#but for now i’m focusing my efforts on other fields

[inkykeiji]

hi clari! after reading ur posts about being a film and basically lit major i was curious about why u decided to study film at a university level n how it ties into ur “story” if u know what i mean

hello!! hmm i’m not like 100% sure what you mean by story (like, as in the story of my life???) but i decided to study film at a university level because i love cinema with everything in me and planned to work in the industry in any way, whether that be in production or distribution or exhibition or on an even more academic level (it’s a dream of mine to create my own film journal and publish academic pieces written by women).

my goals have changed a little now—i still love cinema, and i’d still die to work in the industry, but i’m currently more focused on creating (writing for) indie games + publishing novels & collections of short stories. everything i studied in school + the skills i developed n sharpened there are still helpful and applicable to these fields as well so!! i definitely do not regret my degree at all and i’m really happy i went with it! c: i also loved my program so so so much <3

[totheblood]

white horse

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer notices a change in you and helps you in his own spencer way

warnings: mostly fluff, grief mentions.

a/n: wrote this short thing to fix my spencer reid obsession! AI AUDIOS in the fic also reblogs, asks, and replies are so appreciated and encouraged! thank u kisses

wc: 1k

"my heart always wants to run."

Spencer was unfocused.

The hum of the air conditioner in the precinct wasn’t enough to drown out the thousands of thoughts in his head. What he should have been doing was analyzing the geographical profile of the current unsub, maybe even collecting witness statements or completing paperwork, but no. Spencer Reid was unfocused on the case and completely focused on you.

Ever since Hotch presented the case your entire body language had changed. It was like you had folded in on yourself, deflated in a way that made Spencer’s heart crunch. On the flight to LA, you nervously bit at your nails as the team spoke, bouncing ideas off each other, not contributing to the conversation like you usually did. You took a backseat in this case and for the life of him, Spencer couldn’t figure out why.

The minute you joined the BAU you were as elusive as they came. You barely spoke about yourself, never attended group gatherings, and kept conversations strictly professional. Spencer used to brainstorm reasons as to why you were so reserved, but he stopped once he started thinking of ways to get you to like him.

He would bring you the mini muffins from the cafeteria that were always sold out by noon, but you would always politely decline and claim you had just eaten. He would sit next to you on the jet and make small talk to which you replied with one-word answers. He always made an effort to include you in conversations not pertaining to work but you just would not budge. The only time he got a glimpse into the real you was when he made a stupid off-hand joke about Aristotle and you chuckled from your desk. He did his best to ignore the feeling that swelled in his chest. 

Now he was getting a glimpse into your life in a way that he didn’t expect. You were on edge. Something about this case was personal to you. He noticed it in the way you took small gasps every time a new body was found, or how you opted to do paperwork instead of being in the field. As someone who has seen you do a million takedowns with a smile on your face, Spencer knew something was wrong when you opted to stay back. The unsub was kidnapping pairs of sisters, murdering one, and letting the other live. It was gruesome and cruel, and he was accelerating. Spencer should have been doing literally anything to help, but his attention was on you.

“I can feel you staring,” you breathed from your place at the large conference table, not looking up from the paperwork. 

“Oh, uh-” Spencer fumbled as he sat up, “I’m not- I wasn’t really staring, I would say I was observing.”

You put your pen down and looked up at him, eyes squinted as you looked at his face, “Why?”

There was an edge to your voice, like you were already pissed and he was just making it worse. 

“Well, you usually write faster, you have a notch in between your eyebrows like you’re thinking really hard about something, or trying not to. And you, uh, scratch the back of your ear when you’re nervous,” he blurted out, sitting up straighter, “and uh, I wanted to make sure you were… okay,”

His last sentence made you sit up straighter as your whole face softened. You looked down at the papers in front of you then back up at him, “I didn’t realize anyone noticed,” you whispered voice low.

“Well,” he started, getting up and moving to sit down next to you, “you’re one of us… aaand we’re profilers, we kind of notice these things.”

You let out a small laugh as you shook your head and looked up at him. His hazel eyes were practically sparkling as he stared at you. If you were being completely honest, it was intimidating. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been,” you squint your eyes, thinking of the word to think of, “distant. I’m just not used to all of this, it’s overwhelming.”

“No, it’s okay,” he said almost instantly, voice soft, “This job is a lot, I don’t blame you. But today… this case,” his voice trailed off.

You took a deep sigh, resting your hands in your hands as you shut your eyes for a minute before you spoke, “My sister… she died. I don’t want to talk about it but, this case reminds me of it. Reminds me of her.”

“I understand,” Spencer hummed, in such a soft voice that it almost instantly soothed you.

“God, it happened so long ago I just don’t understand why I can’t get over it,” you shook your head, rubbing at your face before speaking again, “it’s like every time I remember it, I shut down. It’s like I’m broken or something.”

Spencer paused for a moment, looking you over before speaking, “Did you know that grief can actually alter your brain chemistry? Research has shown that the intense emotions associated with grief can increase levels of cortisol which can impact memory and cognitive function. In fact, there's evidence suggesting that the brain of a grieving person might resemble that of someone with a traumatic brain injury.”

You looked over at him, eyes a little wide as if you were taking in everything he just said. 

“I don’t know if that helps but-” Spencer started but was cut off by the sound of your voice. 

“It helps,” you breathed a laugh, “it really helps, so uh, thanks.” 

“You know, I’m always here if you need someone to talk to-” He spoke before tumbling over his words, “I mean we’re all here if you need someone, not just me but all of us.” 

You gave him a tight-lipped smile which he returned, “Thank you, Spencer,” you looked back at your paper before glancing back at him, “I might take you up on that offer.”

With his cheeks tinged pink, he nodded, picked up his messenger bag and exited the precinct conference room where Derek was stood in the doorway, clapping a hand on his back as he exited, “You’re in deep, pretty boy,” he commented with a laugh. 

“Shut up,” Spencer said under his breath, his cheeks now growing a shade or two darker. 

You had said maybe the most you ever had to him in your entire four months of working there and Spencer left the room blushing. He was for sure in deep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 44

Joyous Walpurgisnacht: Part II

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Please share your screams in my ask or a reblog!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Laufeyson returns with a second drink. You still have your first, nursing it as you find your head spinning with the activity all around. As more guests stream through, raucous as they meet others they know, the stage hums and the speakers crackle to life. 

Bragi begins his set, a brief tidings for the event before he strums into a tune. You wiggle your foot to the beat, peering over at the full band behind the lead. It's all so big and bright.

You turn back, reaching for your glass, as Laufeyson draws from his own. He watches you over the brim, eyes traveling down your body, focusing on the movement of your foot. You still it and uncross your legs, setting your soles flat.

He puts his drink down, half-finished. You sit back and fold your hands in your lap, peering around evasively. He probably saw you slouching or was annoyed by your fidgeting. You blow out between your lips as the party blooms around you.

Voices thrum in ripples beneath the steady rhythms of the stage, hollers go up now and then, piquing your interest as you look over to see a group cluster. They stand around smaller tables framed by two chairs each. You can barely see those sitting at them moving small pieces around the board.

“Hnefatafl!” The cry goes up as Thor stands and the pieces scatter on the table before him. You quickly look away as his head pops up above his audience.

“An old game,” Laufeyson explains, “rather dry for an event like this.”

You raise your brows curiously. You’re almost tempted to ask him more but think better of it. He hardly seems interested. Distant thunks bring another roar from a crowd further down. You twist in your chair to see across the field large round boards set up. A man with blond hair hurls an axe towards the wood, embedding it. You flinch and face the table again.

“Chaos,” Laufeyson mutters.

“Yes,” you agree, your toe tapping on the grass until you stop it again.

You sink into a silence which exists only between you and him. The furor of the party crackles around you, circling you in a whirlwind. There in the eye of the storm, there is no sound. It is deafeningly hollow.

“Ahem,” the clearing of a throat and tap on your shoulder brings you around. Laufeyson looks over your head, fixing his posture as you face Odin, “hiding in the corner?”

“Not exactly, father,” Laufeyson says, once more taking up his drink.

“There is much to enjoy. Your mother’s put in so much effort, I’d for her to see you glowering like this,” Odin reproaches.

“I do not glower,” his son snips.

“Mm, yes, well, you are more than welcome to wallow alone,” Odin replies flippantly, “but you needn’t cast a cloud over others…” he shifts to face you, opening a hand to you, “might I be so humbled as to request a dance from the lovely lady?”

You look up at him and your mouth falls open, “dance? I don’t know… how.”

“Well, then it is a good thing I must take it slow,” Odin insists, “it isn’t so hard to learn.”

Laufeyson sighs and drains the last of his whiskey. He stands abruptly, “I need to top up.”

Odin eyes him tensely but doesn’t remark. He looks back to you, “you don’t need to sit in his shadow all night. One dance, fair maiden of Walpurgisnacht, I see you can barely contain yourself.”

You look down as his gaze falls to your foot, once more wiggling. You still it and accept his hand. You hope Laufeyson isn’t too upset. It is only his father after all, he can’t be too put out.

“Thank you,” you stand and let him lead you away.

Odin brings you amid the other dancers, on a flat white floor laid out over the grass. He guides you to face him and helps you place your hands before he hooks an arm around you. He’s gentle but firm in leading you, counting with the rhythm between directing you how to move your feet.

“That’s it, dear, you’re a natural,” he praises as you let the music guide you, “and a beauty. That dress is very becoming, though it pales on you. You look immaculate…” he continues to sway with you, “my son is a fool not to say it himself.”

“Odin,” you look past him sheepishly.

“It is the truth. You are glowing and he is playing the troll, secreting you away from the light,” he tuts and shakes his head.

“It isn’t my party,” you utter.

“You belong here,” he insists, “don’t you think otherwise.”

“I am the house manager–” you rebuff.

“You aren’t,” he says, “my son didn’t get his senselessness from me. No, that is bred of mistrust. Fear, truly.”

“Odin, it’s true–”

“If he says it, it cannot be,” he counters, “when he looks at you, he is not looking at a house manager. He will claim I do not know him but he is my son. I see through him, it is only a pity he looks in the mirror and cannot do the same.”

You stare at the button of his vest. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to. You’re too afraid to think it could ever be true. Yet how can you tell him the truth? That would be humiliating. You are only half-right, your son wants more of me but only to sate his worst urges. It isn’t sentiment, it is convenience.

“Pardon,” a voice has you tripping over your own feet but Odin keeps you balanced, turning you as another figure stands close, “father, may I… take over?”

“Ah, but we are having such fun,” Odin taunts and twists you away from Laufeyson again.

“Yes, it seems so,” Laufeyson says thickly, “perhaps the next song…”

“Oh, don’t be so mopey,” Odin stops you as he chuckles, “I was only trying to pep you up, yes? It’s a party.” Odin raises your hand and kisses it gently, “thank you, dear, for humouring an old man.”

He stands straight and lets you go. He faces his son but you cannot see his expression, only the way Laufeyson’s eyes gleam back dangerously. Odin departs and Laufeyson’s attention flits onto you. He takes a step forward, once more looking you up and down.

The music ebbs and a new song begins. The soft plucking begins, then the reedy tone of a flute. Mr. Laufeyson offers his hand and you accept it, awkwardly coming closer as he sweeps his arm around you, his hand stretched over your lower back. He looks down to place his feet with yours before he begins. He is lithe and graceful, you feel otherwise.

“This is your song,” he says as the melody comes clearer.

You tweak an ear as you follow it, then lyrics begin.

“Moon River, wider than a mile…” 

Your heart pulses in recognition. You smile towards the stage. You didn’t expect him to truly do it but it’s wonderful.

“I like it,” Laufeyson says, “it is very… whimsical.”

You turn your head straight, focusing on your footwork, careful not to trod his feet, “it is.”

He’s silent as you feel his gaze upon you, bearing down. He must be annoyed by how you follow his lead, uncertain in your body. How pathetic; never had a birthday cake, never had a dance. You look up and gulp shakily.

You almost stop dead in your heels as you see something less than agitated in his expression. He is fixated on you without a trace of chagrin. His hand shifts on your back, his other on your hip as you hold his shoulder and his upper arm. He is handsome in the dimming approach of the evening.

“When I said before that you look nice,” he begins, “I was remiss. You look… beyond anything I could ever put into words. You are magnificent, pet.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you stutter, “well, you look very handsome as well.”

“I am not looking for compliments,” he dismisses, “and I think I owe you more than that.”

You don’t know what to say. Is it an apology? You don’t know entirely what he means. He’s had three glasses of whiskey, just like that night, and in the morning, he was just the same as before. You won’t count on the kindness he finds at the bottom of a bottle.

A sudden flash makes you squeak. You look over as Yvonne smiles over the large lens. You give a nervous giggle and brace Laufeyson tighter. He sweeps you away from the camera.

“Tomorrow, we will talk,” he avows, “but we can enjoy tonight. It is Walpurgisnacht and it is a new beginning.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He winces and exhales, “can I be Loki for tonight?”

“Loki,” you echo, “yes.”

