#and sure that quote is a product of its time

[buckbuckleybegins]

I know everyone wants gay eddie (or bi or demi or whatever), but do you guys think there is a chance they pull a Ianto from Torchwood for him?

“It’s not men. It’s just him. It’s only him.”

[parfaitblogs]

(totally not based on my day) but a simple request for spencer helping reader out with a bunch of chores bc she's overwhelmed with life and she decides to thank him with like the quote "best head of his life" and he's like "its okay you dont have to do that" and she's responds "but i am anyways"

it will come back ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid helps you when you're (very) overwhelmed, and you might need to return the favour.  pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: comfort & smut (18+ mdni) tags: oral (m receiving). praise. established relationship. reader's overwhelmed overstimulated overworked... very enthusiastic head giver!reader. use of honey and angel. they love each other a lot. i love them a lot. i don’t think there’s d/s dynamics but if there are it’s soft dom spencer (nobody’s shocked). word count: 3.1k a/n: thank u sooo much for reading my brain ily i need to give spencer reid head asap. new format/layout for requests sort of its the same as my normal post layout... do we like... i sure freaking hope so. as always lmk if u liked this or even if u didn't but preferably if u did!!

You were exhausted. For three weeks straight, you had been working nonstop, with a wondrous total of eight hours in between shifts. You were hardly sleeping, you had hardly had a social life, hell, you never even had time to enjoy the simple pleasures of an everything shower. You felt groggy, and cramped, and everyday felt like an awful repeat of the last. A nightmare that never ended. 

Never mind the fact that you hadn't seen your boyfriend.

Always home too late to be with him in the evenings, and up too early to get coffee with him before your days started. Spencer was so patient with you, regardless. He knew it would end eventually, and he would get his girlfriend back. It was just for the month, was what you would text each other whenever the other began feeling particularly lonely. He didn't even like texting, but the time for a simple phone call wasn't available to you anymore. 

And your apartment. Every time you stepped into it you swore a new dirty dish materialised in your sink, or a new pile of clothes sat themselves in your bedroom floor. Which was odd, because you had rotated between the same two outfits for the last eighteen days — your work uniform, or your pyjamas. 

You were overwhelmed with it all. Even as your hectic work life came to an end, and you were waking up to the sunlight pouring into your room, instead of an alarm clock while the moon was still up. You were acutely aware of the mess of your apartment, and just the thought of it all left you lying motionless in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

Tears stung your vision as you felt the seconds tick into minutes, and nothing happened. Attempting to will yourself to get up, and yet you simply couldn't. Exhausted beyond belief, with limbs sinking into the mattress and melding to the sheets. 

You faintly heard the click of your front door lock, and if you had any more motivation in you, you'd probably get up to double check it was the only other person who had a key to your apartment, and not a burglar. Thankfully, you didn't have to, for Spencer was calling out your name, gently.

Too exhausted to even reply and alert him of where you were, you lay still until he had found you in your bedroom, his bad dropping by the doorway, feet shuffling against the rug. 

"Good afternoon," he said, finding a seat on the edge of your bed, hand resting atop your thigh, gentle circles being rubbed into the skin. 

"Is it already afternoon?" you asked him, voice quiet. 

"Yeah. How long have you been awake in bed?" 

"I don't know," you answered, voice awfully small as you felt the thick weight of frustration with yourself blanket over you. "I need to get up. The apartment's a mess."

"It's allowed to be," he said. "You've been doing sixteen hour days."

"Yeah, but I'm not today. I have the day off."

"Your first day off in weeks. I'd be concerned if you'd spent it productively."

You stared at him, unsure if the irritation that settled in your bones was because of his insistence that you not doing a thing was okay, or your exhaustion. Logically, it would be the latter. You did know that, deep down. 

Upon seeing your eyes delve into something a little more desperate, he sighed, hand sliding up to your own, gently tugging you up into a seated position. His eyebrows knitted together at your exhausted look, and you could see his brain ticking behind his eyes.

"Do you want to split the tasks?" he finally asked.

"You don't have to," you shrugged your shoulders. "It's my mess."

"Honey, you're already overwhelmed, and all you've done is wake up," he answered, thumb drawing circles on the top of your hand that he still seemed to have clasped within his own. "Let me help."

"It's really gross."

"I've seen mutilated dead bodies."

"I'd argue my kitchen sink is worse."

"Oh would you?" his eyebrows shot up, lips twitching in amusement, that you found solace in, distracting you slightly from your overstimulated mind. "Do you want to have a shower?"

"Yes," you nodded your head, brain ticking over all the personal hygiene tasks you had been neglecting over the past few weeks. 

"How about you go shower, I'll start cleaning up, and you come join me when you're feeling better?"

Despite your aversion to anybody but yourself tackling the mess of your apartment, you knew better than to deny Spencer any further — he had set his mind on helping you. 

Sighing, you nodded your head in defeat. He had coaxed you up off the bed, gotten you to the bathroom, even found you a fresh set of clothes to wear, and waited with you for the water to warm up. It was really only once he was absolutely sure you had gotten into the shower, did he leave you be, and disappeared from the bathroom. 

Eventually, the apartment had been cleaned, with efforts from the both of you getting it to where it now was. 

You were a lot less exhausted, and your brain was a lot less fried now that you didn't have a million tasks catalogued within it to get done. 

You were lying in your freshly made bed — courtesy of Spencer. Your head on his chest, fidgeting with one of his hands as he used the other to wave around as he rambled about something you were no longer following. It had started as a simple explanation for why you had been so overwhelmed in the first place. Which you had asked as a rhetoric, but didn't have the heart to stop him when he began explaining. 

"You're not listening, are you?" he asked, free hand poking your side and emitting an involuntary laugh from you at the feeling. 

"I am, I am! I'm just not following anymore."

"Sorry."

"It's okay," you replied, turning and poking your head up to be level with his. "I like hearing you speak, anyways. Doesn't matter if I don't understand."

He only hummed as a response, and the two of you stared at each other for a beat, before you were breaking out into a smile. 

"Hi," you chirped. 

"Hello," he answered, perhaps a little too amused by your sudden energy. "Would you like something?"

"A kiss?"

"After all that labour I just put in for you?" he mused, but he was already lifting his head to brush his lips against yours, and was most certainly not pulling away when you eagerly connected them properly. 

You pulled back after a few moments, searching his face. "Do you want something for all that labour?"

His hand trailed up your spine, fingertips triggering a shiver to run up your back. "What do you have in mind?"

"I could give you the best head of your life."

He was clearly not expecting that as an offer, perhaps because you never had offered such a thing before. It wasn't even something you had talked about, which was bizarre (in your mind), considering he was quite enthusiastic about using his mouth on you. 

"You don't need to do that," he shook his head, but with how close your faces were, you could see the instant dilation in his pupils. 

"What if I want to?" 

"Then that's very nice of you, but my point still stands," he replied.

"Spencer, let me do something in return," your voice was nothing short of a whine, and if he was any less turned on, maybe it wouldn't have made his firm footed denial falter. Maybe you knew that.

"You could do anything but that."

"So a handjob?"

"Or that."

"You're such an awful liar," you huffed. "I can see your pupils dilating. I know you're turned on by the thought of it."

"It could just be because I'm looking at you," he answered, voice hoarse, no doubt from the arousal he was attempting to deny was there. "Romantic attraction triggers the same response in our hormones."

"But it's not."

He fell silent for a few moments, before he allowed his resolve to slip, shaking his head in agreement with you. "No. It's not."

"See! It's okay if you want it. I'm quite literally offering myself to you," you spouted. 

His eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled through his nose, words coming out through almost gritted teeth. "That's not a sentence you should be saying."

"Why not?"

His only response was to say your name chidingly, and when he reopened his eyes, he was met with the shit-eating grin on your face. 

"Brat," he mumbled, lips seeking yours once again.

"Who gives really good head," you hummed against his mouth. "And would really love to show you."

"If you're insisting—"

"Which I am," you quickly interjected, staring back at him as yet another amused smile stretched across his lips. Then, he was nodding his head, and you were quite cheerfully kissing him all over again.

It wasn't that you kissed him with much fever at all — in fact, you were melting into his lips with a gentle hum. It was simply that he was kissing you back with a desperation you should be accustomed to. You weren't. 

Every kiss you received from him always felt like he was chipping away at your soul, claiming a piece of it. Maybe he was.

You mewled when his teeth nipped at your lower lip, and he was quick to take the opportunity of slipping his tongue into your mouth. Though, alerted by his sudden control over the situation between you two, you reluctantly pulled your face away from his before it could go much further. 

"Excuse me," he breathed out, scoldingly, only to be met with your hundredth grin of the day as you descended down his body. He'd take it — you smiling, albeit cockily, was much more rewarding than the concerned look you had been sporting for the majority of the afternoon. 

"I don't do this very often," you told him as you lifted your gaze to his, absentmindedly tugging his pants down his legs. 

"I hope not. You've never done it for me, and we've been together for quite a while."

"You know what I mean," you grumbled, and he was forced to poke his tongue into the inside of his cheek to keep the smile off his face. 

"Is this comfortable for you?" he then asked, having noticed your constant adjustments of your positioning between his legs. From nerves or comfortability, he didn't know. 

"Um. I guess so," you replied. "I've never done it lying down."

"We can do it however you prefer to do it, angel."

"Oh. Okay. Cool," you mumbled, sitting up straight and grabbing his hands within your own, tugging him over towards the edge of the bed. 

You sank to your knees on the rug, tapping his knees with your hands to part them so you could situate yourself comfortably between them. 

You were a vision if he'd ever seen one, and you weren't even doing anything. Perhaps you had noticed the effect you had on him, or maybe you were just largely enthusiastic about doing something for him, and only him. 

Your tongue darted out to lick your lips, eyes flickering up to meet his face, and if this was the last sight he saw before he died, he would have no complaints. 

"Have you ever gotten head before?" you mumbled, eyes fixated on him as your hands trailed up the sides of his thighs, resting at the waistband of his boxers. 

"Yes."

"Okay," you whispered, quietly, tapping his hips so he could lift them, and you rolled his boxers down his skin.

"Okay?" he parroted. 

"Okay," you confirmed with a nod of your head. "I just wanted to know if this is going to be completely new for you or not."

As you spoke, your fingertips dragged along his inner thighs, lips following soon after, kissing up the skin. 

"I don't think that's going to matter, honey," he answered, voice breathless. 

You smiled, not needing to ask what he meant. You lifted your head back up, studying his face. He gave you a nod, a silent confirmation to allow you to go further, and you took a beat to compose yourself. It's not like he would be mad at you if it sucked, but you had had a far too awful day to not do something good. 

You hadn't done this in a while, it was true. So your hesitance came more from your brain figuring out what it actually needed to do, than your insecurities (they were there too). 

Insecurities that melted away within an instant, for Spencer's thighs tensed beneath your hands that were now holding them apart the second your lips made contact with his cock, and through your lashes you could see his head tipping back. 

Your cheeks warmed at how easy it was to get him to respond, and you wondered if the satisfaction settled in your chest was anything similar to how he felt when he did this to you. 

You started hesitant. Gentle kitten licks at his tip that probably shouldn't have been garnering such a large reaction from him. But it was, and you had to preoccupy your mouth to keep the smug smile off of it. 

Wrapping your lips around the head, he lets out the breathiest moan you think you've ever heard come from him, and your mind goes hazy. Newfound blind confidence wills you to take more of him in your mouth, and it's a quiet 'Fuck' that compels you even further. 

In hindsight, he knew he'd enjoy it. It was you after all. He knew from the world shattering arousal that the simple sight of you on your knees was. He had, in a few short seconds, mentally prepared to enjoy this.

But not this much, and certainly not this quickly. 

"I've been too selfless," he muttered as you lifted your head back up, tongue licking a stripe up the underside of him as you did. When you met his gaze in question, he added, "I mean never asking you for this. I should've."

You hummed as a response (it was all you really could do), and the gentle vibrations shot heat throughout his body. A shuddering moan rocked through his body, and if not for your quick response time in pushing his hips down, they would've knocked against your face when he bucked them up.

You hollowed your cheeks, lowering your head back down, and emitting the loveliest of moans from Spencer, whose hand found its way to your hair. Upon the lack of your protests, he made a loose ponytail with his fist, gently tugging on it upwards so you could lift your head. 

You flattened your tongue on your ascend, successfully making his already weak grip on your hair go slack, within only seconds of him having grabbed it. Swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock, his hips bucked up again, and you flinched. 

"Jesus—fuck, sorry, honey," he rasped, though his guilt was quick to dissipate as he saw your thumbs up against his thigh. Your movements weren't hesitant, anymore. Just slow. Tortuously slow. "Can I..." he trailed off, seemingly becoming unsure of what it was he was asking of you within seconds, but the retightening of his hand in your hair gave you all you needed to know. 

You nodded your head the best you could, and he mumbled a quiet 'thank you', allowing you to set a base pace, before taking over. 

"So good. Jesus Christ, angel. Where did you learn this? Don't answer that. Don't tell me. Shit." 

His rambling was sharp sentences, that didn't really sound like they belonged together, and certainly didn't sound like they should be coming out of his mouth. They weren't the most articulately structured phrases he's ever come up with. A thought that comforted you, because you were doing that to him. 

"Fuck," he breathed out, once more, and you came to the mental conclusion you've never heard him swear so much in his life. The thought made your stomach flip.

Fingers dug into your scalp, though not too harshly to hurt. In fact, you were letting out a quiet moan of your own at the feeling, hips wiggling. Even in his state, Spencer noticed, and he smiled.

"You—ah—okay, angel?" he asked you, and you relished in the fact that he couldn't get out sentences without moaning. 

Your response was yet another hum, and he was bucking his hips. Again.

You knew he was close for a multitude of reasons; the fact that he had quickened his gentle-turned-firm guidance of your head, his fingers tugging on your hair a little harsher than before, and the ever so lovely, "Jesus Christ—please—oh," leaving his lips, breathlessly.

It was a few more moments of that, before the fingers in your hair went impossibly tight, and the muscles in his thighs locked beneath your hands. 

The fact you had never discussed doing this, meant neither of you knew the other's stance on what to do. Thankfully, Spencer was rendered so frenzied that he couldn't do anything. 

It was a sickeningly lovely sight; you pulling back and swallowing, some of his come painting your bottom lip. His fingers twitched, before they dropped back to the mattress on either side of his body, his chest heaving just as much as your own. 

Lightheaded, you slowly brought yourself back up to your feet, and Spencer's arms were quick to wrap around the backs of your thighs, pulling you into him. 

"Best head of your life?" you asked, lowering your lips to brush against his. 

"By a mile," he replied. 

"Just one mile?" 

"Maybe two."

Shooting him a glare, you huffed, and he laughed. "You're never getting head again, then."

He nipped your lower lip. "Okay."

"I'm putting my foot down," you retorted, disliking his lack of belief in your words. "Never again."

"I believe that."

"You should."

"Oh, I do," he hummed, sarcasm in his words making you frown. "Are your knees okay?" 

If his goal was to distract you, he succeeded, for your eyes were instantly dropping to your knees, indents from the threads of the rug evident. 

"They're okay," you confirmed, squirming as his thumbs rubbed circles into the skin on your thighs. 

"Tell me if they're not," he instructed, and you nodded. He stood up, hands sliding up to your waist. "Shower?"

"Shower," you confirmed with a nod, despite the fact that you had showered only a few hours prior. "Can we watch a movie after?"

"Yes."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[prosciuttulipa]

Period Pain, Go Away

how the JJK men help you through your period

content: afab reader x jjk men, just fluff this time! brief dirty joke in Toji's one (because he's Toji), but every one of them is a good boi in their own way <33

a/n: on my period and am in much pain v_v i can't decide who i want to comfort me, so i'm writing for all of the men i want

Gojo Satoru who isn't just your boyfriend during your period, but a "girl's girl". He wants to spoil you with desserts and eat the leftovers that you can't finish, do face masks with those cute cucumber slices over the eyes. You want a bath? He's already drawing one, dunking in bath bombs till the water looks like a small galaxy, putting on your comfort show so you can watch it while you soak.

Dealing with pain through fun and smiles has always been his way of coping. So, yes—maybe he does look a bit silly, gossiping with you while you paint sparkles onto his nails, his hair tied up with a pink scrunchie. But what's a boyfriend for, if not to be your Ken doll during your time of need?

It hurts him more than he likes to admit, to see you wince at a bad cramp, or come out of the bathroom with the colour drained from your cheeks. When you can't manage anything more than lying in your bed, he'll rest his head against your stomach, peppering kisses wherever it hurts. "Be good to my girl," he'll jokingly threaten your uterus, poking your tummy gently, "she deserves the world."

Geto Suguru who knows your period is coming before you do. Your irritable mood and food cravings clue him in, and he takes action without saying a single word.

The day your period starts, you realise that the feminine products you usually use have been fully restocked without your notice. The fridge is filled with your period cravings, enough to last a week. Before you can even say anything, a large hand wraps around your waist and presses a hot water bottle against your abdomen. "Good morning, princess," he greets you like he hasn't just pulled off what can only be described as a small miracle, "is everything to your liking?"

You don't know whether to laugh or cry at how perfectly he's predicted you. He's a step ahead of you throughout your entire period, knowing which snack or act of affection you want just by your expression. Some might call his behaviour unreasonable; frankly, he thinks it's bullshit. "Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer," is what he quotes, when you ask him why he's so observant. "What makes you think I do not absolutely and utterly worship you?"

Nanami Kento who is obviously written by a woman, and so does not flinch when he sees the blood on the bedsheets when he wakes up earlier than you. Instead, he kisses you good morning till you're giggling, distracting you so you don't get a chance to see the stains. He changes the sheets while you're in the bathroom, throwing them in with the rest of the laundry. When you come back out, worrying you dirtied the bed, he merely shrugs. "I didn't see anything, darling."

He treats you like a queen on the daily, but during your period, you're his empress. Each word is law, each action his cue to immediately come to your aid. He'll cook every meal, and won't let you hold the spoon to feed yourself if he can help it. As far as he can see, your only responsibility this week is to lounge around, and let him spoil you rotten.

He thinks it's a crime that you still have to go to work, when you have to pop painkillers with your breakfast just to make it through the day. "I can take care of you, you know," he'll inevitably murmur, kissing the shell of your ear, "I make enough money to support us both. Take the day off, dearest. They don't need you more than I do."

Toji Fushiguro who manages to piss you off on the first day of your period. "What size pussy you wear?" he calls to ask, when he's picking up your feminine products at the corner store, "gotta make sure I take care of that kitty for all the squeezin' she does on me."

When he gets back home and finishes getting an earful on how you're more than just his pocket pussy, he apologises by scooping you up in his arms. "You know you're more than just a good fuck, doll," his words carry a rare sort of honesty, coming from him. "You're a good woman. My woman. Gun's in the second drawer, sweetheart—shoot me if I ever do wrong by you."

His touches turn softer, the smack to your ass replaced with a squeeze on the hip, kisses on your shoulders. He's got a hand on you at all times, just rubbing idle circles against your stomach or lower back to soothe your cramps. When bedtime comes, he makes you lay on your tummy, massaging away the tension in your muscles until you're all nice and pliant. He may not always know what to say, but he'll be damned if his actions make you feel like he doesn't love you.

[metamatar]

i have a question and sorry if it sounds incoherent. why is it so important to marxists to distinguish that marxism is not “moral” or “ideological”? i understand that marxism is grounded in historical materialism and that it aims to understand how existing structures and institutions function with the specific goal of abolishing them in favour of a marxist state, but when it comes to understanding how to move forward past capitalism, how can MLs claim that it’s entirely objective and scientific? isnt the fundamental purpose of marxism (abolishing the oppressor class and putting the proletariat in power) a subjective one, given that it to support that you need to believe that abolishing the oppressor class is desirable in the first place? how would ML “scientifically” help people decide where the line is drawn on subjects like the death penalty and incarceration if its committed by a communist party (given that the decision that the cost of killing/imprisoning people is worth the boon it would give in establishing a communist state is still based on subjective goals?)

i don't think modern marxists should claim they're not ideological. im sure some do, but imo the correct claim is marxism is not idealist. i think some of this confusion comes from a popperian view of science as "neutral" or "objective" outside of time. how the political economy affects the propagation of ideology and the process of science as practiced in reality is very standard marxist analysis now. some of the claim to objectivity is something that most people claim belongs to their favourite philosophical project see the rawlsian veil of ignorance in liberalism. marx is also writing in a world where theological and religious reasoning have a lot of primacy in philosophy and he is drawing a clean break from that by hewing to scientific characterisation of his methods.

idealism, in the kantian sense is a philosophy that argues that our ideals (about say, fairness, justice etc) inform how we organise society. marxism, as philosophical project develops in response to kant and hegel to argue that the political economic base, ie the productive relations of society actually inform superstructure of ideals. to quote marx in the preface to critique of political economy: "it is not the consciousness of men that determines their existence, but their social existence that determines their consciousness."

for clarity's sake the idea that changes in the mode of production (mostly due to technology) transform the relations of production which is the main driving force of history is historical materialism. the analysis of why existing structures and institutions must be abolished therefore has to be grounded in analysis where such structures are considered variously – unstable, internally contradictory etc. if you view historical materialism as true, your theory of change cannot be that you'll change the world because it is unfair (an idea.) you can view the world as unfair as a marxist and talk about it to propagate the necessity of your project but that doesn't actually give you a blueprint on how to change it.

capitalists are oppressors, but marxism doesn't view the problem in their oppressive or evil natures. capitalist economies demand even the most moral capitalist to exploit the proletariat. but! it is desirable to abolish there class relations not merely because they are unfair and exploitative but because these class relationships cause workers to develop class consciousness, recognise their power and abolish capitalism.

on your specific example, i don't think marxism can or should claim their are no moral dilemmas. historical materialism doesn't assert that there are no conflicting understandings of history. walter benjamin's theses on the philosophy of history is imo good reading here.

so i dont think your concern about why it's important for marxists to believe this makes sense, because this is what marxism is. if you don't find this convincing, you're not a marxist. you could be an anarchist, or a social democrat or a radical liberal.

[itstatartdump]

So like most people on here I had been watching Watcher since they started their channel, and like most others I was surprised/concerned at the announcement that they're starting a streaming service. After checking out the site and looking close at their YouTube, this feels destined to fail.

I'll go through my thoughts.

They don't currently post enough to justify the paywall

Over the past year, they have posted between 4 to 9 videos a month. That is a decent amount for most YouTube channels, but for a streaming service that is way to low. For $5.99 a month, getting only 4 episodes is not a good deal when other services give you more for less.

What makes this problem worse it that...

They only produce one show at a time

Whenever Watcher releases a shows, they only have that show running. During a series of Mystery Files, they only upload Mystery Files. During a series of Too Many Spirits, they only upload Too Many Spirits. Now this isn't the case all the time, when they have smaller productions they usually release a similar size production along with it.

If we go back to the issue of only getting 4 episodes, this means that you can be paying $5.99 a month to access 4 episodes of a show that you don't enjoy.

These two issues would be less detrimental if it wasn't for the fact that...

They backpedalled removing their YouTube back catalogue

Lets be real, not only were they originally going to remove their YouTube content, It was the only way I could see this being worth the price.

Yes, they say that they aren't removing it, but if you read the full article it say's that "The company originally told Variety that Watcher would eventually remove all of its videos from YouTube".

Their original plan WAS to make all their content exclusive to streaming, the problem was that everyone new this was a scummy idea and they gaslit their audience into thinking they weren't doing that. But that now leaves them with a streaming service where all they offer is 4 episodes of a show per month and a back catalogue that is free on a more well known platform.

The big question I have is...

How are they going to make more content

This is something that I feel should be addressed, they are a small production studio who are trying to "creating television-caliber, unscripted series in the digital space" (direct quote from their YouTube Description). They need more content per month to make this service worth while, how are they going to do that?

Will they push out multiple small budget, easy to film, YouTube like content that bring up the overall upload count which may cause them and their employees to crunch and burn out.

Or are they going to produce several higher budget, TV-calibre shows that would each be more expensive than they can afford to make.

Not sure if this was coherent but thanks for reading anyway.

(sidenote)

While I agree that Steven is getting a huge bulk of the anger that should also be applied to Shane and Ryan, I also have to acknowledge that the first announced show after saying they need money being his travel show is not helping.

[shaded-night]

The Price of Gift Giving

There are many things Aventurine can pride himself in. He has no shortage of talents that have gotten him as far as he has. However there are still a few things that he cannot wrap his head around. When it comes to love and showing his affection, Aventurine fumbles more often than not, even with his heightened emotional intelligence.

Now, he isn't sure what exactly he had done this time around, but his beloved Doctor seems to be frustrated with him. So here he is standing in one of the most luxury malls in all of Pier Point trying to pick out the best gift as an apology. He knows Ratio isn't big on material luxuries but as Aventurine eye's a beautiful fountain pen, he can't help but throw his card down. He pays extra to have it engraved with an owl face -the same one that adorns Ratio's shoulder- and a quaint but sweet quote, "For my Beloved Veritas". Aventurine feels confidence flow through his veins as he becomes a couple hundred thousand credits lighter. The pen is packaged nicely, the engraving hidden from view so he can surprise his boyfriend even more.

When he returns home, Aventurine can here Ratio in their shared study grumbling to himself as he no doubt marks another students paper as inadequate. Aventurine braves a smile as he tucks the small gift into his coat pocket and quietly enters the study.

"I'm home~. I see you're still working hard. Do you have time for a short break?"

Ratio sighs, sparing Aventurine a quick glance before his eyes setting back on the stack of papers .

"Unfortunately I'm on a tight deadline. I did mention to you earlier that I'd most likely will be busy all day." Ratio's voice held clear annoyance, but that's fine. Aventurine's smile faulters for only a second.

"Yes I remember you saying that. Sorry, I just don't like seeing you over work yourself."

Ratio only hums in acknowledgement as red ink fills another paper.

If Aventurine just stands here any longer he's sure to be kicked out, so to not waste anymore time he fumbles to get his gift out of his pocket.

"I have something for you." He places the box neatly on the desk, and Ratio pauses to look at it. It's not hard to guess its price, the name of the store was printed clearly on the lid. Aventurine can feel the annoyance radiating off of Ratio as he narrows his eyes at the package.

"Aventurine," said mans smile drops; Ratio never calls him that at home. "While the thought is appreciated, we've talked about your frivolous amount of gifts before. No matter how deep your pockets are, always spending isn't a good lifestyle. Honestly, is drowning me in expensive products the only thing you can do?"

It shouldn't hurt because Ratio is right; they have talked about Aventurine's unhealthy spending habits. Still, he had no issue buying anything that he thought Ratio may like. And that's what made his confidence crumble. His eyes stung and his voice was stuck in his throat. Ratio was looking at him, almost expectantly, but Aventurine couldn't form any words.

Instead he turned around, silently leaving the room. It felt humiliating standing there under his boyfriend's scrutinizing gaze. Maybe he deserved it for being inconsiderate of Ratio's thoughts on luxury goods. That was the only rational conclusion he could come up with.

~*~ When Ratio had finally emerged from the study, it was well into the evening. Aventurine could hear him in the kitchen getting himself his share of dinner Aventurine somehow managed to put together just a hour prior. He had the catcakes to thank for pushing him to get food in him. The last few hours he had just been curled up under a blanket on the couch while the snacks meowed at him sympathetically.

Eventually the noise in the kitchen died down, and was replaced with the couch dipping under Ratio's weight. Aventurine didn't move from his place under the blanket.

"Vasha," a hand fell onto Aventurine's shoulder; and maybe he's just a little too weak because a second later he wrapped himself tightly around his boyfriend. "I would like to apologize, my love. I shouldn't have been so insensitive to your gift."

Aventurine closed his eyes, letting his head fall against Ratio's chest.

"I just wanted to make you happy. I know you've been overworked lately...and I know I can't help with that kind of work. I know I said I'd work on my spending. So I guess I'm sorry too."

Fingers thread through his hair and a kiss is placed on his head.

"Change doesn't happen overnight, and I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you. You are far more valuable than any gift, Kakavasha."

Ratio shifts and pulls the giftbox from his pocket. It was still unopened, but Ratio swiftly untied the bow around it and removed the lid. He picked up the pen, admiring the pretty swirl of blue and white along its body and it's gold accents. His thumb ran over the engraving and Aventurine feels a smile against his temple.

"It is quite a lovely pen. Thank you, Vasha. I will treasure it always."

~*~ inspired by this twt post~

rtrn is so stupid i love them

[petermorwood]

Food on St Patrick's Day (in the USA)...

...is usually Corned Beef & Cabbage, which is the Irish-American version of the original Irish boiled bacon & cabbage, but while the celebratory Irishness is still going strong, try something a bit more authentic.

A nice warm coddle. Not cuddle, coddle, though just as comforting in its own way. (Some sources suggest it's a hangover cure, not that such a thing would ever be necessary at this time of year, oh dear me no.)

Coddle is a stew using potatoes, onions, bacon, sausages, stout-if-desired / stock-if-not, pepper, sage, thyme and Time.

You'll often see it called "Dublin Coddle", but my Mum made Lisburn Coddle lots of times, I've made West Wicklow Coddle more than once, and on one occasion in a Belgian holiday apartment I made Brugsekoddel, which is an OK spelling for something that doesn't exist in any cookbook.

*****

I do remember one amendment I made to Mum's recipe, which met with slight resistance at the time and great appreciation thereafter.

Her coddle was originally cooked on the stove-top, not in the oven, and nothing was pre-cooked. Potatoes were quartered, onions were sliced, bacon was cut into chunks and then everything went into the big iron casserole, then onto the slow back ring, and there it simmered Until Done.

However, the bacon was thick-cut back rashers, and the sausages were pork chipolatas.

Raw, they looked like this:

...and the bacon looked like this:

Cooked in the way Mum initially did, they looked pretty much the same afterwards. The sausages didn't change colour. Nor did the bacon.

While everything tasted fine, the meat parts always looked - to me, anyway - somewhat ... less than appealing. "Surgical appliance pink" is the kindest way to put it, and that's all I'm saying. This is apparently "white coddle" and Dubs can get quite defensive about This Is The Way It SHOULD Look.

I'm not a Dub, so I persuaded Mum to fry both the bacon and sausages first, just enough to get a bit of brown on, and wow! Improvement! I remember my Dad nodding in approval but - because he was Wise - not saying anything aloud until Mum gave it the green light as well.

Doing the coddle in the oven, first with lid on then with lid off, came later and met with equal approval. So did using only half of the onion raw and frying the other half lightly golden in the bacon fat.

Nobody quoted from a movie that wouldn't be made for another decade, but there was a definite feeling of...

*****

There are coddle recipes all over the Net: I've made sure that these are from Ireland to avoid the corned-beef-not-boiled-bacon "adjustment" versions which are definitely out there. I've already seen one with Bratwurst. Just wait, it'll be chorizo next.

Oh, hell's teeth, I was right. And from RTE...

Returning to relative normality, here's Donal Skehan's white coddle and his browned coddle with barley (I'm going to try that one).

Here's Dairina Allen's Frenchified with US measurements version. (I feel considerably less heretical now.)

And finally (OK, not Irish, but it references a couple of the previous ones and is a VERY comprehensive write-up, so gets a pass) Felicity Cloake's Perfect Dublin Coddle (perfect according to who, exactly...?) in The Guardian.

*****

Returning to the beginning, and how boiled bacon became corned beef (a question which prompted @dduane to start an entire website...!)

The traditional Irish meat animal for those who could afford it was the pig, but when Irish immigrants (even before the Great Famine) arrived in the USA, they often lived in the same urban districts as Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe.

For fairly obvious reasons pork, bacon and other piggy products were unavailable in those districts, but salt beef was right there and far cheaper than any meat Irish immigrants had ever seen before.

Insist on tradition or eat what was easy to find? There'd have been contest - and do I sometimes wonder a bit if sauerkraut ever came close to replacing cabbage for the same reason.

The pre-Famine Irish palate liked sour tastes: a German (?) visitor to Ireland in the mid-1600s wrote about about what were called "the best-favoured peasantry in Europe", and mentioned that they had "seventy-several sour milks and creams*, and the sourer they be, the better they like them."

* Yogurt? Kefir? Skyr? Gosh...

Corned beef and Kraut as the immigrants' celebratory "Irish" meal for St Patrick's Day? Maybe, maybe not.

Time for "Immigrant Song" (with kittens).

*****

Corned beef got its name from the size of the salt grains with which the beef was prepared. They were usually bigger than kosher salt, like pinhead oats or even as large as grains of wheat, and their name derived originally from "corned (gun)powder", the large coarse grains used in cannon.

BTW, "corn" has been a generic English term for "grain" for centuries, and "but Europe didn't have corn" is an American mistake assuming the word refers to sweetcorn / maize, which it doesn't.

Lindsey Davis, author of the "Falco" series, had a couple of rants about it and other US-requested "corrections". As she points out, mistakes need corrected but "corn" is not a mistake, just a difference in vocabulary.

*****

In Ancient and Medieval Ireland pig would have included wild boar, the hunting of which was a suitable pastime for warriors and heroes, because Mr Boar took a very dim view of the whole proceeding and wasn't shy about showing it (see "wild boar" in my tags and learn more).

Cattle were for milk, butter, cream and little cattle; also wealth, status, and heroic displays in their theft, defence or recovery. It's no accident that THE great Irish epic is "The Cattle-Raid of Cooley" / Táin Bó Cúailnge (tawn / toyn boh cool-nyah).

Killing a cow for meat was ostentation on a level of lighting cigars with 100-, or even 500-, currency-unit notes. Once it had been cooked and eaten there'd be no more milk, butter, cream or little cattle from that source, so eating beef was showing off And Then Some.

Also, loaning a prize bull to run with someone else's heifers was a sign of great friendship or alliance, while refusing it might be an excuse for enmity or even war. IMO that's what Maeve of Connaught intended all along, picking undiplomatic envoys who would get drunk and shoot their mouths off so the loan was refused and she, insulted, would have an excuse to...

But I digress, as usual. Or again. Or still... :->

*****

For the most part, "pig" mean "domestic porker", and in later periods right up to the Famine, these animals were seldom eaten.

Instead, known as "the gentleman who pays the rent", the family pig ate kitchen scraps and rooted about for other foods, none of which the tenant had to grow or buy for them. These fattened pigs would go to market twice a year, and the money from their sale would literally pay that half-year's rent.

For wealthier (less poor?) farmers, pigs had another advantage. Calves arrived singly, lambs might be a pair, but piglets popped out by the dozen. A sow with (some of) her farrow was even commemorated on the old ha'penny coin...

What with bulls, chickens, hares, horses, hounds, pigs, salmon and stags, the pre-decimal Irish coinage is a good inspiration for some sort of fantasy currency.

But that's another post, for another day.

[probablyasocialecologist]

An increasing number of Silicon Valley investors and Wall Street analysts are starting to ring the alarm bells over the countless billions of dollars being invested in AI, an overconfidence they warn could result in a massive bubble. As the Washington Post reports, investment bankers are singing a dramatically different tune than last year, a period marked by tremendous hype surrounding AI, and are instead starting to become wary of Big Tech's ability to actually turn the tech into a profitable business. "Despite its expensive price tag, the technology is nowhere near where it needs to be in order to be useful," Goldman Sach's most senior stock analyst Jim Covello wrote in a report last month. "Overbuilding things the world doesn’t have use for, or is not ready for, typically ends badly."

[...]

According to Barclays analysts, investors are expected to pour $60 billion a year into developing AI models, enough to develop 12,000 products roughly the size of OpenAI's ChatGPT. But whether the world needs 12,000 ChatGPT chatbots remains dubious at best. "We do expect lots of new services... but probably not 12,000 of them," Barclays analysts wrote in a note, as quoted by the WaPo. "We sense that Wall Street is growing increasingly skeptical." For quite some time now, experts have voiced concerns over a growing AI bubble, comparing it to the dot-com crisis of the late 1990s. "Capital continues to pour into the AI sector with very little attention being paid to company fundamentals," tech stock analyst Richard Windsor wrote in a March research note, "in a sure sign that when the music stops there will not be many chairs available." "This is precisely what happened with the Internet in 1999, autonomous driving in 2017, and now generative AI in 2024," he added.

27 July 2024

[milkoomi]

semester success. ᥫ᭡

[ 3 chapter mini series ] | chapter one , chapter two

in this series, i’m going to teach you all my helpful tips and tricks on how to succeed in the new semester in just 3 quick chapters! get ready to take notes, we’re diving right in!

final chapter — SACRED STUDYING

the time you spend studying or doing schoolwork should feel sacred to you. you should immerse yourself into this trance where you just grind; making the most of your time and putting your best work into your assignments/studies. in this final chapter i’m going to share some ways that have helped me really lock in when i study for big exams! this is a lengthy chapter, so let’s get right into!

class is in session …

୨ৎ — create/find your sanctuary

where you study is the very first step into effective study habits. i touched on this point briefly in previous posts (such as this one), but i want to go more in-depth!

creating your study space

whether it’s your bedroom, an office, or even a spare room in your house, if you choose to study at home there are a few key things we need to settle.

cleanliness: your space needs to be clean and that cleaning needs to be maintained. when we study in areas that are messy and full of chaos, we’ll find ourselves stuck in a headspace that is just as messy and chaotic. if you’re in your bedroom and you have clothes lying on the floor, go put them away! clean your floors, dust off your shelves, make your bed; refresh your space so that when you go to sit down and get to work you have a clear mind!

organization: this is just to go off of the first point, but organize your work space. your desk is where all the magic happens, so create an organization system! make sure you have a pencil/pen holder, a desk lamp, maybe some small storage bins that can hold notecards/post-it notes/tape/etc.! amazon has some really great desk organization finds for a great price, and you can also score some really cute and aesthetically pleasing pieces as well! my pen/pencil holder also doubles as my desk lamp as well as a phone stand! i have another pencil holder that doubles as extra storage as well where i can keep my extra notecards & post-its! keep your study space organized!

decorations: your work space should feel like your space. don’t be afraid to cater your room’s/desk’s aesthetic to your liking! i personally love figurines (hatsune miku, blindbox finds, anime figures, etc.) and i love crystals, so i’ve added my own little trinkets onto my desk so that when i sit down to work i feel happy because i’m in my own space surrounded by things that bring me joy! your study space shouldn’t feel boring or lackluster, it should bring you joy! it should motivate you to work in that area because you created it into what you want it to be! don’t hesitate to add inspirational quotes around your study space as well whether it be ones you print out and frame or ones you write down on cute stationary and hang them up around your room and/or desk!

lighting: natural sunlight, overhead lighting, fairy lights, led lights; whatever it is, pick some kind of lighting that makes you feel relaxed yet still motivated to get work done! lighting is important! you need to be able to see your work, duh! but you also want to make sure your lighting isn’t too harsh on your eyes especially if you’re sensitive to light or isn’t too dim so that it makes you feel tired!

some other optional aspects to creating your study space:

candles/incense!

background music!

comfy back cushions!

your at-home study area needs to be a place for that productive energy to flow! it needs to not only make you feel comfortable at home, but also to motivate you to lock in. make it personable to you! include your favorite things, but don’t forget to incorporate supplies that will be useful and beneficial to you!

finding a good study environment

of course you have the typical libraries and cafés, and while those places are absolutely perfect for getting work done, you might find yourself getting bored of the same locations.

what to look for in a study location:

aesthetics: for a lot of us, how a place looks/is decorated matters! most of us strive for having an aesthetic area to study and work on assignments, it just adds to that motivation and makes us feel like those iconic characters like rory gilmore, paris geller, or even elle woods! so find a place that fits your aesthetic needs. maybe you want something leaning towards dark or light academia, maybe you’re searching for something cute and cozy, or maybe a place that’s a bit more modernized and minimalistic!

population & demographic: crowded areas are not the place for study sessions, so keep an eye out for how populated an area is! personally, i can’t focus when there’s a bunch of crowds in a place where i’m trying to study. people are distracting, and the more people there are in a place where i’m trying to study, the more i’ll lose focus. also, it’d be good to scope out what kind of people are at the place you’re trying to work at! are there any fellow students you see hard at work? are there clusters of people conversing and laughing together in different sections? are there people quietly reading in more secluded areas? who is exactly is at the place you wish to study? if the demographic fits to what you’re also trying to accomplish then maybe that place is a good fit for you! but if you notice that there are more people there to chat and laugh it up with friends/colleagues, then you might want to keep the search going.

noise: as crowds can be distracting, so can the level of noise. you might find yourself in a café where the music might be way too loud and it makes you lose your focus or the place you’re at is far too quiet and, for some reason, it might make you feel uncomfortable. consider the amount of noise around you and determine if you’re able to focus or not. some people prefer more noise while others don’t, and that’s okay! find what suits you and your study habits best!

furniture: any outside location (a place that isn’t your bedroom/personal office) needs to have proper furnishings so that you can lay out your notebooks, textbooks, and laptop/tablet. tables and chairs are key! make note of what kinds of tables you like. do you prefer lower standing tables or ones that are higher up? do you need to sit on a more cushioned chair/couch or do you need a stiff and stable chair? make sure the furniture at any location you plan on working at is optimal for your study sessions!

other things to consider:

amount of privacy!

smells!

hours of operation!

bathroom accessibility!

୨ৎ — form a ritual

having a good routine for your study sessions can make your work experience feel so much organized and even more enjoyable!

you might want to light some candles and start setting the overall vibe or maybe you have a specific way of preparing for your study sessions, either way whatever it is you do to get into the zone can help you get the most out of your work sessions.

things to do to prepare

clean: i’m not saying you have to do an entire deep cleaning of your space, but maybe just picking up laundry off your floor or making your bed! maybe you have cups & empty water bottles scattered on your desk, take them out! maybe you’ve got papers just all in miscellaneous piles, go and reorganize them! do whatever it might be to clean up your space a little, nothing major needs to happen, just pick up after yourself!

prepare a snack: making sure you have something to munch on while working is very important (making sure you’re eating is just important in general!), so before you sit down and get to work, make yourself a little snack! maybe a toasted pb&j (or nutella, my personal fav) sandwich or a little fruit salad or maybe it’s even a simple bag of chips! get yourself a little snack ready! brain food!!

make yourself a cup of coffee/tea: every time i post something under my #milkmedia tag, you’ll almost always see a cup of tea in my pictures! i’ve been trying to drink more tea rather than coffee, but if you need some kind of caffeine for your study sessions, make yourself a cup of coffee/tea! i love making myself some chai & i mix in a small teaspoon of honey and then i add some vanilla creamer!

write down your goals: make a quick list of what you want to get done during your session! avoid making it really detailed and keep it more generalized. it doesn’t even have to be coursework related, one of your goals might be to work for an hour! another goal could be taking a break during your session!

whatever it is you decide to do to incorporate into your study/work routine or what it is that you do to prepare for your session, make it personable to you! let it be things or little activities that prepare, calm, and clear your mind. your ritual doesn’t need to be any intricate or crazy, but simple things to bring into your routine can make your study sessions more enjoyable!

୨ৎ — time is gold

the time you take to study should be the length that you, your body, and your mind can handle! if a 4 hour study session is too overwhelming, try an hour less than that or you can always start by seeing how well you do within one hour. get a good gauge of how long you can keep your mind focused on your work. if you find yourself getting exhausted after 2 hours, then maybe some things within your routine need to change or you just need a break.

also be sure to consider that your time spent on studying/working should only be used for that reason! remove any distractions from your study space so that you can devote your time and energy into your work. of course, breaks are also essential, so be sure you set timers for yourself so that you can avoid burn out! when you do take those breaks, try to avoid scrolling through your phone. try closing your eyes and focus on your breathing! you can also get up and stretch, keep your body moving (trust me, your knees and back will thank you!). you can even take some time to read a few pages of a book that you read for entertainment!

incorporate the pomodoro method!! i’ve discussed this method a few times in previous posts, and loads of studyblr blogs talk about this method as well! but the pomodoro method helps you stay on track with your work/study sessions while still including much needed breaks within that time. again, you can set a timer, but there’s also so many “study with me” videos on youtube that follow the pomodoro method!

before you’re dismissed …

study sessions and the time you spend working on schoolwork shouldn’t feel like a trap to you, it should be time that motivates and inspires you! keeping yourself engaged is key, and if including simple decorations or creating an entire prep routine will help you get focused or keep you from going insane (because i know that getting work done can drive me a little crazy from time to time) will make your sessions so much more enjoyable, or at least tolerable! best of luck to all of you in your academic journey! i know that this semester will be full of successes for you!

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[roseyreveries]

To my lovely anon who sent me a request this morning, I do see it and I have written it for you, but I can not reply to your request 😭 I think I may have replied back to you accidentally half asleep at like 4am this morning and didn’t realize. I feel awful!! but here it is for you!

Domestic Disasters

REQUEST: I was imagining muggleborn!fem!reader and Draco moving in together in their established relationship. I was thinking it would be so funny if the reader realizes Draco doesn’t know how to do simple things with “muggle products”. For example, loading and starting the dishwasher, working the microwave and stove, or even washing a load of laundry. So reader pokes fun at his attempts but eventually teaches him how to do it all. Example of dialogue: “Draco this is not a big enough load to run the washing machine!” Because he has one coat and a pair of socks in it and he’s trying to add a ton of laundry detergent. 🤣

CW: so much flufffff

Directory <- click!

The first thing you noticed when you moved in with Draco Malfoy was the distinct smell of burning popcorn.

“Draco! What the hell are you doing?” you shouted, bolting into the kitchen. The sight before you was almost comedic. Draco Malfoy, former Slytherin Prince and master of disdainful smirks, stood in front of the microwave, glaring at it like it had insulted his lineage. Smoke curled ominously from the edges of the microwave door.

“It’s supposed to make the popcorn pop, yeah?” he said defensively, his wand gripped in one hand like he was about to duel the appliance. “But it’s not popping. It’s bloody burning! This thing’s defective.”

You groaned, rushing to open the microwave door. A billow of smoke escaped, and you coughed, waving a hand in front of your face. Inside was a charred mess of what had once been a bag of popcorn.

“Draco,” you began, turning to face him, “you’re not supposed to put the bag in for ten minutes! It’s like, two minutes tops. Tops.”

He crossed his arms, scowling like a petulant child caught red-handed. “Well, excuse me for not being fluent in Muggle contraptions. How am I supposed to know the rules for these… infernal devices?” His cheeks were tinged with a faint pink, and you couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or frustration.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, fighting back a laugh. “This is why we read the instructions, Draco.”

“Instructions?” he scoffed, the word sounding almost foreign in his mouth. “Utterly unnecessary. Why don’t we just use magic? One swish of my wand, and the popcorn would be perfect. None of this… nonsense.” He gestured vaguely at the microwave, as if its existence personally offended him.

You stepped forward and plucked the wand from his hand before he could actually cast a spell. “Because,” you said firmly, “we agreed to try doing things the Muggle way. You know, since we’re living together now? And you’re the one who said—and I quote—‘I want to immerse myself in your world, darling.’ Remember that?”

Draco’s lips twitched, and he muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Worst decision of my life.”

“What was that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, though the pink on his cheeks deepened. “But honestly, darling, what’s the point of Muggle contraptions if they can’t even perform their one job properly? Popcorn is supposed to pop, not incinerate.”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore. The sight of Draco Malfoy—the man who had once faced Death Eaters without flinching—getting flustered over a bag of burnt popcorn was just too much. He glared at you, but there was no real heat behind it.

“Oh, come on,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “It’s not the microwave’s fault you set it to ‘obliterate.’”

“I did no such thing,” he retorted, sniffing indignantly. “And for the record, I still think this entire endeavor is ridiculous. Magic is far superior.”

“Sure it is,” you said with a grin, grabbing a fresh bag of popcorn from the counter. “But maybe next time, let the Muggle handle the Muggle contraptions, yeah?”

Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned against the counter, watching you as you placed the new bag in the microwave and set the timer for two minutes.

“See?” you said as the popping sounds began. “Not so hard, is it?”

“Hmm,” he murmured, his gaze shifting from the microwave to you. “I’ll admit, it’s marginally less of a disaster when you do it. But only marginally.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. The timer beeped, and you pulled out the perfectly popped bag, handing it to him with a flourish.

“Your Highness,” you said dramatically. “Your popcorn.”

Later that week, you discovered that Draco Malfoy—the boy who faced down Death Eaters and taunted Harry Potter himself—had met his match. His ultimate nemesis? The washing machine.

“What the bloody hell is that godforsaken racket?!” Draco’s voice rang out, sharp and panicked, from the laundry room. The clanging, banging, and erratic thuds were so loud you’d half-expected the Ministry of Magic to come knocking, accusing you both of harboring a rogue Hippogriff.

You followed the noise, already amused, and froze in the doorway at the sight. Draco stood in front of the vibrating washing machine, his pale face a mix of fury and wide-eyed terror. He looked like he was watching a Hungarian Horntail getting ready to strike. The machine shuddered violently, groaning as if it were about to sprout legs and march out of the house entirely.

“Why is it doing that?!” he demanded, flinging an accusatory finger at the poor appliance. “It’s not normal! Machines shouldn’t move like that!”

You bit back a laugh, though your lips twitched with the effort. “What did you put in there, Draco?”

“Clothes!” he snapped, his tone defensive as if you’d just accused him of committing high treason. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his chin tilted up in that trademark Malfoy arrogance, though his shaking voice betrayed him. “And maybe… maybe a pair of shoes. But how was I supposed to know it would throw a tantrum about it?!”

That was it—you lost it. You burst out laughing so hard your knees buckled, and you had to clutch the doorframe for support. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you doubled over, your stomach cramping from the force of it. Draco, meanwhile, stood glaring at you, his cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation.

“This isn’t funny!” he huffed, his sharp tone completely undercut by how ridiculous he looked. “I think it’s trying to kill me!”

“Kill you? Oh, sweetheart, no,” you managed to gasp out between giggles, wiping at your damp eyes. “But you’re absolutely killing me right now.”

Finally able to breathe, you stepped closer to inspect the chaos. Peeking inside the washer, you found the culprits: a single coat, one pair of socks, two heavy sneakers, and what looked like an entire cauldron’s worth of laundry detergent. The foam was nearly pouring out of the machine, and it gave one last menacing thud before falling eerily silent.

“Draco,” you began, trying to sound serious despite your laughter, “you can’t just throw shoes in the washer! Or half a bottle of detergent, for that matter!”

“How was I supposed to know that?!” he hissed, throwing his hands in the air. “This… this Muggle contraption is an instrument of torture! I refuse to go near it again. You’ll have to do the laundry from now on.”

You smirked, leaning up to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Oh no, love. You started this mess; you’re cleaning it up. But don’t worry, I’ll teach you. Just try not to blow up the house in the meantime, yeah?”

Draco groaned, muttering under his breath about “Muggle nonsense” as he begrudgingly followed your instructions. You couldn’t stop grinning, though. For all his dramatics, there was something oddly endearing about seeing him completely out of his depth—and utterly defeated—by something as mundane as a washing machine.

Dishwashing wasn’t exactly Draco’s strong suit either. If the washing machine had been his nemesis, the dishwasher was its equally vengeful twin.

You walked into the kitchen, stopping dead in your tracks at the sight before you. A frothy mountain of soap suds was cascading out of the dishwasher and spreading across the floor like some kind of bubbly, unstoppable avalanche. Draco stood in the middle of the chaos, staring at the mess with a look of sheer disbelief, a bottle of dish soap still clutched in his hand.

“What did you do?” you asked, your tone torn between exasperation and uncontrollable laughter.

“I put the soap in!” he exclaimed, his brows furrowed as if you were the crazy one in this situation. “You said it needed soap!”

“Yeah, but not half the bloody bottle, Draco!” you cried, gesturing wildly at the foamy disaster surrounding you both.

“Well, you didn’t specify how much!” he shot back defensively, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. “How am I supposed to know these things? It’s not as if there’s a spell for proper soap-to-dishwasher ratios!”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, though the corners of your mouth were already twitching upward. When you peeked through your fingers again, Draco had run a hand through his perfectly styled blond hair, messing it up just enough to give him that irresistibly disheveled look. Too bad he was utterly hopeless in this moment.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled, glaring at the soap suds as if they had personally wronged him. “How do Muggles survive without magic? Honestly, it’s barbaric.”

You couldn’t help it anymore—you burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching the counter for support. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad!” you managed between giggles. “You’re just… hilariously bad at it.”

Draco shot you a withering look that would have made lesser mortals quake in their boots. “Glad you’re enjoying my suffering,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, I am,” you replied cheekily, grinning ear to ear as you grabbed a towel to start mopping up the mess. “I’m enjoying it a lot, actually.”

He groaned again, tossing the soap bottle onto the counter in defeat before crouching down to help you clean up. “You know, you could help a little more and laugh a little less,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” you teased, tossing him another towel. “Besides, you’re lucky you didn’t break the damn thing.”

Draco muttered something about “Muggle contraptions being out to get him,” but you couldn’t stop smiling. For all his frustration, there was something undeniably endearing about watching him try—and fail—at the most basic household tasks. As long as he didn’t blow up the kitchen, you figured you’d survive this particular domestic adventure… barely.

One particularly unforgettable evening, you walked into the kitchen to find Draco Malfoy locked in an epic battle with what had apparently become his latest foe: the vacuum cleaner.

“Why is it chasing me?!” he shouted, his voice an octave higher than usual as he backed into a corner. The vacuum’s hose flailed wildly, as if it had a mind of its own, and Draco looked genuinely terrified, his wand gripped tightly in one hand.

You froze for half a second, taking in the scene, before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. You had to clutch the counter to keep from collapsing. “Draco, it’s not alive!” you managed to gasp out, tears streaming down your face.

His silver-grey eyes snapped to yours, full of indignation. “Then explain why it’s attacking me!” he retorted, his chest heaving with frustration. “This… this abomination is clearly bewitched!”

“It’s not bewitched,” you said, still laughing so hard it hurt. “You just turned it on without holding the handle properly!”

Draco’s glare could have frozen the Sahara. He brandished his wand at the vacuum like it was a particularly nasty boggart. “It’s trying to eat me,” he declared with absolute certainty.

You snorted, finally catching your breath enough to step in. Taking pity on him, you reached over and turned the vacuum off with a simple press of a button. It went silent instantly, leaving Draco staring at it with suspicion as if it might spring back to life at any moment.

But before he could recover his pride, you whipped out your phone and snapped a picture of his wide-eyed, cornered expression. His hair was slightly mussed, and he looked so hilariously out of place that you couldn’t resist.

“Give me that,” he demanded, snatching the phone from your hand with a scandalized look. “If you show this to anyone, I swear—”

“Relax,” you interrupted, grinning mischievously. “It’s just for me. You’re way too cute when you’re scared.”

Draco muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Insufferable Muggle contraptions and their even more insufferable girlfriends.” But despite his protests, you caught the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re lucky you’re adorable,” he added begrudgingly, handing your phone back with a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, I know,” you said cheekily, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. “And you’re lucky you’re mine, even if you are completely hopeless with anything Muggle.”

His ears turned pink, though he quickly tried to hide it with his usual Malfoy bravado. “Hopeless?” he echoed, smirking now. “We’ll see who’s hopeless when I hex that infernal contraption into oblivion.”

You laughed again, shaking your head as you grabbed his hand. “Come on, let’s leave the vacuum alone before you traumatize yourself. Or worse—me.”

And though he grumbled the whole way out of the kitchen, you couldn’t help but notice how he held onto your hand just a little tighter.

By the end of the first month, Draco had reluctantly mastered the art of microwaving (under your strict supervision) and had developed a deep, abiding distrust of both the washing machine and the dishwasher. But despite his many domestic disasters, you couldn’t help but find him utterly endearing.

One quiet morning, you wandered into the kitchen, still wearing your sleep shirt and a pair of shorts, your hair slightly messy from bed. Draco was already there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, sipping tea as he watched you with a faint smirk. His grey eyes followed you as you padded over to the toaster, your bare feet making soft sounds on the tiled floor.

You grabbed a couple of slices of bread and popped them into the toaster like it was second nature. You turned the dial, pressed the lever, and leaned against the counter to wait, completely unfazed.

Draco, on the other hand, looked utterly baffled. “That’s it?” he asked, tilting his head like a curious puppy.

You glanced over your shoulder, amused. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? It’s a toaster, Draco. You put the bread in, press the button, and voilà—toast.”

His brows furrowed as if the simplicity offended him. “That’s absurdly easy. Too easy. It can’t be that straightforward.”

“It really is,” you said with a teasing grin, turning back to face the toaster. “But I guess that’s a foreign concept for someone who’s used to snapping their fingers and having everything magically done for them.”

Before you could say anything more, you felt his presence behind you. Warm hands slid around your waist, and his chest pressed against your back as his chin came to rest lightly on your shoulder. “Are you mocking me, love?” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, his breath tickling your ear.

“Always,” you replied, though your voice was softer now. His touch was distracting, his arms holding you snugly against him, and you couldn’t help but feel your pulse quicken.

Draco hummed, his lips curving into a smirk against your shoulder. “It’s not my fault I’ve had house-elves and magic to cater to my every whim. You’ve spoiled me too, you know.”

“Oh, have I?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him. “I didn’t realize making toast would put me in the same league as your house-elves.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back. “You make it look so effortless,” he said, his tone suddenly softer, almost reverent. “Everything you do, really. It’s infuriating how competent you are. Meanwhile, I’m out here battling washing machines and vacuums.”

You laughed, leaning back into him as his arms tightened slightly around you. “It’s called basic life skills, Draco. You might want to pick up a few.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Why would I bother when I have you to handle all of that for me?”

“Oh, so I’m your house-elf now?” you teased, arching an eyebrow.

His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he murmured, “You’re far more than that, love. Though I wouldn’t say no to you in an apron…”

You turned your head sharply, your cheeks heating up as you swatted his arm. “Draco Malfoy!”

He laughed, low and teasing, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “What? Just a thought.”

The toaster popped, startling you both. You laughed, and Draco reluctantly loosened his hold on you, though his hands stayed on your hips. “See?” you said, pulling the toast out with a triumphant grin. “Easy. No house-elf required.”

He watched you with a mixture of admiration and amusement. “Maybe I don’t need house-elves,” he said, leaning in close again, his lips ghosting over your jawline. “Maybe I just need you.”

Your breath hitched, and you turned to face him, holding the toast in one hand as you placed the other on his chest. “Careful, Draco,” you said, your voice playful but your heart racing. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Good,” he murmured, his smirk softening into something more genuine as he leaned down to kiss you. The toast was forgotten as you melted into him, his lips warm and gentle against yours.

As the kiss deepened, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “But you’re still not making me learn that infernal contraption.”

You laughed against his lips, shaking your head. “You’re hopeless.”

“And yet, you still love me,” he said smugly, his hands sliding back around your waist.

“Unfortunately for me, I do,” you replied, grinning.

Draco’s smirk returned as he captured your lips again, the kitchen filled with the warm scent of toast and the unmistakable feeling of home.

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[jubburb]

》 "-ARE YOU COLD, MY DEAR?"

• @jubburb

ask: none.

sypnosis: waking up with your husband one morning and going on a walk in the snow.

a/n: ive been procrastinating this foreva, ik its short but I just want this out of the drafts so I can start writing more fics😼

warnings: female reader in mind when writing, but I'm not sure if I put any fem pronouns, just cute fluffy fluffness 😺

notes: ooc zhongli? definitely? maybe? idk.. u tell me

When fall hits Liyue, it can get pretty chilly pretty fast. The degrees quickly drop to fifty degrees and lower, previously being in around the eighties or nineties.

It's quite a sudden change. But a pleasant one, especially for tourists who come around during the seasons.

-

One quiet morning, you and your husband, Zhongli, are lazing about in your shared king bed. Zhongli was reading a book, idly playing with your hair with one hand, while you were still trying to wake up, laying your head on his broad chest.

"Mm.." You groan sleepily, reaching a hand up to rub your eye.

"Are you finally awake, my dear?" Zhongli chuckles, halting his hand that was intertwined with the tresses of your hair.

You simply nod, yawning, and sit up against his chest, feeling his hand snake around your waist to hold you closer.

"Do you have work today?" You ask, blinking a couple of times to actually fully wake up, staring up at him and he nods with a hum.

"I am, in fact, off today. What do you suppose we do?" He asks, placing the book down to give you his full attention.

"Sleep in?" You request with a chuckle, and Zhongli jokingly sighs, shaking his head no.

"Something productive, please, my dear." He says, playing with a strand of your hair once more.

"Sleeping is productive, Li." You retort, rolling your eyes, tempted to fall back into a deep slumber just to spite your husband.

There's silence for a moment as Zhongli thinks.

"-Oh, I know, what about a walk around the harbor? I'm sure nobody is awake during these early hours, so it'll be calm, quiet, and peaceful. Just the two of us." Zhongli smiles, cupping your cheek, his slightly calloused palm brushing against your soft skin.

"..Thats.." You start, ".. Not that bad of an idea."

"Knew it."

You only roll your eyes at his response, "Well, I guess we better get our lazy asses out of bed before it's too late and people start getting to work."

"You're the only lazy ass here." Zhongli chuckles with a whisper under his breath, getting out of bed before you could do anything about what he said.

"Oh you mother-"

-

As you two walk around the harbor, you did not expect it to start snowing..

The pretty white snowflakes started to dance across the sky before ultimately finding use on the ground, creating a soft blanket of snow covering the docks and pathways.

Aaaaand.. you forgot your mittens.. your hands were freezing, but if you told Zhongli, he would give you that: "i tOld yOu sO" bullshit.

Before you guys even left the house, Zhongli insisted you bring mittens, because, to quote him, "You don't even know how cold it is in the morning, love."

And of course, you just had to defy him, insisting that you'll be fine without mittens.

You really regret it now..

Even though you were clad in a comfy coat, your hands that were freezing seemed to freeze your entire body, and you were quivering every step you and your husband took as you walked around.

Zhongli looked through the shop windows, not really seeming to notice at first, but then he eventually heard your teeth starting to chatter together, and glanced back at you.

"..Are you cold, my dear?" Zhongli asks, staring at you with a concerned look.

"I-m f-ine.." You respond, your teeth clamming together continuously.

He glances down at your hands that were trembling the most, reaching his mitten covered hands hold them, and you immediately feel a sense of relief.

Zhongli smiles softly, chuckling a bit, and leaned forward to kiss your forehead, "I told you to wear the mittens."

"I kn-ow.." You chatter, before moving closer to cuddle into his chest, the two of you still holding hands, standing there for a while in the wintery streets.

Zhongli hums softly, his nose nuzzled into your hair as he smells your shampoo and conditioner, snow falling over his long brown hair and back.

You could fall asleep right there in the arms of your husband, but you'd rather get home before you get all lovey dovey, so you pull away, looking up at his handsome amber eyes.

"Let's head back, Li.." You say, and Zhongli nods, continuing to hold your hand.

He even not-so discreetly maneuvered it into the large pocket of his coat, so your hand could be even warmer as you two walked.

You smile softly, and lean your head on your husband's shoulder.

The two of you only left footsteps in your wake as you find comfort in eachother.

- signed by c♡

[kings-highway]

haikyuu characters but its just some of the most out of pocket quotes my roommate has recorded me saying mid-conversation:

Tanaka, probably loudly in conversation with Noya: "I could body a racoon."

Asahi: "If spiders developed wings, I would immediately check myself into a hospital. I would be a danger to myself and others."

Suga, offhandedly to Hinata when he finds out it's his birthday: "Statistically, you're more likely to die on your birthday. So... watch out."

Daichi, sometimes post timeskip talking about Kuroo: "nothing a twenty-five year old does isn't a ponzi scheme."

Iwaizumi, mid-Godzilla related conversation: "Me and Mothra have always had a special connection though."

Yabaha, at Kyotani: "If you're ever in a situation where you need to be escorted by an ambulance and you're feeling pain? GOOD."

Ushijima: "It's coming to the springtime. The sheep will be born."

Tendou, overheard in passing while mid-conversation with the other stz third years: "I don't think any other sub-class of human lays eggs."

Kenma, probably taken out of context about a video game but overheard by a very baffled Kuroo: "I may not be a follower, but I do love cults."

Bokuto, in an (playful) argument with Akaashi: "What the fuck would you do if I ate the declaration of independence?"

Tsukishima, chiming into a conversation he was barely listening to: "the last time the U.S got involved, fuckin' Berlin got cut in half."

Kita, unprompted probably: "Agriculture controls everything."

Mika (about Daishou): "Compared to other fairytales, he was an incredibly respectful snake."

Oikawa, texting Iwa at 5 am: "I hate that bamboo is real."

Hinata, loudly, probably because he forgot to bring his gatorade: "Humans were not made to consume water!"

Yachi, probably having stomach problems: "surely with all the synthetic science they have now they can make a burger product that doesn't make me wanna kill myself."

[felassan]

July 17th DA:TV Game Informer article on returning to Dragon Age 10 years after DA:I - cliff notes:

At one point BW considered making DA:TV a multiplayer game. They did a "hard look" at this

With DA:TV BW want to get back to their roots: storytelling, characters, influencing the world

Gary McKay quote: "And we really felt multiplayer wouldn't do that. But single-player RPG is really where we wanted to spend our time, so after spending that time in pre-production, really honing in on what the vision of this game is, and [being] afforded the opportunity to deliver on the creative promise of this game, [now] we're really excited about what's coming out."

DA:TV's dev team contains both seasoned vets' decades of experiences and new talent with fresh perspectives

Gary McKay quote: "[You] want to have different perspectives, different backgrounds. If you bring a bunch of people together that have only known one thing, that's not where you see creativity. That's not where innovation comes from. Innovation comes when you have [...] that past history and blend it with some new voices and perspectives." 

DA:TV is the game where BW finally said out loud that their greatest strength is storytelling through characters, with intentionality. The game is built around those character moments

In DA:TV BW is doing "storytelling through animation" -

Mark Darrah quote: "If you put on a suit of armor [in previous games wherein each char moves exactly the same way], and you put it on Alistair, you looked exactly the same standing right beside each other. Now, we're able to keep the character coming through in the visuals and the motion, even as you're customizing them, which just wasn't possible in the past."

BW are more confident in and have a better understanding of Frostbite this time

Current game hardware tech is also able to do a lot more and execute it visually to an improved degree

BW worked hard to ensure DA:TV is respectful and referential to previous games while still being understandable by new players

John Epler quote: "So while there are references, there are moments that we have callbacks, it really is its own story, its own continuation with a different cast, with different characters. Historically, Dragon Age has always had a different cast per game, so that gives us a lot of freedom in terms of what we want to lean on in the past and what we want to really bring in that’s new and forward-facing."

Events in DA:TV play out with a storytelling goal for the future of the series. It takes the ball from DA:I, puts its own spin on it in its own direction, and continues the path forward into the future (emphasis mine)

Mark quote: "Dragon Age has always been about change. Every game has had a new protagonist, and it's been exploring its own space all the time, and this game is no different. [Veilguard] does a good job of bridging that gap. The really super fans of Dragon Age have actually made a lot of really educated guesses, and some of them are pretty right about where the franchise is going. The thing we need to make sure is that people who may have only played Inquisition are understanding what the franchise is really about – it's about a new protagonist, it's about change, it's about evolution – and don't come in expecting a direct sequel to a game they played and then are disappointed. This game is something new, something that evolves, something that is greater than what came before, the same as each game [...] before it." [emphasis mine]

Corinne: "For our new players, we're not assuming you know anything about [the DA locations or characters in DA:TV]"

BW took great care in how they introduce each companion and major story figure in the game with that in mind

DA:TV is John Epler's favorite DA game that he's worked on (he has worked on them all)

John Epler quote: "Dragon Age has always been about characters but to some degree, it's almost felt like we've lucked into that," he says. "Inquisition is a story that ultimately, you, the main character [...] have the biggest part to play. We wanted to tell a story this time where you literally cannot save the world without these characters. Beyond that, though, we also wanted to give them their own arcs that can run parallel to the main story and really give them that kind of deep storytelling our fans really enjoy." 

John Epler quote: "They have their friendships, they have their rivalries, and lean into that concept. You're not just pulling together a bunch of people who will do whatever you say. You're assembling a family, and that becomes the core of what the Veilguard is all about. It's about taking this group, this found family, and saving the world, side by side with them." 

[source]

[queer-ragnelle]

Why do you hate the Once and Future Knight? I decided not to pick up the book because of personal preference but I’d love to hear your rant on it

Hi anon!

I’m assuming you mean The Once and Future King by TH White?

There’s nothing I could say that hasn’t already been said before I’m sure. But I didn’t read the series until I had already read many other Arthurian tales and I really don’t understand the love the series gets. The negatives don’t outweigh the positives, and worse, the lasting impact of TH White’s characterization choices on subsequent retellings is a stain on the literary tradition that set us back too far to comprehend. Putting my rant below a cut because I went off and the subject matter is disgusting.

First and foremost, the bigotry is astounding. The racism, the misogyny, the ableism and every other prejudice and cruelty you can think of are staggering in their variety and magnitude. It’s vile. It’s inexcusable. I don’t read modern Arthurian retellings to be bombarded with that in every single chapter. TOAFK is not “a product of its time.” It’s a product of a deeply unhappy and hateful man. Plenty of earlier writing is vastly kinder to Palomides and Guinevere and Morgause and Mordred and Lancelot or any other character unlucky enough to be depicted by TH White. Literally the Medieval source material is more nuanced than that. Morgause get behind me.

Secondly, the anachronism is an annoying stylistic choice at best and yet another tool for bigotry at worst. Why are Mordred and Agravaine likened to Nazis? Like seriously what the hell? It’s not enough for them to be antagonists, the text has to invoke the Holocaust? It’s so extreme it rips the reader right out of the story and calls to mind the most horrific parts of history for no narrative benefit whatsoever. Baffling and bad.

Thirdly, the prose just kinda sucks. It’s rambling and TH White will pause the narrative to stand on a soap box to talk at the reader about his views. He’s anti-war. Fine. But of all characters to use as a mouthpiece—King Arthur? The warlord King Arthur? Make it make sense.

Fourth, most tragically of all, so much of what TH White did in his series is reflected in stories told to this day. Every other retelling has a cover quote comparing it to TOAFK. (It’s supposed to be a compliment!) To put it in perspective…

You ever read a retelling with evil neglectful parent and rapist Morgause/Morgan? TH White’s fault.

How about added incest between one of the Orkney bros and their mother (which sometimes results in someone other than Gaheris killing her, say, Agravaine or Mordred)? Thanks, TH White, that’s just what Arthurian Legend was missing, more incest.

Ever see disabled, crippled, bad seed Mordred? TH White started that trend.

What about Guinevere assaulting Lancelot when she learns about Elaine getting him drunk and raping him? TH White really said “Lol what if Guinevere hits Lancelot and spits in his face while he’s crying?”

And the racism! TH White walked so Thomas Berger could run (derogatory). Discussions of race are so intense and so frequent and so random like one minute the narrator has paused the plot to talk about how war is bad and now it’s slandering Native Americans? Brother this is Medieval England what is even happening right now? Oh, look, another N bomb. The antisemitism! Weren’t you just comparing Mordred to Hitler? What do you mean the Orcadian/Scottish characters are evil because of *checks notes* “the incalculable miasma which is the leading feature of the Gaelic brain?” [Queen of Air and Darkness chapter 5] Thanks TH White for stripping Lot, Morgause, Gawain, Agravaine, Gaheris, Gareth, and Mordred of all nuance, a condition from which they have, literally, never recovered. Of course there are some retellings since that write one or two of them with a crumb of nuance, but they’ll never be like they were in the Vulgate. Not all at the same time. I feel sick.

It goes on and on. I have to stop listing examples or I’ll get pissed off. But frankly, more people should be pissed off about it! I’m tired of seeing five star reviews on storygraph and goodreads accompanied by a review excusing the most bigoted garbage I have ever read in a children’s book. It’s vile and everyone should feel bad about defending it. It’s inexcusable. This wasn’t a case of good-intentioned inclusion with dated language, this was an author going out of his way to be hateful. Period.

Big names in the fantasy book community like Daniel Greene should not be awarding five stars and leaving an uncritical review.

Far too many readers acknowledge the racism and then rate it five stars anyway. Go to Hell, Spencer.

Here’s some from storygraph with, of course, praise for Marion Zimmer-Bradley’s pedophilic power fantasy Mists of Avalon, another piece of hot festering sludge everyone should stop talking about. Kill the legacy already. The real life victims have suffered enough.

There also seems to be a trend in these reviews that excuse the texts bigotry by referring to how “old” it is. Which is crazy to me for many reasons. TOAFK in its final form was published in 1958. That wasn’t that long ago. Also racism has always been racism, misogyny has always been misogyny, ableism has ways been ableism. Plenty of authors came before this and really make TH White look like a clown.

Let’s promote them. In reverse!

John Steinbeck wrote The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights in 1956 (published posthumously in the 70s, don’t go by that date). His depictions of Morgan and Guinevere are nuanced and fascinating, not to mention some original characters including an old granny who teaches Owain to be a warrior! This book also has a morally gray sun-powered Gawain without insulting his heritage, an emotional and thought-provoking Lancelot without marking his sin with a facial deformity, and a really sweet Marhalt who doesn’t often get much spotlight!

John Erskine wrote Restoring Palamede in 1932. He does exactly what the cover says, and writes a story about the Muslim knight Palomides beginning in his own country, living with his parents whom are both named, and follows him as he learns the ways of the world and finds an ally in his friend Brangaine! Tristan and Isolde are compelling here and while Tristan can still be a jerk to Palomides, it’s not the mask-off bigotry we’ve seen…elsewhere.

Howard Pyle wrote one, two, three, four books between 1903-1910. Two thumbs up from me. No notes. He drank his respect women juice, drew them with loving care, named so many previously unknown, and gave them voices. He was kind in his portrayal to Palomides and even some other knights of color from India. Morgause survives the narrative! We love to see it!!!

Henry Newbolt wrote Mordred: A Tragedy in 1895. A fascinating examination of family ties, all five Orkney brothers here AND their wives Lyonors, Lynette, and Laurel! (Minus Ragnelle bc life is unfair.) Guinevere and Lancelot are tragic and heart wrenching. Arthur struggles against his son Mordred and their destiny in a way that doesn’t outright demonize either side. It will rewire your brain.

Richard Hovey wrote his poetry between 1891-1900. A complex and interesting Guinevere and Elaine who are not enemies, Lancelot close with Galehaut during the war, destroyed by his torn loyalties between Arthur and Guinevere, Gawain who loves his friend Lancelot with all his heart, and so much more without tearing anyone down!

Oscar Fay Adams wrote his poetry between 1886-1906. Here we get a wide variety of character focus, with title-featured names from King Lot to Dagonet to Lamorak to Lionel. Each one is more fascinating and nuanced and fresh than the last, from a tour of Lot’s castle and meeting each inhabitant to Lamorak on Grail Quest learning to forgive himself from “sweet” Sagramore.

William Morris wrote his poetry between 1856-1910. All of it is on the Camelot Project but I also have this scanned book. Here we delve into Guinevere’s trial as she calls out those who have wronged her, lonely Galahad on Grail Quest relating to his father Lancelot and praising Palomides in his steadfast hunt of the Questing Beast, there’s even a poem named for Palomides himself!!!

Anonymous wrote Moriaen in the 13th century. It follows Aglovale’s illegitimate son Moriaen, who is of African descent. As he travels around Britain looking for his father, Moriaen meets many people who are afraid of his dark skin. BUT! All the Knights of the Round Table leap to his defense, even threatening townsfolk who try to demonize Moriaen for the way he looks and refuse him service. It is, essentially, an anti-racism story from the Medieval era. Not to mention healer Gawain’s care and attention given to the sick and disabled. That’s not even the moral/focus of the story so much as Moriaen’s journey, but it’s there and worth mentioning.

So here we are with a whole list of stuff to read that predates TOAFK and surpasses it. The last one is only sort of a joke. But it’s there to make a point about how inexcusable TH White’s racism really is. If Anonymous could give a black knight like Moriaen the narrative respect he’s entitled to for existing as a representation of real human beings that look like him, then TH White was capable of it too. Progress is not linear. This is not to say Medieval times were “better” than society today. But to write off any problematic story of the recent past as “a product of its time” as an excuse to make oneself feel better about liking it, well, I don’t know what to say. Maybe reflect on that. And while that marinates, read something else.

[blorger]

So, picture this:

Here I am, sat in an internet-less room, twiddling my thumbs and waiting for time to crawl ever so slowly by. For lack of a better alternative, I start flipping through the pages of Chamber of Secrets and I notice A Thing.

"My, how peculiar" I say to myself, fully intending to let The Thing be, but alas; time moves slowly, boredom persists and, not unlike the tell-tale heart, The Thing calls to me.

"Come," it beckons, "notice me further". "Compile some data" it begs, "that's surely the most productive way to pass the time"; like a moth to a flame, I am caught.

This, dear reader, is how I found myself tallying all the different ways the word "mudblood" is used in canon. So gird your loins and let me introduce you to

The Mudblood Chronicles, or what's in a name?

part 1: methodology

Since the purpose of this exercise is to analyse the use of the term "mudblood" as a slur, I'm not going to count the times in which the word is not being used with malicious intent. Throughout the books this happens on several occasions, those being:

during the course of the narration (it happens once in the context of "everyone present knew mudblood was a very offensive term")

when Harry uses the term, since it only happens when he either recalls someone else saying it (one time with Draco and once with Snape) or he's forbidding Kreacher from using it (twice).

when Ron uses it; it happens once to explain the slur's meaning and once (in conjunction with Ginny) to demand Kreacher stop using the term.

when someone is quoting themselves. Draco quotes himself to Dumbledore once ("you care about me saying mudblood when I'm about to kill you?"; incidentally, it's also the last time he ever utters the word)

I am counting instances in which a muggleborn character uses the term to refer to themselves, since it happens in the context of reclaiming the insult and I am interested in who the author chooses to highlight thusly.

part 2: the results/ WHEN

The word "mudblood" and its plural "mudbloods" are used as an insult a total of 62 times in the Harry Potter books. Here we can see the book by book breakdown:

Unsurprisingly, The book where "mudblood" is used the most ( a total of 34 times) is Deathly Hallows since it takes place during a war about muggleborns. Chamber of Secrets, where the term is introduced, follows with 10 mentions, after which is Order of the Phoenix (7 mentions), followed by Goblet of Fire (6 mentions) and Half-Blood prince (5 mentions). The term "mudblood" is not used in either Philosopher's Stone or Prisoner of Azkaban.

part 3: the results/ WHO

So who is our biggest culprit?

Draco Malfoy is our uncontested lead, having both the advantage of appearing in all books and of orbiting around our narrator. Both Bellatrix and Kreacher make a good showing, with Bellatrix's 6 times being especially notable since they all occur during the course of Deathly Hallows.

Let's break this down further, shall we?

Despite introducing us to the term, Draco appears to scale back his usage of the slur as he ages.

Before partaking in this experiment, I was under the vague impression that, in the wizarding world, "mudblood" is seen as a childish insult. I can now see why: in times of peace (i.e. before Voldemort's resurrection), Draco is the only person in Harry's day-to-day life saying it and he himself peters off in the usage of "mudblood" as things get more serious. To Draco, it appears, "mudblood" IS a childish insult, and we'll see further proof of this at a later date.

part 4: the results/ HOW

Let us now look at how the term is used:

Unsurprisingly, the person "mudblood" is hurled most often at is Hermione. As a main character, she is the most visible muggleborn in the narrative and, if that wasn't enough, she is more often than not the only muggleborn present, even when it doesn't make much sense (Hermione is the only known muggleborn member of the order of the phoenix, an organization whose supposed aim is the fight for muggleborn rights.)

There are no known instances of the word "mudblood" being used to refer to any other muggleborn student during Harry's time at Hogwarts. Lily Evans is the only other school-aged character who gets the dubious honor of being a "mudblood".

Let's break this down further and look at who people are referring to when they say "mudblood":

*= Walburga's portrait never directly addresses Hermione, she only alludes to the presence of various filth (muggleborns, blood traitors, werewolves..) in her home. That said, Hermione is the only muggleborn we ever see in Grimmauld Place so it must stand to reason that Walburga is referring to her, just like she's indirectly referring to Remus Lupin when she mentions werewolves.

**= Both Hermione and Lily use the term mudblood to refer to themselves in an attempt to reclaim the slur, they both do it twice.

***= Our only "other" is mr Ted Tonks, who Bellatrix only mentions in order to disavow when Voldemort talks about the birth of Teddy Lupin.

Interestingly, the only people who ever refer to Lily Evans as "mudblood" to her face are Severus Snape (one instance recounted three separate times) and Lily Evans herself. Voldemort uses the insult when talking about her with Harry long after her death.

Of further note, our only written "mudblood" comes by courtesy of a ministry pamphlet Harry finds in Diagon Alley, heavily implied to have been written by one ms Dolores Umbridge.

part 5: a brief interlude/ Draco's language

Draco refers to Hermione as “Granger” 13 times and, while their interactions often consist of him talking about her blood status, he uses "mudblood" instead of her name only 4 times. Furthemore, there are 4 additional times where he uses both mudblood and Granger (as in "that mudblood Granger").

The very first time Draco mentions Hermione in the books occurs during this exchange with Lucius:

I find this interesting because, even in private, his first instinct is to use her given name. It's only after he is scolded by Lucius* that we get our first "mudblood", in a scene where he is once again feeling threatened by her.

*= Guess who never utters the word "mudblood"? Lucius. Even Narcissa does once (in DH, when she recognises Hermione at the manor)

part 6: conclusion

I am not a linguistics expert, I cannot tell wether JKR uses the slur she made up in a way that mimics real world slurs. What I can do with the data I compiled is try to track various characters' attitudes towards muggleborns in the books by looking at what they call them.

People whose views remain unchanged (Voldemort, Kreacher, Walburga) remain consistent with their usage of "mudblood"; Draco, who grows up as the books progress, scales back. Snape only ever uses the word once, in the past, and the incident is retold multiple times to signify its importance.

As the situation in the wizarding world worsens, more people feel emboldened to use an otherwise taboo term, as seen by how most one-off utterances of "mudblood" take place in book 7, during wartime.

Finally, I would like to note that we only ever hear two muggleborns' (Lily and Hermione) opinions on "mudblood" as a slur, the rest of the time it's mostly purebloods (and the occasional half-blood) telling us how to feel about the insult; I find that very interesting.

There. Now all this useless information is out of my brain and into the aether, where other nerds can ponder on its significance while this nerd here sleeps the sleep of the truly righteous.

xoxo

[semischarmed]

Demonizer

Hope you’re not religious…

———

Parker Mills here sure was. The cross, dutifully hanging on his neck in every other post. The obligatory bible passage quoted on the profile. A “#believer” given every other caption. The works. By all accounts, religion had been good for him. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Friendly to all, despite the evangelizing. Virgin too- saving for marriage, of course. His parents on the other hand were vile fucks. The Mills often terrorized our small town’s tiny lgbt community but by some stroke of divine luck, the son of those demons turned out completely normal. Better than normal. Parker was probably the nicest jock in town. Parker also turned me the fuck on. With Parker, I just knew. Just knew that those kind blue eyes and gentle smile adorned that angelic face and ripped body. Knew that with his family’s wealth and that face, he had the makings of the town menace. Knew that despite all this, he was entirely clueless on his appeal and unwilling to share his god-given gifts. Many have tried to corrupt poor Parker, but the man was a saint. He even looked uncomfortable doing anything beyond a quick peck on the lips. I just knew I could make him my own cocky motherfucker.  

There were a handful of options in the dark web. Entirely different avenues ranging from a neurosurgeon offering direct transplant to a ritual for astral projection. It took 1 month just to sift through all the possibilities and options. Each one felt messy or required some form of constant maintenance. They wouldn’t do. I wanted Parker  permanently. All of him-body, mind and soul. At last I had landed on the Demonizer Potion. The effects seemed to vary drastically, though they all seemed to warn of its corruptive properties. In the end, I chose it because it filled the most important niche for these products for me- I could actually afford it. 

Finding a witch to procure this particular potion was… surprisingly easier than expected. In fact, it was downright effortless. Miranda, a witch just a town over, scoffed when I mentioned it to her. “A girl’s gotta pay her bills. Besides, It’s a lot easier and a lot cheaper to hide out here than it is in the big city.”

And that was that. For the “low-low price of $500”, I had the demonizer potion in hand. The drink was pitch-black. Darker than black even. And it seemed to pull all warmth from the room in an otherworldly, sinking feeling. I had no doubt this thing was the real deal. I read the instructions: “Drink with your intent.“ I imagined mine.

- - -

I knew the perfect time to strike. It felt oddly fitting to take him during a service. In the church’s bathroom, I took a quick swig of my future. Just a third of the black substance. I gagged as I felt it stream down my throat. And I winced, expecting a burning sensation. No-not a burning sensation. It was more like a pit of nothingness spreading throughout my body to my fingertips. The burning came after. All at once, the world around me spun as I felt my body leave physical manifestation. I watched as my spectral hands flashed white then black in a pulsating pattern, before finally settling on a grey.

Parker Mills sat, listening attentively. They seemed to be playing some religious music. My only religion sat right in front of me. In devilish glee I began to stream into him. Inch by Inch, I flooded into his thick dick. He made a small grunt at first insertion.

Parker shifted in his seat as the worship choir continued singing. His face grew red as he tried to hide a growing boner. The worship singing droned and I felt a sharp pain in my head. As if empowered, Parker’s own soul began to push me out. 

In the end, I only managed to slip a bit of the grey essence into him. It did not seem to have much effect, aside from giving him an inexplicable need to grab the flask from the bathroom floor. I tried to make a mental note of that.

I sighed, defeated, as I fled into the night. In the darkness, I recuperated as I planned my next visit.

- - -

This time, there would be no fanfare. No choir to welcome our joining and my rebirth. I wasn’t sure how long I could stay in this world without his warm flesh tethering me mortal, so I knew I had to get in him fast. 

I followed the man to his apartment, sitting patiently in a dark corner of his bedroom as he went about his day.

When he was close to sleeping, he turned off the light and sat on his bed in a meditative tone. I watched in anticipation as he closed his eyes and began to pray. “Lord, ple-“

“Mmhhmph!” I struck the man a snake, prying his full lips open and forcing his body to gorge itself with me. 

This time, no music. Just the sounds of a teary-eyed Parker choking on invisible mass. Drool ran down his cheeks as I inched more and more of my form inside. His neck bulged and eyes grew wide and bloodshot as he tried badly to reject the intrusion. Lubricated by Parker’s own saliva, by the taste of Parker, I greedily dug into his insides. 

Parker’s body began to move involuntarily. Deep in violation, it tried in vain to get me out. He smashed his head over and over again across the apartment wall trying to shake me out. I only forced myself inside harder. His head shook as it contorted in odd angles. Biceps started scratching at his own throat, trying to get me out to no avail. Eventually, they were forced splayed open as Parker’s body began to travel up the apartment wall. At first, his legs began to kick, then shake, then they begun to dangle ominously off the ground. In a perverted facsimile of his religion, I strung Parker up his own apartment wall, arms outstretched in a blasphemous pose as if to welcome me. “All are welcome..no, I am welcome,” I thought to myself. I continued my assault.

As Parker screamed, I weaved through each crevice until I could find the core of his soul. It looked pure and white, aside from the small speck of gray in my earlier intrusion. Gingerly, I pried the soul’s own mouth open as I laughed. I wanted Parker to his depths. Parker to his very core. And so I burrowed and coiled. Shackled myself to it. Shackled him to me. Like a trap jaw, his soul’s mouth closed. Forever sealing me in nice and tight as I continued squirm and fill into Parker. His spirit was mine. It bent in odd and unnatural angles, contorting until it tore. Outside, I felt Parker’s thrashing head slow into a twitching. 

I wanted-no needed every part of Parker to myself. So I begun to fill into the tears of his ravaged soul. I then felt the the fibers of those tears heal- with me embedded. Euphoric. Stillness.

Parker’s pale blue eyes shot wide open, dilated. “P-Please,” he whimpered, before they go glassy and a smile began to form on his lips. Parker’s flesh collapsed into a pile on the floor, body, mind, and soul spent. 

- - -

My first breath as Parker felt out of this world. Parker’s body was his temple after all. When I felt his lungs fill for me, and air flow into us for the first time, I felt the power in his drawn breath- Like having an athlete’s lungs chained to my whims. I felt our drawn air circulate inside me, tickling bits of me in drunken pleasure. Granted, I was not that unhealthy in my previous flesh, but this new home was unreal. Merely existing in his flesh felt like an unburdening. Energy brimmed from fingertip to fingertip and my mind raced with a clarity I did not know possible. 

“I can’t believe you just feel like all the time” I teased as I twirled my new perfect hairs. I couldn’t help but giggle in my new perfect voice. Hearing it vibrate into a low moan was music to my ears, as the man’s hand travelled and cupped his own perky ass. “Fuck,” I panted breathlessly as I massaged my new right asscheek. The Jock’s face twitches in vain retaliation. “Fuck you feel so good…” I twisted his nipple. “Thank you for saving yourself for me.” Hearing and feeling this Parker, a Parker the world has never seen- A Parker he himself had never seen, drove me mad with lust. This was a private Parker, my Parker, one bound to me for my personal enjoyment. A moment exclusive to us. This seemed to light a fire in the original Parker and I felt my soul shiver as his encapsulated mine. “g…g-get the fuck out of me!” He spat.

With newfound agency, the original Parker ran to his desk and managed just one action before I could wrestle back control.

I gulped. My shaking hand dropped the empty flask as I felt his intent hung around me like a death sentence. “Cast this demon out of me”.

Control over my perfect meat-suit went dark. Like a barrier emanating from within, I felt myself squeezed out of my home. Then falling. Falling for an unbelievable amount of time. I blacked out.

- - -

I awoke with the smell of sulfur in the air, the sky was dark and glowed a faint orange. I stood as I surveyed my surroundings, horrified. I saw a sea of bodies writhing and groaning. 

“Is this..?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence. I closed my eyes as I thought of the potion and the life I gave all to come to this. I didn’t even have a chance to play with my new body. A sensation stopped my racing mind abruptly.

It was a hand. 

One of the bodies on the floor moaned as it spoke in velvet. “Are you joining or what?” I shook it off me as the realization slowly dawned on me. It wasn’t groaning… it was moaning. They were not damned. At least, they were certainly not upset about it. 

Then I felt something else stir inside me. Hope? No- At least, not my hope. I grinned as I realized what had occurred. I took note of my spirit- a spirit that was a part of Parker’s. Partially superimposed. Partially one. We were bonded together, even as souls. When his sleeping soul came to, I felt that hope of his immediately vanish. He grabbed our merged face in horror, before looking around. 

“B-but, I never did anything… I was perfect…” Parker trailed. I felt a blackness pour out of me. That’s it? Is that all there was to being a demon? These people were not suffering in the slightest. If anything, this was something to look forward to. This time, I felt no resistance from Parker as our shared soul began to fondle itself. Our face, however, was stone cold. Parker was in control.

Feeling all that he had to look forward to, something shattered in him. I felt as much- Rage. Betrayal. Then, Liberation. He looked up into the sky with a sneer and hands outstretched. “This what you wanted, asshole? I do everything right and you still put me here? How much time did I waste in those stupid lectures? How many people did we turn down?” I immediately felt the pieces of this new Parker worm into my psyche. “Fine”. He said with a broken satisfaction.

Like a root, he spread throughout me. Bonding each of us tighter and tighter. This time, I felt a natural cockiness exude from Parker, and by extension me. It felt wrong, coming from Parker. At the same time, a part of me felt like this truly was Parker. This time, the disillusioned man continued fondling himself on his own volition. He brought me into the fold, guiding my movements. “Bro…” . I felt mind mind dull in euphoria. “Bro….”. It rolled off our tongue lazily. Something about it just felt natural. “Parker, if you don’t stop… we’ll”. His mouth opened in a wide smile as he gave both pecs a squeeze. “I know. Enjoy the ride bro”. All at once the pieces of Parker rooted into brimmed with energy. “Fuck it, right? You should be thanking me for this… My body is my temple… and I’m letting you live in it. Thanking me is the least you could do.” Searing pain hit us both. Despite all this, he retained a crazed expression as he kept defiling his own soul. Bit after bit, I felt him kneed soul into mine. Though terrified, I couldn’t help but soften. This was truly a side of Parker I had never seen. Here he was, tainting himself- tainting us both- locking us to eternal damnation. Into one being. And he laughed while doing it. I could feel it in his depths. A raw aggression. A depraved, sexual hunger in him. One that swallowed me infinitesimally. One that strung me up inside him, fed me pieces of himself. Fed me too much of himself. Fed me to him. My head was spinning as the lines between us blurred even further. This new Parker coursed through me as he guided me to finish the job. Let’s sin in this temple together. The last, innocent piece of the original Parker spurted out of our soul in a torrent of spectral cum. We could see the weightlessness of it. We watched as it floated up to the dark sky. This remnant of the original Parker-the original me, would be mine. I drew the land into me, felt empowered by the flames as I jetted up. In unbelievable pace we ascended back to the living world. 

- - -

Final bits of soul continued to ascend but with a swift, dark grip, we grabbed it and jammed it into our body’s chest. I watched my meat shudder at the feeling. It breathed into life, but remained unconscious. Our soul now brimming black, I caressed my perfected form in satisfaction. We were Parker. And we needed every bit of ourselves to be whole. On that note, I jammed our dick right into the Parker Meat body’s chest and watched as it shuddered. Caressing the face now wholly mine, I jammed our dick in again and again, reveling in the body’s shaking. I watched it claw into the floor, legs kicking and flaying in some automatic attempt to keep its own soul out. I only continued with faster and faster pace, grunting in his manly tone until finally-release. The invisible barrier around flesh punctured and I willed my spirit to pump bit after bit of myself into the small orifice. The Parker body only made gurgling noises as I streamed inside. Once all of me was finally home, I felt my flesh begin to enclose me and laughed as I felt the barrier reforge- only with me inside it this time. I made quick work of the last piece of the original Parker’s soul. Staining it black and integrating it into myself.

Tears now flowed freely down Parker’s flush cheeks. His hands caressed his thick biceps in gratification. We were finally complete.  

I moaned as I felt myself overcome a familiar sensation that my old body often experienced. However, this sensation was entirely foreign to this Parker-flavored bod. Electricity coursed inside me, and moans turned into screams as shook back and forth in a downright religious experience. My back arched in violent delight and I felt the lights go out from my new pale, blue eyes. Parker’s first cum- our first cum together- absolute pleasure. My jaw slacked and drool began to escape as I was still reeling from the sensation.

Mess. I sat there panting for a second, chest and stomach soaked and coated in our liberation. I scooped a bit of the white and stared at it in my hand, watching this body’s own seed violently shudder and contort unnaturally before phasing into a dark mist. In demented glee, I felt the mist like an extension of myself and began feeding it into the rest of the untouched cum still outlining my abs. I licked my lips in savage pleasure as I watched as the rest of it slowly turn dark and soon felt it also under my control. Exquisite. I sent the small package of myself into the air, flying towards one of my teammates. Just a small piece to convince him to submit himself to Parker’s temple.

I couldn’t wait to show the town our new self. We are Parker. And all are welcome to worship at this temple. “Let us pray”.

- - -

Now, have you accepted Parker as your personal lord and savior?