. "I don't do anything before I'm ready. I find the notion to be incredibly foolish."

"Mm, well excuse me for asking," you laugh, stretching your arms and legs out in preparation.

He doesn't say anything, opting instead to straddle you. He's in that crouch, sitting above you, examining your body from head to toe. Your legs pull from beneath him, raising to wrap around his waist. He slides his hand up your thigh, his fingers light and feathery. "have you done this before?"

You snort. "That was a dumb question," you tease. He gets that distant, contemplative look in his eyes, before returning and angling your hips in preparation. "I suppose it was." He brings his other hand to touch your side, gently caressing your stomach. It was so nice, you almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing. That is, until you felt him pressing at your entrance.

He was slow and gentle, his hands bracing against your hip and the pillow, giving you the same grace you always gave him. Not that you needed it.

He watched himself enter, just like always, and when he tired of that he settled his face in the side of your neck. his breath fanned across your skin, and as he finally bottomed out you could hear all of his little sounds. He was real cute, wasn't he?

You found your hands to be sliding up his narrow back, feeling the bone...the muscle...his skin was so smooth, so soft.

His lips grazed the area just beneath your ear, before he began to trail feather-light kisses down to your shoulder. He took his time, and in the process, he began to slowly rock his hips. All the way in, all the way out, slow, savory. He took his time, there was no rush.

"Don't you want to go faster," you giggle, your words as soft as his hands.

"Would you like me to go faster?" His words were almost taunting, as if he was asking for some sort of confession.

You scoffed. "I don't care, do what you want." You didn't care, really. It was your job, you did what he liked, and then you got paid after.

You couldn't see his face, but you could feel the slightest of smiles against your shoulder. He did speed up, just enough to make you moan instead of talk.

He found a rhythm, something to occupy his hips while he mouthed at your skin, slowly trailing his lips down to your chest. He laved over your nipple with his tongue, the hand that traveled as it pleased finding sanctuary at your other breast. The steady sliding in and out matched his tender kissing and his gentle hands, his conscious panting only intensifying the experience. It was so...reverent. Ginger. Even your moans were low and indulgent.

Before you could think, a particularly shocking sound came from you. "L..." you groan, your head tipping back, just for a moment, until it rolls forward once more to keep an eye on him. Did you really say his name without prompt? That was a first. A little embarrassing, honestly. Is this how people felt when they said your name? Weird.

At the sound of his name leaving your lips, he looked up at you. You locked eyes, his tongue still teasing your nipple, before he began to get a little more frantic. He was still as calculating as usual, but there was that undertone of desperation in the way he moved. The sharp snapping of his hips, the skillful kneading of your breast in his hand...he was close.

Your hands slid up and down his back, catching in his hair, your gasps growing in eagerness as he stared with that expectant gaze. You gave up on watching, allowing your head to fall back just as it did earlier, only this time it stayed. You couldn't see him behind your closed eyes, but you could feel his slight shuddering as he jerked just a few times more. Unlike before, he didn't look down at himself. He stayed watching you. You know he did, because his hair was still beneath your hand, and of course, you could feel his staring.

With a stifled, half groan, his hips stuttered, and he grasped desperately at your thighs to hold you flush against him. Not like you could go anywhere, but whatever. Your own body tensed and shivered, your sounds catching in your throat as your nails clawed at his back in pulsating pleasure. He managed to get you so worked up so easily, a natural.

L rolled against you, chasing and extending the last waves of crashing pleasure. He stayed atop your body for a while longer than you usually did to him, but it was all to regain his bearings. To bask in the afterglow. He could get used to this, the lasting clarity was astounding.

Soon after, he did rise, gently removing himself from you and sliding out of bed. "I can call your car," he states plainly, gathering his clothes. He seemed so...unbothered. As if nothing had happened.

"Thanks..." you pant, slowly sitting up. He glances over his shoulder at you, examining your disheveled appearance.

"...If you'd like to stay and recuperate, you're welcome to," he says, just a little more gentle than before.

You? Recuperate? He has sex three times and all of a sudden he's an expert, huh? "No, I'm alright," you huff, a tad sharp, and stand from the bed. You don't waste your time with your bra or panties, instead gathering them in your hand and sliding your dress on. When you finished, you look at L. His shirt is caught on his head, and with his elbow angled to the ceiling he uses his hand to feel around for the collar. He looked stretched out, his back unusually straight and his thin waist on display in the gap between his jeans and his hiked up shirt.

You let out an airy snicker, before walking around the bed and yanking the shirt into place. He looks down at you with a hint of surprise, before slouching back into his usual stance, now face to face with you. "Thank you," he says coolly.

"Don't mention it," you shrug. You turn around, and with no apprehension you walk out the bedroom door. It was time to go, you didn't like staying with a client for longer than necessary. Not his fault, of course, it was just best to stick to what was professional.

You didn't look back, not even when you heard the bedroom door creak open as you grab your clutch off of the couch. You just walk to the hall, yell out a quick "Bye!" and leave.

The ride home is silent, just like last time, but the tension is worth it when Watari hands you that big fat envelope. Just two sessions with L, and you were well on your way to a brand new house.

It feels like you're smacked in the face with fatigue by the time you walk into your apartment. You needed to shower, do your skincare, probably get dinner...god, you just wanted to lay down. Oh, well. Lethargy was a small price to pay for wealth.