As the song ends, the heat speckling in your skin licks to flames. You don’t know if it’s being so close or his constant gaze or the thought of tomorrow and whatever you might talk about. You’re sweating and you're uncomfortable and you need a breath.

“Excuse me, um, I need the bathroom,” you gently pull away. 

He reluctantly lets you go, his hand lingering on your hip as he points, “there, in the tents, I believe mother had facilities put up.”

“Thanks,” you offer a weak grin and step away from his grasp.

“I’ll be here,” he promises as you go.

You try not to hurry. You don’t want him to see how desperate you are to be away. It isn’t him, it’s you. This is all too much for you. It isn’t you. You’re not one of these people but they treat you like one. You’re just a poor girl born of cigarette ash.

You find your way to the tent housing the stalls. You take your time and try to collect yourself. Your nerves are tingling in your fingertips and where he held you; just along your lower back and your hip. It’s that urge that worries you, the one that made you think of resting your head on his shoulder.

You emerge and use the outdoor sinks set up in front of the stalls. You dry off and measure your breaths. You can do this. You go back down towards the fervour and as the night sets in, the large lights come to life and light the crowd.

You search the clusters of bodies. Where is Mr. Laufeyson? As you inch along the threshold, a shadow shifts to your right. You glance over but the figure disappears. You shake off the eerie sensation creeping down your spine and march forward into the tide of people.

You weave around bodies and tables, dizzy from the flurry all around you. You stagger as you’re nearly stampeded by a rowdy group of guests and you spin around to face a table in the far corner. There you find a scene that makes your heart plummet into your stomach.

You can’t stop yourself as you near the pair. Laufeyson, Loki, sits in a chair, two drinks on the table; his whiskey and another bright purple concoction. But beside him is Sif. She leans forward, her wrist clutched in his grasp as she whispers through the curve in her delicate lips. He stares back at her, eyes fiery, jaw locked.

“Loki, we had something good…” you hear her slither as you get closer. Her blue eyes dance over to you and her lips curl, “I still love you.”

She looks at him again and smashes her lips into his. He winces and turns his head, his gaze finding you as you stop, paralysed as you watch helplessly. You blink and swallow, wetting your lips as you bring your hand up to your sickened stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You turn and race away on clacking heels. You don’t look back as you elbow through bodies, running without direction, without escape. You just need to be away from it. All of it.

You find the pathway into the garden, plunging into the brush as your heels wobble with each step. You stumble and grunt in frustration. You stop and bend to unbuckle the shoes, tossing them away before you hurry on.

You find the stone gazebo, lit only by moonlight, and throw yourself inside. You land on a stone bench and hang your head in the frame of an arched window. You deflate as you hunch over, trembling so much it hurts.

You won’t cry. Why would you do that? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Mr. Laufeyson only said you looked magnificent then turned around to kiss his ex-wife. And why wouldn’t she? She’s much more than you’ll ever be. She fits neatly into their puzzle.

“Ah, little maid,” the gazebo darkens as the moonlight disappears as if a clouds passed over the nocturnal guardian, “what is the matter?”

You sit up and shudder as Thor’s burly silhouette limns in silver. You brace the edge of the bench and stand.

“N-nothing, I was only… having a break, I should head back–”

“It is peaceful out here,” he says, unmoving as you gesture around him. He fills the entire doorway.

“Yeah, but er, I should–”

“How do you like Walpurgisnacht? Are you having fun?” He asks, propping and elbow against the stone.

“Sure, I guess.”

“And did you play any games?” he sneers.

You falter and lean back on one heel. You have a bad feeling. You wring your hands as the air breezes in, a shiver rattling you.

“No…”

“That is too bad. This is a day of fun! Games are fun, aren’t they?”

“Please, Thor, I have to get back–”

“Let’s play a game,” he ignores your protest and steps into the gazebo, “I know a special game.”

“Thor,” you croak as you glance towards the windows. You see the lights above the trees and hear the muted noise of the partygoers and Bragi’s tunes. You look back to him as he takes another step towards you.

“You can be the mouse…” he says, “and I shall be the cat.”

“No, please, I don’t want–”

“You best be nimble, mouse. for the cat is hungry,” he growls as he looms closer, “and ready to pounce!”

He lunges and you jump back. Your shoulder hits the wall and you cry out. You turn and feel around, nearly falling through the opposite doorway as your feet slip over the stone steps. You stumble at the bottom, slipping in the grass as twigs and stones poke into your bare soles.

You hear him behind you, laughing as he makes a steady but easy pursuit. You sprint across the small field towards the row of brush, skirt catching on bramble as you dive into the wilderness. You don’t know where you’re going, you just need to get away.

Your feet slip on moss as dirty sticks to your skin. You puff as you pump your arms, glancing back over your shoulder frantically. He isn’t running, but he is coming. You can hear him laughing.

You swerve around, towards the noise of the party. You just need to get back there. You need to find a path. You don’t know where you are, the further you go, the more lost you are. The noises fade further and further. Oh god, wrong way!

Suddenly, your toe hits something hard and you nosedive forward. You don’t have time to get your hands up as your face crunches into a thick trunk and you collapse to the ground. You roll over as you taste iron on your tongue. Ow.

You sit up and touch your throbbing nose. As you plant your feet to stand, you hear a rustle and suddenly, you’re pushed flat to your back. Thor snickers as he holds you down by your shoulders, straddling you beneath him as he huffs.

“Ah, I’ve caught you, mouse,” he taunts as you squirm and whimper, “now the cat must feast.”

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Four

Jasper Hale x Reader

Series summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: Almost-car accident? Talk of getting smushed by a car.

Notes: Finally, a little something-something! I’m trying to post on the weekends to have some sort of schedule, but I have zero impulse control… so here it is a day early!

Word Count: 2146

Series Masterlist

• January 25th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Jasper

Not only am I lucky enough to spend lunch with Y/n, but some godly force must be watching out for me in that today’s history assignment allowed me to team up with her and learn more about her.

Her energy is absolutely fascinating and it almost worries me that I’m internally compelled to want to spend even more time in her presence. Two days and I’m already a goner, Emmett is going to have a field day interrogating me tonight.

Which leads me to now, after completing our history assignment with only a few minutes to spare, I’m escorting her to her car in an effort to prolong this addiction to her attention.

“Where are you from?” I ask, curious to know anything about her.

“Texas. Well, Dallas more specifically.” She’s still watching the ground as we walk, nervousness pouring from her.

“Why Forks? You couldn’t of picked a more completely opposite environment.” I miss my home state, and if it weren’t for my adversion to the sun - I would return.

“My parents divorced.” She continues before I could apologize for the intrusive question, “Happily divorced and I protested the whole ‘stay together until she graduates’ bullshit.” Fingers gesturing around the air quotations.

She trails off after that, circling back to our history assignment that no doubt has her still worked up. The Civil War, I cringe internally at today's topic since it’s a sore one for myself - having lived through it and fought in it.

“All I’m saying is, maybe history class should be more focused on the lessons learned, than just the events themselves.” She states rather passionately while inserting the key into the lock on the driver’s door of her car.

“To recognize and avoid in the future.” I respond, leaning my back against the rear of the small vehicle as I scan the wet parking lot packed with kids.

“Exactly!” She pops her head up, an excited smile in place as she garners my gaze again.

But just over her shoulder my eyes flick up to catch the sight of a blue van headed our direction a little too quickly for such a busy spot. A car horn blaring has her turning in its direction and the gasp I hear across the parking lot from Alice sends me into action. I grab Y/n by the waist and spin her against her car, so that my back might take the brunt of the hit, but it never comes as the rear of the van just barely slides past us. I relax the grip I have on her and tear my eyes from hers as I spin my head in the direction of the vehicle, ready to yell at the driver for being so reckless. The words die in my throat as I see where it’s headed - straight for Isabella Swan.

“Bella!” Y/n screams, but it’s lost in the screech of tires and the headphones in her ears that are keeping the outside world out.

Just as I’m about to damn us all to save another girl from this idiot driver, Edward flashes past to stop the van from crushing the Sheriff’s daughter.

“Fuck.” I whisper, glancing back to where my other adopted siblings are standing next to their own vehicles - faces unreadable, but emotions blaring alarm.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. Please be safe getting home?” I ask her urgently as I peel my fingers from where they want to stay gripping her, safe and close to me.

“But Jas-“ she starts, a little shell shocked at my quick action of saving her and the close call with her friend.

A whistle from Emmett interrupts her before she can interrogate me, so I flash her an apologetic smile before jogging at a normal human pace to the familiar silver Jeep. My hands flex in my lap the entire tense ride home, warm and tingly from when I gripped Y/n to protect her fragile little human body.

If we weren’t vampires already, this family meeting about to take place would definitely give Carlisle a full head of gray hair.

• January 26th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

“Hey, mind catching me up on what that was yesterday?” I immediately bombard Jasper as I sit across from him at what I’ve mentally deemed ‘our table’ at lunch.

He glances up from his sketchbook with a look that says he wasn’t prepared for my blunt line of questioning.

“The saving you from certain death part, or?” He leaves open ended for me to clarify.

“The part where Bella was alone next to her truck, but your brother teleported to her side AND somehow the van skidded to a stop right before turning them both into pancakes?” I’m not pulling my punches with my queries, after having spent last night stewing over what I had seen.

“He wasn’t that far from her when I moved you out of the way, I must’ve distracted you enough that you didn’t see him walking to her after he got out of class. Plus, the van wasn’t going that fast, maybe when it hit the back of her truck the tires got traction and he could brake properly.” He answers, turning his gaze back to his sketch and resuming his work.

I don’t really buy it, but I mull over my recount of yesterday afternoon as I pull my lunch from my bag. Was I so focused on Jasper the moment he put his hands on me? Was I so soda-strawed in on Bella being in the way of the van that I missed Edward?

No, something isn’t adding up. I know that van was hauling ass in the parking lot, I was going to yell as much at the idiot driving before I saw it headed for Bella. But I can also tell I won’t be getting the answers I want from Jasper. I can tell from the rigidity of his spine that he’s worried I’ll ask more questions. I mean, his recount of the accident isn’t out-landish, but I know what I saw!

I need to talk to Bella.

“Yeah I guess that makes sense.” I acquiesce. I see him deflate a little with relief as I pick at my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Thank you for saving me, by the way.” I add nervously, a little heat working it’s way onto my cheeks.

Jasper glances up to my face and with a small smile, “Anytime Y/l/n, anytime.”

• January 27th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

“Bella!” I yell down the hallway, catching her as she slams her locker shut. I jog over to her as she turns towards the exit, everyone that has Mr. Banner for Biology is going on a field trip today.

“Hey Y/n, what’s up?” She questions, seeing the look on my face.

“Tuesday, parking lot, what the hell happened?” I jump right into it.

“Tyler must’ve lost traction-“

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. Edward was nowhere near you.” Cutting off her redirection. “Jasper won’t budge, he insists I was distracted and didn’t see his brother before the accident.”

Bella glances around the hallway and decides to pull me into the empty female bathroom for some privacy.

“Edward is avoiding me, I was asking him the same questions when I was at the hospital and he refused to answer.” She answers nervously.

“It’s weird, right? I mean, one second I’m unlocking the door to my car, and the next Jasper spins me around to protect my body with his. And then I see Edward jump over the tailgate of your truck when I thought Tyler’s van was going to end you.” I’m just rambling the thoughts that have been pinging around the last two days.

I can see her hesitate, “You can talk to me, you know? I kinda don’t have any friends besides you, I mean - if you want to be friends?” I tack on the last part, worried I’d over stepped.

“Yeah no, of course - I um, I could use a friend to vent to.” Bella glances down at her shoes, picking at the sleeves of her sweater as the both of us exit the bathroom. “He’s coming on today’s class trip, I’ll talk to him then and see what I can find out.”

“Perfect, want to sit with me on the bus?” I ask, walking out of the building for the student parking lot where the buses are waiting.

“As if I’d risk getting stuck sitting with Mike Newton, absolutely.” She jokes back. “I’m going to grab my book from my truck, I’ll be there in a sec - save us a seat!” She yells as she jogs to her vehicle across the parking lot.

As I board the first bus I can hear Mr Banner yell at everyone loitering in the parking lot, “Yo yo yo, hey guys c’mon! We gotta go, we gotta go! Green is what? Good, let’s go!”

A few moments later Bella joins me in our claimed seat, book in hand looking a little frazzled. I see Mike pass us with a forlorn expression on his face, “Oh God, what happened?” I ask.

“He asked me to prom and I told him to ask Jessica, please don’t make me talk about it.” She answers with what I assume is a shiver of discomfort.

I want to laugh, but I just grin instead. “Your not-so-secret admirer fumble is safe with me, Bells.” I knock my shoulder into hers to tease her a little as I crack open my own book I brought for the bus ride.

• Community College Greenhouse •

Reader

Walking alone in line through the greenhouse, my hands drift over the different sprouting vegetables. Behind me I can hear Mr. Banner giving a spiel on “compost tea” and how its derived from table scraps and other organic waste. Every now and then my fingers float over the soft petals of flowers placed sporadically through the hundreds of food-producing plants; earlier it was explained that they encourage pollinators to visit.

