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dootznbootz · 3 months

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Odysseus always trusted Penelope. He was ordered to lie to her and it hurt him to do so. Penelope was distrustful of this stranger until she had absolute solid proof.

There are way too many people talking about how "Odysseus lies to Penelope. What a prick!" and it makes me sad/mad as that's not the case at all

The whole "Odysseus usually always has a reason to lie" maybe upcoming essay aside, He was literally commanded by Athena to not tell anyone. And it was with Penelope that he had the hardest time keeping up the act with. Not only because she's smart af and figured him out almost immediately (that essay coming soon too) but because he was trying to keep himself from crying with her.

I think people forget that he is disguised to look like someone else completely. If a random man claimed to be your missing husband, wouldn't you be scared/freaked out?

Anyways, the 3 most important people in his life are Penelope, Telemachus, and Laertes. He lies to all three.

Telemachus: Lied by letting Eumaeus answer him and still under the orders from Athena, did not cry or reveal himself until Athena allowed him to. (I read it as him being in shock. Last time he saw him, Telemachus' hand could only wrap around one finger and now he's as big as him. a bit shocking to say the least)

Laertes: He teared up seeing him but still decided to question and test his father, not by the order from Athena.

Penelope: He was trying so hard to keep from crying, tried to noodle his way out of lying to her, Under Athena's orders. still couldn't help but basically flirt with her.

Also to get this outta the way: No, it wasn't a matter of trust. He is shown to trust her right away. As this happens even before he gets the chance to speak with Penelope.

Staunch Odysseus glowed with joy to hear all this— his wife's trickery luring gifts from her suitors now, enchanting their hearts with suave seductive words but all the while with something else in mind.

(Book 18, Fagles)

If Odysseus does not trust her, why is he so happy to see her "flirt" with the suitors? It's because he KNOWS what she's doing and knows she doesn't actually want them. If he didn't trust her, he would be upset by this.

Now for the "it hurt to lie to her" bit.

Athena's command:

"Tell not a single person in the palace, man or woman, that you are back from your wanderings; but endure all vexations in silence and submit yourself to the indignities that will be put upon you.'

(Book 13, Rieu)

If you are my son—truly of our blood— let no one hear Odysseus is back home. Don’t let Laertes know or the swineherd, or the slaves, or Penelope herself.

(Book 16, Johnston)

And the people he did reveal himself to, he only did so after being given permission by Athena.

Athene spoke to him. 'The time has come,' she said, 'royal son of Laertes, Odysseus of the nimble wits, to let Telemachus into your secret, so that the pair of you may plot the downfall and death of the Suitors and then make your way to the famous city. [...]

(Book 15, Rieu)

He talks to Telemachus before talking to Penelope.

I’ll stay here, so I can stir the servants even more— and your mother. As she laments, she’ll ask for each and every detail.”

(Book 19, Johnston)

Odysseus is already sweating about having to lie to her

The next part would honestly be me just inserting almost ALL the text for this so I'll go into a summary. It's all in Book 19.

Penelope asks him where he's from. And instead of answering, it's a tsunami of compliments. Calling her flawless. Comparing her to a king. etc, etc,

Probably because he couldn't help himself and had to babble about how wonderful she is Who wouldn't? before finally ending with "Please don't ask me where I'm from. It makes me sad."

Penelope, probably overwhelmed by his praise, immediately goes into how "her beauty left with her husband. It did not. And where did you say you were from again?"

"Fine! I'm from Crete..."

And we all know that as soon as she starts crying, after a lovely description of how her tears "melted", he talks about how hard it was for Odysseus to hold in his OWN tears. Lying to her and being unable to comfort her was painful for him!!!

But though Odysseus' heart was wrung by his wife's distress, his eyes, hard as horn or iron, never wavered between their lids, so craftily did he repress his tears.

(Book 19, Rieu)

Even with him revealing himself to Euryclea, when she cried out to Penelope, Athena made sure she didn't hear! It's most likely that he wouldn't be able to tell her even if he wanted.

She spoke, and her eyes glanced over at Penelope, anxious to tell her that her husband had come home. But Penelope could not see her face or notice, for Athena had diverted her attention.

(Book 19, Johnston)

He desperately wanted to be with her again. Literally daydreaming about it!

At those words Dawn rose on her golden throne in a sudden gleam of light. And great Odysseus caught the sound of his wife’s cry and began to daydream—deep in his heart it seemed she stood beside him, knew him, now, at last …

(book 20, Fagles)

Clearly doesn't trust her. /sarcasm

It's PENELOPE that has trouble trusting him. And rightfully so! While she was very certain that was her husband, there was so much going on and of course, she's cautious! He looked like an elderly stranger at first, why is he hiding from her? He somehow took out all those men with only a little help, Athena isn't telling her anything, