#anyway i should get back to it

[rapha-reads]

When you're 5 pages in, 1.7k words into, your essay and you're barely, baaaarely reaching the central theme of your work. Hell yeah.

I'm writing an essay on the place of fantasy literature in the global academic literary canon for my Contemporary Literary Canon class, and I'm having fun.

Originally the theme given by the prof was "choose a not very known literary work and argumente why it should be part of the canon", but I am contradictory and my bread and butter is fantasy, fantastic and science fiction, therefore I completely changed the theme WHILE staying inside it.

I picked AN ENTIRE GENRE, started by explaining what fantasy is, and why Tolkien is important and definitely should be in the canon, fuck you Harold Bloom you arrogant pretentious piece of shit, then I'm going to argue why there should be an entire canon devoted solely to fantasy works (because let's be real, it is THE main genre today), and then I'll just. Explaon why the series Ewilan by Pierre Bottero should be an internationally acclaimed literary masterpiece.

The deadline is tonight midnight, it's already 4 in the afternoon and I've just reached the second point. Send luck please.

[paracosmicessence]

have doodle lol

functionally, i am alive, emotionally?? idk about that work has me crying almost everyday now chat idk if i can do this anymore

[egophiliac]

since Eng is getting 7.5 soon(?), I felt motivated to go back to my Meleanor rig and make her a couple of lesson animations! ...except for alchemy, because the cauldron bubbles proved too hard to photoshop around, whoops.

maybe she just got lost on her way to the classroom...?

(credit: backgrounds are from the game, I just put her on top of 'em)

(aside from the backgrounds, this is not an edit, I drew her from scratch! please do not tag or treat as an edit!)

[kaahmbem]

legend has it that the young witch circe and the once beautiful nymph scylla shared a complicated past...

[lotus-pear]

top 10 moments before disaster (dazai is about to step on his toes)

[pigeonpalacade]

Hit me with your killshot babeyyy

[midoristeashop]

Jack prost

Jack studies but I was only allowed to ref the rotg concept art 🤩

[hinamie]

congrats on your recovery n all yuuji but unfortunately for you I thought the scars were cool >:/

[localechoes]

happy sibling rane saturday!

[masterwords]

1x08 | 2x02 | 5x15 | 10x05

quiet everyone, hotch is telling us a story. (because the writers never did.)

[lucabyte]

you dream of devouring your friends whole

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

[ ID in ALT ]

he giggles

[daily-odile]

sorry i was gone for a while i just got back from the mountains

[xxplastic-cubexx]

give me some whiskey and ill draw The Most Thing i can come up with

bonus:

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

He’s staring at him.

Steve Harrington is staring at Eddie Munson.

The thing is, people don’t just stare at Eddie. Not for any reason that means anything good for Eddie. So when, completely unprompted, the fucking King of Hawkins High walks up to Eddie and says, “I need to talk to you,” Eddie thinks he’s entirely justified in the squeak he lets out.

“You? Talk? To me?” Wow. Great job, brain.

“Please,” Harrington whispers, and Eddie thinks desperately this must be some kind of joke, except he’s good at reading people, and he knows the desperation in Harrington’s eyes.

“Okay,” he says, stammers. “Um. There- there’s, behind the school, a, uh-”

“Table,” Harrington nods. “That works. Just…” he sighs, rakes a hand through his hair. “Leave the lunchbox at home.”

Eddie’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Then what the fuck do you want with me, dude?”

“I can’t explain. Not here, not now. Just. Please. After school, okay?”

Eddie looks at him. Really looks, studies his face, understands the lines by his eyes, the tightness of his mouth. His heart thumps as he realizes. He’s scared. “Okay,” he says, and means it.

Eddie’s a man of his word, so after school he makes his way to the table, pausing when it comes into view. Harrington’s already there, sitting with his head in his hands. Eddie calls out from a couple of paces away. “You sure you don’t want anything from the lunchbox?”

Harrington jumps, hands up, eyes round. Relaxes a little when he sees Eddie. “No. I- I’m good. I can’t, actually.”

Eddie frowns. “What, like, a sports thing? No one’s gotta know, dude, I’ve never been busted, I can keep a secret.”

Steve gives him a half-smile. “No. It’s- it’s not a sports thing. Just… sit down? And promise to listen?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, because he knows how comforting it can be to just have someone there, and he’s not a dick; clearly Harrington’s going through something. Though why he approached Eddie, of all people, he doesn’t know.

“Okay,” Harrington repeats back, taking a breath before starting. “If I were to tell you I’m from the future, a future in which we know each other, how would you ask me to prove it?”

Eddie blinks. He was ready for a lot of things, but not time travel. “Um. I dunno, man, I haven’t really thought about it.”

He takes another deep breath. “Can I try?”

“To- to prove you’re from the future?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie laughs, a little hysterically. “Man, where the fuck do I get the strain you’re on?”

He blinks. “What?”

Eddie gestures at him. “Come on, man, you have to admit you’re not really making sense here.”

Harrington sighs. Takes another breath. Says, “You live with your uncle Wayne. Your father taught you to hot wire cars when you were nine. You listen to Dio and Metallica and Ozzy Osbourne but your favorite song is I Will Always Love You, by Dolly Parton, because it was your mom’s favorite. The guitar pick you wear around your neck was hers. She taught you guitar. You love The Hobbit. Stop me when I’ve said enough.”

Eddie’s never been more scared in his life. “Listen, man, I dunno where you heard all that-”

“Eddie,” he says, implores, and digs something out of his pocket. Opens his hand to reveal a ring.

A ring Eddie already has on his finger.

“What the fuck,” Eddie whispers. Grabs for the ring before he can tell himself it’s a bad idea. Examines it, sees the dent from where his finger had gotten smashed in a door.

His hands start shaking.

“I’m from 1987,” Steve Harrington says, sure as anything. “And I’m trying to stop something terrible.”

“And what would that be?” Eddie asks, feeling strangely detached from the whole thing.

“Your death,” Steve Harrington says, still sure as anything.

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