Even though I’m a smidge lonely since Bella is hanging back with Edward, I’m glad to be surrounded by greenery instead of stuck in a stuffy classroom.

Just as Tyler Crowley pushes past with a clear mug of what looks like poop/dirt water, I spot Alice just ahead standing to the side of the isle with Jasper to allow students to flow by. When I get within arms reach, Alice loops her elbow through mine, almost like she could sense my loneliness.

“So,” she drags out the word cheerfully, “Enjoying the plants? Fresh air? Freedom from school?”

“Oh absolutely,” I glance over my shoulder at Jasper following behind us silently. “I’m surprised you’re not off in a corner doodling flowers, Hale.” I catch him duck his head and chuckle under his breath as Alice watches our interaction, surprised.

“And isolate myself away from your commentary? Never, Y/l/n.”

“Oh, Emmett’s opinions on your drawings are too much, but mine aren’t?” I smile as I turn to look at new plants as we pass them in our slow walk through the final greenhouse.

“My brother isn’t nearly as interesting.” His response catches me off guard and if it weren’t for Alice’s grip on my arm I would’ve stumbled on the wet concrete.

“As I live and breathe, Jasper Hale flirting-“ but Alice doesn’t finish her sentence due to Jasper snaking out a pinch to her ribs, her flinch forcing our hold to separate. Before I could chide Alice for teasing her brother for just being nice, Edward storms up to the three of us.

“Ready to leave?” He glances between his siblings, pointedly ignoring me so that I wouldn’t feel the obligation to join them.

“Edward-“ Alice says disapprovingly, but he pushes past us without waiting for an answer. She looks at me apologetically before skipping after him.

“Sorry about my brother, he’s insufferable when he’s in a mood.” Jasper offers as explanation as we watch the two of them exit the greenhouse.

“I get the feeling he’s always in a ‘mood’.” My fingers emphasize the last word with air quotations and it draws another chuckle from the gorgeous boy at my side.

“Touché.” He says with a grin. “I better catch up before they ditch me, see ya around darlin’.” He weaves his way through the crowded isle and out of sight before the heat settles in my cheeks.

I manage to file outside and towards the buses with the rest of my class after I gather my wits. I spot Bella already in our shared bus seat with a sad expression. “Wanna talk about it?” I ask as I sit.

“Not right now.” She answers, turning to look out of the window.

Next

[ticklishraspberries]

Assessment (Cristina, George)

Summary: Cristina asks George to help her practice a simple abdominal examn, and it goes differently than expected. (Based on this prompt by @allytheally. Hope you enjoy!!)

“Just let me practice on you, Bambi!” Cristina said, her tone uncharacteristically close to begging. It still wasn’t quite begging, which George would have taken great joy in, but it was close enough to give him a little bit of satisfaction.

“Fine,” he said. “But you’re buying my lunch today.”

“Deal, lay down.”

Feeling ridiculous, George laid down on one of the extra beds in the hallway, elbows at his sides and hands resting on his chest.

“Bailey claims I’m too rough when I give secondary assessments,” Cristina said. “You’re wimpy, you’ll tell me if I hurt you, right?”

“Hey, I am not wimpy! I grew up with two older brothers, I can take a punch,” he replied.

Cristina rolled her eyes. “Whatever, just…Tell me if I hurt you.”

George nodded, looking up at the ceiling. He could have been scrubbing in on a surgery, but instead, he was helping Cristina practice her patient etiquette.

Without warning, Cristina brought her hands to his abdomen and pressed, and he twitched under her sudden touch, but it wasn’t as painful as she’d made it sound.

“See, you’re already squirming! I’m not that heavy-handed, you’re just being a baby!”

“People’s bodies react to stimuli,” he replied. “I’m not being a baby, I’m literally just reacting! It doesn’t hurt, just hurry up.”

“Fine, bossy,” she replied, and did as instructed, but George noticed that she did lighten her touch ever-so-slightly. But that just made it worse, because it hadn’t hurt in the first place, and now it…Well, it tickled, and George would rather be in pain than have Cristina Yang find a new thing to tease him about.

He tensed despite his best efforts, but he assumed the average patient would do the same. It was awkward, uncomfortable, sometimes painful and sometimes ticklish to get felt up by doctors. He would have to keep that in mind in the future, try and make the experience less uncomfortable.

“Why are you so tense?” she asked, annoyance clear in her tone.

“I’m not,” George replied, defensive.

“You are, you’re being all weird. There’s no way I’m hurting you, this is the pressure I’d use in pediatrics.”

To prove her point, she lightened her touch again, barely pressing down, brushing fingers over his belly through his scrubs and he couldn’t help but let out a little squeak.

Time seemed to freeze in the hall, and George looked up at Cristina, feeling as vulnerable as a patient with their chest cavity open on the table beneath her curious gaze.

“No way,” she said. “Are you…Are you ticklish?”

“No, I’m not, and I think I just heard my pager, actually, so—”

“Oh, no, O’Malley, you are not getting out of this one,” she said, grinning. “Lay down, I’m finishing my assessment. Have you been having any abdominal pain lately?”

“Cristina, seriously, don’t you dare!” George cried, but was quickly cut off by his own giggling.

“I am never letting you live this down. I’m telling Meredith, and Izzie. I’ll even tell Karev, he’ll have a field day with—”

“No, Cristina, please!” he said, batting uselessly at her hands. “I’ll murder you, I’m serious.”

He had always hated being tickled, his brothers always taking it way too far. If the others all found out, he would be tormented every day, just like when he was a child.

“You don’t sound so serious when you’re giggling,” Cristina said.

She used both hands to scribble fingers over his belly and sides, and George squirmed like mad on the gurney, whining. He felt ridiculous, blushing and giggling like a child while on call as a surgical intern.

She focused on the sides of his stomach, one of his worst spots, and he squealed in the most embarrassing way. God, he was never going to hear the end of this, he knew it.

“Oh my god, this is priceless,” Cristina said. She was laughing, too, but it didn’t feel malicious. George wasn’t as close to her as he was to Izzie or Meredith, but he still considered her a friend. She’s grown on him, despite her know-it-all attitude, her relentless teasing, and apparently, now, he would have to put up with her tickling him.

Life as an intern could get weird.

“What is going on here?”

George groaned when he recognized the voice as Izzie’s, and if Izzie was here, it meant that Meredith wasn’t far behind.

“O’Malley’s ticklish,” Cristina said. “I was practicing an abdominal exam on him, and he started giggling!”

Izzie giggled. “Oh my god, no way! George, how am I your best friend and I didn’t know this?” she asked.

George forced himself to sit up, squirming wildly away from Cristina. “No, no, we are never speaking of this again. I’m serious, both of you!”

“What’s George serious about?” Meredith asked, coming around the corner, just as he’d predicted.

“That we aren’t allowed to tickle him,” Izzie replied.

“I hate you all,” George said, arms crossed protectively around his middle. “And I’m leaving now, I’m gonna go do my job instead of messing around.”

He stormed down the hallway with the sound of his friends laughing, his cheeks still flushed, still slightly short of breath, but also feeling oddly lighter than he had when he entered the hospital that morning.

[russellius]

THE TIMES: The Formula One driver and his father, Steve, on failed driving tests and sleeping in horseboxes

George

My earliest memories are of living in a mobile home while my parents built a house in a field in the middle of nowhere, near Wisbech in Cambridgeshire. I rode a pedal tractor around the site, hurtling through corners and reversing with a trailer.

At 25 I am the youngest of three. Cara is 37 and works as my personal assistant. Benjy is 36 and caught the karting bug when he was just 11. He was a brilliant driver, becoming a national and world karting champion. Unfortunately, even starting at such a young age, it was already too late for him to have a professional career. I took up karting when I was six and he helped me a lot. Benjy was like a mentor. He eventually gave up racing at university, so Dad’s focus was on me.

I didn’t see much of Dad during the week. He got up early and came home late running a business selling seeds and pulses. As a kid you miss having your father around, but it’s only now that I appreciate he was doing it so I could race at the weekend. Dad didn’t come from a lot and did well to create a successful business. We weren’t poor but we weren’t wealthy like the families of some F1 racing drivers now.

After long hours at work Dad drove us in a camper van to racetracks around the country. It was very much a family affair. Dad was the mechanic, Mum did the cooking and collected data on my driving. When I drove well, there were celebrations and the mood was great but because everyone was so emotionally and financially invested, when I suffered a poor weekend the mood was bad.

Dad has always been hard on the ones he loves. As a young kid, that was difficult to deal with. The pressure didn’t just filter down to me, it affected the whole family. I felt the weight of failure and expectation. If I made a silly mistake and spun off the track, I can now understand why Dad might have thought, “What the hell am I doing this for?” He had to work his arse off to support my racing, so if I didn’t put in enough effort, it must have been hard.

I now live in the world of F1, where tens of millions of pounds are spoken about like peanuts. Even in Formula Two or Three, every driver has to find huge amounts of money to get on the grid — it’s just crazy. When I was 16 and moving up through the ranks, I realised Dad didn’t have that sort of capital. I thought, “Oh shit, if I can’t find that sort of sponsorship or get picked by a team, my F1 dream is gone.”

Winning the F2 championship in 2018 was a big moment but I’ll never forget the day I signed for Williams F1 in September 2018. I was racing in F2 in Sochi, Russia, when Claire Williams, the deputy team principal at the time, called me in and offered a deal. Mum and Dad were the first people I told and they both cried. I told them to save their tears for when I won a race.

I joined Mercedes for the 2022 season, alongside Lewis Hamilton. It was a huge opportunity for me to learn and grow in F1, as well as show what I’m capable of. It was not an easy season for Mercedes but I feel very fortunate to be in this position, plus Lewis is such an incredible bloke on and off the track. He is so experienced, whereas I’m a 25-year-old who is just totally focused on trying to be the best F1 driver I can be. I’m pretty inspired by what he has achieved.

Dad is a strong character but he has become more emotional since his children have left home. He’s also friendlier now and doesn’t mind making a fool of himself from time to time. My only regret is that F1 doesn’t leave much free space to see each other but we do speak on the phone all the time.

Of course he still watches the pennies and will only fly economy — he won’t let me pay for their flights either. I know my parents can afford to fly business but it’s the principle for them. I want to make sure I reach a position with my racing where I can afford to give them the best in their retirement. They totally deserve it.

Steve

The F1 guys are OK on the racetrack but they are never as good as their dads on normal roads. George is always telling me to slow down as we approach a junction, though his mum thinks it’s fantastic when he takes her out and drives quickly.

There was just one occasion when George didn’t put the full effort in and it caused quite a commotion. He failed his first driving test at 17 because he thought that being a great driver on the track was good enough. He came home fuming that the examiner was wrong. We had to go back to the test centre in King’s Lynn so George could confront him. That didn’t go down well.

George was a cheeky little boy, a bit of a comedian. I worked a lot but it’s strange that I can only remember the racing side of his life, not watching him grow up at home. We enjoyed a nice life but had to work hard for it. I came from a family of farm workers with very little money and wanted to get away from agriculture and better myself but I ended up owning a wholesale seed business.

My wife, Alison, and I knew George was going to be a racing driver at the age of two. He was born on the track, coming to races to watch his brother and help out in the garage. He had a toy tractor that he rode around the pit lane and collected stickers from each race to stick on his “George Russell Racing” tractor.

As George progressed through the racing ranks it became more and more expensive. We invested in a motorhome to travel to races — before that I would sometimes sleep in a freezing horsebox. There were sacrifices. Alison and I didn’t go on our first holiday together until two years ago, on a trip to Lanzarote. By then we had been together for 38 years. People think that now George is in F1 we hang out with Lewis Hamilton and Toto Wolff, the Mercedes principal, every weekend in the sunshine, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Now Alison and I rarely go to races because we don’t want to interfere.

It was hard letting George fly the nest because we had been a close family, always doing our racing together. He is methodical and organised but his feet are firmly on the ground. There are plenty of people in the family to put him straight if needed.

There’s no magic wand to become an F1 driver — it takes hard work and dedication. It was only when I stood on the track with George before his first grand prix that I looked up at the enormous crowd and thought, “Oh my God, we’ve actually got here.”

[ddarker-dreams]

Hi Lock~ I wanted to ask you abt how you got into literature, and how you’d maybe recommend someone else to start? I want to expand on my reading (and also you’ve hyped up Dostoevsky sooo much I’m hooked but I KNOW I’m not at that lvl yet haha) but there’s so many different sources and stuff idrk where to start. I have seen your list of recommendations and other people’s lists as well but Im never sure if they’re a good place if someone is just starting into literature; I’ve been really interested in Picture of Dorian Gray, Jane Eyre and Frankenstein right now, do you think they’d be okay? Did you look at books you knew you’d be into? Or did you try out smth new entirely? Also did you look at any sources online that you could recommend? I know I’ve asked a lot so you of course don’t have to answer them, but please let me know what you think!!

I also wanted to ask, as someone who’s read many classics in literature, in your opinion, how would you define literature? And what do you think makes a book a classic?

From a very clueless anon, hope you and bun bun have a great day and stay hydrated!!!!

hello anon!!! there are so many interesting questions here, i'll try answering them to the best of my abilities!!!!

(how i got into literature)

i'd been neglecting published works for most of my life because i just preferred fanfic way more. it wasn't until a bit into 2021 that i saw this Discourse Causing Post that 'you can't grow as an author if you don't read published works,' or something among those lines. i thought this was really interesting because i'd never given it much thought. around that point, even though writing was a hobby, i felt really motivated to improve. i normally spent no more than a day or two on a story before moving onto the next. which is fine, because fanfic writing is a hobby, but i felt i'd be capable of more if i put in the extra time and effort.

so basically i got into it because i wanted to write my silly little yandere fics better jdfklgjsdg

(recommendations for getting into literature)

i focused on the genre i thought i'd be the most interested in: horror. then i branched out from there. i looked up what people considered must-reads for the genre because i figured that'd be a good place to start. if you know what sort of genres you like, doing some research into its most prevalent/foundational works isn't a bad idea. that's the approach i took. authors throughout the centuries influence and inspire one another, i wanted to be able to map those connections out. this also helps give some context to older books with references that'd be loss on a modern audience.

(how i went about looking into books to see if i wanted to read them)

i research everything like my life's on the line, so i do look into books before i read them. i go for a synopsis that doesn't include spoilers and consider if that's a story i'd get invested in. if not, i'll read some reviews for fresh perspectives. if i'm still kinda meh by then, the book gets passed on.

(defining literature/classics)

UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH literary theory is not my field of expertise ... i'd personally define literature as any written work such as fiction and nonfiction. it can encompass so many things that defining it feels tricky. as for how i'd define a classic, all art is subjective or whatever, but there are stories that just have the It factor. whether that is their cultural impact, or works that are pillars to the genre(s) they were written in. you can see the ripples that it made after its publication.

finally, as for the books you listed (jane eyre, the picture of dorian gray, and frankenstein), i'd highly recommend them!!! all of them are apart of the gothic genre, which is one of my favorites. they've all stood the test of time for good reason.

[loverboy-havocboy]

Hi! From the WIP ask game, would you elaborate on / gives us a share of the "omegaverse pack" ? :D

i gave the gist of this one here - but i'm happy to expand on it (with what little i have haha)

~ 1 hour later ~

you sent me on a spiral, bestie. i opened this ask to answer it an hour ago and have been ironing out a real outline/first draft since then. so now you get more.

also, i think i forgot to mention on the first post that this was born in @babygirlbridger's dms and fed by her freak brain <3

outline snippet:

Boost sequesters them away, but Wolffe comes to their quarters to check on them and what he finds is the three of them curled up in one bunk in just their lower blacks. Boost is holding both of them against himself because the only thing he can really offer is skin-on-skin contact. There’s nothing he can do for their heats. But they’re in a shitty nest Boost made for them with their combined three pillows and blankets. Comet and Sinker look like hell - their skin is flushed and shining with sweat, their curls stick to their foreheads, and the strength of the omega scent in the air nearly knocks Wolffe on his ass as soon as he steps into the room.   The situation he walks into has Wolffe’s scent flaring, his own hormones and instincts rushing to take over, but he holds himself back because as soon as Boost sees him he’s out from under his batchmates - standing between them and Wolffe.  Wolffe is like a shark smelling blood in the water and Comet and Sinker immediately whimper when they hear him growling, "What's going on here?” Boost tries to block his view of them, but with the scent in the air it’s painfully obvious what’s going on - not to mention, as soon as Wolffe’s scent thickens, the omegas are whining and weakly pulling at their lowers, begging for the alpha to help them. Boost is cycling back and forth rapidly between snarling at Wolffe (“I’ve worked so hard to protect them and I’ve lost everything, I’m not losing them too. You’ll turn them in over my dead fucking body.”) and trying to calm Comet and SInker, telling them to be quiet and lay still.  Boost’s protectiveness is in overdrive - he’s never felt this amped up in his life. He’s going to protect his batchmates even if it means fighting Wolffe off with his bare hands. He’s shaking with the effort of it. It’s engineered into his DNA to back down in the face of an alpha AND a commanding officer, and Wolffe is both, but Comet and Sinker are also written into his DNA and they’ll always win out over any other instinct, even if Wolffe’s scent flaring threatens to bring him to his knees.

He steps further into the room, but doesn’t go for Comet or Sinker. He stops at Boost - comes up so close he’s almost chest to chest, nose to nose with the man, and brings a hand up to his cheek. Boost can’t help but push into the touch with a choked whimper.  Wolffe murmurs to him, “It’s alright. You can rest now, pup. I’m here, I’ll take care of you - all of you. Please trust me, Boost.” The thing is - Boost does trust Wolffe. He kept a level head while they were sitting ducks in a field of debris and bodies, he calmed all of them and helped them keep focused. He believes Wolffe will take care of them. That’s all it takes for him to finally fall to his knees, head on Wolffe’s thigh. Wolffe runs his fingers through Boost’s curls and shushes him gently, then looks over the two omegas whose eyes are glued to him.  His instincts scream at him to take them - to fuck them and fill them and make them his. But he fights the urge because he knows they’re out of their minds with need. They can’t really know what they want - if they really want him to touch them or if they’re just desperate to be touched.  But then Sinker finally manages to get his lowers off and fucking presents for him, thighs shining with an abundance of slick and shaking with the effort of holding himself up and fuck, that’s a sight.  Pressure on his codpiece - torturous against his already hard cock - draws his attention downward, to where Boost is nosing at it tentatively.  “Help them, sir, please,” he beseeches mournfully, “I can’t help them.” Comet and Sinker whimper in agreement.

draft snippet:

so. yeah. :)

@brokenphoenix99 @insertmeaningfulusername @babygirlbridger pspspsps

[bnhaobservation]

How do u feel about Endeavor being back on the battle field? I'm all cool for a good fight, but I thought it was a bit strange since his biggest flaw was prioritizing hero work over his family. I mean, I get why Shoto and everyone else is there, but he just sticks out to me. Granted he is the number one hero, but my point still stands. Seems counter productive given literally everything his arc is about.

Well…

As someone who has written a fanfic in which Enji takes a period of leave from work to stay with his son and support his physical and psychological healing you might picture my first reaction to ‘Enji goes back on the battlefield while Touya is taken away to receive medical care’ had me think “NO! I WANTED HIM TO STAY WITH HIS SON! I WANTED HIM TO PROVE TO HIS FAMILY THEY MATTER MORE THAN WORK!” but the problem is, of course, I’ve a western mentality which prioritize family over work while in a Japanese story at most you can judge them of equal value or prioritize work (in the past you would have to prioritize work now things are shifting so you can archive a balance).

Part of the HUGE problem we have with the Todoroki family is that it is a family with some strong Japanese views which clash a lot with western ones so that we often end up disappointed with what’s going on with it when it’s actually much better than what it looks to us.

Now this is also the moment in which I make a PREMISE. While I’ve a general understanding of Japanese beliefs due to reading and researching on it and know how those beliefs are represented in manga and anime (often in an excessive, over the top way to deliver a point and not in a perfect reproduction of how they are in real life), most of those beliefs are changing and, anyway, I’m not Japanese so don’t take me as 100% reliable. What follows is what I managed to learn and understand as well but I’m just a person and I don’t own The Truth so I might have made mistakes.

Also this is complicate and would require a much longer meta. For simplicity sake I’ll try to summarize things so I apologize in advantage if things come out unclear. Feel free to ask again if something really sounds too messy to be understandable.

So…

I’ve discussed about it in another post but in the ’70, ’80 a father like Enji would be considered a model father in Japan. This kind of view is shifting so BNHA actually criticizes what Enji does, but not as hard as the western audience would like because… it’s a recent shift so, while Enji has to prove he’s going to be a better father… for the Japanese audience he doesn’t have to put as much effort as the western audience feels he needs to put in it (never mentioning sometimes the manga forgets that what Enji did is bad and has other characters do the same without criticizing them at all…).

There’s another problem in addition to this.

Chap 302 and part of the chapters that followed disappointed many because while the family reflected on their behavior… they didn’t seem sorry enough for what they did to Touya, they talked about fighting him, stopping him but not about saving him, were focused on apologizing to Hawks, to society but they hardly felt like they were understanding his pain. They don’t try to reach for him emotionally, showing him empathy and understanding. Enji claiming he’ll look after Touya after he wins All for One is more an Enji claiming he’ll make sure he’ll take responsibility for his son, will make sure he won’t trouble society further than that he finally will give him the emotional attention Touya needed. Enji will understand he has never looked at Touya (as in paid attention to him, tried to understand him), that he has to apologize to his son only short before he’ll realize his son will try to nuke Japan and Rei will also do so when she’ll see them both about to explode.

That’s because for a Japanese audience the biggest sin Endeavor committed isn’t abusing his child to the point he did what he did… but to have a child who did what he did. As Shouto said Dabi is their family’s crime/sin, meaning the family isn’t supposed to see him as a person they’ve mistreated, but as a sin they’ve committed against society, a sin of which Shouto too, Shouto who, poor kid, had no hands in Touya’s mistreating, is blamed by society (I’ve discussed about this in another post), he is punished for it by having to fight Touya (chap 352). And also note how Horikoshi expresses the change in views.

While having Shouto (and Enji) fight and kill Touya as a punishment for what Touya did to society would have been perfectly fine in the past, Enji makes clear he can’t kill his son no matter what and class A expresses sympathy for Shouto, they find unfair the fact he has to fight his brother, even the journalist who wanted to demand the head of the Villains cut herself off when she realizes she’s asking Enji to kill his own son.

So it makes sense Horikoshi had to absolutely send Enji (and Shouto) back to fight All for One.

It’s not because Enji has to play Hero again, but because he and his family are considered directly responsible for Touya’s crimes against society and therefore they have to atone by giving their all to save society even when this is asking a lot from them.

While most of the western audience want Enji to atone toward his family (and some don’t even believe at this point there’s something he can do to be forgiven), the Japanese audience want him to atone also toward society for the damage Touya caused.

And note how Horikoshi went at it by having Natsuo, the one who was the most vocal critic of how Enji neglected his children and caused Touya’s ‘death’, be the one who tells his father to go fight, to leave them behind, that it’s better if he does because he would be of no use to them there, his family having suffered enough heat already so he can go fight. Enji goes to fight after having ‘permission’ from his family, represented by Natsuo only merely because we know differently from Rei and Fuyumi Natsuo resented him for his neglect so if Natsuo says it's okay if Enji goes we as readers are meant to assume it is since for Enji's family it's okay if he goes (the fact that we ultimately agree or disagree though remains up to us).

Anyway the message here is that Horikoshi is trying to archive balance, to have Enji give equal importance to his family and his work but, at the same time, have Natsuo also accepting that what Enji does as Endeavor is important.

Enji being willing to die to be with his son and Natsuo accepting his father can’t stay with them (even if they’re seriously hurt) but has to go back to fight because his work is important too because if All for One wins they’re all lost are two faces of how Horikoshi is trying to archive balance between ‘work is important’ and ‘family is important’.

In a western story, we probably wouldn’t content ourselves with this sort of balance. We had to see Enji neglect his family for too long in favor of his work, to have emotional ‘balance’ we would now need to have the story allowing Enji to neglect his work in favor of his family because the lesson here would need to be he should always have prioritized his family and never neglect it.

If he were to do something like leaving his family to go back to work, no matter how important that work is, we’ll expect him to be punished by, for example, losing his family which he has neglected one too many times.

Think at the movie “Devil’s advocate”, when Kevin Lomax neglects his wife for his works he ends up losing it. Choosing his work over her is represented as selfishness, caused by his sin of vanity, not as the right action because work is important.

In “Baby boom” J. C. Wiatt’s choice to leave her old work to spend more time taking care of her adoptive daughter is pointed as the right one. In doing so she’ll manage to start a better activity and even find love.

In “Kramer vs. Kramer” Ted Kramer’s attempts at taking care of his son which lead him to neglect and therefore lose his job and end up with one that pay him less is rewarded as ultimately he’ll be the one who’ll get custody over his child.

In “The family man” a man is lead in an alternative reality to learn that being with the woman he love and having a family with her is much better than having a work that allows him to gain millions.

We generally make movies in which work is less important than family, that neglecting work in favor of prioritizing family will lead to a reward and the opposite will lead to punishment.

In BNHA instead the goal is to have Enji view his family and his work as equally important… which is a BIG step forward considering in the past a Japanese father wasn’t expected to care for his children and nurture them (that was a mother’s job), that his duty was just to work and bring money at home and cultivate relations with his boss and coworkers by drinking with them in the evening and manga and anime tended to remark this depicting stories in which the children were learning to appreciate how it was right their fathers would neglect them in favor of their work, because their work was surely more important than be with them.

