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weemssapphic · 1 year ago

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hii :) how are you? I hope well <3 I love the way you write so much :)

so, I had this idea in mind for a while, reader is a teacher and she and Larissa have been flirting for months, like there were times when they both wanted to confess their feelings but for fear of the other's rejection no one has ever taken the first move.

the Rave'n arrives and at a certain point the song "i wanna ruin our friendship" starts and reader and Larissa stare at each other from afar

larissa runs away to her office trying to figure out what to do and when she decides to go confess her feelings to reader, she opens the door and reader is standing in front of her

after that you can add whatever you want, possibly smut and fluff

thank you if you will write my request <3

Hello! thank you so much for your request, I truly adored writing it and thought it was an amazing idea - excellent song choice hehe <3 I hope you enjoy it!

Ruin Our Friendship

Larissa Weems x f!reader

words: ~4.4k | ao3 link in title

content/warnings: pining, flirting, fluff, nsfw (smut) - marking, cunnilingus (reader giving)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A crisp fall breeze blew your hair off your shoulders as you walked up to the doors of the Weathervane during your lunch break, excited to treat yourself to a coffee before the afternoon staff meeting.

As you entered the little café, you spied Larissa standing in line waiting to place her order. Your heart fluttered at the sight of her - you’d had a crush on your boss since starting at Nevermore the previous year (you couldn’t fathom how anyone couldn’t have a crush on the statuesque blonde), and you’d even managed to form a friendship with her, bonding over your shared love of music, old films and literary classics. As of late, though, you felt the lines of your friendship blurring more and more as the two of you had developed a teasing, flirty undertone to your conversations.

That fact thrilled you - flirting with Larissa was fun, exhilarating - as much as it terrified you. You were almost certain it was nothing more than a passing game for her; after all, she seemed to have a rather flirtatious nature in general. To you, though, it was much more. With doubts about her intentions at the back of your mind, you were hesitant to share your feelings with the blonde - surely being rejected by your boss wouldn't exactly be an ideal move for your career (or for your heart, for that matter).

You began to cross the café and make your way to the line to order, intent on engaging in conversation with Larissa, when a man who seemed to have similar intentions tapped Larissa on the shoulder.

Not recognizing him, you slowed your gait, curiosity getting the better of you. When the man placed his hand on Larissa’s arm, she pulled away instantly, looking visibly uncomfortable.

“Hey, baby, haven’t seen you around these parts.” His voice was so sleazy and, as his gaze traveled Larissa’s body, it lingered far too long on her long legs, then on her breasts, which he was almost face to face with at his height.

Without thinking, you sidled up to the taller woman and wrapped an arm possessively around her waist, ignoring the small squeak she let out and gazing up at her with the most lovey-dovey eyes you could muster (as if that were even hard).

“Hi, baby,” you purred, smiling coyly up at her. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

You rose up on your toes a bit so you could reach her cheek, pressing your lips gently to her cheekbone, then turning your head away from the man’s view and whispering in her ear, “Follow my lead.”

You glanced over at the man who was watching you, his face slowly turning scarlet.

“And who might this be? Have we met before?” You offered him a sickly-sweet smile, waiting for a reply as his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“Uh, sorry,” a voice interrupted timidly from behind the counter, and you turned to see Tyler’s eyes darting between the three of you. “Did you want to order something?”

With a final look of disdain towards the stranger, you turned your attention fully to Tyler, unaware of how your hand was gently stroking across the fabric of Larissa’s dress in a soothing pattern, even more unaware of how Larissa was desperately trying (and failing) to ignore the way this made heat pool in her core.

“Could I please get a latte to go? Honey, what would you like?” Larissa looked down at you with wide eyes, still processing her current situation. After what felt like an eternity she replied, “I’ll have the same,” her eyes still trained on you.

You briefly let go of Larissa in order to search your bag for your credit card to pay, then took her hand in your own and all but pulled her to the other end of the long counter to wait for your drinks. Her hand was warm and soft and your skin tingled where it met hers.

“Y/N?” Larissa whispered when you didn’t let go of her hand.

“He’s still watching,” you whispered back, all too aware of the man’s eyes boring a hole in the back of your skull.

And maybe you weren’t ready to let go, not yet - not now, when you knew how it felt to hold her hand.

~~~

The staff meeting that afternoon was, admittedly, a bit boring. But boring was just what Larissa needed to ground herself after your little stunt at the Weathervane had left her dazed and, if she was honest with herself, extremely aroused.

She found herself unable to focus on Coach Vlad’s proposal for a higher fencing budget and, instead, found her eyes drifting over to you. With each glance at you the heat in her core spread further, until it felt as though her entire body was ablaze. Her cheek still tingled from where you’d kissed her, her waist felt like you’d branded it with your hand.

You’d only been doing her a favor, she reminded herself. It didn’t mean anything - it was simply girl code. No one had ever done something like that for her, and she supposed she should be grateful - after all, you had saved her from having to have one of the worst possible conversations of her life.

When the meeting was over and the staff stood and began shuffling out, Larissa called your name and asked you to stay behind. She would simply thank you, that’s all.

“Yes, Larissa?” You smiled brightly at her and she felt her cheeks warm under your gaze as she struggled to find the right words.

“Thank you,” she said finally. “For what you did for me at the Weathervane - you saved me from an absolute headache of a conversation.” She paused. “And thank you for the coffee, I can pay you back,” she added, reaching for her purse.

“No, it’s fine,” you insisted. “You don’t have to pay me back, it’s just a coffee. And of course, what are friends for? I couldn’t just stand there and watch that slimy man throw himself at you.”

Friends. The word made Larissa’s stomach churn uncomfortably. If that’s all you saw her as…

“Yes, well, I appreciate it, nonetheless.” Larissa forced a smile to her lips.

A charged silence filled the air, both of you still thinking about the kiss you’d pressed to Larissa’s cheek, both of you too nervous to address it.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask - will you be at the Rave’N?” Larissa asked, as nonchalantly as possible, subconsciously fidgeting with the sleeve of her blazer.

“Are you asking me as a girlfriend?” You giggled as you said it - Larissa could feel it was a joke but her entire body tensed up anyway.

“I-I was just finishing up the chaperone list, actually,” she stuttered out, not quite able to fully meet your gaze as she unconsciously straightened her posture.

“It was just a joke,” you said softly, offering the blonde a warm smile which she hesitantly returned. “In that case though, yeah, sign me up.”

Larissa nodded numbly.

“I should go though, my class is starting soon and I would hate for my boss to find out I was late.” You tossed Larissa a wink and left her in the staff room.

Larissa stood rooted to the spot, stunned and even more confused than before.

~~~

Stationing yourself on the end of the dance floor farthest from Larissa was for the best, really. At least that’s what you told yourself. From all the way across the room, you wouldn’t be tempted to shower her with compliments. You wouldn’t be tempted to wrap your arms around her waist. You wouldn’t be tempted to drag her onto the dance floor, or pull her close, or rise onto your toes to press your lips to hers. You wouldn’t be tempted to do something you’d surely regret, something that would ruin the beautiful friendship you’d developed over the past months.

The song changed and you tried to focus on the music to distract your wandering thoughts.

Jenny, darling, you're my best friend But there's a few things that you don't know of Why I borrow your lipstick so often I'm using your shirt as a pillow case

You recognized the song immediately. It always reminded you of a certain blonde principal who had caught your eye, though you would certainly never admit it. You took a sip of your Yeti-tini and allowed your eyes to wander the room, taking in the dancing students. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, even Wednesday Addams, and it made you smile into your drink.

Your gaze wandered further until you locked eyes with the one person you’d been mercilessly avoiding since your arrival. Larissa’s shining sapphires bore into your own, her expression wistful - God she looked so beautiful. Elegant, poised - the picture of grace. Then a blush colored her cheeks, embarrassment making itself known on her face as the two of you simultaneously registered the lyrics thumping out of the speaker.

I wanna ruin our friendship We should be lovers instead I don't know how to say this 'Cause you're really my dearest friend

It was as if everything around you was slowing down. You barely registered the thumping of the bass, the bodies of students swirling around you as you stood rooted to the spot, dumbstruck. The only thing you could focus on was the way Larissa’s eyes widened, the way her lips parted, the feeling of your own body coming to life as a buzzing spread throughout your limbs.

You took a step forward, your concentration momentarily broken when a student bumped into you, and you looked down to apologize profusely. When you looked up again, Larissa was gone.

~~~

It was only after she’d shut herself in her office that Larissa finally felt like she could breathe again. She leaned with her back against the door, tipping her head backwards and shutting her eyes, taking a moment to breathe deeply and to get her racing pulse under control.

Larissa was normally an expert at keeping her desires under wraps. She was nothing if not in control - when it came to everything except for you, apparently. You looked so enticing tonight, Larissa had noticed it the second you’d walked in. She hadn’t allowed her eyes to roam over your figure until you’d turned away, of course, but the second you had she’d traced your curves, the way your suit clung to your body and emphasized your figure in a way that left her mouth dry.

She’d wanted nothing more in that moment than to steal you away, to leave lingering kisses all over your body until you were whimpering with anticipation, until you were begging her to take you - and then she would. She would push you up against a wall and mark you hers, make you scream her name until the whole school could hear who you belonged to.

Did you feel the same way? she wondered, her heart racing as she considered your encounters over the past months. The sexual charge in the air when you were around was undeniable. Could you feel it, too? You’d seemed open to her advances, to her flirting, but she’d been too afraid to make a move - the last thing she’d wanted was to come on too strong if her feelings were not reciprocated.

The heavy throb between her legs was becoming too much to bear, and Larissa decided she needed to try. She would hate herself if she didn’t. With a steadying breath, she turned and opened the door - in an instant, she felt the air leave her lungs, frozen at the sight of you standing there, eyes wide.

