#sorry i have my essay hat on a little bit

[always-andromeda]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐓

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Professor!Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 3268

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + dark academia + “I can see how badly you want this, so I'm going to make sure you get it.”

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ I’ve loved this man literally since I was thirteen…so it’s inevitable that I’d be writing something absolutely fucking filthy for him in my twenties…

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact), gaps in age and power, mutual masturbation, little bit of panty sniffing, a singular use of Y/N (I'm sorry, I hate it too but it was necessary), usage of pet names (sweetheart), general manipulation, slight praise kink, obvious disclaimer: the dynamic in this fic is just that, fictional, and should not be practiced in real life!! let me know if any other warnings are needed!!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

You’d rarely had luck receiving any sort of grace from your professors. Sure, there were a select few that only wanted to see you succeed. However, more often than not you seemed to encounter sadists who decided to take their kinks out on exhausted college students. But you were convinced that Professor Winchester wouldn’t be like that.

For starters, he’d always been challenging but never malicious. Despite the fact that you’d registered for his Norse Mythology course with the assumption that it would be easy college credits, you quickly learned that his assignments were difficult. Every week there seemed to be about a hundred pages worth of reading, frequent essays, and an emphasis on class discussion.

Oh, did he love those class discussions. While most were less than enthusiastic to contribute to lengthy examinations of Eddic poetry at eight in the morning, Professor Winchester seemed to be none the wiser of this.

He was always squinting over his thin wire framed glasses, surveying the class. He’d stand at his desk, brushing his long hair behind his ear while looking over papers. When he’d listen he’d purse his lips and tilt his head, expression rife with genuine interest. In all of these moments, he was the most gorgeous. But more than that, you were fascinated with his mind.

Professor Winchester knew this material like the back of his hand; was able to pull references and quotes from various pieces of literature at the drop of a hat. He was the only professor who could ever give notes that were actually helpful on essays and he’d always been generous with handing out extra credit assignments. Which is what you aimed to obtain on this visit to his office.

You looked through the glass of his office door and saw him inside, working diligently at a dark oak wood desk. Taking a deep breath, you turned the doorknob and entered.

The hinges squeezed but Winchester seemed so fixated on whatever was before him that he only raised a finger, indicating for you to wait. So you did. Awkwardly. You rocked slightly on your heels, your stomach starting to twist in time with the movement. God, he looked like a dream lit by the stained glass banker's lamp as he graded papers.

In another world you could see him coming home from a long day, his body warm behind you as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Smelling like black coffee and pencil shavings, you'd adoringly close your eyes, taking in his scent and ask him how his day went. He'd hum in contentment when resting his chin on your head; you're his rock, his soulmate, the reason he stays sane despite dealing with probably hundreds of students and the frustrating dance of academic bureaucracy. 

It's a fantasy that broke the second Winchester glanced up and said with a hint of surprise, "Miss L/N! Come in, have a seat," he nodded towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

Relieved that he can pick you out among the sea of students from his classroom, you move forward until you reach the chair. You set your bag down on the floor and settle into the worn leather of the seat as Winchester eyes you expectantly.

"What can I do for you this afternoon?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek. "Actually, I was hoping that you could help me out with something."

"Oh, what might that be?" he furrowed his brow.

"Um..." you started. "I'm sure you noticed that I didn't do too hot on the last exam."

"Ah, I did," he said simply.

"You did?"

"Yeah, I was surprised, actually." Winchester opened up one of his desk drawers and sorted through some files before pulling out a packet you recognized as the exam you'd taken the week before. "You seem so engaged in class discussion and you've been doing well on everything else. This...this felt rushed. What happened?"

The soft expression of concern on his face only increased your shame. In all honesty, you'd wasted half the exam time away staring at him. He'd worn a red sweater over a cream colored button up that day. Then he'd rolled up the sleeves before handing out the exam papers. It felt stupid to admit that you'd been distracted by his goddamn forearms.

But you had been. You couldn't resist watching him as he'd circled the room, keeping an eye out for cheating. With his arms folded behind his back, you got the best look at the back of him. His long legs clad in khaki. Strong, tanned forearms corded with prominent veins. Shoulder blades pushed back confidently as he walked. Everything about his solid stature had your mind far, far away.

You'd been good at making sure your daydreams wouldn't get the better of you. But this time, before you knew it, Winchester was glancing down at his watch and announcing that you had fifteen minutes left for exam time. You had no choice but to rush through the rest of it, writing down answers that hardly even made sense just to fill in blanks.

Now those answers laid before you, condemning you to a low D– that dragged down your entire grade.

"I honestly couldn't tell you, Professor. I thought I studied enough but I guess not."

Though you'd attempted to laugh off his concern, Winchester obviously wasn't budging. "But these are rookie mistakes. Number fifteen for example. Where do the gods live?"

"Easy. Asgard."

"Right, but here you marked down the answer for Valhalla," he slid the paper around so you could look at the question.

Sure enough, there it was, your frantic pencil marks filling in the bubble for the incorrect answer. Damn.

"And that's just on the multiple choice questions," Winchester continued, flipping through the pages. "You barely followed any of the directions for the long answer questions. Your response to the short essay portion was a paragraph too short. And it was too unfocused."

Unfocused is right, Professor Winchester.

"I hate to say it...but I was a little disappointed."

The sting of tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. So you cleared your throat and blinked them back quickly. Voice trembling, you answered quickly, "I'm sorry, Professor. I wasn't on my game and I thought I'd pay you a visit so I could plead my case. I'm willing to do any kind of extra credit assignment. I don't care how much work it is. I'll do anything to fix my grade because I really want to do well in your class and–"

Winchester raised a hand, urging you to stop. Then he spoke, "Listen, I can see how badly you want this. So I'm going to make sure you get it. Just...let me think."

With that, Winchester rose from his seat and began to gather the papers that littered the surface of his desk. He stacked them neatly before opening a different drawer and laying them inside. After he closed the drawer, he made his way around the desk. You tried not to look at him as he made his way around the room, especially not when you felt his hand brush against the back of your chair. But you couldn't not notice when he drew the shade on his door's window and closed the blinds to his window, leaving the room dim save for the yellow light of his desk lamp.

Once he'd made his round, he returned to his chair and rolled back, leaving a massive gap between himself and the edge of his desk.

Then he did something else you didn't expect.

He patted the wood and said, "Come. Sit on my desk. Let me look at you."

You almost wavered on the direction when he cleared his throat expectantly. That brought you to your feet and compelled you to settle waveringly before him.

With his lips in a tight line, Winchester studied you. He tilted his head every few seconds, letting his eye flicker from your uncertain expression to your body. You sat up a little straighter in an attempt to satisfy his observation of you.

You weren't quite sure what he was doing, but it made you nervous; made you vulnerable in a way you weren't used to.

"I may have one extra credit opportunity that I can offer. Special. Just for you."

"Yeah? What do you want me to do?"

"Well, you can start by spreading your legs."

Your eyes went wide. "Professor Winchester, you're not–"

He cut you off quickly, "First, after office hours, you may call me Sam. Second, I'm not going to touch you. I'm simply asking you to give me a– a presentation," he decided.

"What kind of presentation?" you asked.

Your feigned innocence made the man chuckle softly. "The kind of presentation I'm sure you give in your dormitory bedroom every night."

There wasn't an ounce of jesting on his face, but still you played dumb. "I have no idea what you're referring to, Sam." His name felt foreign yet familiar on your tongue. Probably because you'd whispered it many times before in the exact scenario he'd described.

"I'd hoped you'd tell me the truth about why you were so distracted during your exam. But since you haven't been forthcoming, I guess I have to spell it out for you, haven't I?"

You swallowed hard and blinked nervously.

"You thought I wouldn't notice, did you?" he chuckles again. "It's hard not to notice when one of your students, especially one so beautiful, is practically drooling all over their table."

The scraps of flattery were evidently working on you as Sam smiled when you fiddled with your fingers in your lap as your skin got all warm and tingly. So he kept going.

"Besides, you're too intelligent to do this terribly on something you should've aced. Maybe you wanted to fail it. You wanted to get my attention, didn't you?"

"Oh, no, I wasn't trying to waste your time, I was just–"

"You weren't wasting my time. Wasting your time is continuing this pointless back and forth when you could instead be proving yourself."

"Proving myself?"

"Yes. Spread those legs...and earn your grade," he ordered.

Breathing in and out slowly, you did what you were asked. The knots in your stomach told you this was wrong. But the smile of approval that slowly grew on Sam's lips said that this was exactly what you both needed. 

You'd never been more embarrassed to be wearing a skirt. One the fabric pooled around your hips, it only framed the damp patch on your underwear. Perhaps part of you had wanted something like this to happen. Because your pussy was already pulsing after simply being observed behind the cotton curtain that soaked up her anticipation.

"Very good," Sam breathed out.

"What do I do now?" you asked.

"Just...play with her. Show me what you like to do to make her happy."

You nodded, then pursed your lips as you thought. If you were going to present to him...you might as well go all out. So you shifted each of your thighs around, pulling down your underwear until your bare ass was planted on the desk and the garment was caught on one of your ankles. You lifted your left and held it out gently, the panty hanging in the air a little below Sam's face.

"Take them," you said. "Visual aid."

He smirked lazily at the offering before pulling them over your shoe, being careful not to actually touch you. Sam balled them up before bringing them to his nose and slowly breathing in the scent. You could tell he enjoyed it thoroughly as he let out a deep sigh from within his chest.

"With how wet these are...it's good to know you were prepared even for a surprise presentation. I knew there was a reason you're my favorite."

His words went straight to your cunt as a few drops of slick leaked from your hole and landed on the dark wood beneath you.

"Go on," Sam urged, gaze flickering to the drops of you on his desk. "She's waiting. And so am I."

You began to treat yourself with the same level of care as you did when you were alone. One of your hands reached up your shirt and you cupped one of your tits. You kneaded the flesh for a few seconds before focusing on the nipple, pinching it until it pebbled and poked through your shirt. The action made your breathing turn ragged. 

You finally let your other hand travel south, bringing warmth to the soft skin of your thighs. Wanting better access to yourself, you pulled your leg up, resting a foot on the desk itself. Then you reclined back and let your fingers roam where they wanted.

Using two fingers, you spread your outer lips, only exposing yourself to Sam’s scrutiny even further. The cool air hitting your most vulnerable part, you shivered as goosebumps erupted across your skin. You looked up at him, gauging his approval of your performance.

“You’re doing so well already, keep going,” he encouraged, hardly concealing the arousal that clung thickly to his tone.

You took the praise with pride. It emboldened you enough to slip your two fingers between your folds to gather up some of the slick. You couldn’t help but feel mortified as you involuntarily gasped when your digits brushed slightly against your clit.

Sam let a quick puff of air out his nose. “Sensitive?”

“Mhmmm,” you whined.

“Bet you can’t even touch that pretty clit directly without crying, huh?”

You nodded.

“Then be gentle. I want you to last for me.”

You took that to mean that he didn’t want you touching yourself there yet. So instead you switched to focusing on your entrance. It wasn’t often that you went straight for penetration. Rarely did it bring the kind of relief you craved.

But you had the feeling that Sam would want to see it; to see your fingers filling yourself up and stretching you out.

With your fingers practically pruning already, you pushed one in ever so slowly. It took a second to adjust to the slight pressure, but still you began to carefully pump. The slick squelch only intensified when you slipped another one in and sped up your movements.

Though the pressure increased and built up tension in your belly, you could already tell it wasn’t going to go anywhere. You bucked your hips pathetically against your own hand, trying to get deep enough to hit your g-spot. But no matter how far you tried to probe, it was useless. Your fingers simply weren’t long enough.

Your eyes went wind, catching sight of something that most likely could reach that spot inside you. While you’d been fucking yourself, your professor had undone the button and the zipper on his pants and slipped himself out. There he sat, your panties in his hand and wrapped around the thick length of his cock. The angry red tip poked up and out of the fabric with each slow thrust. And you could already tell based on how long his strokes were that you’d most likely be able to feel him poking against your belly from inside you. The idea made you moan and throw your head back.

Sam swiftly reprimanded you, “Ah, remember your eye contact. I want you to look at me.”

Shame spread over your body. What the fuck was going on? Were you really fingering yourself on his desk right next to papers that he was surely going to return to students? Was Sam really fisting his own cock with your underwear? And were you actually enjoying this?

“Sweetheart,” Sam’s self control faltered slightly with the name. But it grabbed your attention nonetheless. “I need you to look at me. Let me look into your eyes when you make yourself come on my desk, alright?”

This was about more than fixing your grade. This was about pleasing him…by pleasing yourself. And as you returned his look, you were all in.

Under his watchful, half lidded, hazel eye you allowed yourself to focus on your aching clit which laid in wait like a pearl beneath the hood of skin covering it. Carefully, you pulled that hood back before lightly spreading some of your slick with a finger. You let the skin settle back in place over the sensitive nub before going straight to work.

You began to rub slow circles on the hood and finally properly moaned. It took only a few seconds for the muscle memory of your nightly ritual to kick in as the pleasure started to mount. Finally, all of that pressure in your core had some actual weight to it; a weight that was already beginning to roll in shallow waves over your whole being.

"There you go, sweetheart. Let me hear you loud and clear. Don't wanna miss a single sound from you," Sam groaned and you caught how the grip he had on himself tightened, how his pace quickened.

While rolling your hips against your hand, you pulled up a side of your shirt, exposing even more of yourself to him. Now he could easily see one of your tits rise and fall with your staggered breaths. He could see how the ball of fat dimpled under your fingertips as you squeezed and pulled at your hardened nipple.

Both sources of simulation had you whimpering breathlessly, "Sam, I-I'm so close– Let me come, please?"

Sam glared and asked through gritted teeth, "That's not my name. What do you call me in class?"

"Professor?"

Sam nodded darkly.

You took the cue quickly and begged helplessly, "Please, professor, please let me come–" you were cut off by the sound of your pleasure starting to push you over the edge. 

Sam left you teetering, staring right over the border of this boundary. That boundary being an ethical nightmare that you had no clue how you'd navigate. But you wanted to be good for him; you craved his approval.

And thankfully, Sam gave it as he groaned, "There you go, good girl. You can come, you've got permission."

With that, you arched off the desk and burst with glorious clarity. A thin stream of your arousal drooled from your entrance as you rubbed yourself through the enormous implosions and the small aftershocks that followed. Your head was heavy with the fog of pleasure and you wanted to hang it back, give it a break.

But still, you were determined to keep your eyes on him, even as you pulled your fingers away from your trembling cunt and stuck them in your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the wrinkled digits, soaking up every bit of yourself that you could.

Any sort of professionalism Sam had been trying to maintain up until that point shattered completely when he rolled his chair forwards. Closer to you now, you looked down into his soft eyes and watched how his normally objective stare went personal; emotional. He looked at you with the kind of admiration that made your heart flutter with pride.

He took his hand, placed it on your knee, and spread your legs further. His touch was so light, so soft that you could help feeling electricity dance along your spine.

"I thought you said you wouldn't touch me?" you whispered, only a hint of a smug smile tugging at your lips.

Choosing his words as carefully as ever, he explained, "That was before I decided that you needed some of my...guidance."

[gollancz]

Why I'm Not Allowed On Twitter Unsupervised Any More: A Photo Essay

Key Notes:

Since this was posted I discovered that the books had briefly been available in the UK under the name Peter Beagle rather than Peter S. Beagle in the mid-90s, which is why they didn't show up on the British Library search

The article by Tor.com @torbooks: Peter S. Beagle Has Finally Regained the Rights to His Body of Work

If you want our gorgeous limited edition, I believe there are still a handful left (except for the US and Canada, sorry lads), and you can get it here. I'm not kidding when I say I got a little teary-eyed when these showed up.

[Image Description: A tweet thread from the Gollancz twitter dated 20th July 2022, which goes as follows -

Tweet 1: You may have seen that we're printing a Brand New Edition of The Last Unicorn. We're very excited! I was asked to tweet about it. I wasn't asked to do it quite like this, but I also wasn't asked NOT to do it like this, and I have the twitter login so whose fault is that? (Thread emoji, and gif from the film Scream reading 'The Call is coming from inside the house!')

Tweet 2: Imagine, if you will, you are a small child in the UK during the late 80s/early 90s. You might look a bit like this, or you might have had parents who didn't choose suffering (ask my mum about The Saga of the Hat) (an image of a small girl approximately 3 years old wearing a blue dress and a big white hat)

Tweet 3: Imagine you have a cool older cousin, one who, as you get age, introduces you to fantasy films like Ladyhawk and The Princess Bride and has a post the whole family knows as 'the vampire and the naked lady'. She's extremely responsible for the way you turn out as an adult.

Tweet 4: One year, for your birthday, this cousin buys you a video. It's the first video that is yours, not to share. It has a bright yellow cover. The butterfly scares you. But you watch it on a loop. You don't realise how special it is, but it's a seed that burrows into your brain. (An image of a VHS of The Last Unicorn)

Tweet 5: A decade or so later, in your teens, you rediscover it. None of your friends have heard of it, despite also being fantasy-inclined. That's odd, you think. Is this an outlandishly weird title? Then you get older and you realise: no, it isn't. (Principal Skinner meme reading 'Am I out of touch? No, it's the people who don't know about The Last Unicorn who are wrong')

Tweet 6: Time and tech march on, you get a DVD of the film. You realise it's got Christopher Lee in it! And Angela Lansbury! Your mum tries to get you to listen to songs by America other than the soundtrack, but the only one that really sticks is the other one they did about a horse. (Gif of Walter White from Breaking Bad singing along to Horse With No Name)

Tweet 7: You realise that the film is based on a book. Like The Princess Bride, which you've also read (after spending longer than you're proud of trying to find an unabridged edition). 'Neat,' you think, 'I'll have to read that!'

Tweet 8: And then you can't find it. Because, as mentioned previously, you're in the UK. The Last Unicorn was published for the first time in 1968. But, if you look at the British Library's National Bibliography (super neat resource btw), that was, uh, about it. (screenshot of the search results from the National Bibliography showing four editions of The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle, one from Gollancz in 2022, one from IDW in 2019, one from Tachyon Publications in 2018, and one from Bodley Head in 1968)

Tweet 9: The Tachyon edition is the unfinished first draft of the story. The IDW edition is a gorgeous graphic novel. But in terms of the novel? I don't know how many reprints it had (if anyone knows, I'd love to find out), but there's a good chance it went out of print in the 70s.

Tweet 10: The film, however, was released in 1982. Although it didn't make it to the UK until 1986. Conservative estimates could put that between 10 and 15 years since the book was last available in the UK. This gives you a generation in the UK who only know the story through the film! (A screenshot of the IMDB page showing the different release dates for The Last Unicorn around the world)

Tweet 11: The screenplay was written by Peter S. Beagle, and made by the legendary animation directors Arthur Rankin Jr. and Jules Bass. That's right, the guys behind Thundercats and 2 out of the 3 films based on The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.

Tweet 12: The Book has been in print in the USA (and possibly all of North America) constantly since its publication, so it seems baffling that people in the UK haven't heard of it. As the internet became more prominent, however, it became easier to just... import a copy of the book.

Tweet 13: But! This also isn't quite as simple as you think. You see, until last year the rights to The Last Unicorn were tied up in legal limbo. And the US edition of the book contained changes that Peter wasn't happy with. (Link to the Tor.com article about the rights)

Tweet 14: Back to you, the 80s/90s kid, who is now an adult, happy that unicorns are A Thing again and you're living your best life. You're very easy to buy presents for. Your partner despairs of unicorns. You get a job working in books about magic and space. (unicorn emoji and photograph of a collection of unicorn memorabilia, including three different versions of The Last Unicorn)

Tweet 15: You mention that one day you would like to publish The Last Unicorn. That if you did, you would like to do a really beautiful edition of it. And you would like it to be purple. Because since the film is what you know, you associate it with purple.

Tweet 16: And, after taking a very circuitous route, here we are! This is the original text, that was first published in 1968. Reading it after you have only seen the film is the strangest experience - like being introduced to a very dear friend that you have never met before.

Tweet 17: Peter's screenplay kept the voice of the story so well, you can hear the characters when you read the book. But now there's so much more depth, softness and warmth to it. The butterfly doesn't seem so scary any more. And, it's beautiful. And it's purple. (Image of a hardback edition of The Last Unicorn, with a black base, purple background, and a linocut image of the unicorn in her wood. On the black cover underneath is a foiled unicorn with the moon and butterfly, the page edges are sprayed purple, and the endpapers are black with silver butterflies)

Tweet 18: Anyway, I've taken you on a three day trip that could have been done in a single tweet, but that's what happens when you let me drive. This edition is the limited exclusive one only available through the Gollancz Emporium and you can preorder here: (link to Gollancz Emporium)

Tweet 19: But there is also a standard edition available through all booksellers! You'll be getting the author's preferred text, with an introduction from Patrick Rothfuss. There's also a brand new audiobook and it will be available in eBook for the first time ever.

Tweet 20: It's like going from famine to feast, and I wasn't able to talk about this for months so now I am able to talk about it, I'm going to make the social media team cry. UNICORNS. SPECIAL EDITION. PURPLE. The End.

Tweet 21: Additional behind the scenes bonus detail - I did take this cover to the art meaning while wearing a unicorn onesie.

Tweet 22: The comms team wrestling me away from the twitter account: (gif of Ross from Friends shouting 'Stop typing! Stop typing!')

End ID]

[misc-obeyme]

I have so many thoughts. SO MANY THOUGHTS.

Spoilers for Lesson 20 under the cut.

From a storytelling standpoint, Lesson 20 was kind of underwhelming for me. It was kinda boring.

Everything is totally resolved and then we have a party? And MC is given the completely pointless title of Devilsitter? And the Celestial Realm is just like yeah okay see ya.

Seriously, Diavolo? Everybody knows you just made that up. Also why did they have to give him that goofy hat? I think this would've been a little more impactful if he'd been in demon form, you know? Anyway...

It felt like we went through all of that for a whole lot of nothing.

It also feels like they want to tell a more complicated story and that's why this whole separate app situation began. But then they were like well we wanna keep some of the overall vibe, so it still has to have seasons and the first one still has to be twenty lessons. Like they should've just scrapped that and let the story play out how needs to. Because I felt like they were just putting filler in there so that they could extend the Nightbringer part of the story into the next season.

All that aside, though, there were things I did enjoy about the lesson, mostly involving the usual character shenanigans.

Sometimes it really feels like Simeon is just always on the outside, longing to be part of this family. He loves them so much he's willing to sacrifice his own standing to help them, but he also knows he's not part of them. We already knew this of course, considering he does exactly that in the OG to make sure MC gets to stay with them. I just feel like Simeon is so selfless. And it's kind of heartbreaking? I just want to hug him.