Even when criticizing the father’s actions the story would go out of its way to depict the father’s work as fundamental for the salvation of the universe and the son would ultimately forgive the father for the neglect. As I said it’s an over the top representation. Plenty of fathers in real life don’t have a work that requires them to fight for the survival of the universe and could genuinely spare some time for their kids but stories presented them as doing as such so as to pass the message fathers’ jobs are important and growing up means accepting this and loving them anyway and putting aside the fact you felt neglected.

Of course I’m not Japanese, I live in a country that recognizes a child’s need for attention from both parents as one of the child’s primary needs, that if this need isn’t satisfied the child can face psychological damage and the father is considered neglectful. The ‘but he’s saving the world’ doesn’t cancel or excuse the fact with his neglect he’s harming his child.

So back to the topic at hand… I understand why Horikoshi sent Enji (and Shouto) back to fight All for One, and I understand why Natsuo had to be the one who sent Enji to do so, basically giving Enji the pass to leave his family behind. I understand the way Horikoshi is trying to represent this represent a positive shift from a past view that was much, much worse… or, if you prefer much, much more different from ours.

Does it make me happy?

Honestly, despite understanding why Horikoshi chose to handle things in this way… I WANTED TO SEE ENJI BE WITH HIS FAMILY, FINALLY PRIORITIZING THEM. Actually I wanted all the Todoroki be together, which means Shouto too. I wanted them to have a moment a little longer than what they had for a reunion.

But maybe there will be time for this later.

Actually it’s possible even Touya will go back on the battlefield (as well as Himiko, Spinner and Compress) because, although All for One had told Tenko/Tomura he chose nothing, Tenko/Tomura actually chose the League. They were his friends, the ones he wanted to protect and be a Hero for. So it’s possible it will be up to them to call Tenko/Tomura back, to also BE THERE as ‘Heroes’ who’re there to save Tenko/Tomura.

If the League were also to be involved in defeating All for One (and therefore indirectly protecting society) it would probably easier for them to have a better ending. After all it’s a shonen trope that if a bad guy/adversary joins forces with the Hero against the main enemy then they’re kind of absolved from their crimes.

It is, of course, as unreal as it can get, but in manga it has always worked just fine (think at how in a big classic like “Dragon Ball” the enemies that change side are easily accepted and no retribution for their past crimes is demanded [okay, sometimes they die first and then get resurrected because “Dragon Ball” had always been big in its resurrecting policy]) so Horikoshi might decide to deploy it here as well. We’ll see.

In the end, as much as I’m more involved in the Todoroki family than in the rest, this isn’t the Todoroki family manga and the battle against All for One has to take precedence.

But hey, if Horikoshi or someone else were to decide to make a spin off about the TodoFam I would surely buy it!

Said all this I apologize if it felt confusing, I remind everyone this is just my opinion and since I'm not Horikoshi it has the same worth as everyone else's opinion and I thank you for your ask!

I love to talk about the Todofam so thank you for giving me the chance to do so!

[dinoburger]

But the Moment Just Slipped Through My Hands

submitting to the time honored tradition of Expiration Date fics - slightly Science Party flavoured. I just wanted to put it out there, ik maybe I could stand to sprinkle in more funny speech mannerisms for both Engie and Medic - maybe this will be for another day. I also wanted to illustrate more of it but I could save that for the Ao3 version...

2k words - more focused on Medic and Engie but there's a dash of HeavyMedic in there, not exactly shipping focused

(title is from Gone in an Instant - I hope nobody is keeping track of how many times I reference Black Dresses in various work bc I'm sure it's starting to add up)

-🍞-

The smell of bread had a tendency to float in the air in almost every corner of their current base of operations – fated to be their last, so they assumed – but was even thicker now in the already stuffy laboratory. Slightly more sour than usual too, due to the effects of the teleporter.

After they’d reported their findings to the rest of the team, the resident medic and engineer had hurried back to continue their work, hoping for more answers. It was natural, to both of them, but in the lulls between furiously experimenting, exchanging notes and prompting each other with questions about their respective areas of expertise, Dell found himself staring at the doctor with a pang of guilt.

The medic, as was usual when presented with cataclysmic disaster, confronted it with a mixture of stern determination and delighted morbid curiosity. Regardless, impending doom weighed heavy on the shorter’s shoulders.

“You don’t feel hard-done by, spending your last days cooped up in this here lab?” he scratched his neck, leaning back against the bench’s counter.

“If we had more time, maybe – but this is where I am needed most, ja?” the medic scribbled down several more notes, before he spared the engineer a glance. “What about you?”

“So long as I’m not gettin’ in your way.”

“Oh not at all, not at all.” he shook his head, “Really, it’s unfortunate I could not have gotten to know you better sooner – you have a brilliant mind, Herr Engineer.” the doctor’s lips quirked into a small, earnest smile, which caught Dell off guard.

“Aw shucks, Doc.” he retreated into himself a bit. “Just a shame I weren’t brilliant enough to figure out this whole teleporter mess m’self.”

“Ach, you couldn’t have known” Ludwig waved off, “and besides that, some of the greatest discoveries of our time have come at no small cost. What is it they say…? You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.”

It was true that medical science had it’s share of horrors, but even so, the doctor felt his optimism slip.

“I must confess, I might have been a touch… sloppy. You would think if something was wrong, the team doctor would be first to pick up on it." he scolded himself. "I am so grateful for the freedom of being out on the field, pushing the boundaries of science and medicine but I’m afraid I have gotten ahead of myself.”

“Heck, I’d say you’d done a dang good job keepin’ us alive so far - ‘spite some of our best efforts.” Dell grinned, which got a laugh out of Ludwig.

“M’ just wonderin’ if you didn’t have nobody special you wanted to see before you, y’know. Bit the dust, so to speak. I can keep things tickin’ over here just fine for a while.”

“Someone ‘special’…? Oh, don’t tell me.” Ludwig snorted. “Those silly rumours about my supposed ‘wife’ are still floating around.”

“I was a tad curious.”

“I might as well give the game up now, she’s not real – never was. I have no time for such things, but ach, some of our comrades are very nosy. It started off as a simple joke to keep them off my back, I didn’t think it would stick, so I never bothered to refute it.”

“I getcha, that makes a hell’ve a lot more sense.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” the man tensed, the amused glint in his eyes exchanged for something sharper and wary.

“Well, when the fellas get gossipin’ about the lady-folk, you never have a whole lot t’ say. Figured if you really did have a spouse waitin’ on ya you’d be more eager to brag.” Dell observed casually.

The doctor released a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. “Ah, is that all?”

“Y’know I’m not one to pry, doc. I respect ya too much.”

“Much appreciated.”

Dell paused, picking his next words more carefully. “More surprised you didn’t wanna say your goodbyes to that big fella – two of you seem mighty companionable.”

“Herr Heavy, I assume? We do work closely together, but... it’s hard to say we’re much more than colleagues.”

“You kiddin’? The man’s crazy ‘bout ya – you should see how he lights up the moment he lays eyes on ya. ‘S really somethin’ else.” Dell risked a smile and a sideways glance, the doctor’s face going soft with fondness.

“Well… I suppose I owe it to him to see if I can work this out in time.”

The engineer’s throat seized, his playful smile fading. He’d almost forgotten what the stakes were here.

For the next few minutes, Dell put his head down and worked in solemn silence, the guilt crushing his lungs and forbidding him to talk. He would only will himself to when the doctor had another question, they needed to deliberate their next course of action or sort out notes between each other.

When they’d worked into another lull in their rhythm, the taller of the two eyed up the other.

“...You didn’t have anyone you wanted to see before we expire?” The doctor returned the question.

The engineer shook his head, still half buried in a toolbox. “Nope. Wouldn’t’ve signed up t’ be a mercenary if I did, all part ‘n parcel." he took a breath, considering just biting his tongue again, but somehow leaving Ludwig in the dark felt worse. "Those Mann brothers found me through m’ grandpa, us Conaghers’ve been workin’ with ‘em for decades.”

“Really now?” Doctor Ludwig’s eyebrows twitched up, this was news to him.

Dell knew deep down he wasn’t supposed to talk about this, as mercenaries they were all on a need-to-know basis, but with how the situation was unfolding he found the words spilling out with ease.

“Uh-huh. Lotta his work was kept under lock and key though, up until I joined their employ. Though I can't say I agree with how they got 'em to begin with... it feels like I get ta take part in my heritage, going over his blueprints, studying his notes – like I’m really steppin’ into his shoes ‘n followin’ his footsteps.” the softer, reverent tone he’d taken petered out into a sigh. “I was hopin’ I’d be able t’ finish what he’d started, put an end to this gravel war. Looks like there’ll have to be another generation of recruits after us.”

“It’s still just a job, mein friend, you make of it what you can – and I would say you have gotten more out of it than most would.” the doctor added.

“It ain’t just a job to me.” Dell’s idle tinkering stopped, head hung. “I got all these ideas in my head that I could make it mean somethin', I'd shake things up, I'd make it count - buncha fanciful nonsense." his words took on a harsher edge as he wound himself up.

Doctor Ludwig found himself pausing too, observing the other’s hunched shoulders and arms stiffly gripping the bench.

“What kinda legacy am I leavin’? Maybe I’m just daydreaming, thinkin’ I’m half the man Radigan was. Would he really’ve made a mistake this darn stupid? Doomed all’a his men like this? The hell do I think I’m doin’ out here?” he spat, cursing himself.

Part of him had always known, every force was met with equal resistance, wins and losses balanced themselves out. The RED and BLU mercenaries were nothing but cogs in a much larger machine, to ends he couldn’t fathom.

He kept glaring down at the counter through his goggles, as if raising his head would reveal a great, dark vortex hanging above, deeper than he could possibly see, filled with terrible, grinding machinery. It would use them all up like fuel and spit them out into the ether.

“To hell with legacy.”

Doctor Ludwig broke the tangible silence that had fallen.

“To hell with the Mann brothers, to hell with your grandfather.”

The Conagher bristled and turned on him, mouth twisted into an offended snarl, posture like a coiled spring. “Beg yer pardon?”

“We cannot dictate what the tides of time will choose to spare.” the doctor’s expression was equally grave. “So I say to hell with them all. Your work is worthy, because your life is worthy.” he clamped his hands over either of the engineer’s shoulders, taking the man by surprise.

“I don’t care what kind of man this Radigan Conagher was, I am honoured to have spent this life with his grandson.”

That sent his head spinning.

Dell choked, not sure if he was about to cry or laugh, a shaky grin spread across his features and a wheeze escaped his teeth.

“’P-preciate it, Doc.” he sniffed, flushed with the threat of tears.

Ludwig gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze before he released him, the tension melting out of the room. “Of course, let’s get back to it, shall we?”

The engineer nodded, turning from him again to regain composure. He pried the goggles up from his eyes just enough to rub the haze from them before returning them to position.

-

Hours bled into a blur, the self-assurance of being able to power through it to the end was starting to crumble. Dell could hardly see straight, neither man had slept since their initial discovery. He’d been the first to give out, going from using the lab bench to prop himself up to sinking entirely onto the cold, concrete floor in a heap. He peeled back his goggles, feeling the grooves across his nose and cheeks from being stuck to his face for so long – no doubt angry red marks by now, he imagined.

The stink of sour bread was getting to him, suffocating, he wanted nothing more than to lay down and let his senses slip away into unconsciousness.

He vacantly stared up at the doctor, who he wasn’t sure was still engaged in their research or just playing with chunks of bread.

Without thinking, he watched the man bring the piece he was holding to his mouth and bit down. He spluttered and spat it back out at once.

“What was the point o’ that?” the engineer snickered.

Ludwig mumbled incoherently, before shrugging, too bleary to come up with a good excuse.

“Surprised you can even tolerate the stuff at this rate, it reeks in here.”

“Ja, well…” the doctor interrupted himself with a groan as he joined the engineer on the floor, joints protesting his descent. “I have smelt a lot worse – try working with corpses and animals for hours on end. Or animal corpses, for that matter.”

Dell shuddered. “No thanks, partner.”

At least Ludwig found his disgust amusing.

It was strange being able to see the other’s face unobscured, the medic had gotten used to thinking of Dell as something vaguely insectoid with those large dark lenses. There were in fact, some pretty impressive red indents on his skin where the googles had been and a tan line to match.

“I jus… need a moment…” he huffed, letting his lids fall closed.

Doctor Ludwig murmured a faint agreement, tucking his own glasses into the pocket of his coat and slumping back against the bench on his side of the laboratory.

“...Doc?”

“Mm?”

“Y’ain’t… scared of disappearin’? Being forgotten?”

“Terrified. But it’s out of my hands.” his lips stayed parted as he chewed it over, consciousness swaying. “I can’t control what I will be remembered for. I can hope that my work will mean something in the face of humanity… that it will not simply be discarded as madness, but I cannot know. At least I can say I never limited myself, that I always… always sought for answers.”

"'S like y' said... if they can't see what it's worth then maybe humanity don't deserve it."

The doctor only hummed in response.

