#and many of them excited to enact it themselves

[izzy-b-hands]

Instead of making a vent post abt my stupid fucking brain and mental health and the things that i absolutely have time to do/don't need to be done now bearing down on me yesterday and today like an old school cartoon train deadset on running over the main character of the piece, while the rest of my brain marinates in a soup made of every horrific thing happening in the world rn-

I'm going to go searching on ebay for stuff for my grandad for father's day (so i maybe, fucking maybe, can get a gift out on time for once in my fucking life) and try not to think abt my work shift in like. an hour and a half

[odoraful]

𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑲 𝑻𝑶𝑶 𝑴𝑼𝑪𝑯

wanderer finds a way to ease your insecurities after you overhear some rumors

⟡ content: wanderer x gn!reader ; established relationship ; reader is a student at the akademiya ; reader feeling a bit insecure about their relationship with wanderer ; but he knows a good counter :) ; the vibe i was going for was silly and sweet hehe ; 2k w/c

⟡ a/n: i did proofread and edit this, but i was a little sleepy in the process, so apologies for any glaring errors! i hope you enjoy, mwah !

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Just because the Akademiya was one of the leading institution for academics in Teyvat doesn’t mean that its students are all about studies. Gossip and rumors were some of the biggest sources of entertainment to come out of its lecture halls and labs.

Though many of these tales were unfalsifiable, students did not need to adhere to rigorous experimental principles when it came to coming up with stories. It all started with the story that the building Vahumana scholars studied in was haunted. Apparently, a Vahumana researcher had brought home an ancient relic they weren't supposed to from the ruins of one of their expeditions. This relic held a spirit who had been a revered warrior in ages long past. Angered at being removed from their station, the spirit now stalked the halls, trying to enact revenge on the person that committed this heinous act. If objects were knocked over by an unseen force, and the air grew chilly, it was said to be a sign that the spirit was near. From then on, many other stories began to rise, each to varying degrees of popularity.

Wanderer thought all of this to be absolute rubbish.

But, he did find the deliberate arousal of widespread fear to be quite amusing. Spread by the students themselves, no less. Mortals were certainly interesting creatures. He also loathed these rumors and tales popping up because he found himself to be wrapped up in one himself:

Hat guy is dating someone famous!

Someone had seen Wanderer on a date and, to everyone’s complete shock, being intimate. But, it was only from a distance, so they couldn’t figure out their identity. Thus, the speculations began. Wanderer wished everyone would just mind their own business.

As an Akademiya student yourself, you have also heard many of these stories during your time here. And as Wanderer’s partner, the ones about his romantic relationship was something you’d wish you heard less of. Unfortunately, you were now within hearing distance of an excited group of students talking about exactly that. They were seated at one of the public tables used for studying, though they were doing very little of it.

“Guess what?!” one of them exclaimed. “I saw Hat Guy the other day with his mystery partner.”

The rest of the group erupted into gasps. Is this some kind of Hat Guy fan club? you couldn’t help but wonder.

You stood innocently by the message board a ways from them, pretending to check and read if any new information had been added whilst your ears remained perked.

“No way! Did you find out who they were?”

“I had to rush of to class before I could sneak by them!” the witness of your date huffed. “I wouldn't have to do all this if he wasn't so secretive about this.”

Two days ago, you had indeed met up with Wanderer between classes, sitting by one of the more secluded gazebos in Razan Garden. You both weren’t actively trying to keep your relationship a secret, rather, you just enjoyed your privacy more.

One of them folded their arms rather decisively. “It has to be a celebrity. With how haughty he is, there’s no way that Hat Guy would settle for anyone who wasn’t some renowned star.”

Hey, that’s a bit rude! you protested internally. They don’t have to be a renowned star…

“That’s why he’s being so hush-hush about it, so it doesn’t become a huge scandal.”

“They must be jaw-droppingly gorgeous then. Only the best for the leading scholar of Vahumana,” agreed another, with loving sigh that made your eye twitch.

You pouted to yourself. Sure, you thought you were somewhat pretty, but not anything jaw-dropping… Hang on, why were you giving into these strangers’ silly speculations?

“Could they be a performer from Fontaine? I heard they have a grand Opera there.”

“They’re probably a vision wielder as well!”

“Yeah, definitely not some ordinary student like us.”

“Or maybe they’re a famous bard from Mondstadt—”

The group turned into a flurry of chatter as they continued with their guesswork. Your time here was up. You didn’t feel like listening any longer.

Some ordinary student… you repeated in your head. It wasn’t untrue, but the way it was said by them made it seem completely absurd for Wanderer to even consider dating someone like you.

Just as you turned to walk away, you jumped at a sudden noise.

An open door to an empty classroom had slammed shut. The sharp thud echoed throughout the space.

The chatter from the students immediately ceased.

They began to laugh uneasily. Surely that was just caused by a simple strong draft. The laughing faded when the books and loose parchment on their table were suddenly pushed to the side, the lighter of these items tumbling to the floor. They all stood up, horror frozen on their faces. The air grew noticeably cooler. Wind swept in, causing the papers pinned to the message board in front of you to flutter.

“I-it’s the ghost!” one of the students shrieked, pointing to one of the doorways that led into this central space. “The ghost of the Vahumana building!”

A figure loomed at the threshold, a sinister air surrounding them.

The group of students snatched their bags and rushed as fast as they could away, scrambling for the exit in the opposite direction. Their urgency greatly juxtaposed against your nonreaction.

There was just something about the figure that was all too familiar.

Stepping into the lit space, the figure ruffled a hand in his violet hair. Annoyance was twisted on his face.

“Using your anemo on Akademiya grounds?” you asked with a quirk in your brow.

Wanderer let out a huff, walking towards you. “For good reason. Not only were those students talking nonsense, they had the audacity to be loud about it too.”

Since there was no one around at the moment, you felt comfortable enough to bring up a hand to tidy his hair up. Though he gave a begrudged sigh, Wanderer leaned into your touch as you combed your fingers through it.

“I didn’t know you were the ghost of the Vahumana building,” you teased, moving an index finger down to poke at his cheek. “You seem pretty corporeal to me.”

“That ridiculous story again?” Wanderer responded, swatting at you to stop. “Humans seek out information that already confirms their previous beliefs. They saw whatever they wanted to see.”

Even though he shrugged as he spoke, Wanderer was unmistakably satisfied with the result of his doings. As he was heading to meet up with you to head home together, he heard that group of students yapping away about his relationship and saw your discomfort at their rudeness. He needed them gone and gone fast. So, he conjured up his most basic form of anemo. Even that was enough to send them scurrying away like mice.

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You both were bathed in the warm sun as you walked through the streets of Sumeru City. It was a lively afternoon, with people bustling about to run errands or savor the perfect weather. Usually, you’d also relish in a day like this, but your attention was elsewhere. The conversation those students had repeated frustratingly in your mind, as much as you didn’t want it to affect you. Your focus returned just in time for you to move away as a woman carrying several boxes of Harra fruit almost sent you toppling over.

“Be careful there!” she called before moving on her way.

You shouted an apology, shaking your head in an attempt to return to your senses. Wanderer frowned, tugging at your arm to pull you closer to him.

"Are you going to spit it out?”

Though you hadn’t done anything wrong, you still felt like you’d been caught.

”Spit what out?” you answered.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” he said, glowering at you. “You’ve been acting strange since we left the Akademiya.”

Turning the corner into the more residential area of the city, the streets grew less busy, save for the occasional resident tending to their garden outside or taking a walk with their family.

There was no keeping anything from Wanderer with his senses and hard-headedness. You probably had a better chance with hiding a Sumpter Beast under a blanket.

“I was just thinking about what those students were talking about back at the Akademiya. You know, about who you were dating.”

“They were saying: Oh, they must be some kind of celebrity, or famous adventurer with a really cool vision who’s super incredibly gorgeous and isn’t just some nothing student,” you mimicked with disdain.

Wanderer cocked his head to the side. “And that was verbatim?”

“Yes, yes it was!” you nodded emphatically, ignoring his pointed sarcasm. “It just had me feeling I don’t know…”

Wanderer didn’t say anything more as your sentence trailed off. He simply looked at you, expectantly. The sound of your feet hitting the paved road rung clear in the air, every step pushing you to admit what you were truly feeling.

“I just felt a bit insecure!” you blurted out.

Sighing, the words began to tumble from you.

“Like if this is the kind of image people have about who’s dating you, once they see me they’ll start to think: Why on Teyvat is he dating that person? Which will make me think: Why on Teyvat are you dating me?”

“And I know, it’s horrible to think like this, and I don’t want doubt your reasons for liking me, but I just can't help it. So, now I’m starting to worry whether you'd prefer someone else—”

Your rambling stopped short.

Not because you had lost your train of thought, but because there was something physically preventing you from continuing.

Your lips was being covered by Wanderer’s own.

Your mind finally registered that he was kissing you in the middle of the street, only a few blocks away from your home.

Protests of stopping him fizzled away as you relaxed in his hold. His hand moved up to rest at the base of your neck and you gave in to the soft coolness of his lips. Wanderer’s kisses always had a hunger behind them, but there was something else now too.

Frustration.

Like he was trying to send you some kind of message each heated movement. When he finally pulled away, your body was left with tingles and you were still enveloped in his gentle scent of linen and parchment.

Wanderer silently admired the flush he left on your lips—the colour of ripened Zaytun peaches. He lightly tapped the side of your forehead with a finger, almost in scolding.

“You’re really that affected by the stupid things other people say?” he chided.

You blinked at him, still slightly dazed by his previous stunt.

He continued, with a sincerity to his voice that gave you pause, “Isn’t the proof you need right here? I chose you. So no, I wouldn’t want some famous superstar, or whatever, because they wouldn’t be you.”

Your mouth parted at such an open confession. Wanderer couldn’t handle the joy swimming in your eyes and turned away, hiding his own buzzing feeling that rose within him with a long sigh.

“I can’t believe you’re feeling like this when we’re walking to our shared home together,” he muttered, starting to walk again.

You kept up by his side, hands behind your back. You almost felt like skipping now down this street.

“Do you think you could say all that one more time?” you asked, the question filled with mirth.

“Nope.”

“Please?”

“Nope,” Wanderer, again, immediately replied.