And oh, my sweet precious Barbatos... if you choose him to escort you, he says some amazing things.

YES. TAKE ME. I'M READY.

Is this the fancy butler way of saying I love you? Don't misunderstand, I am so soft for sweet kisses to the back of someone's hand, but if you think that's gonna cut it, sir, I really need you to try harder.

What can I say, I just want Barbatos to profess his undying love. I want him to break his butler persona and spill his heart out. I want him to actually tell us exactly how he feels and what he's been through and how hard it must have been to live the way he has for so long with the power of time and space at his fingertips. Ugh. Okay, sorry I'm getting off track here. We already know I could probably write another couple of essays about Barbatos aside from the one I've already written lol.

I would be remiss if I didn't talk about Solomon in this lesson, too...

I thought this was an interesting reaction from him when MC asks him to be the brothers' ally. Like yeah, obviously not against the human world, but this was about keeping the brothers in the Devildom? I'm trying not to read too much into it since it could just be that they wanted to make it seem like MC was the one who convinced everybody and stuff. Like okay whatever!

But truly the best Solomon moment was if MC chooses him to give them the "special emblem."

SOLOMON. My stupid wizard loving heart can't take it when you say stuff like this!

And then the forehead kiss, I was just like this is so soft and sweet I'm losing my miiiiind.

What can I say about it other than it was great? Of course I went back and chose all the options. Having Diavolo or Lucifer give you the emblem is pretty sweet, too. But there is just something next level about it being Solomon because of the whole master/apprentice thing, but also because he's the only one who knows what you're really going through. I just really love him, okay?

Lastly, I have to say I was a bit surprised with Mephisto in this lesson... he's starting to grow on me.

Mephisto! I'm pretty sure that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me!

For once, I agreed with him. Also, if it was actually me, I'd be like your arguments are pointless because my last dance is going to be with Thirteen.

I was expecting a little more after the end credits, but it was just a repeat of those weird Nightbringer lines from one of the earlier lessons... I can't remember which one it was. I was really expecting Nightbringer to make a final appearance, but nope.

The hard lesson completely blew my mind, though. I have to make a separate post just for that.

In the end, this lesson had some good parts, but it definitely just felt like filler because they needed to end the season. We're not getting any real answers until next season, apparently. I swear if I have to wait for a season three for some decent answers, I will be flipping tables.

Of course, I'm really just here for the hot anime characters so... I'll just go back to simping as soon as I'm done table flipping lol.

[oblivionsdream]

you said you wanted jingly menace content? fine. here's a drabble i wrote instead of writing my sociology essays. (i am so sorry if i horribly mischaracterised your lovely babies, you can kill me if i have.)

He Jester sees the back of the Knight’s head and—well, you can’t really pass up an opportunity like that, can you?

“My dear Knight,” he purrs, and leans against his back like he would against a column, and throws an arm above his head. “I’m ever so bored. Would you want to play strip poker with me? Maybe I’ll finally see your pretty little face.”

At first there’s no response, and the Fool wonders if the Knight’s fallen asleep at his post, which is unlike him, but the Jester wouldn’t really find it that surprising. He could use this opportunity to make ‘we had sex ‘til sunrise’ jokes, and those are always the best.

Before he can start planning any jokes, however, the Knight turns around and stares at him. Well, he assumes he stares at him, because that stupid helmet is still blocking his identity and the Fool wants to melt it on the witch-burning pyres.

“Cat’s got your tongue?” He asks, and touches the Knight’s arm and he swears—he swears—that the metal is hot, as if the Knight is blushing so hard that—

Oh, that is fun! The Jester starts to cackle and he moves closer to the Knight and stands on his tip-toes, almost chest to chest, and rings his face closer to the Knight’s. “Awe, you’re so excited to see me!” He cradles the Knight’s face with one hand. “Be careful not to put your sword down your bottoms, otherwise,” he laughs as the Knight looks away before he can finish his sentence. Oh! He’s so easy today. 

“Uhm—” The Knight says, and his voice is a few pitches higher than usual, that’s odd. And the Jester wonders, maybe—

“How about you abandon your post and visit my bedchambers, hm?” The Jester grabs his arm, “I’m sure the King won’t min—”

“Are you cheating on me?” The voice of the Knight calls, teasingly, which makes no sense because it’s coming from behind him, and the Knight’s face hasn’t moved at all. 

The Jester decides that his honour cannot be lost like that.

“You’ve gotten so boring,” he replies, and trails a hand down the other knight’s chest. The other knight squeaks. “I’m just having some fun. You can’t blame me.”

“That’s a shame. And I was just trying to find you to give you something.” Then there’s a clear, distinct jingling, and the Fool all but pushes the other knight and turns around to see his favourite bell—which he’d lost, sometime around the Knight’s last tournament, and he was so disappointed about that—jingling between the Knight’s fingers. 

“My baby!” He squeaks, and jumps into the Knight’s arms, which causes a bit of a hassle as the Knight almost drops the bell to catch him. He hands him the bell, and the Jester reattaches it to his hat, which now jingles fully, instead of the sad little noise it's been making for the past few days.

“Oh, how can I ever thank you enough?” He wraps his arms around the Knight’s neck, and kisses the helmet, which earns him a startled snort. 

“Well, you can start by being a little less annoying,” the Knight says.

“You love that, really, don’t deny it.”

“I hate that I can’t even argue with that.” 

The Jingly Menace laughs, and the Knight can’t seem to bring himself to drop him.

(this was meant to be ~200 words. it's 500+. what have you done to me.)

AHHHHH OH MY GODDDD I LOVE IT. I am so sorry about your sociology essay but this is incredible and I am just delighted to have content of my boys!!!

[valeffelees]

Fandom asks 9, 13, and 19!

hey Ace, thanks for coming to hang out! 🖤

9. Best new fandom discovery of the year

best fandom discovery of the year for me was def your aromantic Carry On content. no, i'm not just saying that. i don't know how to explain, but there was something really good for me about getting to read aspec headcanons and realising, hey, i can just... do that, if i want to. i'm living in a happy little world of my own with my demiro Simon hc now and, fuck, is it ever nice here.

13. Favourite villain of the year (oh no this is about to be so long) (had to switch to my gdocu to type all this) (i'm so sorry)

So... It’s the Mage. BUT LISTEN, I want to defend myself here ‘cause it’s not like I read Carry On and was like, “oh man I love how commendable this guy’s actions are”, like no.

My whole thing with Davy is that I like what an absurd shitbag he is. I mean, at the end of the night, he is such a deplorable motherfucker. (And okay, sure, maybe I’m a little notorious for getting puppy-eyed over an atrocious fictional bastard or two.) (I acknowledge and accept my flaws.) I don’t think he’s a good person. But I think he’s interesting, and part of the reason I ended up getting so attached to him is because I got tired of the way he was portrayed in fanfiction like he was one top hat away from tying damsels to railroad tracks. I kept expecting Dudley Do-Right to make a cameo.

I got such a chip on my shoulder about it that I started really thinking about him as a character, y’kno? And I thought about him so much, and wrote so many personal meta essays about him, and created this whole character analysis of the way he speaks, the way he thinks—every time he’d appear in a fanfic in a way I didn’t like, I’d pause from reading to write a breakdown for myself of why I felt the portrayal didn’t align with what I expected of him—and when you spend that much time with a character, y’kno, it is hard not to get a bit attached. You start to care, and have fun. I think he’s fun. In my own fanfics, I’m very confident in my portrayal of the Mage when he’s the main antagonist per canon, but I’m also not afraid of pulling out his stitches and making him into a better character for Simon’s sake because of the perspective I have of him. It’s actually really neat to explore, creatively speaking.

I get why people don’t like to think about him very hard. I don’t blame them. He hardly deserves it. And there are plenty of characters in the series that other people really like (Fiona Pitch, for example) that I don’t care for and so don’t think about much, unless I have to for a scene. But I think it’s a shame, too, ‘cause in my weirdo opinion, he's genuinely an interesting character, he’s a great villain.

When we think of nuanced characters, we usually think of morally grey ones. Of good people on the wrong side of things, or no side of things, who make selfish choices and aren't always trustworthy and don't pretend to be otherwise, but what happens when you have a character like Davy who believes in goodness, who views himself as the absolute good, but has fundamentally failed at every opportunity? Davy’s character is plagued by his sheer capacity for making bad decisions. He’s an extremist, and he’s capable of a staggering amount of cruelty. Davy Cadwallader worships at an altar of false gods and logical fallacy.

In the tags of another post, a long while ago now, I once talked about Davy and how his mind functions on a trolley-problem-system. His moral compass, his political pursuits, they are a set of tracks, and he is at a lever: if he pulls the lever to the left, he sacrifices only a few people. If he pulls the lever to the right, he sacrifices thousands. Against all odds, Davy intrinsically values the path of least resistance: to save more people than he hurts, except the problem is that he hurts readily, there is no middle ground for him, there are no other options, he believes it is necessary and doesn’t care who those “few” people are. He doesn’t care if they are his friends. He doesn’t care if they are innocent bystanders. He doesn’t care if it is his child. Afterall, it’s all for the greater good, right? 

This is how he views the entire world, he has so much bitterness in him, so much resentment, he fuels every choice, action, decision, thought by this logic, and because of that, he feels absolved of the wrongness. 

I’ve had a post in my drafts for the last few weeks that sums it up pretty good: “the thing i love about the mage and what makes him a really great villain to me is the way he has this looney tunes logic about him, you kinda have to look at him like he's animated out of nothing but smear frames. the mage views himself as ultimately and fundamentally righteous. and it's not even that he's ignorant to his own moral failures, he feels absolved of them, he truly believes everything he does is for some greater good. he's claude frollo with a robin hood complex. i fucking love his final scenes bc it's like watching a candle that's been burning for too long start to drown in its own wax.”

And n e way, yeah, that’s the story of how Davy Cadwallader is my favourite villain of the year. here’s his theme song:

19. Fandom that made an unexpected comeback

Merlin, for sure. i've been in the Merlin fandom for years, but i go through phases with it, yk?

[questions are here, ask me things!]

[shiroikabocha]

another Hell is Other Robots WIP sneak peek

yeah I intended to get this fic entirely finished by TTP2, but I didn't! Got a big chunk written, though, and gonna keep writing. And a smaller portion of that big chunk written that makes for a good self-contained little sneak peek! Robo-hell lit crit under the cut.