There was something painfully human in his sprawled out form that Dell had never quite seen before, peering out between heavy eyelids. He traced Doctor Ludwig’s sunken cheekbones in his mind, the dark lashes of closed eyes, brow relaxed – neither forming the serious scowl he was used to nor contorted in manic glee, a view clear of the usual thin frames that adorned his nose. He was used to having to peer up at him, with his line of sight only reaching the doctor’s chest.

He wanted to take that image to the ends of the earth, for what time he had left and what consciousness his exhausted mind would allow him.

Glad that the light in the lab was already dim, the engineer shifted to lie down, hissing when his helmet smacked the concrete – he’d forgotten he’d still been wearing it. He fumbled to get it off, not noticing the doctor too shifting to slide out of his coat.

“Here, support your head with this.”

“Huh? Oh, thank ya kindly.” Dell absently took the folded fabric while propped up on his elbows, shimmying to position himself just right.

He also took the opportunity to unfasten his prosthetic to set aside, along with his belt.

“Hey Doc… lemme return the favour.”

Medic squinted.

“I got a pillow y’ can use.” the engineer patted his belly with his remaining hand. “C’mere.”

He didn’t need any further prompting, the taller crawled over and flopped back against him. “Oof, my back is going to hate me for this.” he grumbled. “If you wake first, wake me up too.”

Comfortable wasn’t the right word. Nothing about how the cold floor seeped through the back of his clothes and the skin of his arms was particularly comfortable, even the way the medic rested his weight on his stomach was a little stifling, but he wouldn’t have dared to move.

He could smell the doctor’s scent in the coat tucked under his head, feel the gentle rhythm of his breath, hear the way it stirred in his chest.

“Let’s just stay like this, until the end. Hold me until it’s all over.” Dell wanted to plead.

“Copy that.”

[skylarmoon71]

Miguel O' Hara - AU Scientist (Across the Spider-Verse) - Chapter 2

You’d walked in the next morning a bit distracted.

“Wait a minute, is he my boyfriend?”

He said he wanted to date you, but you both haven’t actually gone on a date, so technically were you together.

“MIGUEL ARE WE GIRLFRIEND AND BOYFRIEND!!”

Shouting that in the lab the minute you stepped in probably wasn’t the best option. All eyes were on you and Miguel shrunk back under the attention. You grimace, sending him an apologetic look.

Lyla just stood at the back with the widest grin on her face.

“Sorry about that, sometimes I can get a bit in my head.”

“It’s alright. I probably should have made a better effort of explaining what we were.” You were both now alone in the lab, writing up reports from your last activity.

Miguel could see the happy smile on your face as you stayed on task.

“I’ve had feelings for you since we met.”

That caught your attention. The pen slowly lowered from your fingers, and he briefly contemplated taking the words back. His eyes quickly darted in the opposite direction.

“I’m not sure if you know this, but I’m on the spectrum.”

There’s a somber tone that follows the confession.

“I don’t think, internalize or express my feelings the same way. Although my disability is somewhat mild compared to others, it’s a part of who I am. Over the years I’ve been able to slowly push myself past the more rooted parts of my life. But sometimes this can be debilitating and that could affect my partner. It has affected most relationships in my life. Romantic and or otherwise.”

It’s clear that you need to make your own confession.

“I figured that out a few days after we met.”

His dark eyes hold a level of shock. You just rub your arm.

“Most of the people in this place hold degrees in the application of science in the world. I have multiple degrees and not all of them are applied in this field. Before I came here I worked with the FBI in behavioral science and forensics.”

His eyes light up in interest.

“You were a profiler?”

“I was. That’s why I understand what you go through. Most behaviors are easily explained by science. The way our brains function, process information. All of it is connected. I didn’t really think it was my place to confront you. Getting to this point given what you deal with must not have been easy. I think it’s incredible how much you’ve accomplished. I guess that’s..what I really fell in love with.”

He’s relieved, but also a bit frightened now.

“So you understand that certain physical aspects are..harder for me..”

His hand is on the table, and you nod.

“I understand. Miguel I don’t expect anything from you. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re you, I’d never force you into anything. We can discover what we are in the future. Now that we both know how we feel, we have time to figure it all out. “

You don’t reach for his hand, and he can’t help but cast his memory back to all those times that you’d inadvertently accommodated him. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t realized it before. Even now, your hand is so close to his on the table, but you don’t initiate any contact. His eyes are laser focused, then they move to your brilliant eyes. He leans closer and he can see the uncertainty in your eyes.

“Miguel you really don’t have to-”

“I want to.”

His eyes are firmly planted on your lips. You swallow, because this is moving a lot quicker than you expected. You had literally prepared yourself to wait a few months just to hold his hand. Now that it’s happening, you’re a bit unprepared. Miguel slides out of his seat, and when he stands, he’s towering you. His gaze brings in all kinds of feelings throughout your body.

“Can I?”

“Yes!”

That’s what your mind says, but your lips have forgotten how to function.

“I..umm..y-you..”

His brows furrow, a slight look of worry.

“Is it too much?”

You shake your head vigorously.

“N-No it’s not!” You huff, trying to calm yourself down.

“I-I’m sorry. I guess I just convinced myself that I’d be waiting for you. Now that it’s happening I’m a little nervous. “

Relief crosses his face.

“You’re nervous too?”

“I am. You always make me act so crazy.”

You laugh softly and Miguel smiles. He takes a step, and you refocus your gaze up. His hand reaches out slowly, and you anticipate it eagerly. His palm cups your cheek. You nearly melt at how warm his hand feels. How much you’ve craved to be touched like this. Touched by him. A soft breath leaves your lips, and Miguel’s approach is slow. You can tell that he needs a moment to prepare himself for the sensation that will follow. It all drags by so painfully slow. The minute his lips touch your own, you feel your stomach do frantic flips. Your brows knit, because it’s as soft as you anticipate. You can’t help it, you moan, and Miguel pulls back.

Your eyes snap open, and you instinctively create space.

“I-I’m sorry!”

Miguel licks his lips. You expect panic, but what you see is the complete opposite.

“A-Are you okay?”

“Asombrosa..”

He doesn’t say anything else.

He just moves back in and you squeak when his lips press so insistently against your own. Your heart is beating harshly against your chest. Miguel has a hand secured at your waist and the other slides easily into your hair. This time you don’t even try to cover the moan. It spills out, and Miguel swallows every sound of desperation that you release. 

He’s kissing you as if you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted and you cannot be any happier. The man who’d always avoided physical contact is holding you as if you would disappear if he even blinks. You grip at his lab coat, and it’s as if he’s encouraged. You gasp when he picks you right off the floor and your legs move around his waist unconsciously. You’re breathing heavily, Miguel isn’t much better. You both have finally stopped for a moment.

You aren’t sure what’s more impressive, how easily he holds your weight, or the fact that his hands are actually on your body. You’re a bit hesitant to let your hands move anywhere other than their current location on his shoulders. When you finally gather your breath, you blush.

“That was nice..” You say bashfully.

“It was extraordinary.”

Miguel’s eyes have gone a shade darker, and you lecture yourself to keep your composure.

You need to stay on your guard.

This adorable man might actually be the death of you. 

[peachy-cheeks]

We Still Have Time (week three)

week: arrival | one | two | four

word count: 2,564 words

characters: gojo satoru x afab!reader ; (minor: Mei Mei)

warnings: NSFW! entire series contains spoilers from chapter 222 and this is very... uh... smutty compared to other chapters so far

a/n: Definitely needed this one after last week's sad chapter and this week's very... interesting... chapter of JJK... certainly the lightest chapter (and currently the longest)... more of a read for my folks who are into really passionate but "slut-me-out" type hook up...

The amount of pure joy shared throughout week three was... abnormal. You nearly felt guilty for the, now rare, surge of jubilation, relief, pleasure, and serotonin.

“Hey- look alive.”

An electrifying, forceful tap on your forearm triggered your reflexes. Subconsciously, you lifted your closed fists back into a defensive position while slowly looking to lock eyes with Satoru. Unfortunately, the sight of an open palm raced towards you, blocking the view of his face. You quickly parried his sizable hand and evaded the next speedy jab. Regardless of where your head was at, your body was trained to stay alive and active.

“I’m going easy on you y’know.”

Block. Block. Slip. Jab. Push. Block.

You felt exalted in every tap, touch, and kick when sparring with him. These seconds of contact where Satoru's minimal pricks of cursed energy spread like mini electric shocks invigorated you. Sure, he had dialed his strength back, but he typically did... you’d be a sadist otherwise. You would never admit to it, but you were always grateful for this as the more considered and elegant hand-to-hand combatant. The lack of crippling blows and brute physicality made it easier to get romantically lost in fielding his contact (while teaching him a move or two.) 

“I left that open for you to hit- what’re waitin’ for?”

Admittedly, it was an off session. Your mind was still stuck on the grappling done earlier that day. It wasn’t easy coming back from having your head pressed into a pillow by the same hands sparring with you. There’s something very humbling about having to hold your own against the man who had your back so luridly arched for him earlier. What more could he possibly expect from you after having you unfold so harshly under his touch? He already won, many times over, especially in that week.

“C’mon, you’re gettin' boring!”

Your leg hiked up and extended toward Satoru’s shoulder which he blocked with ease. In a disruptive move, he lunged for your waist and tackled you to the ground. With the impact of the ground breaking you from your stupefying recollection, your legs sprung into action on a mission to wrap around his neck and right yourself up to pin him down.

Of course, your efforts were all a little too late. Satoru overpowered you through a series of simple moves, eventually landing into a position atop you, pinning your thighs apart.

“Hhu… this isn’t a move we talked about…”'

“Heh heh… guess this woke you up, hm? Done this plenty of times before..."

He leaned into you and littered your face in playfully sweet kisses, egged on by the meeting of your pelvises which were separated only by thin layers of athletic clothing. To be fair, Satoru was a bit in his head about you as well. That week he had found himself at random points occupied with recalling your touch, sparring and otherwise; soft, plush, and often sweat-dampened skin groping and pushing into his. Though you both aspired to be locked at the hip as often as possible, there were still separate duties to fulfill. So, for now, you two hedonistically appreciated the time you could share. And in moments of downtime absent your presence, he’d palm himself in hopes that he could exchange lustful memories for present focus.

Truth be told, his favorite memories from the week were him unfolding at the mercy of your touch. Moments where your hands roamed his body, tongue and lips settling for his ears and fingertips eventually focused on toying with sensitive pink buds on his chest and the head of his thick member. He couldn't stop thinking about sitting face to face, beseeched whimpers and moans of his that sank into your shoulder as he clung to you drawing closer to a climax. This memory second only to the image of you with your lips darlingly wrapped around him, controlling the pace and messiness of his orgasm. He held a slight obsession with trading vulnerability in touches; cherishing the changing tide of attitude, desire, and ease time brought back.

You both had finally found your rhythm again.

From how the week started, you'd think that the life you were living now was the life you lived before October 31st. Many, many revelations clicked as the days and nights by Satoru's side grew. Namely, that life was no longer the same, though it may be useful to emulate that old life in the easiest, most intimate times. At the least, so you both could have something a bit more recent to use later.

Reflections and memories of the tender time spent throughout the week inspired deeper contact, mutually wanting to feel the bare bits of your lover again. Your tongue swiped across Satoru's lips begging for access. He complied and loosened his grip around your thighs to wrap his hands around your torso and the back of your head in an effort to press you further into the kiss. He began to lift you into his lap and shift weight onto his haunches, your legs circling around his cut waist. Sitting fully in his lap, you broke the kiss only to rid yourself of your shirt. You figured it'd be wise to take advantage of the solitude provided by the odd hour that you and Satoru chose to "train" at.

"...It's late... think we're alone but we should try to be quiet..."

Satoru pretended to not hear your suggestion (he didn't care) as he focused on gripping and suckling your chest. His concentrated efforts in the swirl of his tongue around your nipple were rewarded by sweet, contradictory mewling. The curve of your back encouraged him to wrap his arms tighter around you, smooshing your breasts closer to his face. His hands roamed your body, shifting from your back to your hips, ribs and up to the breasts he nursed from. You rotated your hips further into his lap to feel his growing excitement and the breathy vibration of his groan fluttered against a wet, puffy, overworked bud. He gave one last lick with a quick bite, and parted from one breast to the other.

His beautiful eyes keenly tracked every muscle and response in your face; your eyelids squeezed shut in ecstasy, graceful extension in your neck as your head rolled back, cheekbones highlighted by the dim light flecking a sheen of sweat, and your supple lips parted wide with the smallest trace of saliva escaping. With the deep, rhythmic roll of your pubic bone into his (agonizingly for him, perfect for you) stiff bulge, you sighed wantonly and attempted to steer the motion of your bodies.

“Mmm… ’Toru… ahhh- fa-mm…”

The softly obscene sounds and sensation from his skilled mouth made it difficult to get your words out.

“Ah, ahh- Satoru.. l-lie back…”

Obediently trusting your direction, Satoru detached from your breasts and reclined as you straddled his hips. Beyond the distractions of his flushed cheeks set below delicate blue eyes, wildly hair, and prematurely fucked-out expression, you could sense an oddly quiet demeanor. Did he actually listen to your earlier request after all?

“You speechless...?”

You shifted your weight fully onto your, and coincidentally his, thighs, pushing your rear further against his hardness. His hand quickly pushed his hair back, other settling to grip your thigh pushing you impossibly closer.

“…Tryna focus.”

“Hmm... On..?”

“Not cumming myself…”

Half joking, half earnest plead. Satoru's honesty was met with teasingly perky laughter that you half-heartedly attempted to conceal. In turn, your laughter was met by an eye-roll and subdued chuckle. In one way he appreciated that his joke landed but he also needed to redirect the blow of your giddy body rubbing fully against his groin. There was only so much he could take, though he was interested in testing his limits.

Satoru placed his hand on your other thigh and his doe eyes back on your face. Your hips resumed a slow, doting rotation against his bulge.

“So… should I stay like this? Or should I kiss it?”

"Should probably take these off first..."

His fingers glided against the waistband of your shorts, some fingers idly latching onto the elastic to tug. Your straddle prevented him from disrobing you himself, so he settled for sliding his hand further down the front of you moving his thumb dangerously close to the clothed start of your slit. He dipped a hand flatly against the surface of your lower belly and ran two heavy fingers down your sex, taking extra care to rub against your throbbing bead of sensitivity. In reactionary lightning speed, you removed your shorts and resumed position.

His hips bucked causing you to fall forward breaking your fall hands-first across his broad chest. He began to knead the soft cheeks surrounding your, now exposed, core and felt blessed to have another prime view of your breasts. He spread you apart, fingers slipping— occasionally poking— by your soaked entrances. You moaned loudly into his mouth, teeth lightly clashing, and reached a hand between you both to release his erection. 

"Don't think I can wait longer..."

Foregoing further foreplay, you planted one last, extended kiss to his lips and shifted your weight back, sitting on his thighs. Simultaneously, you two reached to align his hardness to your opening. You pushed your hips forward while his strong hands pulled your thighs further apart and dragged you closer, impaling yourself onto his hardness.

Gasps, head tilts, and twitches almost in unison

"Ughhn... fuck..."

"Mmnn... ah..."

As you rode Satoru, his hands travelled across your body; palm applying pressure to your lower belly. You loved to see him from this angle, splayed out underneath you, blushing with a world of admiration in his eyes. You weren't really sure if the sight in front of you or the pleasure from him was making your eyes misty, but you knew that you needed to quicken the pace. The light squelch that resonated as you bounced in his lap in a more active squat made his head swim and he lifted his hips to meet yours half-way, knocking you forward again. Taking advantage of your compromised balance, Satoru looped his arms around you, pulling your body flush against his. Five fingers gripped into the roots of hair at the base of your skull and the other five dug into the cheek of your rear allowing him to control the pace and fuck into you with mind-numbing vigor. He licked into your gasping mouth before pressing your face closer to his.

"...so fuckin' tight... squeezing so much... this feel good? hm...? ...been wet like this the whole week... really can't stop fucking you..."

He practically whispered in your ear and dotted the side of your face with amorous kisses that contrasted the deep, hungry pumps from his hips. You could only whine as you felt your cunt stretch and drip around him more and more. Anticipating his climax, Satoru slowed his movements which gave you a chance to sit up again. Not wanting to part from the warmth of your torso, he followed suit, utilizing the muscles in his stomach to lift and settle into a cradling position. The intermission was a beautiful rest for air and a way to edge off your inevitable orgasms. A sloppy, smile-riddled exchange of kisses intoxicated Satoru, bringing tunnel vision to the forefront.

Laying you down on your back and folding you into a mating press, he took in the sight of you, now slightly, if not with more vulnerability, mirroring his previous position. The image of you exposed, open, and on display for his eyes only dazed him. 

"Hey— look alive..."

He chuckled under his breath, coming back from the living daydream of viewing you and to the reality of needing more of you.

"Open your mouth."

You trusted him and dropped your jaw, sticking your tongue out. His fingers rested on your tongue as he let a trail of saliva drip from his lips to the surface of your muscle.

"Suck."

You did as told, drawing in his calloused fingers and providing a moist friction that reminded Satoru to return to the most urgent task at hand. He quickly readjusted and entered you with ease, setting a domineering pace that forced you to let go of the prized fingers occupying your lips. The depth of the position allowed for a blinding pleasure that travelled throughout you, turning your limbs into powerless, pliable extensions and your words to mush. If Satoru loved anything more than you, it was how possessed you were under him.

"T-Toru... I-"

A messy kiss and drag of his cock interrupted your train of thought.

"S-so- ahh- mmph- c-close-"

His response was to move faster, arms once again securing around you for closeness and leverage. With his ear in the prime location to hear every minuscule cry he earned from you, he applied another lip-biting level of pressure and depth to your sopping warmth. This launched you over the edge and as you tried to stifle the scream in your throat, you felt your walls spasm and tighten around his shaft. In turn, this drove Satoru feral. He secured a palm firmly to your mouth and rutted into you like the world depended on it. Your glowing expression and the whites of your eyes taking over; waves of wet, muffled screams of rapture against his hand all brought him the high he sought.

"I'm g-gonna-"

"Mmph-mm!"

'Fuck.' His palm moved so that he could hear your approval, thumb resting on your bottom lip.

"I-inside m-me, 'Toru..."

Your words smothered his brain and within seconds he released warmly within you, spilling expletives bookended with your name and slowing his movements gradually. You felt his weight drop on you into a bear-hug while you both regained control of your breathing and heart rates.

"...you're like a damp, weighted blanket..."

A weak giggle, then a peck on the cheek.

"Think the damp part is mostly from you."

A head turn to give him an exhausted look, then another peck on your lips.

"Hey..."

Another, longer peck.

"Satoru..."

A deeper peck. 'Right... he's still in me...'

"'Toru... are there any towels around...?"

"You sleep well?"

Mei Mei's question curved slyly along the knowledgable smile on her lips. Satoru picked up his tea from the coffee table in front of him and turned towards his senior with an equally coy tone.

"Sure, you could say that."

"I see... and heard."

He narrowly avoided choking on his drink.

"Hm?"

"Nothing. Whatever you've been up to, keep it up. Seems like it's working in your favor..."

"Heh, yeah... will do..."

She made her way to exit the room leaving a final word.

"I only mention as a lot of the students look toward you for reassurance still. I know you're used to the pressure and don't need a reminder... keep up the calmness and confidence... it's more compelling to the group than you think."

Satoru let her sentence settle before placing his tea back on the coffee table. 

"...Hmm... a rare proverb from you? Not your style, Mei Mei, but... I appreciate it."

As if on cue, you slid the door open and entered the room.

"Ah! Mei Mei, are you on your way out?"

She addressed your question with a simple smile and giggle, sauntering past with her own message for you.

"Nice glow."

"Oh... thanks?"

[blissfullyapillow]

It's okay to make mistakes

It’s okay to make mistakes

Genshin Impact

Alhaitham x gn reader

wc: 1,309

Notes: Self indulgent hurt/comfort, fluff, a personal favorite (*´ω｀*)

Back to Masterlist A

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   ♡　*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 

“If you have time to cry you have time to write.” Alhaitham’s words strike a chord in me, and I can’t help but wince as I quickly subdue my sniffles.

“..Sorry.” Is all I manage to murmur without my voice breaking.

I resume writing the hopefully eloquent academic essay I want him to critique. Although I asked Alhaitham to critique my paper, I’ve already heard others’ opinions on my work. The responses were… not what I was hoping for. I’m only getting started and I have minimal experience, but from the feedback I’ve received it feels like my actions are often misunderstood and my best efforts are in vain.

As I recall an encounter I had with a scholar earlier, I wince and internally scold myself for my foolish behavior.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   ♡　*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 

“Why are you laughing?” The scholar asks me. “S..Sorry! I was laughing at myself for making such a silly mistake and-“ “I don’t care. Pay attention and don’t laugh in a situation like this. Laughing can be taken the wrong way.” I sheepishly nod knowing the scholar isn’t wrong, so I quickly quieted down and finished the task.

It irks me that the scholar is scolding me for laughing when I originally overheard the scholar laughing at me when I made a foolish mistake. Realizing what I did wrong, I joined in on the laughter and laughed at myself. So suddenly my behavior is wrong when you were the one originally laughing at me? I make sure to mask my frustration and continue listening to the other critiques the scholar has about my work. Figures, most of it seems to be due to something I lack.

I try not to get too down and finish hearing out the scholar before I’m excused. Although the critiques weren’t incorrect in any way and I’m only a beginner in my field of expertise, it still stings to know I missed so many things. I shake it off and take my leave. Hopefully Alhaitham can help me improve my work.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   ♡　*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 

Just remembering the scene makes me cringe at my own misgivings. Even so, it’s a learning process and it’s okay for me to make mistakes. I just wish my mistakes didn’t make me feel worthless and unworthy of anyone’s time.

To make matters worse, it’s hard to tell which criticism I receive is constructive or not. It’s hard to tell due to the tone the Scholar used when they gave me information on areas I can improve in. I’m grateful for the critiques the scholar offered; of course I need to make sure I’m open to criticism in order to improve, but everything’s just… hard. 

Despite the hours I’ve dedicated to my studies and learning, my lack of experience continues to remind me that I have a long way to go. It’s not as if I’m not improving, but it’s a slow improvement.

It's frustrating. 

It’s like I’m stagnating while the grass continues to grow greener in other’s meadows.

I know I shouldn’t feel this way; I’m doing just fine for where I am now, and slow improvement is better than no improvement at all. Still, I can’t help but beat myself up and feel discouraged over the little errors I’ve made. Am I even making a contribution? Do my words matter? Is this the right career field for me? Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead and-

“Ow!” I rub the back of my head and turn around to glare at the offending rolled up stack of papers in Alhaitham’s hand. “I told you to stay focused. What’s with the dazed out look? It’s irritating me.” Alhaitham scoffs as he leans over me, his chest hovering over my back.

“This is all you’ve written in the past five minutes?” Alhaitham chastises me. As much as I appreciate Alhaitham’s straightforward attitude, I can’t handle it at the moment. “My apologies. I just need a moment.” I quickly splutter out a reason to leave.

I abruptly stand up, my chair scraping against the floor. The scribe of the Akademiya says nothing as I leave the room. As soon as the door shuts I look around to confirm I’m alone.

Of course I am. I was in Alhaithams’ private study.

I let myself slide down to the floor and curl in on myself.

I will not cry. I will not cry.

Thankfully I don’t full on bawl, but all it takes is a measly tear to escape my eye before I’m silently crying.

Okay, great. Yay me, crying! Right outside Alhaitham’s private study no less! Woohoo!

I release a frustrated sigh and allow a few more tears to escape before I viscously rub my cheeks and puffy eyes. I stand up and take a deep, albeit shaky, breath and re-enter Alhaitham’s study.

Alhaitham keeps his eyes trained on me as I walk back over to him. When I move to sit down however, he quickly pulls me back by my arm. I open my mouth to ask him what’s wrong, but he lifts my chin and looks into my eyes before I can say anything.

Dammit. He’ll know that I was crying, it’s obvious when I do. My eyes get a little red if you pay attention, and I’m sure my cheeks are still wet with my previous salty tears.

“I-It’s not what you think I I really just needed a break and…” I trail off when Alhaitham pulls me against his chest. His hand smooths my hair back as he gently scolds me. “I told you not to push yourself. You can’t improve if you hold yourself back. We all make mistakes, but it’s important that we reflect on them and learn. It may not make it easier to accept and acknowledge that you made the mistake, but it becomes easier with time. It’s okay, we’re not perfect. And we don’t have to be.” His tender words carry my sorrow with them.

I’m embarrassed by the choked out sob I let out before I’m weeping against his chest, but Alhaitham remains silent as he lets me cry against him.

I hate showing my emotions like this and being vulnerable, especially in front of a man like Alhaitham, but…

For once I don’t feel ashamed.

In the embrace of Alhaitham’s strong arms I feel loved and cherished for who I am, with all of my faults and all of my strengths.

Once I regain my composure and no longer feel the need to cry I quietly thank Alhaitham for being there for me. “Of course, it’s not only my duty as your boyfriend to be there for you but.. I also want to be someone you can come to and confide in. I know I’m not the best at this stuff but.. you can rely on me. Now, tell me who made you cry so I can kick their ass.” I guffaw at his sudden change in demeanor and his bold tone, and I burst into laughter when I catch the murderous glare in his stern eyes.

It’s this freeing kind of laughter that you only feel after you’ve cried your eyes out until you’re satisfied. No, nothing has changed after I’ve cried, but it will. With time. I will continue to work hard, and through my hard work and efforts I will see gradual self improvement and growth though the marching of time.

“Oh, Alhaitham. I love you.” I giggle as I wipe a tear from my eye, but this time the tear isn’t full of self doubt and worry. “Of course you do. I love me too… and I love you, I guess.” He complains when I smack his chest at his sassy remark, but I don’t miss the looks of relief in his eyes and the small smile on his lips.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Ozarks Habitat Restoration: Privet, Honeysuckle, and One Rogue Hoe

Originally posted on my website at https://rebeccalexa.com/ozarks-habitat-restoration-privet-honeysuckle-and-one-rogue-hoe/

I wasn’t always a Northwest kinda person. I originally grew up in the Missouri Ozarks, mostly in Rolla, surrounded by farmland swiftly being chewed up into yet another subdivision. But there were patches of woods and fields left for me to explore. Often it was disturbed land being taken over by eastern red cedar (Juniperus virginiana) and a host of invasive species. But further away from home I saw remnants of vast white oak forests and savannas.

Being rather sheltered in a not-outdoorsy family, and not having much in the way of friends, I didn’t have much opportunity to explore the local ecology in person. So I have this odd mishmash of Things I Know about where I grew up, and a whole bunch of Things I Don’t Know, too. Now that I’m coming back to visit this place periodically with more knowledge and skills, I’m taking the time to fill in the blanks as quickly as I can.

One of the ways I’ve been able to reconnect with this place is by volunteering with the Ozark Rivers Audubon Chapter whenever I’m in town. They have a beautiful 70-acre nature center on the northwest end of town, and in spite of its size it features five distinct habitat types–oak savanna, upland oak/hickory forest with some shortleaf pine (Pinus echinata), a dolomite glade, tallgrass prairie, and a lovely little spring-fed stream with riparian habitat on either side. A trail system allows visitors to explore this wonderful array of habitats.

When the weather is good, you can find volunteers out working on habitat restoration and other projects around the center. This includes significant numbers of students from the Missouri University of Science and Technology (which was the University of Missouri-Rolla back when I was working on my Bachelor’s degree there–one of maybe fifty English majors at a STEM-focused campus!) The coordinators are always open to drop-in volunteers, so if you find yourself in the area, check the bulletin board on site for information about upcoming volunteer events, or check their Facebook page.

Earlier this month I was in town, and dropped in for a volunteer event. It was a potpourri of maintenance and upkeep efforts, with volunteers adding wood chips to trails and clearing blockages from drainage systems, among other tasks. I ended up being directed to wage war on some of the invasive plants plaguing the riparian area near the picnic shelter. In addition to a Pullerbear–which, along with the very similar Extractigator, is one of my main tools at home for yanking up Scotch broom  (Cytisus scoparius)–I was given a new toy to play with.

Rogue Hoe isn’t just inspiration for a great band name. It’s also become my new favorite thing for invasive species removal. Specifically, I got to use their hoe/pick combo, with a 48″ ash handle. Now, it may just look like an undersized mattock, but let me tell you–this thing is far superior. It’s much lighter, weighing in at about three pounds. And the shorter, more slender head is a lot easier to manipulate into tiny areas where you might have an invasive plant growing right next to a native one you want to keep, or right underneath the root system of a big ol’ plant you want to get rid of. If you need to dig out a bigger plant and the extractor isn’t budging it, or you have a slender plant that you worry may break if you pull it, you can use the Rogue Hoe to loosen the soil around the roots.

Oh, one more cool thing about it–Rogue Hoe makes their tools out of recycled agricultural disc blades! Can’t go wrong with sturdy and green.

So with the Rogue Hoe and Pullerbear in hand, I set about seeing how deeply into the riparian zone I could get myself, systematically yanking invasive plants as I went. The most numerous was some sort of privet (Ligustrum sp.) But unsurprisingly I found not one but two species of invasive honeysuckle, bush (Lonicera tatarica) and Japanese (Lonicera japonica).

Because spring growth is just getting ramped up, there were tons of little bitty new plants, plus some one to two year olds. These were easily dealt with with the Rogue Hoe–chuck the wider end of the blade underneath the roots like you would with a mattock or hoe, then pull the entire plant up–often bringing other invasives like non-native grasses along for the ride. Bigger plants got the Pullerbear, with a slow but steady pressure that levered them right out of the soil. Over a period of a little under two hours, I managed to make a respectable pile of weeds.

And I made it all the way to the little stream! I wasn’t able to completely clear a section of the bank, but I flagged a few larger privet and bush honeysuckle that were just too much for me to take on myself. While I was grubbing around in the underbrush looking for new privet growth, I managed to find a few nice little gooseberries, probably Ribes missouriense, along with some common blue violets (Viola sororia) just popping up. Standing back from the area I’d cleared, I could definitely tell there was a difference.

The first of several Missouri gooseberry plants I found amid the invasive plants I removed.

I wrapped up the day by getting an impromptu tour of some of the native wildflowers in bloom with the manager of the nature center. It was a great chance to fill in some of those holes in my knowledge of Ozarks native flora, and nice to have a little time there that wasn’t spent working.

The afternoon went by all too quickly: I really do have fun with invasive plant removal, even more than getting native plants in the ground. But it also made me a bit homesick for Washington, and Willapa NWR, and all the work that still needs doing there. It’s okay, though. No matter where I go, there will always be someplace that can use my help, and people working toward a better world who welcome another pair of hands.

Before (left) and after (right), click for a larger version. I forgot to take a before picture of the exact location cleared, so the “before” is right next to it. But you get the idea.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

[feild-null]

A Few Thoughts on Adaptation

Adaptation is a very tricky art to get right. Most of the time adaptations seem to be worse than the original works, and why is that?

Take for example if I wrote a small passage such as this

“Out in the fields I sat watching the sun dip below the horizon. For a moment each piece of dust in the air and bead of water on the ground lit up in a bright flash. The light hitting everything just right to make that moment one to remember. Now the sun dips even lower leaving the area desolate and dark, but soon the stars will come out and bring the night abuzz again. Another day will pass leaving a moment just as beautiful, maybe even more beautiful, but not for me. My moment has passed, someone else gets to have that dusk to themselves now.”

Well written, and let’s say enough people like it enough for it to get a release as not just the text but with an image this time around. Herein lies the issue. The moment you imagined in your head will most likely look better than what I could draw. So if I added this;

It’s most likely disappointing in comparison to the text on its own. Even if effort was put into changing the media it didn’t have the same magic energy as the original, which could be preferred, but to fans of the original it would be dissatisfying.

Now there are good adaptations, so what is the trick? From my observations there are two main ways to make a good adaptation;

1. Re-contextualize the story

2. Make an adaptation from a work that didn’t work as well to begin with

On the first note, re-contextualizing the story helps to make the adaptations stand out from one another making the two works seem separate enough that fans of the original can appreciate a new direction and it is actually new. For a good example of this take the “The Blob” movies. There are two versions of the movie. There’s the ‘58 and ‘88 versions; the first version is a movie that is inventive but struggles from its technical limitations from the early days of filmmaking, whereas the ‘88 takes full advantage of new filmmaking techniques and technologies. This by itself is good, but the stories are changed, where the original had the title monster come from outer space mirroring the fear of foreign invaders in the Cold War, the remake had the government be responsible for the monster in random with rising anti-government sentiments from Vietnam. If you’re looking for more information on this here’s the video I learned that from

Another good example is how the Scott pilgrim franchise handles adaptation. The original comic, movie, and tv show are all very different and for different purposes. The comic is more about the relationship and dynamics of characters, where the Edgar Wright movie was more interested in being a fun watch that mostly focused on one arc for Scott. The show. I’m not gonna pretend I liked that show (Scott pilgrim takes off), but it did do well (in the first three episodes) setting up the characterization of the other characters in the series. All have their own fan bases and are all going for different experiences. For a bad example we have our good friend the Disney corporation! The new Disney remakes have been railed on to death so I won’t spend too long on them, but suffice to say, they aren’t different enough from the original to warrant existing or cool enough to rekindle the magic of the original animation. They don’t change with the times, the closest we got was the little mermaid remake’s version of “Part of your World” having a different ending note (which personally I liked), which isn’t a good way to make remakes.

Now what about works that didn’t function very well to begin with? The best examples I can think of are The Thing and Spider-Man. The original Thing movie was titled “The Thing from Outer Space”, which was a longer and less catchy title to begin with, and while being a good watch ultimately wasn’t too remarkable. I’d still recommend watching it, however, that doesn’t compare to “The Thing”. That movie is a modern masterpiece of writing, failing at its release, but being remembered for its amazing portrayal of the story. (If you can’t tell, 90% of this is just recommending movies and tv shows that I liked). What about spider man? Well, while Peter Parker has stayed consistently good, Miles Morales wasn’t always. Miles’s comics personally weren’t very gripping or very good to read, mostly just a filler for the time, but the Spider-verse movies? NOW THAT, THAT IS CINEMA. Those movies made what was an interesting but underwhelming character into one of the most compelling movie protagonists I’ve seen from Sony in a while. Not to mention the “Across the SpiderVerse” movie had a twenty minute opener that was a movie within itself about Spider Gwen.

Now all this is to say adaptations are very interesting to look at. It’s important to remember to judge works of media on their own because a lot of adaptations are going for a different crowd, but also knowing the past of it is important to make progress. Suffice to say it’s complicated and understanding and enjoying media is hard. We want things to be good, but even bad adaptations can teach us things. Netflix’s “Avatar the last Airbender”, Disney’s remakes, and a whole suite of live action remakes show the value of the medium of animation and what happens when you take it out of a story. The remakes of beloved stories that butcher the characters and teach us why Hollywood sucks forget why the story is good show us that you need strong direction for good end products. (Hollywood isn’t actually bad, it’s just an easy punching bag to point at and say that it’s the real problem when the creative bankruptcy and executive pressures are a result of dying markets and competition) Now if you notice I didn’t name a specific franchise for that last example, that’s because that franchise caused me to write this in the first place. And it’s “Transformers: Rise of the Beasts”. And that movie caused this rabbit hole to explain why it’s bad and the worst part is it could’ve been a masterpiece. THATS RIGHT, THIS WHOLE RANT IS ACTUALLY ABOUT TRANSFOMERS!

I could write a whole other dissertation about that movie and why it fails to be a good adaptation of “Beast Wars” and “Transformers” as a whole, but I won’t. This post is already looking way too long but I will say the show “Beast Wars” is one of the best transformers shows I’ve seen, heck even one of the best shows I’ve seen, though that could be due to the fact I saw it as a young kid, but I did rewatch it and it lived up.

No matter, enjoy media, and remember to stay excited for new things, media hasn’t become bad, we simply have to keep up and find the good parts. Goodbye tumblr citizens.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Αλωτά γίγνεται επιμελεία και πόνω άπαντα.*

- Menander

*Everything is achievable through diligence and effort.

History was made in October 2022 when Private (Pte) Addy Carter, of 16 Medical Regiment became the first female soldier to pass the British Army’s demanding course the All Arms Pre Parachute Selection (AAPPS) - known as P Company or P Coy for short.

P Coy is one of the most toughest courses in the world. Many tough and physically fit male soldiers fail. To fail can be soul destroying. You have to prove that you have the physical and above all the mental robustness needed to serve in the British Airborne Forces.

Pte. Carter was presented with the coveted maroon beret after she completed the course run by the Parachute Regiment. The three-and-a-half-week course at Catterick culminates in the gruelling eight events of Test Week, including loaded marches, log and stretcher races, and an aerial confidence course.

Pte Carter said: “I heard about P Coy during basic training, it sounded really tough, but I just wanted to give it a go and prove to myself that I could do it. Physically I found it very challenging, but it’s about showing that you can deliver when things get hard - I just kept telling myself that every step was a step closer to the end.

“As a woman, I wasn’t treated any differently by the instructors, nor did I expect or want to be. I hope that I’ve shown to other female soldiers that it’s achievable. Coming back to my unit, there are other women who’ve said that they’re now more confident to give it a go.”

Colchester-based 16 Medical Regiment provides medical support to 16 Air Assault Brigade Combat Team, the British Army’s global response force that is specially trained and equipped to deploy by parachute, helicopter and air landing. In her role as a Combat Medical Technician, Pte Carter would deploy as a medic working alongside soldiers from The Parachute Regiment.

Pte Carter passed P Coy on her second attempt, having dropped out of her first course with a foot injury. “I never had a moment’s doubt that I wouldn’t try again,” she said. “My unit and colleagues have been supportive, and the build-up training you get is very thorough. We’re taught about nutrition, mental resilience and injury care - it’s about preparing you to pass if you put the work in yourself.”

The next stage for Pte Carter is the Basic Parachute Course at RAF Brize Norton, which will earn her ‘wings’ as a trained military parachutist.

This is what real feminism looks like. No favours, no special privileges, no victimhood. Just a steel will, a quiet determination, focused discipline, and sheer bloody hard work.

As an ex-veteran and army combat pilot, I’m so proud of Pte Addy Carter. I’ve worked with both field medics and the Parachute Regiment in Afghanistan and they are such a credit to themselves as the best in the world and to the army in general. Hearing of Carter’s success through a private Whatsapp group amongst female armed forces veterans, it brought a tear and then a smile to my face. What a fantastic achievement. She’s set the bar and now it’s for others to follow.