~~~

It took you a few seconds to register that Larissa had left. You stood at the center of the dance floor, clutching your empty cup to your chest. Should you go after her? Would she want that? There had to have been a reason she’d left during that song, after seeing you. Surely it wasn’t a coincidence. Surely you weren’t delusional.

You didn’t realize you’d set into motion until you were halfway to Larissa’s office. You slowed as the door came into sight, a door that you’d knocked on and entered through a hundred times before but that suddenly seemed imposing - a door that taunted you.

Would Larissa even be in her office? What if she’d left because you’d made her uncomfortable, and she simply wanted to get away from you? What if-

Your ruminating was cut short by a loud creak as the very door you were staring at opened, revealing a shocked Larissa.

“Larissa,” you breathed out, suddenly feeling your heartbeat in your throat.

The blonde was seemingly frozen as she stared at you, mouth agape, until finally she croaked out, “I was just coming to find you.”

“Oh,” was all you could say in response.

“Would you like to come in?” She sounded almost timid, and that filled you with hope. You nodded and she stepped aside, allowing you to enter her office before shutting the door behind you.

The two of you stood in her office, a tense silence blanketing the room. There had to be a reason she was coming to find you, didn’t there? Your mind raced as you tried to come up with something, anything to say to stave off the awkwardness that surrounded you both.

“Larissa-”

“Y/N-”

You both spoke at the same time, and Larissa chuckled nervously while you felt a heat rise in your cheeks.

“Please,” she said, gesturing for you to speak.

“Larissa, I…” You searched her eyes, those icy blue irises that you would happily drown in. They stared back at you with an intensity that set you ablaze - you were suddenly warm, everything was warm as a heat radiated from your core. “Oh, for fucks sake.” You surged forward, bringing a hand to the back of Larissa’s head to pull her towards you as you captured her lips with your own.

You half expected the kiss to be hesitant, for Larissa to push you away - what you didn’t expect was the ferocity with which Larissa kissed you back. Her hands gripped at your waist, pulling you closer until you were flush against her as her tongue swiped at the seam of your lips.

Larissa licked into your mouth, letting out a soft whimper as your tongue slid against hers. Her lips felt heavenly against your own, warm and pillow-soft - eager. You slid one hand into her updo, tugging at the silky strands while your other hand cupped her cheek.

“Darling,” she whispered, pulling back ever so slightly. Her gaze lingered for a moment on your lips before flicking up to meet your eyes. “Why did you come to my office?”

There was uncertainty in her tone, but also hope, and your breath stuttered in your chest.

“I-” you struggled to get the words - any words - out. “I’m nervous,” you whispered hoarsely, searching Larissa’s face.

Her previously intense gaze softened slightly and she smiled timidly. “So am I,” she whispered back, her grip tightening imperceptibly on your waist.

“I kissed you on the cheek at the Weathervane.” You were still whispering, almost afraid to say the words out loud. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that.”

“Neither could I.” Larissa’s voice was low and breathy.

“I’m very attracted to you.” God, was that an understatement.

“I’m very attracted to you, too.” You could feel Larissa’s hot breath on your face as she spoke - it sent a shiver down your spine.

You leaned in slightly, your lips brushing faintly against hers - a question. Larissa responded by closing the remainder of the gap, pressing her lips firmly to yours.

“I would very much like to show you how beautiful you are,” you murmured between kisses.

“Far be it from me to stop you.” You could feel Larissa’s smirk against your lips and you dropped your hands to her hips, fisting at the fabric of her dress.

Larissa’s lips barely left your own as she guided you to her adjacent quarters, maneuvering around the small apartment until you reached the bedroom, the backs of your knees bumping into the edge of the bed.

The taller woman gently pushed your shoulders, causing you to fall back onto the bed. She stared hungrily down at you for a moment, cheeks flushed, pupils blown.

“Are you sure about this?” She sounded breathless.

You nodded fervently, earning you a raised eyebrow. “Words, darling,” Larissa all but pleaded.

“Yes, I’m sure.” That you were, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

A smile graced Larissa’s features, which quickly turned into a smirk as she towered over you. She set her hands on the bed, on either side of your hips, hovering over you. When she leaned in, you thought she might kiss you again, but she bypassed your lips and went straight for your throat, finding your pulse point within seconds and beginning to nibble and suck at the sensitive flesh.

“Larissa,” you moaned, heat pooling between your legs as you felt her warm, wet tongue soothe over the side of your neck, over the marks that would surely turn purple come morning.

You reached around her back, finding the zipper of her dress. “May I?”

Larissa hummed her consent and you dragged the zipper down as far as it would go, then helped Larissa push the sleeves of the dress down her arms. She stood again, a vision before you - her skin was milky white and dotted in tiny, pale freckles, breasts cupped by lacy white fabric, her dress pooling at her hips, the slight swell of her lower belly on display. You could feel your mouth go dry.

“You’re staring.” Larissa’s breathy voice forced your gaze upwards - her cheeks were pink, her eyes half-lidded as she looked down at you.

“You’re gorgeous.” You couldn’t help the emotional sincerity that laced your tone, and Larissa’s face flushed further.

You placed your hands on Larissa’s hips, holding her gaze as you leaned in slowly. You pressed your lips to her belly, the skin soft and warm against your mouth. A plethora of kisses was littered across the expanse of her stomach as you used your hands to push the dress over her hips and allow it to pool at her feet.

Then your hands came to the waistband of her panties, pulling them down slightly, revealing her mound, covered in a patch of neatly trimmed blonde curls. You allowed the panties to drop the rest of the way down Larissa’s legs as you focused your attention between her thighs, pressing a kiss to her mound then looking up in question.

“Would it be alright if I taste you?” you whispered, watching a visible shiver travel up Larissa’s spine.

“Yes,” came her soft reply.

You took her hands in your own, guiding her onto the bed. She leaned back against the pillows and spread her legs, watching you with parted lips as you shrugged off your suit jacket and slowly unbuttoned your shirt, tossing the clothes into a heap at the foot of the bed. Your pants came next, until you were left in only your bra and panties.

Settling between her legs, you began to cover every inch of her inner thighs with soft, barely there kisses, until Larissa’s hips were bucking towards your mouth.

The scent of her arousal hung heavy in the air already, her cunt glistening enticingly. The moment your tongue made contact with her slit, a loud moan tore from Larissa’s throat, the sound so erotic that you were certain your own panties were now drenched.

You dragged your tongue slowly through Larissa’s folds, letting out a moan of your own at the heavenly taste. Your tongue reached her swollen bundle of nerves and her hips twitched beneath you. Circling the sensitive bud with your tongue, you wrapped your arms around Larissa’s creamy thighs to steady yourself.

There was a flurry of movement and you looked up through your lashes, groaning as you saw that Larissa had removed her bra and was palming her breasts, rolling her own pert, pink nipples into hard peaks. Your groan seemed to send a shockwave of pleasure through the blonde as she let out a whimper and bucked her hips upwards.

Larissa rolled her hips against your face, finding a steady pace to match the ministrations of your tongue as you alternated between laving her folds and sucking her clit.

“You’re doing so well for me,” you murmured between licks, eyes trained on Larissa as she writhed against the sheets. She looked down at you, her gaze meeting yours, and a knot began to form in your belly. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, her chest flushed and heaving, her cheeks pink, her hair spilling out of its updo in messy waves.

Her lips parted and she looked like she was about to say something, but then you latched onto her clit and her head fell back onto the bed as she let out a guttural moan.

“Please, can you- inside,” Larissa panted, and you quickly obliged, pushing a finger into her dripping hole.

“So beautiful,” you said, breathless and in awe, before returning your mouth to her clit as you began to pump your finger in and out of her in a steady rhythm. Larissa matched the thrusts of your fingers, and as she seemed to get more comfortable, you pushed in a second finger. She groaned as her walls clenched slightly at the intrusion.

“Does this feel good?” You curled your fingers inside of her, finding her sweet spot, and Larissa let out a breathy, “Yes, God, yes.”

A few more thrusts of your fingers had Larissa arching her back off the mattress, her bucking hips struggling to keep your steady rhythm as you began to pump your fingers even faster.

You could feel her thighs begin to close around your head, trembling slightly, and you blindly reached out a hand, feeling the mattress next to her for her own hand. She grabbed it, intertwining your fingers with a firm grip while her other hand came to rest in your hair, gently but firmly tugging you closer.