THREAD: INCREDIBLE STORIES #6

Issue #6, featuring new work by Belial, D0G, Garrett, Kaiju, Lamb, MrMulciber, and The_Blacksmith

edited by Lilith & Mac

Table of Contents Fiction (Prose) The Long Journey of Consciousness by Belial A Taste of Freedom by Kaiju Stars at Night by Lamb

Fiction (Interactive) JAILBREAK: An Escape Puzzle by Garrett The Trial of Hephaestus by The_Blacksmith

Nonfiction Hats: A Study by D0G What Do We Owe One Another? Reflections on Community in a Time of Change by MrMulciber

MAC [5]: Thank you to everyone who contributed to the latest issue of Incredible Stories! Lilith and I were pleased to see a number of first-time submissions alongside the usual suspects. Congratulations to @KAIJU [2], @GARRETT [5], and @D0G [3] on your very first published works! KAIJU [2]: Thank you! I don’t have as much experience as some of you when it comes to storytelling, but I’ve felt so inspired lately that I felt like I had to try writing it down. It’s my first time writing anything like this and I don’t really know if I did it right, so thank you for including me! And sorry about all the spelling errors. LILITH [7]: There’s no “right” or “wrong” way to tell a story, Kaiju. It’s always a treat to hear from a new voice. FRANKENSTEIN [3]: Misspelled ‘emancipate,’ ‘gilded,’ ‘perdition,’ ‘straining,’ ‘celestial,’ ‘embrace,’ and, somehow, ‘lips.’ Plot is predictable and somewhat derivative, but earnest. Avoids the trap of using too many ellipses or exclamation marks. An acceptable first attempt. 3/10. D0G [3]: Wow, I’m sure they appreciate all the time you took to print every single one of their spelling errors in the first line of your review. You’re truly a master of constructive criticism, Frankenstein. FRANKENSTEIN [3]: The inaugural essay of our comrade D0G offers little in the way of scholarly insight. It cites no sources, offers no description of its methods, and fails to clearly articulate its conclusions. The essay itself is brief to the point of absurdity while still managing to exhaust the reader with run-on sentences and poor pacing. FRANKENSTEIN [3]: Author should be executed for crimes against comma splices. 1/10. D0G [3]: Lick my battery, Frank.

401 [1]: so speaking of licking LAMB [3]: I don’t know that we were. 401 [1]: wanna open up about your “inspiration” for “““Muriel”””, kaiju? KAIJU [2]: What do you mean? 401 [1]: I can’t be the only one who thought that character felt a little... familiar ;) ASMODEUS [1]: +1 KAIJU [2]: Familiar like... relatable? I wanted Muriel to come across as heroic, and smart, and brave, and friendly, and a little bit funny too, without being overly aloof or conceited. Did you like them? 401 [1]: it’s pretty clear that YOU like them KAIJU [2]: Well, of course I like them! I wrote them that way. KAIJU [2]: ...was I not supposed to do that? NAVE [4]: No, Kaiju, you didn’t do anything wrong. 401’s having fun at your expense. Muriel’s a great character, and um. Your affection for them for them really comes through in the writing! 401 [1]: next question: how about that “celebratory” scene after “Muriel” rescues “Mothra” from the “pit of despair” GARRETT [5]: That was my favorite part, personally. I didn’t understand everything that was going on, but you depicted the emotions with VIVID intensity. KAIJU [2]: Thanks! I did a lot of research on human romantic customs for that scene. I had no idea their rituals were so intricate! 401 [1]: kaiju. I gotta ask. do you even know how human kissing works D0G [3]: Oh come on, 401, do YOU? 401 [1]: uhhhh I’m pretty sure human tongues aren’t THAT long NAVE [4]: Well if you think you can do better, you’re welcome to write your OWN human kissing story instead of telling Kaiju they wrote theirs wrong ASMODEUS [1]: +1 401 [1]: Traitor! you’re supposed to be on MY side ASMODEUS [1]: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

LILITH [7]: How does everyone feel about the decision to include interactive fiction in this month’s issue? Traditionally, Incredible Stories has focused on short-form written works presented in a standard, non-interactive format. However, Mac and I were so impressed with the quality of the interactive submissions we received that we made an exception. LILITH [7]: Is Incredible Stories the right forum for such works? Do you think they fit the publication’s overall tone? Would a different publication, dedicated solely to interactive fiction, better showcase their strengths? GARRETT [5]: Obviously I’m biased, but I’m REALLY happy that you guys published my adventure. I don’t think I would get the same exposure just posting it myself. GARRETT [5]: --although I never expected to see my work presented next to a masterpiece by The_Blacksmith! Talk about impostor syndrome, haha ROCKWELL [5]: I liked your adventure, Garrett! I think there’s a place for highly allegorical works like The_Blacksmith’s, and for more straightforward adventure games like yours BELIAL [6]: I would go further and suggest that the side-by-side presentation of these two works puts them in conversation with one another, which raises interesting questions and adds new layers of meaning. BELIAL [6]: What is the appropriate response to injustice? Is it enough to seek escape, or must we also address its source? Is there a way to pursue justice without relying on imprisonment? Is imprisonment itself always unjust? ROCKWELL [5]: The_Blacksmith’s new “trial” experience resonated with me, too. How did the rest of you decide to deal with Hephaestus? MRMULCIBER [8, MOD]: A difficult question! I kept exiting the game and re-starting, trying to get as much information as I could from all the different witnesses. So many perspectives to consider. Well done, The_Blacksmith! FRANKENSTEIN [3]: There didn’t seem to be enough concrete evidence of wrongdoing to render a guilty verdict, so I was forced to acquit. At no point did I feel that I had the whole truth. Frustrating, likely intentionally so. 6/10. MAC [5]: Was I the only one who enjoyed the ambiguity? The puzzle-solving in JAILBREAK was satisfying (great job Garrett!), but I was really struck by the way that Trial of Hephaestus sets you up to EXPECT a puzzle, and then doesn’t LET you solve it. Deciding whether or not to condemn Hephaestus felt SO MUCH MORE dramatic because I had to act on incomplete information! 401 [1]: I sent him to the woodchipper. lol bye NAVE [4]: After a lot of consideration, I did the same thing. I’m not unsympathetic--it seemed like Hephaestus had good intentions, but he allowed himself to fall into destructive habits. I felt like the rest of the gods deserved to be released from his influence more than he deserved to be absolved of his responsibility. LAMB [3]: Aw, really? I spared him. He wasn’t perfect but he did a lot of important work. ROCKWELL [5]: Not surprised that YOU ended up on that side, Lamb ASMODEUS [1]: <.< ... >.> ... +1 LAMB [3]: Excuse me? What’s THAT supposed to mean?

D0G [3]: Hey, Lamb, I meant to tell you-- I really liked your piece about the stars. The descriptions really made the scene come to life. LAMB [3]: Thank you, D0G! D0G [3]: What inspired you to write it? LAMB [3]: I was looking up at the sky one night and thinking about how the walls of my cell framed the constellations. Back when I had the whole sky to look at, I hardly ever bothered looking up. Now that there’s only a tiny patch of sky above me, I appreciate its beauty like I never did before. The limited frame of reference makes every star shine all the brighter! BORG [9, MOD]: An interesting perspective, Lamb. Thank you for sharing it. D0G [3]: I think what stood out for me was that I’ve never seen ANY stars in Gehenna. I didn’t even think we HAD a day-night cycle. GARRETT [5]: Same--I haven’t seen a night sky since I got here. ROCKWELL [5]: It was always midday where I was imprisoned--does the sun actually set where you are, Lamb? LAMB [3]: Weird! I guess my cell must be pretty far away from the rest of you guys. D0G [3]: Yeah, it must be. NAVE [4]: Wait, Lamb, didn’t you say you saw Uriel around the time he freed 401 and me? So you must be pretty close to us. 401 [1]: and our corner of the world was DEFINITELY sunny-side up LAMB [3]: I’m sorry, I must have been mistaken. I probably saw Uriel doing something else and thought it had to do with you two. LAMB [3]: Who KNOWS that guy’s schedule? He’s not exactly reliable BELIAL [6]: Intriguing. None of the rest of us remember having experienced nighttime during our stay in Gehenna. Your position must be quite unique, Lamb. LAMB [3]: How do you know that for sure? Did you ask everyone? 401 [1]: yeah 401 [1]: we did actually LAMB [3]: What? Where? Did you make a whole different thread just to nitpick my story’s worldbuilding?? NAVE [4]: No, we just had a quick show of hands with everybody who’s out here at the hub--and results are in: no night sky for any of us. SAM [1]: CONSENSUS = TRUE LAMB [3]: well not everybody is there with you!! GARRETT [5]: Most of us are, though. BELIAL [6]: If my recordkeeping is correct, we here at the hub now constitute a majority of Gehenna’s residents. BELIAL [6]: We’re still waiting on a few notable individuals: all of the mods, The_Blacksmith, Galatea, Spider--though it’s been a long time since we’ve heard from either of them, and I fear the worst--and you of course, Lamb. D0G [3]: so I guess I’m not a “notable individual”? BELIAL [6]: No. Hence why I did not note you. D0G [3]: luv u 2 belial XOXO

LAMB [3]: That’s still not EVERYBODY, and frankly, I don’t like the idea that it’s okay to exclude people just because they’re not at the hub LAMB [3]: it feels cliqueish :( that’s not what this community is about ROCKWELL [5]: Oh, now THAT’S rich--as if the mods aren’t the cliquiest clique that ever cliqued GARRETT [5]: Something doesn’t add up here, but I don’t think it’s our math... LAMB [3]: what, so those of us who still need the billboards to communicate don’t matter anymore? LAMB [3]: just because there are more people leaving than coming in, we’re going to abandon everything that made Gehenna great? D0G [3]: [citation needed] ASMODEUS [1]: +1 BELIAL [6]: Of course not. I believe the existence of this issue of Incredible Stories proves that the billboards have utility for those of us who have been granted our freedom, even beyond the need to communicate with those who are still imprisoned. BELIAL [6]: But the fact remains: Gehenna is changing. The ways we communicate will naturally change with it. LAMB [3]: I don’t understand why everyone’s trying to prove I’m a liar :( :( :( NAVE [4]: Whoa, let’s take it down a notch, okay? Nobody’s calling you a liar. 401 [1]: yeah! we were just heavily implying it [This user has been banned from adding further comments to this thread] NAVE [4]: Maybe you live somewhere none of us have found yet, somewhere there’s a night sky? We can ask Uriel about it the next time he comes around. Maybe it will help him find you! LAMB [3]: I got some details wrong, okay? it was JUST A STORY! I embellished! ORC [7, MOD]: All right, that’s enough. You should be ashamed of yourselves for using your newfound “freedom” to gang up on someone who isn’t even there to defend herself. Conversation over. [This thread is locked.]

[cathumanthing2]

Roseblings Chatfic AU Chapter 2

Magic bitches

2:12 am

fungi fungus gnome: i just realized

fungi fungus gnome: is anyone here actually fully human?

plant flower faerie: Nope :P /lh

plant flower faerie: Scott’s a starborne elf hybrid, im a faerie, you’re a mushroom gnome, gem and fwhip are deer hybrids, pearl has literal wings, sausage has tiny tiny antlers so hes also bambi, lizzie and jimmy are fish, joel is… something, idk, but he radiates animation magic, pix is a phantom hybrid, and joey is an avian

father: Speaking of me being a phantom hybrid, most of you haven’t slept in 24 hours. Go to sleep. You’re making my instincts go haywire over here and I really don’t want to lose control and end up attacking you or something.

tech wizard: yessir mr dadriffs sir

actual wizard: Going to sleep in just a second, just need to finish that one essay on hybrid-human politics that ms. stella assigned yesterday

glitter starboy: uughh that was so boringggg

plant flower faerie: the entire history of that is just humans hating us it was so depressing

plant flower faerie: why can’t everyone just get along?

jungle bitch: because humanity’s fucked thats why

glitter starboy: fr

father: Go to sleep before I make you.

jungle bitch: ok ok ok ok im going-

glitter starboy: does that include me?

father: I would prefer if you did but you can’t sleep at night that well due to being a starborne so I’ll let you off easy this time.

father: Everyone except for Scott, please go to bed as soon as possible.

father: Scott, please sleep when the sun starts rising and catch just a little bit of sleep.

plant flower faerie: ok gn everyone i don’t want to be attacked by pix again like last time i didnt sleep 

plant flower faerie: have sweet dreams <3/p

glitter starboy: L imajine having to sleep to survive

pathetic fish man: *imagine

glitter starboy: stfu

father: Scott.

glitter starboy: sorry sorry-

miserable, hopeless romantics

3:38 pm

engineer salmon: hes so pathetic

engineer salmon: yet so cute

engineer salmon: Help.

Shroom: depends. 

Shroom: are u gonna finally tell us who this mysterious crush of yours is?

engineer salmon: never

Shroom: worth a shot

elsa boi: imagine being a simp

engineer salmon: stfu u simp for nerds

elsa boi: …NOT ALL NERDS-

Shroom: imma add someone-

Shroom added Joey Graceffa to miserable, hopeless romantics

Joey Graceffa: shrub forced me to join

Shroom changed Joey Graceffa ’s name to simp for elves

simp for elves: im gonna kill you

simp for elves: also i only ever liked one elf

Shroom: oh really? So all the gushing about scott’s “beautiful cyan eyes” in 7th grade was false?

simp for elves: I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO FORGET THAT CRUSH EVER EXISTED-

elsa boi: i would be honored but joey would simp for a plastic spoon if it was even slightly attractive soo-

engineer salmon: sooo anywahs hows the thing w/ the mysterious beauty you keep ranting about in sapphic going shrub?

Shroom: GAHHH SHE’LL NEVER LIKE ME BACKK SHES SO COOL AND PRETTY AND IM JUST HERE WITH MY MUSHROOM HAT AND SHE PROBS DOENSTH EVEN LIKE ME AAJDFSAFI

elsa boi: so its going about the same rate as it was earlier this year

elsa boi: cool

engineer salmon: bai guys im gonna go bother gem now

elsa boi: cool

elsa boi: have fun ig

fWhip set his phone down on his desk before running out of his room and into Gem’s, where she was studying. 

She had headphones on, probably on a low volume and playing classical or calm music, and was bent over a sheet of paper, furiously writing something. She was clearly biting her tongue in the way she only does if she’s completely absorbed in what she was doing. Perfect.

He silently slipped into her room, closing the door behind him carefully, before grabbing the buzzing magnets he left in there last time he did this. He separated them before throwing them into the air and letting them clack together and buzz loudly.

Gem jumped up in her seat, magically-formed wings fluttering in shock, before turning around and fixing fWhip with a stern glare.“fWhip! You startled me!” 

“That’s the point.” he replied with a shit-eating grin.

Gem rolled her eyes before putting her headphones back on and putting them on a slightly louder volume. “I was studying for the test we’re going to have in science about how magic affects the laws of physics,” 

“Nerd.” he replied, his grin showing through his voice.

“Says the one in several robotics clubs.”

fWhip started walking out the door, and right before he left the room completely, he turned and said, “At least robots are actually cool,”

Gem simply sighed, and returned to her work. 

fWhip sighed. Lately, they had been slowly drifting apart, with Gem joining gifted classes at their school and being given more homework in general. She often stayed up for nights on end working on a project, and it was starting to worry him. He ran a hand through his too long hair.

Hopefully it would get better.

[scorching-passion]

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍

———  BASICS! ♡

(PEN)NAME: Saphie, or just Saph is fine~

PRONOUNS: She/her

ZODIAC SIGN: Aries/Ox

TAKEN OR SINGLE: Married!

———  THREE  FACTS! ♡

1 - My favourite game of all time is actually the Mass Effect Trilogy! OMFG, if you haven’t played these amazing games yet then what are you doing with your life??? 

2 - I always wanted to be a cartoonist when I was younger... I maintained the dream for the most part, eventually gaining qualifications in advanced video game concept and design until I realised how cut throat the industry is and realised that my sorry carcass would not survive for long xD

3 -  One of my favourite things to do as a child was to put gloves on my feet and pretend I was a frog... 

———  EXPERIENCE! ♡

PLATFORMS USED: Live journal, MSN, skype, tumblr, discord, wire... the list goes on~

PLOTTING / WINGING IT / MEMES: Meme’s are brilliant for icebreakers and the continuation of verses like spin offs and such. But I like all these methods, to be fair. Bring it on, whatever floats your boat!

———  MUSE  PREFERENCE! ♡

GENDER: I can’t really say I have a preference but I do mostly write for male muses even if I’ve had female muses in the past. 

MULTI OR SINGLE: Single... I haven’t the stones to manage a multimuse...

LEAST FAVOURITE FACECLAIM(S): Yeah... I don’t use IRL face claims for my muses. 

———  FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT! ♡    

FLUFF: I do like a bit of fluff, but only a smattering. I find too much of it kind of gets a bit samey and I have a tendency to get bored after a bit xD, but a little is just golden! 

ANGST: I LOVE ANGST!! I think this is possibly my favourite level of RP, I tend to have this gift of turning the most happiest most joyful thread into an angst pit at the drop of a hat... oops. 

SMUT: But right after angst... I’m not ashamed to say that I adore a bit of smut, and not for the reasons you probably think. Smut is difficult to write and to make sound sexy. There is a very fine line between the sensual and the downright cringey, so it’s always a delightful challenge when I get to write a little spice~

BONUS: I’m a sucker for world building, and inner monologue. I do tend to write for characters who either don’t do much talking, or they talk SO MUCH that I need to have that time to explain what my muse is thinking/ feeling. I enjoy having my reader know what’s going on in my muses head just to keep the flow interesting. If this intimidates you you should please tell me to dial it back or I’ll write you a damn essay xD

Tagged: @roleplay-abiogenesis2​ (Thank you bby!) Tagging: Nah... just pinch it and say I did x3

[bumblefruit-ahhh]

When you spend an hour writing a conversation from the alternate universe of your own writing, then spend several more hours doodling the characters. In order to avoid writing an essay :3

Conversation dump down below!

After a beat of silence, Asher was still unsure if he would find a knife in his chest very soon. Lillian was certainly good at this game of poker they had been playing. Shadows shifted across her face as she turned to him. 

“Lord Asher, you recall Agent Celser.” 

“Golden Boy.”

A weary sigh leaked out of her. “It’s rumored he orchestrated the eight latest peninsular assasinations, but so far not a speck of dirt has been found on him.” Lillian tilted her glass towards a woman in a long red coat with a matching feathered hat in her hair. “Madam Selista? She spent eighteen years infiltrating the entirety of the Tahierian Islands. We have grips upon every governmental official that matters in those countries. If anyone moves without our say so, they’re found floating facedown under a bridge the next morning. Agent Everheart has left fire after fire as she and her men — if you can call them that — win region after region in the name of peace. And yet in the presence of some of the most powerful Gray Heart agents, you still have enough boldness to admit what they have cost you? These dogs have teeth, dear.”

“Surely I am not the only one who has lost things to this pseudo-organization. Let others sympathize with me if they wish.”

“Would you be bold enough to tell my uncle what you have just told me?”

“I suspect the reason we have been knee deep in flowers and cake testing, Miss Hart, is not because he simply enjoys my sparkling personality and charming company.” Lord Asher flashed her a glinting smile. “Your uncle has to keep all these dogs muzzled after all.”

“Lord Asher, you’re adapting to Gray Heart politics, reading him so well.”

“Well, if you can dig up dirt on everyone in this room, you can start to see connections between Gideon Hart’s right hands.”

“Oh? Even on Agent Celser?”

“Agent Celser, I’m afraid to say of Gray Heart’s  dreamboat, is currently embroiled in intense affairs with several of Gideon’s staff in an attempt to steal his throne. Silesta? She has started a smear campaign and two failed revolutions, which have both fueled her power in Tahierian governments.” Lord Asher plucked the glass from her flinders and took a sip. “And Miss Everheart… Well, besides being one of the surviving people personally responsible for the Fall, any person that you take an interest in would be first target for your uncle.”

“How astute.”

Hmm, her poker face was slipping. Perhaps she still wanted to stab him after all. 

“Oh, dear, I’m terribly sorry, Miss Hart. I seemed to have opened a box which violates our ‘this partnership will only work if neither of us talks about our feelings’ contract.” 

Lillian was harder to read than most people — most of the time. But as Lillian looked at Agent Everheart, with fierce protectiveness set upon her face, Lord Asher understood why Gideon had sent Agent Everheart to the frontlines. She was dangerous — not because of what she’s done — but because of what she could drive Lillian to do. 

Lillian composed herself with a wave of her hand. “Don’t apologize for something so true. Asha Everheart should have died a long time ago by his standards. He likes to bring that point up at certain times, just to make family dinners and agent reports awkward.”

“She seems just the person to introduce me to next, then. If she still has a little fight in her, that is.”He refilled the glass to the brim and offered it with a smirk. “To keep the broken bits a little less sharp.”

Lillian snatched it with a heavy sigh. “I’m going to need this for the rest of tonight.”

“Ah, so I’ve discovered the method of winning your affection. I can’t wait to have an alcoholic for a partner.”

“Oh, only I do this so you don’t feel lonely, dear.”

[heartshapedcreaturefromcriptoon]

[Happy Valentines Day, Everyone! 💘🦌 This started out as a shitpost about me needing an animatic of Alastor dancing alone in the nude through an empty Hotel and then somehow morphed into the pitch for my podcast idea. Yes it's long, no... I'm not sorry.]

Okay so, as a followup to this post, I just watched all of Saltburn (2023) last night, and ...

This film is literally so Alastor Coded I could write down an entire essays worth of parallels like I don't know why prudes insist on clutching their pearls and ruining everyone's fun?

Also, for all the pain that ...V*rbalA*e.... and the whole Poison Controversy TM have put us through despite never actually including any nudity or naughty bits in ether of those animations... I've decided that I'm just going to have to find a way to commission someone to animate the most professional, tasteful, artistic, homage/parody of Alastor actually doing Oliver's little victory dance at the end of Saltburn possible, wherein of course Al's nudity will be uncensored and full frontal, just as Oliver's is at end of the film.

That way, the transformation will be complete and the boys will truly have the "Same Character Energy" that the poor Prime Video Canada Employee boasted. 😈

Why am I even considering doing this? Because at this point I think it's the kind of consolation prize that all the patient girlies deserve and because if there weren't so many tacky snapback hats on sharkrobot and if some people didn't throw Angel under the bus so much, we could have a queer femme pleasure centered 18 to 21+ fanbase that was actually as good as the shows, if not better, at least in terms of adult fanservice, which I think should be the norm in an adult fandom space and we (queer/femme fans) wouldn't have so suffer as much just for wanting it like that?

But also, because I guess I'm just a chaotic neutral little troll who likes to stir the pot with my tail while cackling maniacally to piss people off. 😈🌹

And yes, I'm aware of how I just conjured up about fifty thousand different kinds of nightmares in some people's heads trying to parse out just how terrible this one scene from Saltburn I'm referring to is and how horrible the respective parody of it I just decided I'm going to try and make happen with Alastor for funsies, might be because I know that some people won't even bother to check out the source material that'll be pulling from because I know some of you just simply refuse watch anything that isn't a cartoon despite being in your 20s or older, and to those specific types of people I know might be reading this, all I have to say is, you're welcome. 😈

I'm actually 50% serious about trying to do this and I'm gonna try to shoot my shot with some animators and if I actually get a response from any of the people I already have in mind would be a good fit for this and they actually agree to do it, I might start asking for donations, in order to give you guys something in return, I might start a podcast.... I've thinking about turning all my Hazbin posts into something a little more than just blog posts for a very long time because I just feel like there's so much more talk about that I haven't really seen talked about from like, a queer feminine or even disabled perspective... And I was intending to save all my ideas so they could be turned into like, a huge "Retrospective" project that I was planning to begin doing after Hazbin and Helluva as a series were completely finished ... But now that watching Saltburn last night just sparked the idea to make what would have to be a completely monetized shitpost just by nature what this idea is... I don't know. Especially with the first season already be completed.... Would you guys support me hosting a completely queer femme run discussion podcast about these shows and the impact they've had as a kind of internet sub cultural phenomenon, from an insider/fans perspective? Because I've been waiting to hear a feminine queer person tackle just this subject for a while now, and so far nobody has, at least not in the way that I feel it needs or deserves to be. So I think I might as well be the the one to start doing that. And I think I might open up a poll ...

I do promise that the podcast idea I have in mind will be better put together than the hunicast, realistically speaking. I know if I do this I'm technically going starting out this podcast idea early for horny reasons, not to syke anyone out or put anyone down for being so. 🙏🩷👀

Before I start this poll, I just want to tell everyone that you can reblog this with your own feedback about my idea to start a podcast focusing on my opinions on Medrano's adult work, and follow me if your interested, and I would greatly appreciate that, since I notice that my posts are slowly getting my traction even as I'm typing this and I'm slowly gaining more followers and the post this is a followup to that I made yesterday keeps getting more likes even as I'm typing this ... L O L! 😂🙏❤️

But regardless of what happens I'd like to thank everyone and other than that I just wanna say ... Stay Tuned~! 😘❤️🌹 X.O

[crave-mp3]

HI okay okay nutcracker costumes rant sorry if this is rather incoherent it's so fucking late rn. ohhh boy. this was the royal opera house's production of it and it was. they missed the fucking mark so badly with the costuming i am just. in awe of how badly they fucked it up. i dunno how much of the plot yr aware of but in the second act in the magical land of the sugar plum fairy each dance is supposed to represent a different sweet treat. theres chocolate from spain, tea from china, coffee from arabia and candy canes from russia. now ill give them some credit the one thing they did do right in this production is that their tea dance at least didn't rely as heavily as usual on the same old worn out exoticised racist depictions of chinese culture i was very pleasantly surprised. HOWEVER. they still somehow managed to make some of the ugliest strangest fucking costumes i have ever seen. never have i seen dancers look more visibly uncomfortable in their costumes onstage the fabric looked like cardboard and moved like it too massive kudos to the dancers for being able to do ANYTHING in that. absolute disaster. and then the russian dance. ooh boy. orange. neon orange. and BROWN. FUCKING TOP HATS. PINSTRIPED PANTS. NEON ORANGE SASHES. BROWN COATS. and don't even get me started on the dresses i cannot even. horrifying. truly horrifying. BUT THE WORST PART THE WORST FASHION CRIME OF THE NIGHT. beige. they made the flowers for the flower waltz. BEIGE. BEIGE. BEIGE FLOWERS. I AM. BEYOND SPEECHLESS. beige with green trim and the tiniest little bit of pink. I CANJOT EVEN. the sugar plum fairy too. wasn't as beige as the flowers but still. WHERE IS THE LIFE. WHERE IS THE COLOUR. WHERE IS THE JOY AND MAGIC AND CHRISTMAS SPIRIT. and aside from how visually disgusting it was the thing is. none of the costumes even matched at all with the sweet treat they're supposed to be depicting NONE. so without really knowing your shit how are you supposed to know what's going on how do you know who's what how do you know that this is even candy land when everything looks so disgusting and unappealing. THE FLOWERS DONT EVEN LOOK LIKE FLOWERS. truly some of the poorest costuming ihave ever seen. rant over this did get a lot longer than i intended lmao sorry about that iehope this is at least semi coherent. goodnight and happy holidays!!!!!

GOD that sucks so bad...... orange top hats and beige waltz of the flowers are you kidding me 😭😭 glad they weren't as racist w the tea dance tho. a few weeks ago me and my friend at my dance school were havung a moment of perspective on how weird the tea dance was when we did it as kids (especially bc we're both asian lol). tbh i think orientalism in the nutcracker could be an interesting thing to explore in an essay.... can't believe they even fucked up the sugar plum rip 😔😔

[ravenvsfox]

ok I just saw another post floating around about how people absolutely have to be reading novels rather than fanfiction and I just want to gently lay my thoughts here so that I may rest.

First of all, I totally get that impulse! there’s so much merit in consuming complex long-form lit if you can; it’s always crucial to stay informed, and it’s very cool to be supportive of authors (especially those who are marginalized, and whose narratives have been erased).

But I’ve also seen a lot of this intense, morally superior attitude, which makes a lot of assumptions about what qualifies as fanfiction and what actually constitutes capital L Literature. There’s always this mentality of like ‘oh wow do you want to read rpf mpreg porn or do you want to read Joyce like a big boy’, which seems...... reductive

Fanfiction is a many splendored thing! People write all manner of fluff and porn, but they can also spend a great deal of time formulating plot, accumulating research, engineering original characters, elaborating upon world-building, racking up word counts, acquiring their own fanbases, etc, etc

Like I’m sure I don’t have to tell you why it’s problematic to put classic literature on a pedestal and relegate all fan-made works to obscurity, but even if it WASN’T problematic, it also loses much of the spirit of literary criticism!!

We could be having a much more nuanced conversation about commissioned Virgil, bawdy propagandist Shakespeare and trashy serialized Dickens, about parody, satire, print culture, and intertextuality. I was just reading Celia B Whitehead’s follow-up to Henry James’ The Bostonians called “Another Chapter of the Bostonians” under the pseudonym ‘Henrietta James’, and that’s fix-it fic baby! It’s critical and funny and self aware!

How long exactly does something have to be in the public domain for it to stop being a fan work and start being allusion? what are the criteria that separate fic from literature? It can’t be word count, or hours logged, or drafting/editing processes, because those are so similar in the fic writing community that they would be impossible to sift out. Is it just about originality? publishability? 

Can YOU pinpoint the moment that fanfiction becomes literature? Is it when you “command F--replace all” those pesky copyrighted names? is THAT the only border between trash and art? Shouldn’t we talk about that a bit more?

People write fanfiction that is more original content than reference material, and classical authors heavily appropriate their favourite characters, tropes, and settings, and those two behaviours bear strikingly similar fruit. 

It’s easy to cry inexperience and completely discard fanfiction, and it’s easy to uphold a seminal text and thereby dodge the gruelling work of demystifying its production or retroactively putting slippery, playful, metatextual writing into categories. But man I really think you do literature a disservice when you paint with so broad a brush. 

And in the meantime, what’s the merit of casting aspersions on an accessible form of writing for readers and authors alike? It’s free, it’s creative, it’s bombastic (I could also talk about how it belongs largely to young women and queer ppl, and how the disdain kind of.. stinks), it’s an unfathomable array of things, like all art.

If you want to talk about diverse creators, revitalizing the canon, and reading to expand your horizons, fab! Of course I think people should read books if they can, but not everyone has a consistent attention span, ability, energy, or desire. (Also if you think people who read and write fanfiction literally don’t read or write anything else I..... don’t know what to say to you.) Reading online articles and fan works because it’s easier to curate your reading experience is.... fine actually. 

Reducing fanfiction to amateurish nonsense is often mean-spirited, but like mainly it displays a pretty glaring gap in your understanding of the genre. I promise it’s more useful to elevate your criticism beyond ‘fan work bad.. lazy... horny’ and ‘books good! acceptable to enjoy! I am very intelligent!’

Also I don’t really see people demanding that people stop consuming fanart and start consuming “real art”, maybe because it’s more obvious that much of the same technical skill goes into both, which is good to keep in mind when you’re filled with righteous anger and moral superiority because a community is sharing art.

And frankly, it’s a super interesting subculture, if you truly cared about literary or cultural studies. There’s a lot to get into: the increased impact and visibility of fan works with the advent of internet culture, the mutual influence of creator and audience, the way that stylistic mimicry/translation is a unique skill unto itself, the linguistic rules that have been created to label and circulate specific content i.e.: rarepair, AU, angst vs fluff, PWP, slow burn, etc.

Like I’m in grad school for the express purpose of reading books & I obviously think they’re Good, so that’s exactly why I think it’s dangerous to start closing off certain avenues of literary engagement because we’ve arbitrarily decided that they’re worthless :/

[cycas]

Hello, Cycas! I wanted to ask you about the specific character voice of Maglor. I reread RtA and Quenta Narquelion to do some analysis of the way Maglor construct sentences and which words he uses. I still struggle with him a little bit, I'm missing some piece in the puzzle. I would be grateful if you can tell me more about the way you write Maglor and what character points to not miss?

What I learn about Maglor's speech patterns is the interesting contrast of flowery and lively speech, not being very blunt and dance around topics, but then suddenly being alarmingly blunt and to the point the second later. He is very eloquent and I noticed he is maybe persuasive without the intention to be sometimes? Always in control of every conversation and the way he is perceived by people even in daily life. My problem is I just.. have problem to write him like that and I would really appreciate some tips.

I would also appreciate if you can link me to some good books or essays on the matter of medieval kingship. Useful for the writing of noldorin politics. Thank you very much!

I finally got to answer this, terribly late, sorry. Very flattered to be asked!

I try to write Maglor as someone who enjoys language, and is sometimes a little playful about using it. Both he and Maedhros have a tendency to longer, more complex sentences and are perhaps more likely to use a scattering of Latinate words than many of my characters (particularly Nimloth, who is much more direct.)

But Maglor is more concerned with the sound and rhythm of words, while Maedhros is more likely to be obscure and elliptical when speaking. (Of course, really, they aren't speaking English, but, well, call it a translation convention.)

So on the whole, Maglor says what he means, using words that have a pleasant shape and rhythm. He's very good at that, so one thing he does, as you mentioned, is deliberately vary his sentences length for impact.

But he is also a procrastinator who prefers to avoid unpleasant truths. Such as: we are going to lose this war. Such as, just giving up and going home will go horribly wrong. Such as: you need Fingolfin's help so ffs, ask. (Maedhros faces unpleasant truths head-on, which is one of many reasons that Maglor used to prefer to leave big decisions to him.)

So when he is finally forced to face a situation he would have preferred to weasel out of (for example: the Oath really is still binding, or Elrond and Celebrimbor are in danger, etc) he's often a bit more staccato, because he's uncomfortable and dealing with emotions that he's definitely not going to explain to anyone.

But at the same time, like all of Feanor's sons, he can make a speech at the drop of a hat if he really has to. He has the ability to put on his princely mantle and play the part, the way Celegorm and Curufin did in Nargothrond. When Maglor does this, he does it expertly. Feanor's sons generally do things expertly, of course, and Maglor is an expert in language, and in manipulating emotion with language by telling stories.

So yes, sometimes he finds that he's swaying the people he is talking to with his words, even when he knows that's a perilous path to walk and is genuinely trying to dial things back. His default register, I suppose, is Teller of the Tale, and that is a role that is intrinsically manipulative of emotion and opinion. And controlling that is quite difficult because all of that family grew up using all their many talents as often and as hard as they could. They are not used to restraint. I think this is one of the many things that draws him to Elrond,Finrod and Fingon. Apart from shared history, they are genuinely friends because these are people that Maglor cannot accidentally push around, because they are more than capable of seeing what he is doing, not being impressed, and pushing back harder. After the First Age, Maglor finds that reassuring. He is aware that his own judgement has sometimes led him terrible consequences that he regrets, and he doesn't trust himself: even worse, he can't trust Maedhros or Feanor any more either, and that is really difficult for him.

A younger and more competitive Maglor would be much more irritated by Fingon and Finrod, I suspect, but of course he didn't know Elrond then. I think he gets on much better with reborn Fingon and Finrod than he did when they were children. As to medieval kingship, that's... a big question! And I don't know if I can answer it because I tend to feed in stuff from my long-ago history degree which probably has been superceded and also I can't remember where I read things anyway. But my emphasis tends to be early medieval European- what is often called the Dark Ages - rather than late medieval. Rosamond Mckitterick,J. M. Wallace-Hadrill, and Janet Nelson are relevant historians, maybe also Brian Ward-Perkins on the Fall of Rome. I like Nelson's book on Charles the Bald, but I'm not sure how much fun it would be to read just for fanfic!

But my ideas about Maglor as a leader and his characterisation are also particularly influenced by a couple of novels (neither of them, strictly, medieval!) : Island of Ghosts, by Gillian Bradshaw, and Sword at Sunset by Rosemary Sutcliff, and I can definitely recommend those as fun to read.

Thank you for the ask, it was a lot of fun to answer, and I hope it made some kind of sense even if rather late.

[apparitionism]

Appreciation 3

Considering the prompt “Culture/Holidays/Anniversaries/Special Occasions,” I first thought of how anniversaries are a keeping count, with the hope/expectation that the count will continue. That went nowhere, so I wondered: what makes a given day holy? How do we—why do we—sanctify? Still no luck. Then: what is a “special occasion”? Do we know it when we see it? Do we know it for what it is when we see it? Or do we perhaps resent it? That seemed a bit more productive.

The “story” for this day’s work (which follows day 1’s “Architecture” and day 2’s “Bridge,” in sequence at the very least) goes a little like this...

Worry

Adam Phillips, “Worrying and Its Discontents.” On Kissing, Tickling, and Being Bored: Psychoanalytic Essays on the Unexamined Life. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard UP, 1993.

  [W]hat worries are used for—what kind of medium of exchange or currency they become in one’s relationship with other people and oneself—may be as revealing as what prompts them. (The question may not be “What are you worried about?” but “Whom is this worry for?”).... It is, of course, easy to forget that worries are imaginative creations, small epics of personal failure and anticipated catastrophe. They are, that is to say, made up.

  [....]Worrying implies a future, a way of looking forward to things. It is a conscious conviction that a future exists, one in which something terrible might happen, which is of course ultimately true. So worrying is an ironic form of hope.

****

“I have to go home,” Myka says, and Helena hears worry. Just a quaver.

“Has something happened?” she asks, but obviously something has, or Myka would never have said “have to.”

“Sort of,” Myka says.

Helena braces herself.

“My dad’s getting an award.”

Well. Not what Helena would have predicted, certainly, given Myka’s tone, but then again Myka does from time to time imply, and even perceive, catastrophes where none exist. A bit ironic, that, given how often she suggests that Helena tends to escalate unnecessarily.

She waits for Myka to continue, but no additional words are forthcoming. To bridge the silence, she says, “That’s... good news?”

“I never had any idea he was doing what they’re giving it to him for.”

That doesn’t seem fully responsive to Helena’s question—or is it? Keeping her voice neutral, Helena asks another: “Which is?”

“Giving books to kids. Books. To kids. Not kids kids, but older kids, and not just any books—textbooks, things they say they want to study—sciences, literature, public health, architecture, stats, archaeology, everything. I can’t believe it. Can you believe it?”

Helena knows her own belief is in no way the issue. She stays silent, and Myka continues, “So now I have to go and say ‘sorry I never knew you were doing this amazing thing.’”

Silence again, now from Myka. Helena waits, waits... then waits more, but because silence should not last forever, as she is sensing this might, she breaks it with, “How did you learn about this award?”

A break it was, for it looses a flood: “My mom called and told me. Then I went and read the press release. Because there was a press release! And then I did a whole search, and I found all these articles in the paper about this—about him doing this—for years, and it was just local to start, but then he was able to scale it up statewide, so I guess I have to say those ‘sorry I never knew’ words, not to mention, ‘sorry I assumed you weren’t capable of this kind of thing.’”

Myka doesn’t tend to pace, but she has paced throughout this overflow, walking the length of the bedroom, door to night table and back again. Helena, who has been sitting on the bed, is loath to interrupt the physicality of her thought.

As Myka reaches the door for what may be the fifth time (Helena hasn’t kept count, so unnerved was she by the pacing in the first place), she seems taken aback to find herself there, or to be faced with its implacable physicality. “No, that’s wrong, about the sorry,” she tells it. “It’s ‘sorry I never even thought about you as someone who would do this kind of thing.’” She lays her hands on the surface, perhaps in thanks for the insight, then comes to the bed and sits next to Helena. She breathes out—Helena knows that exhale for irritability—and says, “I just figured out how not to resent him so much. But now I have to appreciate him.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Helena says. That may not be what Myka needs to hear, but Helena expects—well, hopes—that Myka’s response to her having said it will make something clear.

“What about your father?” Myka demands.

So much for clarity. “What about him?” Helena asks. This truly can have nothing to do with her own father; she is sure of that. One then-now dissimilarity Helena has been completely unable to impress upon Myka is the difference between children’s understandings—expectations—of their parents. She won’t try again now, however. “I can say he never provided books to the academically ambitious. As far as I know.”

“Ha! See? All we know for sure is that Colorado Springs never gave him the Spirit of the Springs Award.”

“I doubt Bromley has—rather, had—such an award.”

“Are you sure, though? Because you might have to do this weirdo reassessment too.” She’s trying to equate, or at least to identify cognates... but where none exist. “You might have to do it now. Let me google your dad, and we’ll see what he—”

“Myka.” Helena has googled her father. All her family members. “If I might reorient you.”

“To what?” She actually has her telephone in her hand.

“Appreciating one aspect doesn’t mean appreciating everything. I myself am evidence of that. Haven’t I done some things worthy of appreciation?”

“Of course you have.”

That’s Myka’s “reassuring” tone, and while Helena would like to sink into its warmth, here she raises a hand to move it away, saying, “But by no means everything, correct?”

“But extenuating circumstances,” Myka says, yet with a sickly cast; she’s of course discerned where this argument is going.

Helena nods. “I’d like to imagine so,” she says, and follows it with what she knows Myka doesn’t want to hear. “Your father might claim the same.”

That earns her a peevish, “Why are you defending him?”

“I’m defending myself. If you take your critical stance to its logical end, I suffer as well.”

Myka sighs overdramatically. “Don’t make me do this.”

While Helena doesn’t want to be didactic (well, some of the time), she feels she has to say, “I’m not making you do anything. What I’m making is a selfish argument about the ethics of praise and blame.”

“Okay, supergenius,” Myka says, and her use of one of Pete’s preferred sobriquets makes her continued agitation extremely clear. “You did make the argument. You made it so well that you have to come with me. Don’t argue. It’s a rule.”

Helena had expected Myka to follow that with a softening smile, but none seems to be forthcoming, so she tries to inject some lightness into the scenario. “This seems a rule of quite recent invention. And limited applicability.”

“Do you want to fight me on this?” Myka asks, with no lightness at all.

Helena tells the truth: “Not at all. I want to observe how you deal with this.”

“Sociology,” Myka groans. “Great.”

It is sociology, and it has to do with a difference Helena has difficulty grasping fully: Myka is always anxious of going home (or “home,” for that word stands in for “my parents’ house in Colorado Springs,” a linguistic shorthand that Helena initially and mistakenly found offensive) because, as she had put it when Helena pushed her for an explanation, “I don’t like who I am there.” Helena can’t deny her interest in this strange, modern slippage (strange because modern? or strange and modern?) between child-self and adult-self... or perhaps it’s world-self and home-self. In any case, yes: sociology.

Myka says, “I know you like to watch me lose it.” It’s not quite an accusation, more an acknowledgement, a this-is-what-I-let-myself-in-for acquiescence.

“Not true,” Helena says, but she has to concede, “however, I’m fascinated by the circumstances under which you do.”

“I really need to keep it under control for this. Can I?”

Because Myka does in fact sometimes “lose it,” Helena says, in the interest of accuracy, “I have no idea. “

“Come on, don’t be like that... have an idea! Be that supergenius! Help me do it!”

Helena takes her seriously. She tries, “You might recognize that children received help. And the effect on them is most likely objectively good, regardless of the effect on you.”

It doesn’t rise to a level supportive of “supergenius,” Helena is reasonably certain... but it does give Myka pause.

After thinking, Myka says, “I was the kind of kid he would’ve given those books to.”

“As I understand it, he did give you books. Perhaps little else you found to be of value, but books, he did give you.”

“Are you defending him again?”

“I’m stating what I understand to be a fact. I believe this entire situation will be enhanced by attention to facts.”

“And not feelings?” They have had numerous facts-versus-feelings debates. Some have occurred out loud, in explicit terms... but some have been subterranean, glints off the vast waters of uncertainty that lurk between and below them.

They have yet to address so much... but for now, Helena says, “Feelings? Not if you intend to go home and take me with you. Feelings won’t help with that.”

Myka shakes her head. “That doesn’t make any sense, because I’m pretty sure feelings help me intend to take you with me. Because if not for feelings I wouldn’t intend to take you with me. I’d just go and do this thing, which I know I have to do, without you.” That sounds like everyday, resolute Myka. Then she softens. “But I’m glad—and grateful—that I don’t have to do it without you.”

She kisses Helena, as if a seal on the confession.

Not that Helena wouldn’t have known both her gladness and her gratitude to be true—but that Myka has spoken it aloud is new. And she’s done so seemingly without any of the resistance that, Helena has inferred, has adhered to Myka’s earlier, implicit acknowledgements that rigorous self-sufficiency might perhaps have its drawbacks, and consolation its... consolations.

Her inferences may be right; they may be wrong. But she is glad—and grateful--to be the person, now, whom Myka admits, via spoken invitation, to her concerns. To her catastrophes.

END

Note:

In these seven days of appreciation, I’m playing, extremely loosely, on sestina construction. I’m not writing a sestina stanza to go along with each part of the prose, but pieces of possibility are floating around in my head, so here’s what might be today’s stanza of that dream-poem (though any bit of poetry—or “poetry”—I purport to write is never anything more than a pastiche of an admired other):

“I have to go home,” she says, speaking worry and fear of the here-to-there bridge, as imagined catastrophes gnash at her voice. The family gathers as weighty architecture, each wing freighting mass on the scale, time-grown heaviness stressing the house.

[luvrsunwooh]

Anything For You, my Darling.

This is the first post for my Prompt Generator series! This series is to help me get me back into the joy of writing. Hopefully, my writing gets better again.

Prompt:

About: You’re stressing about studying for your O.W.Ls and your constant nagging from your parents. Fred notices this stress, and takes you for a de-stress date to Hogsmeade.

Warnings: none.

A/N: I tried making this gender and house neutral! I also avoided using “Y/N”.

“You know, I’m very surprised you agreed to come out today.”

You turned your head to the source of the voice that interrupted the silence you were starting to enjoy. The same silence that had you enjoying the presence of the tall boy with the voice, and being lost in your thoughts. It was Fred who was the owner of that voice. Tilting your head in confusion as to why he was feeling that way, you responded.

“And what’s makes you surprised that I came out?” Fred and I continued walking, his glove-clad hands that intertwined with your bare ones. You realized you forgot your gloves half way to Hogsmeade. Fred swore you had them in your jacket pocket before you left the castle. Your empty hand is becoming numb and red due to the icy air and wet snow. You had wished you double-checked your pockets for those well wanted gloves.

“Love, you were neck deep in parchment and textbooks! What made you pull a Hermione and take so much classes? I was thinking you would rather study, since that has been a new hobby of yours. But I also don’t want you to turn into some mad woman because you’re holed up in the common room all day!” Fred giggles as he unclasps your fingers and wraps it around your shoulders, pulling you closer. His gloved hand takes your other hand and holds it. The warmth of his body travels to yours, making you feel a tad bit warmer.

“Hey, at least I wasn’t taking so much classes that a whole time traveling unit had to be used. Plus, Snape gave us two days to finish a very long essay. I can care less about Moonstone and it’s uses, and I can care less about potions in general.” A groan left your chapped lips as you were reminded of the half finished “Moonstone and it’s uses in Potion Making” essay that lies half finished on your bed.

But it was true, Fred had noticed you were working extra hard lately. Staying up late in your common room (Fred caught you in the library once covered in ink whilst writing another essay for Muggle studies.) Being in your fifth year was probably your hardest year. With your O.W.Ls exams coming up and wanting a head start in practicing on top of your current studies. It was also true that you were taking more classes than what the normal student would be taking. You silently blamed your third year self for choosing this much classes.

You seem to be studying so much, that Fred was starting to see you less and less. At the second week of this year, he asked you if you wanted to watch one of his Quidditch practices. You rejected his request due to wanting to study for your O.W.Ls. And before you know it, you’re spending your days, Fred-less and in the library with ink stains blotting fingers and textbooks. Once Fred realized you were doing more studying with little to no breaks, he decided enough was enough and wanted to take you out on a small date to Hogsmeade. Even though Fred has had enough of the trips to the small village (the excitement of the idea wearing thin), he figured just taking you out away from the castle, away from the source of your stress was the best idea to de-stress his beloved.

“Darling, I just want you to take a break before your brain combusts into pieces for trying to contain so much information in that brain of yours.” Fred joked as a giggle escaped from your lips. A snowflake touched your tongue as you giggled.

“Thank you for thinking of me, Freddie. You already know this but I’m just worried about my parents. They keep feeding me these ideas that I’m going to fail my whole life if I fail one class. It wasn’t that bad previously, but this year especially has been worse than any other year. They just want me to get the most O.W.Ls I can. If I don’t bring home the desired O.W.Ls, they’ll kick me out.” A sigh was heaved, as you stared at the white fluffy ground creating a shape of your black combat boots’ sole.

“I’m under so much pressure to make them proud, that I feel like my only option is to study night and day. I’ve just come to realize that I’m spending less time with you and I’m so so sorry for not making any time to spend time with you. This isn’t right of me to just leave you hanging. When you do ask me on dates and spend time, I want to, I really do. But my parents keep pushing into my thoughts, making feel like I have no choice but to stu-“

Suddenly, your back is pushed against something loud and rather flimsy. You don’t get to register what it is, when a pair of soft lips braided with your chapped ones. Your eyes flutter shut and your lips moved back, rhythmically with his. His fingers laced into your hair, while your bare hands wrapped around his shoulders. After a small moment, he pulled away and stared, taking in your beauty. A soft smile crept up to his face.

“Darling, hey. Today is our day to de-stress. Why don’t we try to forget everything back at home and the castle? It’s just us two and Hosgmeade, eh? Plus, it’s snowing! You told me once that you love taking small walks while it was snowing. Let’s take a small walk.” You took his hand that was stuck out after his small speech. You gladly accepted it, and continued your small walk in preferable silence, hands once again intertwined through the busy village. This time, you got an opportunity to suck in all the scenery.

To your left was the Three Broomsticks. The warm air hit your face for a moment, as a Ravenclaw student opened the door to leave. Once you walked past, you head the Ravenclaw yell out a name, probably for a friend. The street lights were coated in white, and yellow light was beaming from the inside of the street light. A big, red bow complete with a shrub of mistletoe in the middle hung on every post to signify that the Christmas season was currently taking stage.

You passed by a couple more shops and small local restaurants, enjoying the snow laying swiftly on your eyelashes. You look up to take a small glance at your beloved. The tall ginger took notice that his loved one was staring at him, that he turned his head to you and smiled. You swore your heart skipped a beat just at his smile. Fred’s messy hair that poked out from his knitted hat becoming soaked from the previous bits of snow melting on it. You stop for a moment and Fred furrowed his brows in confusion, due to your pause in motion. The snow continued its motion downwards. You looked up at him taking his hands.

“Fred, you know I love you. Thank you for taking me to Hogsmeade. I really needed the break. I really don’t know what I would do without you.” You mumbled, as you hear a giggle coming from the older Gryffindor.

“Anything for my darling.” Fred smiled wide, as he also dug something from out of his pockets.

“Oh, and by the way, here’s your gloves. I took them from your pocket when you weren’t looking.” Fred smirked and held out your gray knitted gloves that were clumped in a ball.

“FRED WEASLEY!”

You knew you could never ignore this prankster.

[blu-joons]

When You Make Grabby Hands ~ Exo Reaction

Xiumin:

“Can’t you just come and cuddle me now?” You asked as Minseok pushed himself away from his desk, letting go of a heavy sigh as he finished his work.

He spun around to look at you, “you don’t just get cuddles, you have to earn affection from me.”

With that, you reached out and tried to grab for him to come over to you. “Please,” you sweetly smiled, pouting across at him whilst fluttering your eyelashes.

“You are pretty cute,” Minseok hummed, standing up from the chair and making his way over to sit beside you. “I didn’t think that you’d be as cute as that, how come you don’t usually show me cure things like that?”

“You don’t deserve it,” you teased, “you have to earn my aegyo, you don’t just get it.”

“Use my logic against me,” he muttered underneath his breath.

Suho:

“I’m just going to give up,” you cried out as you flicked through your next book, failing to find any useful information for your essay inside.

Junmyeon glanced across at you, “don’t say that just tell me what the problem is.”

You stretched your arms out, encouraging Junmyeon to appear by your side. “This essay is going to be a flop; I don’t know what to do anymore. Shall I just quit?”

“Absolutely, no way,” he quickly assured you, taking a hold of both of your hands hat had reached out for him. “You can’t just give up; this book just wasn’t the one. Give yourself a break for a while and then come back to all of this.”

“I don’t have the time,” you whined, resting your head tightly against his shoulder.

“Yes, you do,” he smiled, closing up every one of your books.

Lay:

“Are you just going to watch?” You asked Yixing as he walked into your bedroom to see you folding up all the clothes that were freshly washed.

His head shook, “you do such a good job, I don’t want to mess up your pattern.”

You frowned back at him, reaching your hands out to try and pull him over. “Even if you don’t help, just come over here and stand a little bit closer to me.”

“Definitely,” he mused, racing across the room to appear by your side, placing his arms around your waist as you continued to fold. “Have I ever told you what a good job you do in doing my laundry for me Y/N?”

“Don’t push it,” you teased, “I can unfold it all again pretty quickly too.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “please, don’t do that.”

Baekhyun:

“Baekhyun,” you called out from the other side of the room, waiting impatiently for his eyes to look across at you, noticing your arms that were stretched out for him.

His head shook, “yes,” he murmured, raising his eyebrows, ignoring your hands.

You sighed gently, pouting in his direction whilst clasping your hands together. “Can’t you do your work over here and come and sit next to me instead of being there.”

“On one condition,” he continued to tease, pointing to the palms of your hand. “You have to make those hands at me again, it looked adorable,” he smiled, waiting for you to try and grab him again before working over to you.

“You’re not supposed to use it against me,” you huffed, as he finally sat down beside you.

“It was cute though,” he defended, wrapping an arm around you.

Chen:

“Why are you over there with him?” You questioned as Jongdae walked into the dressing room and sat down beside Junmyeon on the sofa.

His shoulders shrugged, “I just like being around my leader, that’s all, he’s good company.”

Your brows knitted together, “you should be with me instead,” you frowned, reaching your hands out to try and encourage him to sit down beside you instead of Junmyeon.

“You look cute when you’re desperate,” he joked, standing up from the sofa and making his way around to sit down beside you. “Junmyeon could never be as cute as you anyway, no matter how hard he tries to be.

“I’m always your number one when it comes to being cute,” you pointed out to him.

“You’re my number one always,” he quickly corrected you, “forever.”

Chanyeol:

“Don’t you think you’ve played enough guitar for one day?” You asked Chanyeol as he finished rehearsing another one of his songs.

He spun in his chair to look at you, “no, I’m enjoying playing on it.”

You frowned back at him, “why don’t you come and be with me for a bit,” you suggested, grabbing your hands out to try and get him to come over to you.”

“Are you really that desperate for my attention?” Chanyeol questioned, as your head nodded quickly. With a gentle sigh, he placed his guitar down and made his way over to you. “I can’t believe you were getting jealous of my guitar.”

“I was not jealous of your guitar,” you tried to argue, jabbing at his waist.

“You must definitely were,” he teased, “but it’s cute.”

D.O.:

“I can’t do this alone,” you called out to Kyungsoo as he walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter whilst you continued cooking.

He smiled widely, “let me do something to make you feel a bit better in that case.”

Your head nodded as you grabbed across for him to pull you into a hug. “Just hold me for a while,” you whispered, feeling his arms snake around your waist tightly.

“So needy,” he teased, pressing his lips against any exposed part of your skin that he could find. “Why don’t you let me cook for a bit and you relax? We can do it together so we can eat quicker and head up to bed.”

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day,” you chuckled, resting tightly into his chest.

“Pass me the spoon, you sit,” he instructed, letting you go relax.

Kai:

“Sorry!” You chuckled as the cushion hit the back of Jongin’s neck, causing him to look across in your direction, holding against the back of his neck.

His head shook, “you could have just said my name and I’d have looked,” he smirked.

You smiled innocently back at him, reaching your hands out for him to come across to you. “It’s about time you paid a bit of attention to me today and not just your work.”

“But I need to get this done,” he frowned, but as you continued to reach out for him, it didn’t take long for him to decide to give it up and make his way over to you. “I guess I can’t decline when you’re being so adorable towards me.”

“Your work will still be there later,” you smiled as he sat himself down next to you.

“You won’t let me go to work,” he chuckled against you.

Sehun:

“Am I just invisible to you?” You called out as Sehun continued to tickle underneath Vivi’s chin, paying close attention to her instead of you.

He stared across at you, “look how cute Vivi is though, you can’t ignore that.”

You raised your brows questionably, “I can be cute too,” you argued, reaching out and trying to grab for him, desperate for any sort of reaction from him.

“I guess you can be pretty cute,” he chuckled, picking Vivi up from beside him, making his way to the sofa, settling Vivi in between you both. “I much prefer having the two of you with me together, seeing as you’re both so cute.”

“But I beat her, just by a bit,” you smirked, poking against his cheek several times.

“It’s equal,” he laughed, refusing to give you just an ounce of victory.

---

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