“But what if I need more reassurance?”

You angled yourself to try and meet his gaze, hoping that the pleading in your expression would better convince him. However, he seemed to be notably avoiding your eyes. Unconsciously, Wanderer’s eyes flicked over to you. In that millisecond, his own resolve crumbled. He groaned aloud.

“Later… then…” he conceded with a mutter.

For all of Wanderer's supposed unwillingness, he would always give you the reassurance you needed in his own mischievous way. Still, he didn’t like how those rumors had so quickly burrowed into you. Perhaps it was time to stamp them all out by showcasing to everyone who he was dating.

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[yandere-sins]

You know how, irl, people get fascinated and turned on by the IDEA Of a yandere? And how a yandere, ofc, stalks and learns as much as they can about their darling? I just imagine the Yandere using that to their advantage and to their Darling's horror. "Oh, but you like this don't you? You've read so many smutty tumblr stories about being taken and taken and held hostage. You reblogged so many headcanons about a character killing your bully or that co-worker you hate. I know all your questionable porn tastes. I know all your deep, dark secrets. I know your violent vent posts that I got to enact for you, Darling! I've given you everything you've ever fantasized about, so of course you'll love me. <3" And of course, the yandere fails to realize that any of those behaviors or actions in real life is absolutely, gut-wrenchingly horrifying. But they think they're giving their darling everything they could ever want, and they'll continue to do so until they stop playing hard to get.

Ngl, probably one of my worst fears for the future, but thanks for requesting because it makes good yandere content :'D

I'm imagining a really smug yandere, you know? One that thinks they are doing you such a big favor and give you all their love by expressing it this way. But in reality, they don't even realize how messed up it is.

They were just breaking into your home after you went to bed to admire their darling from afar for a little bit. They are not daring to stir you from your sleep when they can stand beside you and watch. It is enough; they won't be greedy. But they couldn't have known they'd find the holy grail of smut and depravity on your bookshelf when they started browsing as their curiosity got the better of them. They are almost appalled by their darling, if not for the fact that when they browse through the pages of a random book, the words kidnapping, stalking, love, murder, and quite a few more seem like a temptation made for them especially.

So, you actually like that kind of stuff, huh?

Someone following you on a dark street, their steps noticeable but their face masked as they are always just five steps behind you. You run, they run. There's a red rose on your windowsill the next day. It scares you, but they know now that you are just pretending. That your heart is beating faster now, elated by the chase and the promise of love it brings. The fact that you have your own mad person excites you. The yan continues to borrow one book after the other, annotates them, and takes notes for themselves before putting them back onto your shelf for you to find one day, horrified to see lots of "I'd love to do this to you," "How about I kill the coworker you hate—would that make you love me?" and "Love this, love you, always you" in them.

They thought being a silent observer, loving you from afar, was the way to be with you. But they can't help but masturbate to the sex scenes, thinking about how they'd reenact them with you. Your books will be devastatingly ruined by stains and tears in the pages as they have either ripped out a scene to save for later or bit into the book as they've hit their orgasm. Your bookshelf was a collection of dark romance before, but now it is literally the remnant of a massacre of the once neat collection.

But of course, they won't stop there.

Everyone gets sick of reading books someday, even though it's been nice doing it sitting next to you—part of the yan hoping you might wake up and they get to act out some of the scenes you read about. However, there are more things to uncover and learn from. Your public social media they've stalked so far was nice and dandy, but the favorites and posts you hide on your private computer have so much potential to learn from.

The yan can learn about all these little desires of yours. The masks you like, how you want to be taken, cared for, and loved forever. You seem to believe in soulmates—crazy! They do, too! If the yan is delusional enough, it turns out that you two are so similar to each other—a perfect match. Even the kinks they didn't share with you before can be arranged with enough dedication to you. They'll make preparations so you'll be able to ease into these depraved things that you kept hidden from them. You might have been afraid to act on your desires, but the yan is ready to let you live them out to the fullest.

Never mind that you cry after being chased home, it's what you wanted, right? It doesn't matter how you actually feel when they harass and stalk you, leave you little notes and flowers everywhere, because they are just doing what your book-partners would do (it worked for them, after all). You wanted the yan to be possessive over you; why are you sad that no one wants to be your friend when the yan went to the trouble of making sure everyone would be too scared to approach you? And really, aren't you grateful for the yan taking care of your coworker problem? Was sending you their pinky not enough proof of their love?

How come you don't love them yet? When will you love them like the protagonists of your books?

Haven't they done enough? Are you seriously saying you don't like their gifts and dedication to you? Or perhaps you are just trying to play hard to get... of course! That must be it. You are so lovely; you must know that you deserve to be desired immensely. Only they can desire you as much as to go to such lengths, but perhaps it hasn't been enough yet. You deserve more. You are waiting for the yan to prove their undying, absolute love for you. It must be something big, something extraordinary. Something that will show you just how much they care about your interests and especially you.

They will take you and give you the life you want—you deserve.

Even if you hate them for it.

[dufferpuffer]

Albus didn't just learn 'Muggles bad' when his sister was attacked.

He learned the Ministry was focused on the Statute of Secrecy at the cost of innocent lives - they would have taken Ariana away. No justice for the Muggle boys who hurt her. The authorities are broken.

He learned running out to enact justice yourself backfired - it just harmed others and removed you from being there for others. His father was taken away, leaving Albus the man of the house at 11.

He learned that Wizarding society in general was judgemental and cruel - labeling him and his family Muggle haters because of his fathers actions. They had to move homes to escape some of it.

He learned that the world demands being quiet, sneaky and working from the shadows, even at the cost of your social life and reputation, is necessary for protecting vulnerable people you love.

Is it any wonder, at 17, when he meets a boy with plans to use their strengths to make it so Wizards didn't need to hide... he would become excited about that? In this world where Wizards have squashed themselves under Muggle heels - and they hurt eachother over staying well hidden under that heel - the idea of freeing themselves from that issue would appeal?

The Muggle boys wouldn't have hurt his sister. His father wouldn't have gone off and harmed them. The Ministry would have prioritized his sister's life and health. His family wouldn't have had to be shamed and hide further away.

If he and Gellert, two amazing young Wizards, could collect the most amazing wizarding artifacts - they could strongarm the world into a change for the better. A change where Wizards aren't hidden, and Muggles can be properly managed so they don't hurt little witches.

Is he, in many ways, wrong? Yes. But he was also 17, turning 18 - and his Mother had just died while trying to look after his vulnerable sister, saddling him with the job, to keep her hidden so his brother could finish school... wouldn't it be better to change the world?

The answer was a resounding NO and he didn't try again lol He got an aversion to the whole idea and became fearful of having too much power in society - because he knew he craved it. Craved the ability to 'fix' things.

[mitskicodedwukong]

💓 CRUSH 💓 || Triad!Wukong x Reader Oneshot

» crush (ethel cain) « 0:21 ─〇───── 3:20

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝🍑╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ AUTHOR'S NOTE ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗🍑╔⏤⏤⏤╝ ➤ This is reposted from my old account, @nothyenlowz :3 ➤ This is a oneshot. ➤ This is romantic. ➤ Reader is gender neutral (except for one use of "maiden" in reference to you). ➤ This oneshot includes Dragonhead/Triad!Wukong, who is apart of the Triad AU belonging to @/skittlescripts! ➤ This oneshot in based off @/dumplingsjinson's 4th unrequited-but-not-actually-unrequited-love prompt! ➤ TRIGGER WARNINGS include use of "name" (couldn't avoid it, sorry </3), profanity, denial of feelings, avoidance, lying, self-deprecation, angst, and crying. ➤ Word count: 4,340

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

❝ Camo jacket, robbing corner stores; hard odds to beat when you're on all fours .❞

You didn't want this.

You didn't want this.

It started off innocently enough—a blush when you caught the Great Sage's eye, a bit of a tremble to your voice or your knees when his hand brushed yours, squealing into your pillows when he gave you gifts. Embarrassing reactions, yes, but not surprising. Afterall, whole gods have found themselves swooning for the Monkey King—what chance did your mortal self stand against the demon's wicked charm? But surely your little... celebrity crush didn't mean anything significant.

Except it did.

You barely ever had crushes growing up, much less attractions so passionate you could call them love. But with Wukong, it came far too easily. You loved the way he spoke, the way he held himself, the way he managed to create a community of loyal allies despite his many enemies. But then you also loved the simple things—his real laugh, the one that made him clutch his stomach and cackle until tears were dripping from his eyes; the way his tail swayed like a dog's and curled into a something preciously heart-esque when he was excited; the way he smelt of peaches and flower. You were always finding out new things about him through opportunities presented to you and you alone, as if he was a whole world just for you to—

No!

No, no, no!

This is how the greatest friendships crashed and burned. That initial spark of attraction and a hopeful heart paired with a traitorous brain poisoning you with sweet what-ifs and flowery dreams is all it takes for you to make one irreversible, permanent step; for you to pour your heart out only to hear we can still be friends! and watch him drift away.

Well, not you. You weren't going to risk breaking your heart nor your and Wukong's friendship over a crush, no matter how insistent. So after many sleepless nights of brainstorming, you finally devised a plan to squash your feelings for the Monkey King.

1.) Create distance physically.

You tap your fingers against your thigh anxiously, fighting the urge to scratch angry red blotches into the skin while you wait for Wukong to pick up your call. You thought this method would be easiest for enacting Step 1, assuming Wukong and Macaque wouldn't be able to pick out any lies over the phone. But with how long it's taking him to answer, maybe you were better off just ditching your phone altogether—

"Hey, peaches!" Wukong's cheery voice greets over the line, making you huff in relief. "What's up? You're not calling to ask if you can come up, right? Because you know I've told you you can just come, riiighttt?"

Your heart swoons pathetically, and you have to aggressively remind yourself that hanging out with Wukong is the exact opposite of what you want to achieve.

"Yessss, I remember," you force out in a nasally, cracking voice that you pray sounds convincing. "But no, that's not why I'm calling."

"Oh, peaches, are you sick?" Wukong asks worriedly, and you can feel his furrowed eyebrows through the phone.

"No," you snark, and then you force out some rough-sounding coughs, grimacing at the way your throat stings. "This happens every year. Sometime near spring I get super sick for like a month—might be the pollen or something, I dunno."

"I never noticed," Wukong replies softly. "I'm sorry, peaches. I woulda helped you before if I'd realized."

Your heart flips again and you lean away from the phone to muffle a quiet squeal into your palm before returning. "It's—" cough "—fine. I'm a big girl, a little springtime bug isn't going to kill me. But it is gonna keep me in my house for a few weeks."

"In that case, why don't I let Macaque handle things for a bit and come over—"

"No!" You snap out, your hand immediately smacking over your mouth at the outburst. Fuck! You think, mind racing to recover from your fumble. You let out a series of coughs as you think, then lick your lips. "S-Sorry... while it means a lot that you'd do that for me, when I get like this... it's just easier to handle it alone. I don't really have the energy to be around people or have them around me."

You cross your fingers, your opposite hand gripping your clothes in a white-knuckle grip as a few beats of silence pass. God, let him believe me so I can hang up—

"Alright, peaches," Wukong replies in that same gentle voice, the one that makes you melt like butter, and you have to lean back so he won't hear the relieved puff of air you let out. You're so busy rejoicing you nearly miss what he says next. "But I'm still going to drop food off to you, alright?"

Seeming to sense the coming argument from you, he adds, "I'll just drop it off at your door and send you a message."

You sigh, a small smile forcing it's way on to your face despite the situation still not being as perfect as you'd hoped for. "Guess I can't stop you, sunshine."

"Nope!" Wukong laughs, popping the p. "Get well soon! Who knows what mischief I'll be up to without my angel to keep me on the path of grace?" he coos with a subtle purr to his words. A wild blush blooms on your face, burning your ear tips as you soak in what he said.

"You're supposed to be able to do that on your own, Great Sage," you croak out, burying your flushed face in your unused hand even though the cheeky monkey isn't here to see it.

"What's the fun in that?" Wukong snickers. Then his voice lowers again, squeezing your heart. "But seriously, take care of yourself, peaches. If you need space, that's fine, but if you need help, ask. There's nothing you could do that would chase me away."

What he says is sweet, so sweet, and dream-like. His words make you think of a fairytale, with you a fair maiden and him a brave, persistent, dragon-slaying knight.

But life's not a fairytale, and things won't go your way just because you wish on a star.

"Will do, Wuks," you say quietly. "Bye."

"Bye, peaches."

Beep-beep.

Step 1... achieved.

2.) Create distance emotionally.

You couldn't just get rid of your crush (well, you probably could, but that'd entail some magical intervention you're not quite desperate enough for yet), but maybe you could weaken it by limiting how much exposure you had to Wukong. Hard, considering how popular he was, but surely not impossible!

So, to start off easy, you got rid of your merch. You were able to sell most of it online, but the more stuff you got rid of, the more... upset you felt. Which made sense, sure—they were things you loved, of course, and if you hadn't fallen in love with one of your best friends, you'd never part with it—, but your thoughts felt... insane. You found yourself wondering if people would take care of it, if they'd love it and find the same joy in it that you did.

The idea of someone doing anything less made your skin crawl, and for a few brief moments, you considered doing full deep dives on buyers to make sure the merch was going to a good home. Then you reasoned you sounded absolutely obnoxious, like some creepy fangirl and not a close friend of Sun Wukong, and gave the rest away without any further hesitance.

Goddamn, did it sting though.

True to his word, Wukong stopped by your house once every few days with food and medicine. At first, you were worried he'd try to talk to you or ask to come in, but the only way you even knew he'd been there was when he alerted you with a message. You were grateful for it, but words couldn't describe the relief you had that he left no gifts in the bags.

If he had, that might have set you right back to square one.

Your house felt... empty without Wukong's memorabilia, but you chopped it up to your distaste for change. Obviously the nearly crippling discomfort in your own home was because of the now-barren walls (no way it was because you'd just given away dozens of sentimental items), so you bought some pretty posters of bands, artists, and games you liked and hung them on the wall. It wasn't the same, but you supposed that within time, it'd become your new normal.

You decided to ignore the way that settled on your body like gloomy fog.

Now... for the harder part.

Aside from merch, Wukong had gotten you plenty of personal products. Clothes, jewelry, perfumes, cooking utensils you'd been eyeing, plushies—that sort of thing. You knew just by looking at it that it was expensive, probably things that would land you in debt for life if you'd bought it yourself, and rare, too. Likely some one-of-a-kind stuff, knowing Wukong.

You spent three nights despairing over what to do with them. Giving them away to the masses felt disrespectful to say the least, and you didn't have it in you to fight with your heart so much when it protested the idea. Throwing them out didn't feel much better, and neither did burying them, but you couldn't keep them. No, no, no, it'd just encourage your stupid crush if you caved and kept anything, especially the personal stuff!

So you did the only thing you could think of: gave it to your family.

It still didn't feel great either way, but at least you knew they were being cared for. And if Wukong happened to ask for any of it back, it'd be easy to retrieve.

Later in the day, you expect to feel relieved at having found a solution, but it only fills you with dread.

All that's left are the notes.

You keep them in a pretty box in your desk. It's a deep red covered in bright splashes of color meant to resemble fireworks, with bright iron hinges on the back so it could open and close. It's perfectly pristine, not so much as a speck of dust upon it, its well-cared-for appearance taunting you as you lift it out of its drawer and sit on your bed.

You know you shouldn't look at them, but it's not like it'll change anything—you already have them memorized by heart, anyway.

Dear (name), "Sunshine", huh? Can't say it reflects much of who I am as an infamous, invincible god, but I'll take it over "simian" anyday! I think I'll call you "peaches" in return. It has a nice ring, doesn't it? Sunshine and Peaches. Like two peas in a pod. Anyway. I hope you like the clothes!

You laugh softly as you read the note. This had been after you mistakenly let your unspoken nickname for him slip after one of his meetings, flustering both you and the unprepared Dragonhead. Despite your furious blush and profuse apologies, Wukong had made you explain your reasoning behind the nickname (which was mostly Macaque's fault—damn him and his "sun and moon" metaphors). You were mortified, thinking you'd set your and Wukong's relationship way back, but when he started calling you peaches...

Sunshine stuck, and you two really did become peas in a pod.

You've torn through the whole box of notes by the time you realize there are tears running down your cheeks. When the realization hits, you bend over and press your hands to your face, open-mouthed sobs wracking your body.

Why'd it have to be him? You could've fallen hopelessly in love with anyone, and your heart chose him?

Wukong isn't the problem. No, not at all. Next to you, the Monkey King seems wild, volatile, too much. But that's only because you're a mortal, incapable of shining even half as brightly as he does. Wukong's a god, an immortal king, a being who'd felled thousands in mere moments—your best friend deserves someone who could meet him at his level, not force him into some domestic role.

Someone better than you.

The thought sends a sharp wave rocking through your chest, but with it comes some rush of desperation—you don't know if it's to fight for or against something, but it leads you to pluck one of the notes from its place on the bed,

turn it over so you can't see the words,

and fucking shred it.

That night, you lie amongst the torn pieces of paper like they're ruins of a city—something you used to know, used to love, used to find strength in.

Now they're something to be forgotten.

Step 2 is done.

3.) Find somebody else.

You have to admit, Step 3 was definitely a desperate plan B if nothing else worked, and, well...

Nothing else was working.

Your "sick" month had passed, and you were now three months into simple ignoring Wukong. You were honestly surprised the Monkey King hadn't broken into your house yet, but based on some demon conflicts you'd seen on the news, you figured he was busy.

But that wasn't the problem. What was the problem was your crush hadn't waned in the slightest! In fact, your attempts to get rid of it had only made you want to run further into Wukong's arms, where you'd be drowned in the scent of peaches and flowers and the feeling of soft fur and a strong body against yours and—

Goddamnit!

Part of you felt... tired; sick of what you perceived as dramatic and begging for a break from the heartache. It whispered to you, questioning how good Wukong was to keep around if he would cut you loose just for a crush—even saying that it'd be good for you. Save you the trouble and put you on the path of healing before it got real bad... whatever that meant.

But the other half of you fought and it fought hard. You wanted Wukong, even if it meant you could only have him as a friend. He made you feel good and you'd die before giving that up—that was why you'd started this whole mess in the first place!

Besides. Even in the highly unlikely, fantastical world that Wukong didn't reject you—you were a mortal, temporary and simple. Unfortunately, the same would be applied to your relationship. When you ended, so would it. If you couldn't grow old together, if you'd inevitably leave Wukong heartbroken and alone, was it really worth even considering?

No. That's why you're here at a café (far away from Wukong's headquarters, you made sure), sitting across from... your date.

They're gorgeous. With fawn-colored skin, soft brown eyes, and wavy, blonde, orange-dipped hair, they make you think of summer, of beach days and ice cream in the park. And they're sweet, easily cracking jokes with you and complimenting you without overwhelming you. They're... perfect.

But they're not Wukong, and the way you remain acutely aware of that as you share sweet treats with them destroys any hope you had of destroying this crush.

You're trying to think of ways to let your date down gently when you hear the door chime go off. A new customer is nothing to draw any real attention, of course, but a chorus of sharp gasps and your date's frightened stare looking past you makes you turn.

And, god, you wish you hadn't.

Wukong walks into the café calmly, his face unreadable as he scans the booths. You're fairly certain you already know why he's here, but when his eyes meet yours you just know you're fucked.

The café owner bee-lines to Wukong. "G-Great Sage!" They greet, bowing low. "What brings you here?"

Wukong doesn't break eye contact with you. "Nothing to do with you," he answers smoothly before approaching you in long strides.

You can do nothing but watch as he approaches, pinning your tongue between your teeth as you hold the intensity of his stare. Your date, seemingly noticing the tension between you two, reaches out to grasp your hand, but you gently pull away with a shake of your head.

"I'm sorry," you whisper sincerely, sliding enough money for the meal towards them just before Wukong reaches your booth.

The monkey eyes your date, unblinking. If this was any other situation (one where you hadn't avoided him for three months), you'd give him a gentle kick to the leg or something so he'd knock it off. But the situation is too tense, his presence too damning, and you're grateful for the few seconds you get from out beneath the demon's fiery gaze.

"Peaches," he finally murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. "We need to talk."

Fuck.

You get up without a word, placing your purse over your shoulder and heading towards the front door with your eyes on your feet. You can feel everyone's eyes on you—or rather, the two of you, as Wukong walks beside you until you reach the door, which he opens for you. Then he follows you out, staying just far enough behind you that he doesn't step on your heels.

Neither of you speak until you get to a bridge, void of people and surrounded by cherry blossom trees. It's adequate shade from any noisy individuals, and you're not sure if it was purposeful or not, or how you feel if it was. Wukong stops beside you as you peer over the edge.

"Peaches," he says, his voice still soft. "What's going on?"

Fuck.

You immediately deflect. "How did you find me?"

You hear him suck in a breath.

"How?" You hiss out, glaring up at him.

He stares at you in silence for a moment, then turns on his phone. As he presses a button, your phone vibrates in your hand.

"You tracked my phone?" You ask, blinking owlishly.

"You weren't answering me," replies Wukong simply, pocketing his phone again.

Your face flushes in frustration. "I was out—"

"For three months?"

That makes you go silent. Your phone vibrates again, making the screen light up. You can see Wukong's name in your notifications, but you dare not look to see how many there are, lest it condemn you further.

"You know, I went to your house," Wukong carries on, his voice thickening. "All the stuff I got you is gone."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

"Yeah," you mumble, your gaze falling to the ground.

"Why? Did you not like it?"

You're torn between honesty and further denial. In the end, Wukong speaks before you can make a choice.

"You didn't throw out the notes."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"It took—" his voice chokes out for a second. Your body tenses, your hands turning to white-knuckled fists at your sides. You don't look up. "It took a lot to put them together, surprisingly. Were really dedicated when you tore 'em up, huh?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Did you lie about being sick? Did you... were you just trying to get away from me?"

"It's not like that," you say, rushed, and you know as soon as the words leave your lips that you shouldn't have spoken.

"Then what is it like?" Wukong chokes out in a thick voice, but you still refuse to look him in the eye.

"I... needed alone time," you mumble.

"Why couldn't you say that?" Wukong replies, a bit of sharpness to his tone, and you can't help but feel like you've opened up the floodgates. "Do I make you feel so unsafe that you'll lie to get away from me?"

"Don't assume things about me," you snap hotly, your eyes flickering to his. They glow with a subtle red color, fixated on you, a testament to how much this has really affected him. But that's not what gets you.

It's the tears collecting in his eyes.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

"What else am I supposed to do?" He grits out. "You ignored me for three months. You didn't even text back to say if you were still sick, or if you just wanted me to stop contacting you—"

"Wukong, I—" you try, taking a step backward when the monkey flings his arms.

"And you didn't answer MK or Macaque, either!"

"Wukong—"

"You scared the shit out of me, peaches!"

"And I'm sorry for that," you bite out, managing to shut him up for a minute. You gulp, your grip on your purse tightening. "But I had... I have a problem I have to fix—"

"What is it? If you would just tell me I could help!" Wukong exclaims, reaching towards you.

"No!" You shout, twisting away from him. "You can't help, Wukong!"

"You don't know that!"

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

"I do! I do know that!"

"How?! How could—"

"BECAUSE HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU GONNA FIX ME LOVING YOU?"

Wukong falls silent. Still. Your hands slap over your mouth.

The two of you stand in silence for what feels like forever. The river feels deathly silent, and not even the wind blows. Finally, you remove your hands.

"I-I mean, I can fix it, don't worry," you say quickly, the words spilling from your lips like water. "T-These... feelings—they're temporary, I promise. They're just, uh, a b-bit more stubborn than I was expecting, y-y'know? But they're nothing serious, I swear! I-I know I've been difficult these past few months, I know, I'm sorry, just... just—"

"They're what?" is all Wukong utters, his stare burning through you.

You startle for a second, hands dropping to your chest. "T-They're temporary," you repeat. "Not serious, I swear. Nothing has to change."

Wukong doesn't reply at first. Then:

"What if I want them to be serious?"

Your heart nearly stops in your chest at the force of your surprise. "What?" is all you can get out, staring owlishly at the demon.

"I said," he speaks slowly, stepping towards you. "What if I want them to be serious? To be permanent? What if I want you to be head over heels for me, hm?"

You shiver as he stands before you, hands ghosting over your hips.

"What if I want it all to change, peaches?"

Your heart thumps in your chest, your mind desperately trying to make sense of what he's saying.

Surely he's not... he doesn't mean...

"I don't understand," you whisper, your hands hesitantly pressing against his chest.

"Oh, peaches," he coos softly, leaning in until his forehead rests against yours and all you can see are his eyes.

"Wu—"

"I love you, (name)."

Your breath catches in your throat, your mouth falling open in shock. Your entire body freezes, your thoughts halted as you process his words...

and then your heart soars.

"Me?" You crack out, a blush warming your skin exponentially. It's a bit overwhelming, the mix of love, surprise, and unfiltered relief. So much so that you can't stop the tears from building up in your eyes and slipping out as you stare up at him. "You love me?"

"Of course," Wukong says softly, his fingers reaching up to brush your tears away. "How couldn't I?"

A sob leaves your mouth at the question. "'C-Cause you're... I'm—"

"Simple?" Wukong ventures, frowning at your nod. He huffs, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "Peaches, you are anything but simple. You're brilliant and talented and witty and a quick-learner. You keep me guessing even now, and I've been around for a while," he soothes you sweetly, a breath of laughter to his voice.

You can't help but laugh a little with him, your heart swelling at his compliments. Your hands slide up his chest and his neck, feeling the soft fur slide through your fingers, and settle on his cheeks. You mirror him then, your thumbs petting his cheek bones and brushing away the wetness in his eyes. Another wave of fresh tears overcomes you when he leans into your hands.

"You're the closest thing to perfection I've ever seen," Wukong murmurs emotionally, one of his hands retracting to engulf one of your's. "You're my girl. My peach. My qíng rén."

A sob breaks free of your lips again as you pull Wukong against you, hiding your face in his chest as you cry. The Dragonhead curls around you, as if shielding you from the outside world, which you're thankful for.

Damn. All of this to find out the great Monkey King loves you back? You're not complaining, god no! Despite your tears, your heart is doing tricks, somersaults and great leaps and cartwheels. It's just...

You definitely have some communication skills to work on, you think.

That can wait, though, you think then, your crying finally tapering out. You manage to tilt your head enough to see Wukong's face, the demon smiling down sweetly at you. Your fingers fiddle with his tie for a moment before drifting upwards and holding his face again.

"Peaches," Wukong calls softly, holding your gaze. "What're you thinking?"

You pause before answering. "I... I want to kiss you," you admit, watching the monkey's face turn a red hue similar to your's. "Can I?"

His ears wiggle, his nose twitches, and then he nods, and you can feel his tail wagging by your legs.

The time for picking on his adorable monkey mannerisms will come later, because right now all you're focused on is bringing Wukong's lips to yours and finally knowing how it feels to kiss the Great Sage.

It's done at an awkward angle since Wukong didn't let you go, the both of you straining a bit to meet each other in the middle, and you break away fast, but it's perfect to you. Maybe not how you imagined a requited crush kiss going, but it's your greatest wish come true in spite of that.

"I love you," he breathes.

Your breath catches again, your heart still flipping ecstatically. "Say it again."

Wukong grins, fangs peeking out of his smile. "I love you, qíng rén."

As you bring the Dragonhead into another kiss, you think of one thing.

Maybe fairytales do exist after all.

❝ Good men die too, so I'd rather be with you .❞

[ominoose]

𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐈𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫'𝐬 𝐀𝐬 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬

Characters: Steven Grant, Nathan Bateman, Llewyn Davis, Jake Lockley, Blue Jones Summary: Oscar Characters characters teaching subjects at school. Warnings: None WC: 1.7k

𝗦𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗚𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁 - 𝗛𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆

His natural passion and accidental ability to hyper-fixate on things means he can teach all the required topics with ridiculous detail, but we all know which subject he dominates best.

The vast majority of the students adore him. Mr Grant’s lessons are always fun, he lets the class make posters (that include all nine members of the Ennead), do Kahoot quizzes, create live re-enactments of historical events. Even when he’s just talking off a power point, his voice, mannerisms and tendency to act things out has the children engrossed and giggling. 

The classroom walls are absolutely littered with posters, some bought and some done by students. There's inspiring quotes, positivity kittens and Egyptian puns.

Not only is he a good teacher, but a good mentor. Being autistic himself, he notices any neurodivergent or “othered” kids and makes it a point to find what they’re passionate about and working it into their curriculum. If someones struggling he’ll arrange one-on-one time, asking them what they’re strengths are not just to help figure out how to work with them, but to remind them they have strengths.

While most students do love him, the few troublemakers know he’s not the strictest and thus will absolutely take the piss. Feigning ignorance and struggles as an excuse to why they missed a deadline or didn’t do the homework. Steven, the optimist he is, is always happy to give second, third and fourth chances. It does take that long for him to realise they’re not genuine, and yet he’ll still try, convincing himself that he’ll be able to turn them straight with the magic of friendship.

𝗡𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗕𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗻 - 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗦𝗰𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲

It would be like finding a needle in a haystack trying to find a single student in the many years Nathan had been teaching that didn’t, at least at one point, absolutely despise him. Mr Bateman was far from the friendliest, lax teacher to his students, bordering on a bit of an asshole really. He had an absolute zero tolerance policy for time wasting, messing around and not giving 100%. All students were expected to keep up, get the work done on time and spend time studying and completing exercises at home. If you didn’t do that, you weren’t trying hard enough.

The common conception of a hard-ass wasn’t ill fitting, but it wasn’t without reason. Mr Bateman was a hard-ass because he wanted his students to grasp every opportunity at their disposal and stretch their potential. Some people were born smarter, some learned quicker from a young age but every single person could better themselves regardless of whether they started at Level 10 or Level 0. 

It also shouldn’t be said that he wanted students that simply obeyed. It was a story passed down to students about the time a student, in a fit of frustration and defiance to the teacher that always pushed them, completely disregarded the set code structure and wrote their own entirely new one that completed the aim function. While everyone would expect them to be given weeks worth of detention and a reaming, but Mr Bateman simply smiled, said well done and moved on with the lesson. Apparently the kid managed to get a full paid scholarship into top university, but that was just hearsay. Rumour has it his middle name is Hamlet too, snickering students will whisper.

Besides his rigid teaching style, not much is known about him. The classroom is minimalist, only a coffee flask and a pot of three black ballpoints sit on his desk. The walls are sparse beyond a handful of posters about common coding knowledge.

𝗟𝗹𝗲𝘄𝘆𝗻 𝗗𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘀 - 𝗠𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰

The beginning of every new school year followed the same routine. Kids would hear their music teacher was a published artist, get insanely excited, go to class then realise published was not synonymous with success and wither with disappointment. Mr Davis gave up caring years ago, at least he finally had a steady gig, albeit at the cost of his soul.

Classes were average. Sometimes students were treated to his natural singing voice, something that always sparked smiles and attention from the kids, but usually lessons were Llewyn bearing through kids bashing piano keys and drum pads as he wandered around and did his best to tutor them through it.

To kids that were required to take the class, it was alright. Mr Davis wasn’t a hard ass, although it did drain his soul to see kids blind to the brilliance and potential of music. His homework mostly consisted of practicing at home or listening to different genres. To kids that genuinely enjoyed music, it was bliss. Mr Davis was no dream mentor for sure, he was quite stubborn about what he thought “good music” sounded like, but when he sat with someone he could share the passion with, the kid would feel like an equal. 

The classroom was always open to kids that wanted time to practice, he knew what an escape music could be, and would never hesitate to sit and work out a song or even add his guitar to whatever a student was playing.

The room was a riot on a good day. All sorts of instruments littered and surrounded the desks, posters of musicians and notes and the different types of brass instruments lined the walls and there was always something playing in the background. A basket of fruit and cereal bars was always sat fully stocked next to the door, with a “Help Yourself” sign stuck to it. No one knew why, and no one ever thought to question it.

𝗝𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗹𝗲𝘆 - 𝗦𝗽𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵

Spanish was always a full class, no matter what year or whether the students actually cared about Spanish. Students either swooned over him or wanted to be his friend. Mr Lockley knew, although had no clue why, but who cares as long as he was able to spread some Spanish around. The point is, Mr Lockley had no enemies at school.

Like a typical Spanish teacher, the register was taken in Spanish, if you wanted to ask to go to the toilet it had to be Spanish and if you wanted to pass notes in class they had better be in Spanish. He wasn’t the most forgiving, the man expected homework to be in on time and god help you if it was google translate. Mr Lockley would call you out, make you re-do it in his class at lunch or give detention to repeat offenders.

If students had been doing reasonably well he’d bring in some traditional Latin American foods for students to try, turn on a Spanish movie or even treat them to a little story about his past. Remember the Chef in Ratatouille that killed a guy with one thumb? That's the type of nonsense he talked about, albeit a bit more kid friendly. Most of the stories were embellished tales of him saving a grannies purse from being stolen, but some students always wondered about that hardened, broody looking teacher.

Mr Lockley prefers to keep his help to class time, long past learning his lesson about the very obvious students that came to him giggling and blushing behind their hands. On a rare occasion however, he will accept a student that comes knocking, overly apologetic and pleading for just a little help on their assignment, especially if the student is a quiet one. His lunch is set aside and he gestures for the student to take a seat before going over it with them, helping them with pronunciation, never shaming them or getting annoyed if they make a basic mistake. At the end he’ll even teach them how to say shit in Spanish, if they can keep it a little secret.

The classroom has posters of different Latin American countries, verbs and nouns, the different gendered terms. His desk was a little cluttered, a ‘Mejor Profesor’ mug, papers half marked and some drawings done by students hung nearby.

𝗕𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗝𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀 - 𝗖𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘆

No one's favourite teacher but everyone knew him and had something to say. If a student had him later in the day they’d need to pray the morning classes were well behaved or pray they knew someone in said classes that could give a heads up on his moods. It didn’t matter either way, you could walk in one him sucking on his lower lip and glaring the entire class down and walk away with him smiling and patting backs. It was every student for themselves in that class. The only consistency was the white lab coat he wore. 

There were obvious favourites, usually people who found a good balance of kissing his ass but not too overtly, asking for help while still expressing basic knowledge. If you asked too many questions, he would openly sigh or ignore you for someone else. If you gave an answer he thought was stupid, he wouldn’t hide the hands raking over his face in annoyance. If you were quiet and kept to yourself, you’d skirt by okay until one day in the middle of a lesson he calls your name with a faux chirp, predatory smile and ask a question. Answer correctly and you can rest assured he'll (probably) leave you alone for the next few lessons, answer wrong and enjoy doing exam questions as practice.

Detention for even a hint of a Breaking Bad reference. Openly hated a student named Jessie. Weirdly, students notice it's not the chemistry part that annoys him, it's the inaccurate portrayal of drug transactions and the costs. No one has dared ask why he knows so much about that.

Mr Jones’ door is usually locked at lunch and after class, he'll blatantly ignore any student that knocks and continue eating. On the stray chance a rare student manages to find him outside the class and has the balls to stop him, with his trademark sigh he'll begrudgingly set up a day and time to help them. It'll be a one-on-one session filled with eyerolls and being talked down to, but you'll get lots of extra knowledge and he'll even throw some of his old textbooks at you for free. Weirdly, he won't bother you in class anymore, just giving you a little smile out the corner of his eye.

The classroom has old periodic table posters from the teacher that retired years before him, and classroom rules about remembering to wear goggles or you'll go blind. The only thing on his desk besides several piles of paper is teacher mugs with variations of chemistry puns he pretends to hate.

[ewecorr]

I'll say this with begrudging nuance but: I don't think Remmick is the vulture culture snatcher that many commentaries and thoughts seem to conclude with.

I actually don't chuff and shake my head at the narrative that Remmick is a great villain, because he is! He is. And he is a predator. Absolutement.

But I think the historical periods (because he had been around for centuries by the film's point) he ran through has left him seriously and nefariously jaded. He's had his ethnicity-- his literal and actual classification as a human-- changed and parred down loads and loads of times. He has done the rat race, he has lived and lived again.

So I feel all these ways and one of them is that I don't know if I can fully double down on his stealing of culture, of trying to enact the violence he underwent.

Sammie represents something I think he sees as sacred, and that he wants to have-- yes. He wants to possess.

He uses this re-volution and becoming to steal the past from his new flock; he assimilates language, perverses sexuality and banal bonds. It is evil! It is a manipulation to terribly force someone's human shades into a Many.

However, "culture vulture" doesn't ... make sense. Although the hyper popculturing of placing Bhad Bhabie and Remmick in the same category really tickles me, I also feel like it's a nasty discrediting of a man who is less man and more programme.

Remmick, who we meet, has a goal to feast and assemble. In Sammy, he sees an amazing addition-- he, in fact, likes the WHOLE of the juke joint. His sentiment toward them is informed by the man who he almost surely was. "Rocky Road to Dublin" skips essential meatier straits that would certainly lean into a cultural depravity take, but his focus is on the joy of finding that community- the merriment, the hope.

It is both propaganda and a horrifying mockery after slaying SO many people, but it's also a base part of him.

However, there's just too much substance, too many faces, for me to actually resonate with the conclusions I'm alluding to. Even our twins are themselves assimilations, walking and talking representatives of the candor and attitudes they adopted and played up while they ran the mob game.

Ryan Coogler did a lot with this film and I think there are so many interesting things people are picking up, and a lot of history we are revisiting with excitement and interest. I think a lot of these things need to be mixed together more thoroughly because, at the moment, I feel everyone's analysis has a layer of oil at the top that praises and dismisses Remmick as a simple white man who is Irish (if Irishness exists in him, to him, still, if that too is something that stays like the trapped soul in a dead body, if he loathes or loves that, etc.) who wants to tear Black traditions from the hands of our Black cast.

[zenkindoflove]

hi ! i'm not gonna lie, it's me who asked about drawing alexius because i'm new to your blog 👋

i Haven't read your fics Yet, but i'm very excited to because i love acotar oc content and world building

and while looking through your oc lists, i was really happy to see some lesser fae in there because i personally love exploring the politics and social dynamics of high fae and lesser fae through my own ocs

all of which leads me to my question, and i'm sorry if you've already addressed this in one of your stories, but--

how do you think the treatment of lesser fae varies by court ? because i imagine they all have different tolerances (and propaganda that they spread) for lesser fae of all sorts, but i'd love to hear some of your thoughts / headcanons if you have any !

Hi! 👋 Awww well I'm glad you revealed yourself! I hope my answer and information I provided was helpful for you. I looked earlier today through your blog at your art and you have so many OCs! You have such a cute style! I was very impressed.

And yay! So happy you looked through my OC lists. I spent sooooo much time putting those together. I've been developing all my OCs through fics so making little picrews representations of them with some summaries and how they all are linked together was really fun to make. I'm glad someone checked them out!

But thank you for your question! It's not really one I've addressed directly. I do think there is a lot of court specific politics around the lesser fae. The fic I think I get into the most of my lesser fae lore is Summer Heat. I get a lot more into how Tarquin's vision for changing the treatment of lesser fae in his own court is starting to take root. The underlying setting for that fic is really about Tarquin announcing to the world that there will be a lack of political divides between the High and lesser fae and he has lesser fae represented in his court and they are starting initiatives to help improve equity in his court. I also developed some headcanons about how the lesser fae have their own religious customs for how they worship the mother, even having their own order of priestesses. That fic also has a lot of my headcanons about Jesminda and her race of faeries - which I think lesser fae are much more subjugated in Autumn than in other courts. Overall, even in the most lenient of courts (perhaps Dawn and Summer) there is a lot of classism and racism where the High Fae, even the common ones, see themselves as better than the lesser fae, and have more access to jobs and other privileges because they look similar to the noble families who are all High Fae.

Patty is probably my most well developed lesser fae OC. He is Alexius' best friend and he belongs to a desert dwelling race of faerie. I see Day as a court where lesser fae have very distinct roles, similar to the Night Court. I've dropped a few bits of lore here and there, but I see his race (the smicor) as very fierce, relying on hiding, sneaking around, and disguising themselves which made their subjugation very formidable for the High Fae of Day, and eventually it gave them some political protections within Day to control their own lands outside of the direct rule of the High Lord. Patty is mentioned or featured in quite a few of my Eris x Alexius fics, but most prominently Pull Me In Deeper.

I'm actually currently working on another fic that hopefully I'll post before the end of June that will get a lot more into the Autumn Court and Jesminda's race of faeries. It'll take place in a post-Beron, High Lord Eris time period, where he is enacting some changes to the political landscape in Autumn.

Thank you so much for asking! I love talking about this kind of stuff. I hope you have fun reading my fics, whenever you get a chance to! Definitely let me know what you think of them when you do!

And, since this topic is so near and dear to her, I would be remiss not to shout out my dear friend @olenvasynyt. She truly is the master when it comes to worldbuilding for the ACOTAR verse, especially when thinking about lesser fae races across the courts and how it fits within their political structures. Her fanfic A Court of Embers and Sunlight is PACKED FULL of OCs and worldbuilding that she has created for lesser fae in Autumn and beyond. I highly recommend it to anyone who is interested in that sort of thing. I am always in such awe and inspired by how much attention to detail she has and the deep thinking she has committed to world building.

[fandom-geek]

i finished act 1 of awakening last night. i have many thoughts. and even more theories.

FENRING!!!!!!!!! just needed to get that out of my system, we'll get back to him later. darin de paul is such a fun va.

so. i bum-rushed the last three trials last night during the pre-coriolis storm, which was very fun and atmosphere, especially in the depths of the chasm. not much to say about the first two, but the last one...

ari! my beloved! "freebooting scholar" my arse, she's such a nerd. and the codex confirms that she's working for the bene gesserit and sent them a report with her theories that the fremen aren't dead? that's very intriguing. given she rejected feyd-rautha's proposal, i wonder if she was unaware that the bene gesserit wanted her to marry him (unlikely) or if that was her own rebellion, jessica-having-paul style. and if it was, is she outright rogue or a defector now, like irulan in children of dune? but it was really great hearing her talk about the sietch and having those little dialogue spots.

we have an unknown predecessor, who incidentally also has fremen blood... so the bene gesserit and ix are working together to find the fremen, presumably by creating gholas with fremen blood so their agents can break into the surviving sietches. and before you say, oh, but gholas are from the bene tleilax, not ix - well, isn't it interesting that the bene tleilax tradepost has one of their number say you remind them of "something mother would make". it's a different timeline and several millennia too early, but the bene tleilax and ix were both involved in creating hwi noree to bring about leto ii's downfall. i definitely think all three groups are involved here, and another aspect of the sleeper's... condition fits with the bene tleilax's methodology a bit too well. but more on that later.

interesting that ariste sends us to harko village, only for her known associate zantara to "accidentally" get us arrested via noctua. as much as i'd like to believe him that noctua was just excited to see us (which would be adorable)... press x to doubt. ariste knows she can't figure out the ix encryption, and zantara's not-intervention leads us to meeting count fenring, who just so happens to be the trigger of a compulsion for the sleeper to kill themselves if they see his face in the flesh. and guess who is a known dealer in "compulsions that enact someone to violence"? it's the bene tleilax! (hayt, how i miss you.)

i don't think ariste and zantara knew about the compulsion, but if anyone's going to know what the fuck the sleeper's deal is, it's fenring. he's the emperor's right-hand man, after all. and what a specific compulsion! if whoever created us didn't want us talking to him, why is the compulsion only in effect when they're face-to-face? he also seemed to have a suspicion that the compulsion existed, given the mask that is never mentioned in the books, so what does he think the sleeper's deal is?

also, the reveal that the sleeper seemingly didn't exist before the first cutscene is fascinating. we know from the codex note (which does say it might be "planted misinformation") that ariste apparently had a vision on the plain where zantara crashed our ship, and that's why he did it there. but now that we know that ariste works/worked with the bene gesserit as a member specifically on matters of the fremen, that the sleeper didn't exist on the ship manifest whatsoever, that zantara knew to drag them out of the ship (and it didn't seem like ariste had dreamt of their face)... i have the suspicion that zantara and ariste are the arrakis' arms of this conspiracy. alternatively, ariste learnt a bit about this conspiracy in the past and is now working with zantara as rogue agents with their own plans.

and now we're working as an assassin for fenring. not quite sure how we're going to escape that role, but my sleeper was honest about it with zantara and basically got his permission to do it. "plans within plans", he bloody said. yeah, i'm bloody sure you have plans within plans, zantara!

though, out of all this, it's least clear why zantara is involved. ariste? yeah, she's either current or former bene gesserit. zantara is a fremen, so... if they are working with the bg/ix/bt, they've found at least one fremen and it seems damn unlikely that zantara doesn't know where more are. so again, either they're working separately to those three groups, or the purpose of "find the fremen, awaken the sleeper" isn't just to find the fremen. like how hayt's compulsion to kill paul wasn't just to kill paul, it was to see whether the bene tleilax could achieve ghola immortality. that doesn't seem like the ploy here, though it's interesting to note that basically all the trainers complain/are surprised by how the sleeper seems like they're remembering things, rather than learning.

but at the same time, hm. i had a bit of a crack theory that the sleeper was a candidate for ariste/feyd-rautha (depending on your gender) to have a kid with to create the kwisatz haderach, since we know the bene gesserit love their backups. i had thought it was crack because the timeline didn't work - unless the sleeper is a ghola with accelerated aging. i'm still pretty dubious about that theory, as amusing as it is, but could they instead be an artifical kwisatz haderach candidate? after all, paul says in the intro cutscene that this path involves less bloodshed (despite the fremen genocide).

so presumably someone's got to be the KH in this timeline since ariste isn't stepping up to the plate. yeah, the kh is meant to be a man so he can unlock his male ancestors' memories, but alia manages that too so i'm writing that off as bene gesserits being bene gesserits. (yes, that was only the case because she was preborn, but it still proves that the bene gesserits were fundamentally wrong about only men being able to access both lines of memory.) and we know that, in the books, the bene tleilax created an artificial kwisatz haderach, who ended up killing themselves. is "the sleeper" programme, for lack of a better term, another attempt at this with a wider support base?

which is to say, all of this makes the fact my character started with some bene gesserit training already even funnier. "training outside of the chapterhouse" my fucking arse, reverend mother. if it was outside of the chapterhouse, that's only because the bene gesserit wanted it that way.

[imagineitdearies]

Do you have any writing tips when it comes to building tension?

You are so good at it! I see the happy ending tag, I know the happy ending is coming and yet I've never been so stressed out.

Hi anon! What a great but complicated question 😂

Tension is intrinsically tied to so many other aspects of a story. For instance, you have to spend time on character development--if your readers don't care about the character all this is happening to, why would it matter what they're facing?

Another big one is to develop a conflict that continues to raise the stakes--in Perfect Slaughter, Tyrus starts out with the conflict of Cazador forcing eternal slavery on him, right? But that's only the beginning. Tension rises as he develops a relationship, because then the antagonist can also threaten the one source of joy/love he has, which is arguably even more important. Giving your protagonist more to lose throughout a story really heightens the stakes!

I'll cover just a couple more: foreshadowing and pacing.

Foreshadowing is a huge tool, because how else would the reader know what to fear/anticipate? I like to create conflict even in my foreshadowing, too. In Perfect Slaughter, there's all kinds of story beats and scenes where having hope and doing good increases love/happiness (at a cost), and succumbing to corruption and evil helps you gain power (at a cost). These two different truths battle each other a lot and sit in conflict with each other, building up the tension as readers wait in anticipation for which truth the narrative will follow and which cost is worth it. Sidenote: when you have two threads of foreshadowing that seem irreconcilable, having a third, more subtle truth that trumps them both at the end really pays off the tension in an exciting way.

When it comes to pacing, you can add tension if you vary the fast action scenes and the slow, contemplative scenes, because readers can always be anticipating a change (when it's slow, it's about to ramp up; when it's fast, they can reward themselves with a cooldown if they keep reading). If it was high stakes all the time, that would get boring pretty quick.

And one more thing about endgame pacing--keep a "rule of three" when it comes to failures in building up tension for the final conflict, though I would personally say "at least three," haha. And if it's a long story, you can mitigate that by having overarching failures as well as failures in the climax itself. (spoiler warning for recent events below!!)

Some overarching failures in Perfect Slaughter include but are not limited to: 1) Tyrus forms an alliance with Ulma, but it goes nowhere, 2) When he tries to slow down the Ascension, Cazador quickly learns and intervenes, and 3) When he starts enacting his plan, the other people involved in it change things up!

Failures in the climax: 1) Lady Amanita, 2) Cazador coerces Tyrus into drinking the sick victim, 3+) **Pending** lol.

These should be broken up by successes, of course, like Tyrus learning how to control Chatterteeth, allying with Lady Incognita, marrying the Ascension rite and Perfect Slaughter rite together, etc. Basically crafting a "Will they, won't they?" of the highest order with your main conflict!

There's so much to story crafting, so others can feel free to add commentary/advice! But I hope this was helpful 💙

[meltedbrains]

You know what's weird about the ending of HDM? (and particularly audiences understanding of it)

Lyra and Will never set out to kill God, they didn't mean to, and weren't even aware that they'd done it. All they saw was an old, weak looking figure trapped in glass surrounded by hungry cliffghasts. They wanted to free them.

As much fun as it is to say that these 12 year olds went on an epic journey where they revolutionised the Dead and killed God, it's simply not true. (They did intentionally revolutionise the Dead, they only accidentally killed god, neither of them set out to do this nor were they radicalised by their journey, they sort of fell into it).

All they did was show kindness to a pitiable being.

The whole series is about the push and pull of prophecy and free will, comfort and danger, familiarity and adventure, youth and adulthood.

Neither Lyra nor Will have 'typical' childhoods: Lyra is a ward of the university and Will is a carer for his mum. In many ways they are already grown up (or at least think of themselves as such), they don't have the standard trappings of present, loving parents that enable them to live happy, carefree lives that don't look outside of the family unit. (Will's mum is present and loving but also, undeniably a burden on a child; neither of Lyra's parents admit who they are.)

Although many of the adults in her life try to protect her (the Master of Jordan and faculty, Ma Costa and the Gyptians, and, to an extent, even her parents), Lyra is fully aware of the prophecy about her, even before that she is a thrill seeker, clambering about on the roof and getting into fights. She rebels against authority and exercises her free will at every turn. Her goals are childish in their simultaneous simplicity and grandiosity: save Roger, find Roger's ghost (and Will's dad), free the ghosts. The fact that she accomplishes them is miraculous.

For the most part the prophecy goes on over their heads and behind their backs. Time and again Lyra and Will are saved by people worlds away without their knowing. When Mary 'plays the serpent' she does so by simply telling a story from her life, about a boy she once loved; Lyra and Will act upon it later, privately, of their own free will.

Asriel and Marisa killed Metatron (the true power at this point); Blathamos killed Gomez (the magesterium's assassin); Lyra and Will ran away from the battlefield, tried to help an old man, relaxed in the Mulefa world, realised their love for each other, and went home.

HDM is a classic coming of age story. Lyra returns to her childhood home (Jordan College) as an 'adult' and sees it with new eyes, she is treated differently by the people she new from before her adventure and views them differently too. She is no longer too good for them and their simple lives, Dame Hannah is no longer easily brushed aside in favour of someone more exciting because Lyra is able to see her as her own person, not as an extension of the academic life that surrounds her. Her childlike curiosity has been tempered and focused by experience and she is willing and able to apply herself to studying in a way she simply wasn't as a 12 year old.

Will no longer marks his life by his parents, he's met his father and said his goodbyes and has learnt to take responsibility in a healthy way that involves other people. The boy that tried to shoulder the world has been replaced by a young man that seeks community and understanding. In a very literal sense he has come to understand himself and is no longer alone, now able to see his Daemon. He has a reliable adult in Mary, who is able to understand all of the things he has gone through (more or less, her adventure was a lot less perilous).

Both characters exercise their free will to enact the prophecy and return to comfort from danger to live out a familiar adulthood having learnt from the adventure of their youth.

In the end the Authority didn't even really need killing, they were over joyed to be free of Metatron's prison and so weak that a gentle breeze turned them to dust. They were just a footnote in Lyra and Will's story. Their simple act of kindness accidentally killed the oldest being in existence but the lie that they had peddled for millennia was already gone.

Metatron had already seized power and been defeated; Xapahania had spread the truth about the authority; and the magesterium's assassin was killed before they could accomplish their goal and stop Lyra from becoming Eve 2.0.

Lyra and Will never meant to kill God and even though they did it didn't really change anything. Earlier, in the waiting room of the dead, Will and Lyra refuse to kill a strange looking toad-like creature because they believe it's wrong to kill something just because you think it's right. It may look like it's in pain but they can't be sure and without consent they're prioritising their own feelings over the creatures. Had they known that breaking the prison would kill God it seems unlikely that they would have done it. Will doesn't want to kill anymore, he's had enough. The pair of them have caused enough death through action, inaction and the circumstances surrounding them. The whole point of finding Roger in the land of the dead was to apologise for leading him to his death. And what does Lyra find there? Lee Scoresby, someone else who died for her. Although most of these deaths are accidental Lyra and Will both see them as blood on their hands.

When Lyra finds out that Will is a murderer she relaxes, it's left up to the audience to interpret this. Is this referring to the man Will killed in our world, or that he will go on to kill god? Does Lyra relax because she thinks him strong and capable, or because she too feels like a murderer?

However prophecy, Dust and free will interact, Lyra and Will were not aware of any grand plan or wider implications when they freed the authority, they acted in the moment to do what they thought was right.

[moonpool-system]

How's system travel work? Like, what's your& process for performing it, or for performing astral travel? How might one learn to do something like that themselves?

I'd also like to know more about the experiences you've had that corroborate your belief in system travel. For full transparency: The concept of systemhopping does sound very unbelievable to me, but I'm always curious to learn more and be proven wrong.

Excited to learn more ^_^/) !

Hi, thank you so much for the ask! (re: this post) Infodumping ahead!

Disclaimer: This is our belief and our method! This doesn't reflect the view of all astral travelers

Our process for performing system travel ties deeply into both our belief in chaos magick via the collective subconscious and our own hyperphantasia & synesthesia. Chaos magick generally hypothesizes that the living subconscious as a plane of existence is a well of energy, from which manifestations spring forth upon intense belief in or focus on them. For example, a single person hypothesizes a deity; this person believes in the deity deeply and spreads the concept to other people, whom then begin to believe in the deity deeply as well. The devotion of time and energy allows the deity to manifest within the collective subconscious, gain a sort of consciousness if this is how they're believed in, and communicate with/enact on the physical realm around them. This is how both a lot of "collective thoughtforms" work, and how most pop culture paganism works, plus some string theory a la fictionsourced past lives or soulbonding. It's also the basis for both spiritual and psychological(check out Jungian theory) shadow work. (yes this is where Persona™ came from) (this is also why we consider our tulpamancy metaphysical but thats a WHOLE nother post)

So stemming off of this concept of manifestation based on intense thought & belief, we personally work with those in our headspaces that used to have outerworld powers in their past life memories. Many of them can still use these powers to an extent within headspace, and luckily for us, our partner system has many members that utilize a magic realm known as the "Warp", a perfectly useful representation of a physical manifestation of the collective subconscious. This is ideal because it means my dearest friend Magnus is used to working with a tangible representation of metaphysical sub/conscious energy- exactly what we'd need. To locate us, he hones in on the bonds we share, similarly to how a soulbonder connects with their soulbond. (This is made easier due to the fact a few of us across the system are canonmates, not just sourcemates) Once he's got the connection established, he opens up a shortcut for other members to travel through. This takes a lot of the work of learning astral travel off of every individual member, instead letting someone skilled act as a sort of manager and "flight" attendant. We know someone has either left or arrived due to our synesthesia, since the colors and other sensations we experience when the member leaves/arrives will disappear/reappear. Since then though, we've also transferred back and forth metaphysical artifacts that perform the complicated part for us so we can initiate travel as well. We have a couple members that perform astral travel outside the system often for other reasons also, so it's not like we're relying completely on our partner system's skills or anything. The connection goes both ways.

Since I know I'm gonna get a follow-up ask about this from someone: yes we have tried to communicate with people that've left, halfway just for shits and giggles and half because we have a bunch of scientists in this system. What happens is essentially an "impression" is left behind- it's kinda like an NPC, where you can sorta communicate with them on a set list of dialogue but there's no real conscious will behind it. It kind of feels like communicating with an old, broken record player or tape deck. It keeps skipping back, moving tracks, repeating the same things over and over again, warped and out of tune. It's pretty unsettling and creepy so we don't usually do it, especially because if we were to accidentally form someone new and then the original person came back, that'd be uh. A Unique Problem™

We're run by a logically minded system manager, so of course we're always looking for things to support and substantiate our spiritual beliefs. Our goal is not necessarily to have a proveable theory for how metaphysics works, but at least something that doesn't starkly contrast reality and science as we know it. (That's why we often cite string theory, the theory of ten dimensions, and Jungian psychological concepts in our spirituality) As such, we look for evidence to believe our travel has actually occurred, and the brain is not just creating long lasting phantoms while the original member goes uncontactable. What we've seen here are throughlines and consistencies lining up with how members' memories seem to grow muddled when they've either been in back for too long or when recalling exomemories. If something doesn't happen in front, we often have trouble telling the details of exactly what happened- it takes focusing pretty hard and going through to piece things back together to get a solid picture. However, we know that things Do Actually Happen in headspace out of front, because we've had members corroborate each other separately on manners such as the layout of headspace, personal relationships, etc. Similarly, we've seen the same thing happen with system travel, including: two members getting into a relationship while they traveled and then acting romantically with each other upon returning without needed to affirm to each other what had happened, members recalling the product of physical training with their mindforms taught by another outside the system, one member pranking us by dumping a bunch of stuff through without telling us first and us receiving them before we were informed in the outerworld, and more.

There does tend to be one problem though, and it's something we've dubbed "the Missing Word problem". It's something that happens with our past life memories too. (This is presumably partly because our memory retention and processing problems affect names and other proper nouns extremely intensely, but it affects our partner system too in reference to system hopping.) Essentially, the Missing Word problem arises when a member goes to say a word they're aware they know, are certain they know - however since the brain doesn't, they can't speak it clearly, and all that comes out is the vague shape of a word. This is the biggest problem when it comes to information transfer- most memory is stored in, y'know, the Brain, and spiritual memories can be hard to hold onto. (If they weren't, knowing about your past lives might be commonplace!) Along the same vein, we've had members with fictionsourced past lives predict canon in uncanny and obscure ways with their memories, but they're always more broken and fragmented unless they have canon to gague themselves off of.

- in conclusion/TLDR: We rely heavily on visualization and shared mental costructs in order to establish connection and send people through. We base our metaphysics on Chaos Magick as a base metaphysical system. We've seen our headmates corroborate emotions and concepts separately as well as experience travel effects without front being notified first, and while it's not perfect, it's okay for us. System travel is no more shocking or different than a long-distance or visiting soulbond, it's just that people become way more aware of the unproven nature of spirituality once you involve multiple bodies on this Earth engaging in the practice.

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Courting the White Nationalist Vote

Wow! Which President who cranks out policy that the ACLU needs to sue over do you want to vote for? I'm so excited for democracy!

I've been watching this with my fingernails digging into my chair, and it went through. Of course it did. They may not be able to enforce it, but they're gonna try.

If too many people flee the violence the US is helping create, and legally present themselves for processing like they are supposed to do, the US will stop granting asylum to anyone at the southern border until the numbers fall below 2020 levels. Pretty sure we're violating international law, here, but that's never stopped us before. Trump has also used the little loophole that says, "Actually, if it's in the national interest, we don't owe refugees anything." The national interest in this case seems to be vacuuming up the votes of the more moderate white nationalists and the folks who are willing to excuse their behaviour. Please, this is politically expedient. We must compromise!

We must also include an exception for unaccompanied minors, because what we could really use is an excuse to put more children in cages. That'll knock those scary numbers of people-begging-for-help down to 2020 levels! We've been through this. Parents care more about getting their children somewhere safe than about keeping their children. If the children have a better chance alone, they'll send the children. But if it becomes obvious that the children are not safe, they'll reconsider. So step one is manufacture a crisis of unaccompanied minors, and step two is torture them. Obama did it first, and I believed him when he said it wasn't on purpose. That level of naivete is no longer available, I no longer respond to snappy suits and eloquence, and Biden doesn't even have those. I will not get up and dance to his crappy remix.

There is an entire voting bloc of people who have been so abused and neglected that all they know how to do is harm others. Many of them are involved in fundamentalist religions that punish them for assuming the slightest level of agency and independence. They are a gun to be aimed and they will be pointed at various outgroups indiscriminately. Instead of trying to help them, both political parties are going to have a fight over who gets to use them as a power source, even though the Democrats should know by now that the Republicans will ALWAYS set the bar lower and slither under it.

So we're racing to the bottom, and Democrats will always look a little bit saner because they're a few steps behind. But we're all headed to the same place, the place where all the problems are caused by bad people it's OK to kill. We can keep manufacturing bad people and killing them forever! And everything else can stay as broken as it already is, or get even worse, because we're already doing the right thing to fix it - killing our enemies. Forever.

What really hurts my soul is knowing more people would stand up and fight this if Trump were doing it. If it's a Democrat, our objections might get an unhinged Republican elected, so we quiet down. Yeah. That means it's in the Dems' best interest to go up against the scariest, craziest Reps available. Can't beat Trump! Republicans tried and failed! 34 felonies, wow! I don't know what happens when there's no more Trump to be had, but both sides will be groping around for the worst replacement they can find. That works for them.

And it doesn't really matter how many people die to make it work. As long as they're bad!

[sparkarrestor]

Troublesome Coaches Part 1: James’s Special

Written By: SparkArrester

James the Red Engine wouldn’t stop being a nuisance. He was growing discontented with his goods trains and local passenger runs, and wanted to do more “important work”. He made the other engines very clear on his frustrations.

“I’m sick of these slow trains!”, He would say, “I want to fly down the line with a prestigious service. It's been far too long since I pulled the express, and how can I be admired when I’m stuck hauling silly trucks?”.

Gordon, who was trying to sleep, was fed up with James’ constant moaning. He suddenly had a devious plan to pay him out.

“Well James, if you're so desperately wanting an important train…”, He trailed off as he caught James’ attention, “You can take Godred’s Morning Glory tomorrow.” James smiled happily. “A Boat Train, and an all-Pullman one at that!”, He exclaimed, “That would be lovely! I ought to get rested for tomorrow!”. Without another word, he promptly fell asleep. Gordon merely chuckled and looked forward to the morning off.

Godred’s Morning Glory was a very important train indeed. It was a boat train, starting at the Big Station and ran non-stop to the mainland.  It was full of important people who traveled from other places far away, and the return train, The Tidmouth Belle, was just as, if not more important, as it had to connect with the ocean liner, and it couldn’t afford to wait. Better still, the train used the very fancy, lavish Pullman coaches. They were built, ran, and maintained to the highest order, and were the cream of crop, and even got a special livery compared to other Pullmans. Sadly, however, this would have an effect on many of them for the worse, as James would soon find out! Duck was busy elsewhere, so James had to shunt the train and take it to the liner terminal himself. He was so excited, he didn’t mind, but his mood changed when he saw the coaches eye him with malice.

“You must be delusional if you think that you’re taking us out”, Spat the Observation Coach, as the others murmured in agreement, “We Pullman’s require only the best, not some pretender goods engine…”

“Oi, now see here-!”

“I think that is my job”, Cut in the Observation Coach, “I am the Observation Coach, I observe all, and I can tell that you are not fit for us, now go back to that field where you belong and get a better engine to take us out! Oh, and by the way, you may refer to me as Oleander, now chop chop!”.

James grew crosser and crosser and wanted to bump the coaches, but he knew that the Fat Controller and the Pullman Car Company would be angry, so he simply shunted the coaches towards the Liner Terminal. The Pullman’s simply muttered to themselves, and made a plan.

The run started well at first. The passengers were very taken by him, the rails were dry and clear, and people waved at him when he passed. He was enjoying himself immensely, but that was soon to change. The coaches began to heckle him and make the run very difficult. Eventually, they got to Gordon Hill, and the coaches enacted their plan. James slipped and strained, but the train came to a halt halfway up the train.

“We told you that you couldn’t pull us!”, laughed the coaches, while Oleander simply smirked. James just gnashed his teeth and seethed. Edward was sent to assist.

“Good luck James!”, He called as the train crested the hill.

“I’m going to need more than luck…”, Grumbled James, as he picked up speed and tried to make up for lost time.

They arrived at the big station on the mainland 5 minutes late, though the passengers seemed too caught up in their own business to even notice. James quickly went to the sheds as the coaches were taken away, grumbling all the while.

“Silly coaches, silly train, you’d think they would be more behaved…”, muttered James as he got prepared for the return train. The run was hardly better than the first, and the coaches were still bent on making James’s life harder than it already was. At last, he arrived back to the Big Station, on time, but thoroughly worn out. He said nothing as he uncoupled and went to the sheds, and he angrily fell asleep as soon as his fire was dropped. Gordon could only chuckle. 

“Better him than me…”, He murmured, as he also fell asleep. 

[gardeningbythemoon]

In addition to teaching this weekend, I’m also *taking* a class—apple grafting from Seed Savers Exchange. I’m interested in growing multiple varieties on a single tree (my garden is so small and I love so many apples!) so I’ve wanted to get into grafting for a long time.

When the heirloom scions arrived with the rest of the kit earlier this week, I was really excited to see that one of the varieties goes back to 1850 in Granby, NY, which is just around the corner from where Maxx grew up and a half hour drive from where we live right now.

I got to thinking, I know where the apple tree’s ancestors were, but where were my ancestors during that time? I asked Maxx as well and between us, our ancestors were in Holland, Sweden, Ireland, Ohio, California, Quebec, the Catskills, and we each had ancestors in central New York.

In 1850, Granby had been settled for 58 years. It had been 71 years since George Washington wrote to John Sullivan, ordering him & his troops to destroy as many Haudenosaunee towns as possible, fields and villages included, with the explicit goal of destroying their foodways and sovereignty.

I love the rural areas of upstate New York, and I love the small towns here, and I know many of them were settled in those decades, that my ancestors moved in in the wake of bloodshed and destruction, or may have participated in the annihilation themselves. It’s impossible to separate our own ancestral stories, foodways, and the history of the land we live on. It’s not easy to think of our forebears enacting violence and even harder to of them suffering it—but, I think, the only way to deal with these histories is to meet them eyes open, even when it’s painful.

From Indigenous orchards being razed and replaced by European cattle, to the Irish potato famine, to the wars fought for the oil that fertilizes & ships produce, to contemporary famines & landgrabs, the basic human need for food has often been twisted towards profit and atrocity. If we want to build a truly healthy food system, we will need to address not only the invasive species in our gardens and the poisons in our soils, but the histories that have left them there.

[made-some-ki-points]

Fantasy Culture Table: Local Celebrations

Your party walks into a new town and something exciting is happening. Something they may have never heard of and certainly didn’t know what was going on. Use this list as a random table or an idea list!

A new sorcerer has been born to a family in town, and local customs call it a cause for celebration of the child and all things magic, perhaps including a party member.

A military unit is due to come home this day, and the town is over the moon to welcome them back. Will it stay a time of celebration or will the party walk into a moment of extreme grief?

An auction is being held, selling the estate of a strange rich man on the edge of town. The rumors the party hears are tantalizing, and perhaps even relevant to their current quest.

A new detachment of clerics or paladins leaves the local temple for the first time, and is greeted with fanfare. Perhaps one has graduate with similar (or directly opposite) goals to your party’s.

A local monster has just been correctly appeased, and the village celebrates their temporary safety. It begs the question: What or who did they sacrifice to keep themselves safe, and more importantly, what are they trying to keep happy?

A local woman of status celebrates a public baby shower, with many excited for the new addition. As the party looks around though they cannot help but realize that some worry for the baby, whether it be that her partner is not the father, or the baby may be born having some form of unwanted magical influence.

A festival celebrating a seemingly inconsequential item such as the local water buckets or gardening hoes. As comical as it seems, the people take it very seriously, and delight in showing the party members their “odd” traditions.

A day of somber remembrance for the local soldiers who died in a larger conflict. Dissatisfied with the widespread remembrance day, locals will tell you they’ve moved it to the birthday of one of the fallen.

A day dedicated to the large, play-style re-enactment of a group of adventurers’ deeds, perhaps even the current party’s. A feast will follow, and all are more than welcome.

A town wide resurrection ritual that seems to take the full day. Immediately, the locals enlist the party to help.

A harvest festival of proportions the party have never seen before. There’s massive street parties, revelry of all kinds and even some brawls simply because the crops did well this year. Locals claim it’s their favorite day of the year near universally.

A fair with vendors from a different plane, one with an entrance very close to this town. It’s a chance for the party to get incredibly rare goods at a great price, and get a peek into planes they may soon venture into.

A local brewery has finally finished their new batch for this season, and though it’s not a formal celebration, the locals seem to be having a great time regardless.

An organized, several hours long anything goes bar brawl. It’s in a remarkably non-violent village historically speaking, but everyone seems immensely excited to begin the fight.

An elaborate, rather joyful funeral procession for a young woman who appears to have died from a magical illness. Though it becomes clear to the party that this is odd, even mysterious, the locals seem to only want to celebrate her life, not investigate her death.

An adoption ceremony for a very emotional teenager, seeming in disbelief that the community cares this much. It is a largely emotional display, and some may express that they see the party as intrusive.

A bardic competition sponsored by the local college. There’s betting, magical showcases, even rabid fans, and if your party has a bard, the townsfolk become thrilled at the concept of a new competitor.

The transportation of massive amounts of expensive goods to a local beloved dragon to add to its hoard. When the festivities are over, the party may be contracted to guard the caravan from bandits, and perhaps even meet the dragon they’ve heard so much about.

A monastic temple is having an open house for new students that has captured a lot of attention. They welcome the party to learn their ways, if they wish.

The people claim a god is visiting this evening. That can’t be disproven, but the implications are beyond disturbing.