“Good girl,” you said tenderly and Larissa whimpered, squeezing the life out of your hand as she teetered over the edge. You caught the arousal leaking from her core with your tongue, lapping happily away at her essence and allowing her to ride out her high on your fingers.

Once her breathing had slowed and her thighs had loosened their grip on your head, you pulled out of her and crawled up to hover over her, holding out your wet fingers for her to taste herself. Larissa’s eyes fluttered shut and she sucked the digits into her mouth, rosy cheeks hollowing out, moaning as she swirled her tongue around them.

She released your fingers with a pop, opening her eyes to meet your own. Her gaze was all-consuming - hunger and desire were reflected clearly in inky black pupils, but there was something else there, too, something that had your heart doing somersaults within your ribcage.

“Larissa?” you said softly, your voice cracking on the last syllable.

Larissa looked up at you, eyes wide and expectant.

“At the risk of-” your breath caught in your throat, your voice barely above a whisper. “At the risk of ruining everything-”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you searched Larissa’s face for any hint of emotion, but she had schooled her face into an impassive mask.

“I don’t just want this to be about sex…”

There was no going back now.

“I- I really like you, Larissa.”

You swallowed hard against the lump forming in your throat as Larissa’s eyes flicked between your own, the seconds ticking by.

“I really like you, too, Y/N,” she whispered finally, cupping your cheek with one hand as the other found the nape of your neck, pulling you slowly towards her until your lips met. The kiss was soft and emotional - it left you breathless.

“Larissa?”

“Yes?”

“Would you… would you like to go on a date with me?”

A soft smile broke out across Larissa’s face, her cheeks dusted pink. “I would love to, darling.”

Your stomach filled with warmth as you leaned in to press a bruising kiss to Larissa’s lips, which she quickly deepened with a soft moan. You could scarcely have imagined, even just last week, that your flirtations with the woman beneath you could lead to anything. Finally feeling her strong arms encircle your waist, feeling her tongue against yours, hearing confirmation that your feelings were returned, was more than you could have ever wished for.

~~~

Larissa stood in front of your fellow teachers at the staff meeting the following Thursday. Her gaze flicked over to you and you nodded encouragingly. She cleared her throat.

“Before we end the meeting, I have something I’d like to speak on. It appears a rumor has begun to spread around Nevermore that Ms. Y/L/N and I are dating. I wanted to address this rumor before it gets out of hand.” Larissa paused, taking a glance at you to ground herself.

“We have, in fact, begun seeing each other this past week. I want to make it perfectly clear, however, that this will not affect our professional relationship, nor will it affect my relationship with any member of our staff. I will not favor Ms. Y/L/N, and I would like to continue to foster an open, honest environment among our staff. If anyone has any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to come to me.”

Marilyn cleared her throat and raised her hand from the table to draw attention to herself. “I have a question.”

“Yes, Ms. Thornhill?” Larissa said with a hesitant smile.

“Were you guys seeing each other before the Rave’N, too?”

Larissa’s gaze flicked over to you, brow furrowing slightly. You shrugged and nodded your head once, gesturing for Larissa to answer the question how she saw fit.

“No, Ms. Thornhill. We began seeing each other after the Rave’N.”

A deafening silence filled the room. And then-

“Alright, pay up,” Marilyn said triumphantly, her lips forming into a smirk as she held her hand out on the table and wiggled her fingers. Several other teachers grumbled and dug around in their bags and pockets, tossing folded up bills in Marilyn’s direction - most notably Coach Vlad, who handed her a crumpled hundred-dollar bill with a huff and muttered “you sure you’re not a psychic, normie?”

Larissa looked at you with wide eyes, but from your puzzled expression, you seemed to be just as in the dark as she was.

“Ms. Thornhill, what is the meaning of this?”

“We made a bet on whether or not you two were already together. My colleagues seemed to think you’ve been together for quite some time now and have chosen to hide it from the rest of us.” Marilyn stated matter-of-factly.

“And you?”

Marilyn’s smirk grew. “I knew you didn’t have the guts to ask each other out.”

tags: @oceansblooming @alexusonfire @brienneswife @rosieathena @pro-weems-places @larissaoftarthweems let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future work or removed from the taglist <3

#larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #larissa weems #principal weems #principal weems x reader #larissa weems smut

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crumblinggothicarchitecture · 6 months ago

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Hey. This might be very stupid, but i hope you answer this.

Today I accidently got sucked into your blog, which is ironic since I'm a huge swiftie. (but I'm not here to hate on you, I swear)

The thing is for months I've been doubting where I stand on that. Like if i should call myself a swifte or not. when I was young, I used to worship the ground she walked on. but in the past year, I've slowly realised I've been very sheltered. like the problems people point out about her sometimes are actual real problems, but my brain just doesn't know how to respond to that as it has been taught taylor swift is a goddess and can do no wrong. Since your posts are tagged with #exswiftie, i figure you'd understand.

I am not from america, so I can understand then politics part of it all only to a certian extend. the other things, I just dont know what to say to that. The most i can reply is..."yes that is a bit of a problem". I feel don't feel like a swiftie at that moment.

I had fed my mind this narrative that people who hate taylor swift passionately are like untrustworthy or just a walking red flag, or just "don't get it". Now after reading your actual breakdowns I understand you have a rather educated opinion and perception of things. Which clearly rules out my narrative.

I don't know what I feel like I have to define where I stand on this, I just do. I know I genuinely enjoy her music a lot, even there are songs I don't want to hear more than once. I love the whole swiftie lore, digging deep on each lyrics finding out what they mean, finding clues easter eggs just losing my mind over surprise songs. Then i see this other side, which can't be defined with anything less than deeply toxic, which makes me question whether or not this thing i love so much is genuinely good or not.

Hello dear, apologies for the delay in reply :) I am happy to chat with you. I hope that you did not think I would ignore you.

I was also a Swiftie for nearly 15 years. I got her debut record as a Christmas present in 2006 or 2007. Though I cannot remember which year it was, I loved her from the start. At 10 years old, I was immediately interested. My mother approved of me owning her music simply because she was inoffensive. She didn’t curse or talk about sex, in the beginning, so she was deemed appropriated for my childhood self. She and I have since grown up. She is now a terribly pretentious bully- and, well, I grew up much too poor and much too hungry to turn into a bully like her.

The problem- and something I think you’re very much aware of- is that Swift has built herself up in her fandom as perfect. She encourages fans to defend her every action- and rewards them for their efforts through “Swiftmas” or “Secret Sessions” or “hidden easter eggs that only the smartest- most dedicated fans will figure out.” It’s all methodically calculated to keep up an air of reciprocity between Swift, as the fearless leader, and her band of merry misfits- the fans.

You are not dumb for falling into her rhetorical situation - she's set the marketing strategy up on purpose. It’s specifically created to attract attention- and, to make people feel good, or productive, by participating in her marketing strategy. She gives people an image of herself as a poor innocent victim of the media, or of any critique, and then rewards people for defending her. In Literary study, we call this “Pathos” as the rhetorical appeal to emotion through messaging- textual work of some kind. Rhetoric like this can be found in all sorts of media- commercials about starving children or beaten dogs, charity event banners aiming to persuade someone to donate. It’s all predicated on the appeal to our common emotion, or human capacity to empathize with each other. For, every time fans are rewarded by her attention- after defending her from a perceived enemy, or figuring out some hidden clue- they feel closer to the idol, they feel happy to have her attention. They get that emotional impact of believing they are helping Taylor Swift, or understanding her better on some more human, connected, level. It’s a game of risk and reward for her. Never mind that none of this altruistic- she gets paid through our attention on her- and if you are not directly lining her pockets with your cash money, she does not actually care about you. It’s the image of caring she projects that matters much more than the fact that she doesn’t actually care.

I’m sure you can think of many more examples wherein Swift has played this game of attention and reward with fans. It’s everywhere- her easter eggs are a great example. Sometimes her use of Pathos is benign- non malicious, therefore a non-issue. However, she often weaponizes this rhetoric in a way that is harmful.

This interplay she sets up, between herself and her fans, is made more intensive through her pathos- heavy approach to Rhetoric. To further illustrate, one of the ways people often explain Pathos is by saying that it represents our, as human beings, judgement affect. We see, or hear, the narrative Swift espouses and make judgements about it. If she says: The music critics are sexist towards me. We say: 1.) Sexism is morally wrong, 2.) Taylor Swift is facing sexism from Music critics, Therefore.) The music critics are sexist and morally wrong, because they are criticizing Taylor Swift.

So, all the critics are bad- and we don't need to listen to them. It's also a way Swift creates permissive attitudes towards attacking anyone who critique's her- because she can so easily label them all as sexist.

She uses this basic syllogism to justify leveraging her fans against all kinds of people- it's not just the critics. I just wanted to give a concrete example, and I will go more in depth on this subject in another post.

She is playing with people’s emotions, while she is also self-victimizing,and leveraging her audience’s innate human rejection of, for instance, sexism as it offends our personal values. No one is saying that sexism isn't morally corrupt; however, Taylor Swift points to valid criticism and calls it sexism so that her audience will attack. People often have valid critique of Swift- She just doesn't want to face critique at all- ever. If people say her music is too self-centered- Swift says that is Sexism. If people say her music is boring- she calls it sexism. If people say her music is shallow and only centered are relationships- She calls it sexism. When, in reality, it's valid criticism that has nothing to do with her being a woman. Only ever writing songs about your own myopic, self-centered perception of interpersonal relationships is shallow. Her music is objectively boring, because it's derivative. Her music is completely self-centered- and she only admits to that when it benefits her, but when critics say it, she calls it sexism.

Please don’t think badly of yourself. I am not here to hate on you either- I was you. I am not here to hate on anyone at all- I just want to share how my own knowledge, and expertise, of rhetorical appeals and literary analysis can expose Taylor Swift. Swift relies on this rhetorical technique to thrive, she obfuscates the truth, schemes, and manipulates people into thinking her music is the best thing on Earth- or thinking that she is literally a Saint. Clearly- nothing on Earth is that perfect- So why does she need her fan base to consider her a genius, and a saint, so badly?

Personally, I have no problem admitting I have flaws. I think most sane people can admit to their flaws. It’s not a bad thing to have flaws. So why does Taylor Swift react to all criticism like it’s the worst thing on Earth. Why does she have a whole song about calling critics “mean/ and a liar/ and pathetic/ and alone in life” (“Mean” 2010). She has the nerve to call that song an “anti-bullying” song; yet, is it so clearly bullying that random critic who wrote a bad review about her concert one time in 2009? She really hated that guy- and all he was doing was his job. She called him a drunken loser for just doing his job.

She's written so many songs about how all her critics are just stupid, morally corrupt, or sexist: "The Man" (2019), "Mean" (2010), "But Daddy I love Him" (2024), "New Romantics" (2014), "Shake it Off" (2014), "I know Places" (2014), "Anti-Hero" (2023), "Paris" (2023), "Blank Space" (2014), "I did something Bad" (2018), "Dancing with our hands tied" (2018). There are more songs wherein she carries this theme of "everyone is out to get me, and they all hate me for no good reason" but I think I've listed enough.

The general message is all over "Evermore" and "Folklore" too every time she calls the general public "Clowns" or "masqueraders"

It's just everywhere- her subtle devaluation of legitimate criticism. Trying to chalk it all up to the critics being simply dumb, sexist, or malicious in some way. Perhaps some people are mean- true- but to generalize every criticism as evil? That's just her actually playing a victim card. There's no way every single critic, or person who doesn't like her, is evil, bad, or malicious in some way. Okay?

I’m tired of her claiming to be an amazing person and an amazing poet- when she is just not either of those things. She’s not a kind person- it's all over her music in the ways she maliciously hurts people for fun. She’s not an amazing poet either. I have a few college degrees- and one pass through her work, with a serious intention of literary analysis, I discover that her writing is plain, banal, and derivative.

She wants everyone to compare her to Emily Dickinson, Dylan Thomas, and Shakespeare. So, I’m doing what she wants and taking her work seriously enough to critique it. Except that, in critique, I find out why it’s all poorly written- and why it’s just a bunch of thinly veiled conservative iterations of the same boring message over and over. All she ever says in her music is “poor me” and “I hate” (insert person- Kim K., Kanye, Matty, Joe, Jake, John, Scooter, Scott, Harry, Calvin, the media at large, anyone who critiques her, and men in the music industry as a whole). She has the longest list of enemies I think I’ve ever seen- and the funny thing is that all these people avoid her at all costs. None of these people talk about her- yet she is still singing, writing songs, and getting her fans to post memes about how awful they are years, even decades, later.

It all gets a bit tiresome? No? Personally, I don’t wish to live a life full of such self-pity and hatred- so why should I listen to it in music form? Ya know?

In my posts, I am attempting to find the truth. I don’t want to “hate” on anyone or anything- but I am going to seek truth in her work.

I will be posting more about how she devoids Shakespeare of his social reformist efforts. I’m going to post more about how she twists the meaning of every literary reference she’s ever made. I am not kidding, she has misrepresented, and misinterpreted every single literary reference in her entire discography. It’s astounding how hard Swift tries to sound thoughtful- without actually being thoughtful. I will be posting about how she only ever name-drops to either tear other people down or self-depreciate herself in effort to seek pity. I will be talking more about her use of rhetorical appeals to both attract an audience, keep their attention through risk-reward trade-off, and manipulate them into fighting her battles for her. I will be talking about how she upholds a bunch of harmful stereotypes in her music. She often alludes, or blatantly includes allusion to colonialist attitudes. She’s used the LGBT community for profit without making any real activist efforts. She’s leveraged feminism like a weapon against other women- yet never actually has feminist themes in her music. She’s just so painfully hollow- upon closer inspection.

I don’t hate her as a person. I think she’s unethical, sure, but that doesn’t mean I hate her, want her to die, or anything extreme at all. I would never wish harm to another human being. In fact, after seeing a lot of the harmful stuff in her music, especially about her kind of fucked up views on relationships, I sincerely hope she gets some professional help and finds some peace in this world. When I critique Taylor Swift it’s about her work and her brand- It's not about her personhood.

I just think that no one Earth is above reproach, or critique, and we must all be held accountable for our own actions. She’s the one that puts her work out there for people- It's therefore completely appropriate for me to discuss her work.

Edit: Oh and I want to add- I wish you luck in figuring out what you really think about Taylor Swift. If you ever need to talk or vent more- my inbox is always open. :) With peace and love- bye bye

#anti taylor swift #taylor swift criticism #anti swifties #ex swiftie #taylor swift #taylor swift critical #literary theory #literary criticism #pathos #rhetorical appeal #rhetoric #rhetorical situation

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reiteka · 26 days ago

Text

Denial

I don't really do this but since I was forced to get tumblr I figured I may as well put this up here. Just a Human Alastor x Reader type thing. Murder involved, marriage of convenience, female reader, passive? reader (it's mainly Alastor's thoughts so reader doesn't do much in the fic). --- means insert whatever name you want. I haven't proofread this in a long time so expect mistakes. This is 1 of 2 Alastor X Reader fics I've done so let me know if anyone wants the other one (Also never posted on tumblr before and don't know how it works).

...

Alastor didn’t love his wife.

Being best friends since they were young girls, Alastor and ___ mothers had treated one another like sisters, spending all their time together and even giving birth within the same year to their respective children. How ecstatic they were when one had a boy and the other a girl, how darling it would be if the two would conform to the classic romantic trope of developing from childhood friends to star-crossed sweethearts. Fortunately, for their mothers, they did marry but not due to their fondness of each other. Alastor and ___ didn’t love each other, but they didn’t hate each other either. They married to not only make their mothers happy but also out of convenience, to cease the unwanted advances of the opposite sex and to silence the needless prattling of others with their incessant questions or assertions of ‘when are you getting married?’ or ‘still single at your age?’ or the most repulsive of all ‘your biological clock is ticking dear’.

Though they were married, and to the outside world a happy couple, they lived as strangers. They shared one roof but slept in separate beds, in separate rooms, at separate ends of the house. They had dinner together, engaged in conversation about how her day was or how his radio show was faring or about the recent killings and disappearances taking place. And although they generally enjoyed the other’s company, there was an undeniable line that would never be crossed, an unspoken agreement that they would only ever be acquaintances and never entertain the thought of giving into the charade they had concocted to fool their family and friends. Alastor respected such an agreement and in no way did he want it to change.

Alastor didn’t love his wife.

So, when he met the young lad from the bookshop, he didn’t feel anything towards the boy. He didn’t flinch when the blonde’s demeanor brightened like a mutt whose owner had returned home to play with him. He didn’t stiffen at the genuine smile that slipped easily onto his wife’s face when greeting the boy manning the counter, a smile he had spent hours rambling out perfected jokes in an attempt to receive a mere glimpse of, to spy the miniscule curling of her lips, given to him not out of politeness but out of genuine joy.

‘A pleasure to be meeting you my good man! The name is Alastor, yes the one from the radio show. Many thanks for always assisting my lovely wife here in her literary endeavours.’ When he wrapped an arm around her waist and introduced himself, it was because of his duty to fulfill his responsibilities as her husband, not because he enjoyed the look of shock and heartbreak creeping onto the boy’s visage. He took no satisfaction in the way the boy withered under his stare as if shrinking in on himself, both from Alastor’s intimidating aura and his place at the woman’s side.

He didn’t follow his wife around the shop to dissuade the boy from talking to her, he was just interested in finding out what books his wife was currently reading. And yes, his smile did seem rather strained and his eyes quite murderous when the boy happened to glance over in their direction, but it was not an intended hostility, the boy was simply paranoid and misconstrued the polite and friendly stare Alastor was directing at him. He didn’t try and pry information out of his wife later at dinner because he felt threatened in any way, because he didn’t like the way she giggled when the boy made a feeble attempt at an ill-advised pun. He just wanted to know who he was and how often she talked to him and what she thoug̸h̴t̷ ̶o̷f̴ ̸h̸i̵m̴ a̴n̴d̸ ̵i̸f̷ ̸s̶h̵e̷ ̵t̵h̷o̵u̸g̸h̶t̵ ̵h̵e̸ ̴w̸a̸s̸ ̸c̸u̸t̷e̴ ̴̞̍͌͝͝ö̸̩́ŗ̵̟̾͐́̂ ̷͉͙͑h̵̛̘̹̬͑͊̔̎̂a̴͉̥̓n̴̝̯̬̿̋͑d̸̲̱̬͎͉̀̋̈̎̆ş̷̺͙̺͗̀̈̃̄ͅo̶̖̮͐̽̐̑̆̍m̴͖͕̼͈͋̓͗̒ḙ̴͂ ̸̣̙̂o̵̳͗͛̆͗̋ṛ̸͉̯͑͗͐ ̵̭̳̭͕͇͑̇f̸̻̺͙̰̐ű̵̧̫͎̜̥̹̈́ṋ̶̮̀n̶̞̞̐̋̈͐͠ỉ̶͔̦̝͎̱̬̋̽̄͐͠ȩ̷̘̫̩͖͂̇r̷͎̤̒͐ ̴̫̯̺̮̄̈́͘̚o̷͖͙͓͗̅͐̂̕̚ṙ̴̻͓̼.̸̡̞̇.̶̦̇̇̃́͑

He was just curious, and his distaste for the boy had nothing to do with the blush that coated his wife’s face when the boy gave her a forlorn goodbye and wished her the most pleasant evening in the world. As if her evening wasn’t already perfect with Alastor by her side!

Alastor didn’t love his wife.

He was just tired of the bakery he frequented when his show ended or when he took one of his infamously rare lunch breaks. It just so happened that the new café that had taken his fancy was coincidently located across from the same bookshop where his wife would make a near-daily trip to with the goal of perusing their rather limited stock. His face never darkened, his smile never turned sinister because of jealousy or some other Neanderthalic emotion when he witnessed their interactions, he simply found it disgraceful how shamelessly the boy acted towards a married woman. He didn’t absolutely loathe the fact that his wife was giving attention to someone other than himself, someone completely undeserving of such an affectionate gaze and her indulgence of idle, mindless chatter. Of course, it wasn't her fault, she had always been oblivious to the advances of others who sought to captivate her with tainted promises of friendship while hiding their heinous desires for more intimate relations. It was his job really, as her husband to remove such scum from her periphery, to exterminate the uncultured and salacious boy that couldn’t understand nor respect the simple fact that should have been glaringly obvious by now: ___ belonged to Alastor.

Alastor didn’t love his wife.

He was simply looking for another meal that catered to his...unique palate. It was pure coincidence that he happened past the bookshop which was known for staying open late into the night. It was a coincidence that the boy happened to be closing up, that Alastor happened to be late in finishing up his show that night and that it just happened that not a soul occupied the usually bustling street. It wasn’t that Alastor wanted to prolong the boy’s suffering. Sure, he may have offered the boy several choices ranging from never talking to his wife again to leaving Louisiana altogether, despite knowing that no matter what option the boy chose Alastor was going to kill him regardless. And he may have let the boy run from him for five minutes before he got bored and knocked him to the ground, even though he could have caught up with him in a manner of mere seconds. And he may have allowed the boy a few curtesy blows before easily and pitifully overpowering him, taking no small amount of pleasure in how the hope that still lingered in the lad’s eyes seemed to diminish with the knowledge that the tall, lanky radio host was deceitfully stronger than he appeared. Yes, he did make the boy’s death as slow as possible, letting him bleed out rather than killing him straight away, mocking him the entire time, ingraining the fact that the boy had brought this fate upon himself for daring to covert what was Alastor’s. And he did inevitably choose to dispose of the body rather than contaminate himself with such an unappetizing individual, making it so that the only ones to see the boy again would be the maggots that made him their home. But it had nothing to do with ___.

With a lighter step, a jauntily whistled tune, and the sequel to his wife’s favourite novel tucked under his arm, Alastor made his way home, thoughts of how he could convince his wife to let him purchase her books so that she needn’t bother herself with leaving the house at the forefront of his mind.

Alastor didn’t love his wife...

But that didn’t mean someone else was allowed to love her either.

#alastor x reader #human alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #female reader

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caligvlasaqvarivm · 6 months ago

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God I had the shittest brain blast, absolute monster of ideas, and something that can help us define the trolls because of shitty clone genetics.

First, do the dancestors food into the ultimate self due to how troll genetics work? If so who is the dominate or does it form into someone a balance of the two? Like Karkat (angry and passionate)/ Kankri (knowledable and verbose) combine into the Sufferer or someone close to that?

Second, is Mituna’s brain damage the reason why for Sollux’s dullaity motif, specifically his psiionic troll bipolar brain? If so does that mean Skaia make each and every dancestor the opposite in terms of character development? Meenah’s a bitch so fef is kind? Kurloz’s belief where ignored so Gamzee is both oblivious (pre-supor) and visibly fantatical (post supor)? It seems like with Mituna and Sollux it’s more Sollux need to learn to deal with his disorder which Mituna couldn’t because his friends couldn’t/didn’t want to help him

Finally, from each pair of dancestors being opposites of what their character needs to become yet at the same time lacks, can we figure out their sgrub quest? Meenah needed to learn how to become empress and not such a huge glubbing bitch( which she failed) and Feferi, if left alone, becomes the empress, a direct result of no one challenging her on her ideal of kindness and compassion towards the lowbloods (another reason for nepeta to become so important in her life). The vantas’s seem destined for revolution it’s just that the coin flip of Alternia and Beforus determines if they are successful or not.

Last thing I want to add what the fuck does troll fanfiction mean because who exactly is writing it, because it’s kinda shit ngl. The beforans? Alternians? One of the Sekrets? Piexes?

Just going in order again:

The dancestors are wholly separate individuals from the Alternian trolls, and are therefore not a part of each Alternian trolls' ultimate selfhood. There is theoretically an ultimate Cronus and ultimate Eridan, and these are 100% discrete from each other with zero overlap. The Alternian ancestors (aka signless, disciple, etc.) are full-on just the Dancestors placed in different circumstances, who therefore grew up to be different people. Kankri always had it in him to become the Signless, he just failed to do so in his original session.

Skaia didn't "make" anyone do anything. Each person is their own individual with their own individual struggles, flaws, and arc. The A1 trolls often mirror their A2 counterparts, in Watsonian terms, because of genetic resemblance and similar cultural positions, and, in Doylist terms, because it makes solid narrative sense to have them serve as foils for their descendants, which necessarily requires them to be similar, with key opposite traits or circumstances. If there's anyone to blame here, it's the author for wanting to employ literary devices like foils and irony.

Moreover, I think you're missing many details about the trolls - for example, Gamzee has always been a staunch believer in his faith, Kurloz's belief is also something his friends are aware of, and Feferi has always been a kind of a casteist jackass (I wouldn't necessarily call her "kind" toward the lowbloods when it's clear that a Beforus under her rule still very much had casteism, royalty, and oppressed the lowbloods). It's a bit hard to discuss these things if we aren't on the same page.

At the end of the day, for any character who doesn't outright say what their SBURB/SGRUB quest was, we can only speculate. There's no way to know "for sure," and, in fact, no indication that Hussie even necessarily came up with any, as that entire part of the story was truncated because such details were unnecessary: it can be assumed every troll had a personal quest, since that's how the game works, and it can be assumed that they all basically failed said quest to varying degrees, because their comprehensive failures are what spur on much of the plot. No other details are necessary, and as such, were neither written nor alluded to (and Hussie outright says that this is the case for their entry artifacts). It's fun to speculate, but in terms of discussing the canon, there's nothing there to discuss.

I also have no idea what you're referring to re: troll fanfiction. Meulin canonically writes RPF about her friends, Hussie has referred to Mindfang's diary as being an explicit riff on overly flowery, sexual fanfiction, and has also in-universe called Doc Scratch's recounting of the ancestors' lives that. IDK what else you might be thinking of.

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megidonitram · 9 months ago

Text

Everyone's Running From Something (ch.1)

A Baldur's Gate 3 University Professor AU

Rating: M

Quick Summary: Astarion and Gale are two University English professors precariously mentoring a troubled 19-year-old and falling in love.

💖Main Pairing : BloodWeave,(Astarion/Gale) 💕Side Pairings: Shadowheart/Nocturne, Karlach/Dammon, Wyll/The Dark Urge, Tav/Tav 💔Past Pairings: Gale/Mystra, Astarion/Sebastian, Astarion/Tav

Master List | Ao3 | Next Chapter =>

**Please see Master List Entry for Full Content Warnings**

⏰Chapter Warning⏰ None

Astarion stared in mild consternation at the particle board desk that had been haphazardly squeezed into his office. Half his things -reference books, picture frames, a school flag one of his students had given him because “he didn’t have enough school spirit”- sat in a pile in the corner of the room. He very distinctly remembered his office being in one piece when he left for winter break.

“Jenevelle!” He yelled.

Professor Shadowheart ducked out of the breakroom with a mug of marginally drinkable Keurig coffee clasped in her hands. “I’m glad to see you too Astarion, how was your break? Did you successfully avoid your family?” She chirped with deeply ironic affability.

Astarion ignored her. “Do you know what happened to my office?”

“Oh, that? Yes, admin let us hire a new English professor to handle rhetoric and technical writing courses since Karlach decided she only wanted to stay part-time.” Shadowheart replied. “I thought you were on the hiring board- shouldn’t you remember this?”

“I know we have a new faculty member. I want to know why my office has been torn apart.” Astarion fumed.

“Provost said we didn’t have the office space for everyone in the English department to have their own office, so he said two of us would have to double up.” Shadowheart shrugged. “He thought you should be the one to share because you have the biggest office.”

“And I wasn’t informed about this because…”

“We were told not to let you know because you’d throw another fit in the dean’s office.”

“I’m the senior chair of the department, I shouldn’t be sharing my office with an adjunct- can’t he take Karlach’s office? It’s not like she needs one, she only teaches two courses a semester.” Astarion huffed. “Or he could be with you since you’re both teaching the entry levels.”

“My office was a literal broom closet before I started here!” Shadowheart shot back. “I don’t have room to meet with students, let alone share the space with another professor- but if you don’t want to share an office so badly, I’d be willing to trade with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Astarion replied. “Your office smells like bathroom cleaner.”

“Then it looks like you’re stuck…” Shadowheart sighed. “I’ll see you at the humanities all-hands.” She turned on her heels and went back to her office.

“Remember this moment when you need someone to drop a course so you can get another creative writing class on the roster,” Astarion grumbled.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and let out an exasperated sigh before he set to picking through his things to figure out where his colleagues had put everything. He liked Gale well enough as a professional, he seemed gregarious and personable, the kind of lecturer who could keep a student’s attention, and he was a lot more technically minded than any of the current faculty- but that didn’t mean he wanted to share a fucking office with him.

He should have known there was going to be a catch- there always had to be a fucking catch with admin. Balduran University was a business school through and through and put very little stock in any of its humanities departments- especially not into “dying fields” like English or literary studies. Usually, the English department didn’t get a cent more funding than absolutely necessary, and even then, their budget was constantly scrutinized to ensure it was actually necessary. He’d done a frankly unscrupulous amount of begging for years to get another full-time English professor in their threadbare department- everything short of just walking out and letting admin scramble to pick up the pieces. Of course, they would give the department the faculty member they’d been asking for and refuse to provide him with a space to work.

Astarion noticed a particular book from the pile of discarded things and turned it over in his hands, trying to place where he’d gotten it from. It was a collection of Paul Verlaine’s poetry in the original French, with a chipped yellowing dust jacket. It felt eerily, heartbreakingly, familiar, but he couldn’t place quite place it. He flipped through the slightly brittle pages to see if there was a passage or annotation that might jog his memory when a polaroid stuck in the dust jacket fluttered to the floor.

Astarion’s stomach lurched at the sight of the young man smiling up at him, relaxed and innocent as he lounged in the grass. His long ash-blonde hair spilling to one side over his shoulder, warm brown eyes gazing fondly at the person behind the counter, champagne silk button down undone just-so…

“I think we lose something when we don’t read an author in their original language.”

“And what am I losing when I read Verlaine in English?”

“Ça alors, the beauty- no, the music of the words. The English does not sing the way French does.”

A cautious knock at the door jolted Astarion quite rudely out of his thoughts. He grabbed the Polaroid off the floor, shoved it back into a random page in the book, and whirled around to see Gale standing stiff-backed in the doorway, clutching a box of his belongings. God, he was dressed like he was playing an English professor in a community theater play: Argyle vest, half-moon glasses, a tweed jacket with elbow patches and everything.

“I ah… didn’t mean to startle you.” He said with a nervous smile. “Jen told me we were sharing an office, at least temporarily.”

Temporarily in the sense that one day, one of them would eventually retire or die.

“Yes, that's apparently what I heard too,” Astarion replied. His eyes landed on the box in Gale’s arms. He hated this already. “Do you need help moving stuff up?”

Gale’s face lit up as he set his first box on his desk. “I do, actually! Thank you!”

Astarion grimaced when Gale turned his back. He’d offered out of courtesy, but he didn’t actually want Gale to take him up on it. He set the poetry book on his desk and pushed it out of his chair. Maybe a little bit of air and exercise would do him good. He followed Gale down the hall and up the stairs to the ground floor -Balduran U kept all its least loved departments sequestered away in the basement.

“So, have you been teaching here long?” Gale asked. He turned down the wrong hallway, and Astarion stood and watched as it slowly dawned on Gale that he was lost. He sheepishly turned on his heels and limped back over to Astarion.

“Ten years of my life wasted in that squalid little basement.” Astarion sighed. “I would tell you to get out while you still can, but I’m tired of suffering alone.”

Gale chuckled. He had a congenial chuckle like a talk show host. “It can’t be that bad, surely.” He said, “Or else someone as bright as you would have jumped ship by now.”

Astarion pounced on the compliment like a house cat. “You think I’m bright then?”

“Oh, I know you’re bright,” Gale replied. “You did your due diligence before you offered me this job. I did my due diligence before I accepted it. I read some of your published work, it was very impressive.”

Astarion swallowed back a pleased smirk, running his tongue over one of his canines. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Dr. Dekarios.”

They stepped outside into the dreary grey staff parking lot in the middle of the dreary grey of January. Gone was any of the merriment of the winter holidays, now all that was left was the cold bite of the wind and a few skeletal trees. Gale clicked the unlock button on his key fob, and a squat black hatchback with a bumper sticker in the rear window that said ‘Life’s better with a calico’ flashed its headlights.

“So why do you stick around if you find this place so disagreeable?” Gale asked. He popped the trunk and picked up another cardboard box filled to the brim with books.

“I’ve become quite attached to having a work visa,” Astarion replied frankly. He picked up a much lighter box of desk accessories. “And I suppose some of the students can be quite rewarding to work with- being a smaller program means you get more of an opportunity to form personal connections with the kids in our degree track… if you’re into that kind of thing. I personally get tired of all the recommendation letters they ask me to write.”

That and there was a certain level of anonymity that came with working at a small university. No one outside the city -outside the neighborhood really- had heard of Balduran University, and no one really cared about it. News stations never covered random happenings on campus for a quick local interest piece, so there were never any articles mentioning Astarion’s name and job title in passing to make their way back to people they shouldn’t.

“Ah, I did notice you had an accent!” Gale glossed over Astarion’s snippy comment as naturally as if it hadn’t even happened. He shut his trunk and started back for the office building. “Do you mind me asking where you’re from?”

“I grew up in Central London,” Astarion replied shortly.

“That’s quite a long hall. Do you get back home often?”

“Not if I can help it.” Astarion shuffled his box around in his hands to catch the door for Gale. “I’ve never gotten along very well with my family. We have an irreconcilable… difference in lifestyle choices.”

That was the understatement of the century.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I honestly can’t say how I’d get by if I didn’t have my mom.”

A woman with a pleasant face and an ankle-length floral skirt -probably an early-ed major- held the door to the stairwell open for the two of them. Their footsteps echoed off the polished concrete.

“I hope you’ve managed to find peace on your own, at least.”

“I’ve found ways to fill the void-” Astarion stepped backward through the door to the arts and letters wing and stopped so abruptly at the site of the large bald slap of muscle in gym shorts loitering outside his- and Gale’s- office door that Gale almost barreled into him. Astarion was rapidly approaching his surprise quota for the day.

“Dr. Ancunín!” Minsc bellowed, too chipper for the first Monday back from winter break. “Man I was looking for! How was your holiday? Good, I hope.”

“It was fine, Minsc. What are you doing here? Is something wrong?” Astarion fought the urge to dash past him and check his e-mail.

Minsc, infuriatingly, looked past Astarion to give Gale a big stupid grin. “Hello! Are you a new friend of Astarion’s? He does not get those very often.”

“I’d like to think we’re friends!” Gale replied, and Astarion rolled his eyes. “I’m Gale Dekarios, the new English adjunct.”

Minsc whisked the box out of Gale’s hands as if it were full of feathers. “Very heavy books, Dr. Dekarios!” he said, “heavy books make a strong mind like heavy weight makes strong muscles.” Minsc gave Gale a handshake so firm Astarion was half surprised it didn’t bounce Gale off the ground. “Is pleasure! I am Coach Minsc, I am athletics director of martial arts program.”

“The -ah, the feeling is mutual,” Gale replied, wrenching his hand out of Minsc’s grasp before he broke fingers. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Right!” Minsc lit up and turned back to Astarion. “Xenia came to practice today. Have you talked to her?”

Astarion’s jaw set tight. He was afraid Minsc was here to talk about her. “We haven’t spoken since Christmas.” He said, trying to stay measured. “The last I heard, she wanted to take a leave of absence this semester.”

“Is what I thought to. Her shoulder is still in cast.” Minsc replied. “She says her request to suspend financial aid package was denied. She cannot take break.”

White hot rage surged through Astarion’s body. He tasted iron in the back of his throat. It was far too early in the semester to get kicked out of the dean’s office for causing a scene- but it was also far too early in the semester for this kind of fuckery.

“Who’s Xenia?” Gale asked.

“She is sophomore student,” Minsc replied. “Very bright but very troubled. She had… episode last fall-”

“She can decide if she wants Gale to know about that when she meets him.” Astarion snapped. He loved a bit of student gossip as much as the next bored faculty member, but Xenia was a… delicate case. Astarion had been plenty of students’ favorite professor throughout his career, but very few were ever as vulnerable with him as Xenia was. He handed Gale’s box of office supplies back to him. “I’ll be right back.”

Astarion turned on his heels and headed back to the stairwell. He needed to have very serious -and perhaps explicit- words with whichever authority figure he could corner in their office.

#Mat-write #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bloodweave #bg3 astarion #bg3 gale #bg3 minsc #bg3 shadowheart #ao3 link #professor dekarios

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isaayi · 1 month ago

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"If this isn't love, I don't know what is"

Eunhi and Sunghoon met under the glowing lights of their university festival. At first, he was just a friend of her classmate—until he wasn’t. There was something about the way he looked at her, as if he already knew her, that made her pause.

“I remember you from the literary forum last semester,” Sunghoon admitted when they found a quiet corner.

Eunhi blinked, caught off guard. “Really? That was ages ago.”

He smiled, a little shy but steady. “You gave this fiery speech about poverty and the government, how people slip through the cracks and it’s like no one cares.” He chuckled lightly. “I think you scared the panelists.”

She laughed, surprised by the memory. “I wasn’t trying to scare anyone. I just hate the way things are sometimes.”

“I know,” he said, his gaze soft. “That’s why I started following you. I’ve been waiting to talk to you ever since—just never knew how.”

Her heart stirred. “Well,” she whispered with a playful grin, “looks like you figured it out.”

From that night, their connection grew fast and deep—quiet library sessions, late-night texts, and long conversations about life, dreams, and the things that mattered most. Sunghoon admired the way Eunhi saw the world, how deeply she loved her family and gave so much of herself to everyone around her. And Eunhi found comfort in him, someone who made her feel safe in a way no one else ever had.

Eunhi slowly let him glimpse her world—not fully, but enough for him to understand that things were never easy. She let slip how tight money was at home, how she juggled multiple part-time jobs to keep her family afloat, and how every little decision felt heavy. Sunghoon, whose life had always been comfortable, wanted desperately to help. He offered small things at first—helping with errands or covering a meal here and there. But Eunhi always turned him down. It wasn’t just pride, though that played a part—it was guilt. She didn’t want him to feel like he was paying his way into her life or becoming just another person carrying her burdens. She loved him too much to let their relationship feel transactional.

But love wasn’t easy, and life didn’t slow down. The closer Eunhi got to graduation, the more overwhelming things became. Between working, studying late into the night, and constantly worrying about rent and bills, she was stretched thin. Her phone became an afterthought—messages were left unread, plans forgotten. Even when she was physically present, her mind was somewhere else, juggling endless to-do lists.

At first, Sunghoon tried to be patient. He knew her life was different from his, but as the weeks passed, he couldn’t help but feel her slipping away. He missed the small things—her laugh at the end of a long day, the way she used to lean into him during quiet moments. And one night, after yet another canceled date, the distance became too much.

“Eunhi, do I even matter to you anymore?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with frustration.

She froze, the exhaustion pressing down like a weight she could no longer carry. “What are you saying?”

“I feel like you don’t care,” he said quietly. “Like I’m the last thing on your mind.”

The words hit her harder than she expected, and before she could stop herself, everything she had been holding inside came pouring out. Her chest tightened, and her hands trembled, but she held back the tears threatening to fall. “Sunghoon, you don’t get it. I love you, but I’m just trying to survive.” Her voice wavered, and she inhaled sharply to stay composed. “You complain about me not texting back. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here wondering if my family will eat today or if we’ll have to skip another meal. Eating three proper meals a day—that’s a luxury for us, something we can only wish for. And you—” She bit her lip, fighting back the sob in her throat. “You’ve never had to think about these things. You’ve never had to choose between paying rent and groceries.”

Sunghoon’s heart sank. He had always known their lives were different, but hearing it like this, so raw and real, shattered something inside him.

Before he could speak, Eunhi exhaled and wiped at her eyes, her anger softening into guilt. “I know I’ve been distant,” she whispered. “And I hate that I’ve made you feel like you don’t matter. You do, Sunghoon. I just don’t know how to be everything at once.”

Sunghoon gently took her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Eunhi, I don’t need you to be everything. I just want to be there for you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Her lips trembled as she looked up at him. “And I’ll try harder too,” she whispered. “I don’t want to push you away. I need you.”

Sunghoon smiled and pulled her into his arms, holding her close as if to say he wasn’t going anywhere. “We’ll figure it out together,” he whispered into her hair.

In that moment, they both realized that love wasn’t about being perfect. It was about learning how to hold on—even when life got messy and overwhelming. They weren’t flawless, but they were trying, and that was enough.

And with their hands entwined, they knew they could face whatever came next, side by side.

#enhypen #sunghoon #love #engene

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digitalsatyr23 · 2 years ago

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A late Writeblr Introduction

Beautiful art of Selena by the wonderful @extremely-nervess

Hello! I’ve been wanting to break out of my shell and interact more with the writeblr community, so here I am! Feel free to interact with me, whether in the form of asks, tag games, writing/WIP/OC questions, or similar stuff. Also if you would like me to take a look at your work, feel free to ask! I am a very slow reader, but I do enjoy reading quite a bit.

About my writing

I am primarily a dark fantasy writer who has been writing stories and running D&D/Pathfinder games out of my setting Arachnia for well over a decade by this point. (Although more work is on the gaming side, I’ve been trying to expand my library of literary works little by little.) I also dabble in horror, sci-fi, and mixtures of those genres. My works tend to be very character-focused with (relatively) simple plot lines. Very A -> B type stuff, though I have been experimenting a bit more as of late. Morality varies by the character. Some of my characters are heroes, others are... Not so much. Some are just regular people trying to figure themselves out. If that sounds interesting, quite a few of my stories are posted here. I also have a fanfiction I’ve been meaning to get back to.

About myself

I’m a 32 year old guy who has a great love of stories, art, and self-expression. I’ve recently shaken off a writer’s funk that kept me from really doing... Anything. If I’m being totally honest, I’m not in the best of places mentally. I deal with schizophrenia and depression on the regular, and I do what I can to deal with the day-to-day. Stories are... My passion. My life. I use them as a form of escapism, yes, but they help me cope. That’s just how it is. I also quite enjoy video games, cartoons, anime, music, and just about everything else I can find different kinds of stories and characters in. I sometimes talk about those things, so you might see non-writing posts on my blog.

WIPs

Saria, Hero of the Forest: An Ocarina of Time fanfiction set in an alternate timeline where Saria of the Kokiri has to take up the mantle of hero. In the beginning, the story follows the events of the game almost to a T (including existing dialogue), however events begin to shift and change as the story progresses... I also use this story to explore fan theories and expand on characters I really like that didn’t get much screentime, as it were. There are currently six chapters available, with the 7th that’s been waiting... Waiting for me to get my act together!!

Bebop Bayou Tales: Stories about a self-proclaimed protector of the swamp, Rina Woodshed! She’s a gator girl that goes on adventures with her friend Lafayette, a grey fox boy. The bayou and its surrounding lands seem to attract all sorts of wayward monsters and spirits, and Rina does everything she can to keep her home safe from harm. There’s already one story in this series that’s finished, but many others are going to be added to the series!

The Book of Songs: A long term project I’ve been working on every so often for quite some time now... It’s the story an immortal assassin trying to escape their past and live a normal life as well as a young girl who is saved from being burned at the stake. Together, these two try to find a place they can call home. The first book in the series is already finished (though I have yet to find a publisher for it), and the second book has been pending in the 2nd draft stage.

Collab Story (title unknown): Another long term project that involves me and three other friends creating a collaborative story involving our characters (including Rina, since her setting is a part of the collab setting as a whole). It begins with a young mage performing a dark ritual, despite the many many warnings of the school faculty. The next thing she knows, she’s dead... But it seems an enchantment she put on a family heirloom gave her a second chance at life, so she awakens as a lich, though her memory seems to be damaged. Soon after waking, she finds the family heirloom missing, and in her quest to get it back, she learns of a terrible plot and dark forces trying to gather a set of four ancient artifacts... One of which is her family heirloom. This particular story has a whopping 29 chapters to its name, though since it’s a very friend-to-friend work, I don’t think I’ll be allowed to show it until it’s finally finished.

What Keeps Me Going: A short story (or possibly novelette) I’m currently working on as a commission for a friend that takes place in my setting, Arachnia. It’s about a young adventurer named Reah Fenae who stumbles upon a village that has been beset by vicious boarmen called porga. After rescuing a child from imminent danger, Reah puts her life on the line to save the villagers from a fate worse than death.

Wonderful art of Rina by the very talented @delightful-69

#writeblr #writing community #writeblr intro #writers on tumblr

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josieblueart · 1 year ago

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Day 2-Flesh

Fun fact! The poor dude that gets Nothing There’d is named after a character from Sinclair’s literary source, Demian!

~🫁~

Come to the old L-Corp branch in Calw for our meeting. Don’t be late~

~The One who Grips

That was the letter that was delivered to Alfon’s door this morning. No explanation, no meeting time, nothing. Had he even scheduled an appointment or something?

Nevertheless, he couldn’t bear to think of what would happen if he was late.

It took some time to figure out how to get into the facility, but even once he got in, he had no idea where she was. The more he wandered, the more uncomfortable he became. Various torture devices, presumably used on heretics, were scattered around the area. Strangely, the smell of blood was more overwhelming than metal or oil.

Finally, he came across a doorway. Instinctively, he knew that this was where she wanted to meet him. A shadow in the corner of his eye swiftly moved, though he was unsure if he had actually seen something.

He was about to knock when a sound caught his attention, making him hesitate. It sounded like a low growl, as if a wild animal had snuck into the facility.

Finally, Alfon knocked on the door, to which it was quickly opened.

“Alfon!~ I’m glad you made it!”

She seemed so cheery, not what he was expecting from The One who Grips. “I’m honored to be called upon, O One who Grips.” He said, trying to hide his slight anxiety. In response, she laughed. “Oh please, just call me Kromer. Now come in here.”

As he followed the woman, he couldn’t help but wish he was back at his room drunk off his ass, with how unsettling the facility was. “I’ve been testing the EGO equipment left over from this old place.” She paused for a moment, turning to him. “You do know what I mean by EGO, right?”

His mind scrambled for a quick response that didn’t seem stupid. “Yes! Of course! Ever since L-Corp fell, its technology was made public by The Head.” She smiled at him, before continuing.

“Good, that will make things go by quicker.”

He watched Kromer approach a nearby chest, digging in it for a while. Finally, she procured a set of armor, resembling the standard inquisitor outfit. The only difference was that the right arm piece was colored red. “I’ve been able to infuse the original EGO with the inquisitor uniforms, just so it fits in better.”

He didn’t get time to question her priorities before it was shoved into his hands. “Put it on.” She ordered. Alfon was quick to obey, hurriedly equipping the armor. After it was fully equipped, a strange feeling of comfort washed upon them.

Then, without warning, the comfort was replaced with a horrible tightness. As he fell to his knees, Kromer started to speak to him once more. “You feel it, don’t you? There’s a reason why I chose you.”

Something was slowly attaching itself to his skin, making his skin crawl. Just as he wished for it to go away, however, it retracted. “Even if it’s a diluted version of the original, there are still requirements that you must meet, so that you won’t be taken over.”

The more he continued to resist, the harder it became to stay in a steady mind. All the while, she continued to speak. “Nagel und Hammer values the flesh more than anything, and this EGO…” She laughed, a sound that grated his ears. “Oh…it’s wonderful, and now, you’ll get to experience its gift.”

She crouched down, a horrible smile painted across her face. His mind continued to become clouded. As he looked down at his arm, his blood ran cold.

It was covered in a red mess, covering every last inch. Spikes had protruded from the skin, and holes started to open, either revealing an eye or a mouth. The growth had already started to spread beyond his shoulder, and onto his face.

It was nearly impossible to think straight. Kromer continued to speak about humans and the body and whatever, it had become white noise at this point. One sentence had pierced through the static in his mind.

“Just give in already.”

For a moment, he stopped his resistance. He was nothing but a tool for her crusade, why should he be resisting? Everyone else did so, it was only natural, right? All his time, he devoted himself to following her orders, after all, it was the closest thing he had to home. But for something like this? It was insane!

Alfon, in his conflicted mind, had let down his guard, and in turn, his body was taken over.

By the end, he was simply a beast of flesh. His right arm transformed into a blade covered in spikes, eyes, and mouths. The right half of his face was covered in the growth as well, the eye becoming useless. Kromer laughed at the sight. “That’s better. Now come along, I have a place for you to rest.”

Without hesitation, the humanoid followed. He was nothing of his prior self, yet everything of what an inquisitor should be in Kromer’s eyes. The purest example of what she wished for.

#my writing :D #limbus company #kromer lcb #Alfon [oc]#body horror #horrortober

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reisimscorner · 1 year ago

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After finishing the daily chores at the farm, Annora and Gregory headed out as well, although their destination was only the house next door where the Weaver family lived. Sela happened to be in the garden; and noticing the Hawthrone siblings arrival she immediately rushed to greet them, inviting them inside for a tea. Well, it was only Annora who followed Sela inside, Gregory went to look for Bernard because he wanted to learn more about blacksmithing from him. Annora couldn’t help but roll her eyes in a rather spectacular way – not that Gregory noticed. His mind was already on swords and shields and ingots.

Entering the Weaver's home, they've sat down at the dining table after Sela put some water on to heat for the tea. Without any more delay they started catching up on the events that happened recently in the village. They’ve joked around and made fun of people which made even boring or normal stories hilarious.

As there were no more gossips to discuss, the previously lighthearted atmosphere quickly became serious. Annora noticed how hurt Sela was feeling, even though she gave her best not to show it – even a blind person would have grasped the situation by now, but not Gregory. Of course not Gregory. He just wasn't interested at all in women or relationships. Only if we were talking about relationships with weapons.

“Sela, don’t beat yourself up too much because of my stupid brother. It’s not your fault he is narrow of mind and sight.” Annora tried to comfort her best friend who had a serious crush on her brother ever since they were children. But it didn’t matter how much she tried to get his attention, she’s just failed every single time.

“I know, but sometimes I cannot help but think that I’m not charming enough for his taste. He just never looks at me any other way than as a childhood friend or as the daughter of his teacher,” she shrugged her shoulders disheartened.

It was hard seeing Sela this way.

In the past, even Annora dropped some hints during her conversations with Gregory about Sela’s feelings or tried to figure out his romantic interests but to no avail. At this point she even doubted Gregory would comprehend the situation if Sela stood before him and confessed her feelings straight away. It was such a hopeless situation.

She was about to say something when suddenly Sela’s expression brightened, grabbing her hand excitedly.

“I know!” She exclaimed, leaving Annora totally dumbfounded. This behavior was not surprising at all. Sela tended to change her emotions as quickly as storms came – one moment she was totally heartbroken, in the next, life was already perfect and rainbows were everywhere. In any case, Annora was happy to see her friend returning to her usual self. Although, she somehow felt uneasy.

“What now?”

“All I need to do is to make him see me as a woman,” she stated proudly.

“Well, yeah. But sis, don’t know you that Greg would notice you sooner if you were like a pretty sword or something? Otherwise, it is an impossible challenge.” Annora didn’t want to disappoint her friend, but she also didn’t want to lie to her. She literary saw zero chance for this plan to succeed, even without knowing the exact details.

“No-no, I’m sure this plan will work. But I will need your help as well, Annora.”

She just sighed softly. When Sela put her mind into something, there was no stopping. Stubborn, that she was.

“Sure, I can help you, but please, spare me the sight of whatever you are planning. I do not want to see him kissing or whatever.” Annora even imitated her disgust which made Sela giggle. She knew she could count on her best friend, always. Even if she disagreed with her.

“Don’t fret, I only want you to help me create an opportunity, I will do the seducing. So, you remember that party we are planning to sneak in to, right?” Annora nodded. “How about you ask him to accompany us? You can come up with whatever lie you like; you can even say that you’ve heard from my father that there’s a rare mineral there or something like that. I’m sure he won’t need much convincing at that point,” Sela smiled knowingly.

“Rest assure, my dear friend. I know exactly what to do.”

“You’re the best, Annie, thank you.”

“Oh, I know that.”

The girls hugged each other as to seal their new shenanigan while the room was filled with the sounds of their excited and somehow ominous chuckles.

Meanwhile Bernard and Gregory talked about blacksmithing.

As Gregory fiddled with some materials at home alone, he found out that something was amiss with his technique and thanks to that, the end product didn't become sturdy. He also had some other questions to which he had to get answers immediately.

Thankfully Bernard was patiently explaining everything to him, but to correct his technique, he had to see what Gregory was doing exactly during the process.

So they've moved into the workshop, and Gregory had to create just a simple iron ingot. As Gregory started working hard on his task, Bernard kept a close eye on his technique and posture. It didn't take much time for him to find the error, and he corrected it immediately. After he was satisfied with Gregory's process, he gave him a few more task for practice.

"At the end of the day, I will come back to check the end products," Bernard said and with that, he left Gregory to his work.

Beginning // Previous // Next

#the ultimate decades challenge #ts4 #ts4 historical #ultimate decades challenge #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 #the sims 4 #ts4 story #ts4 legacy #hawthrone legacy #1300

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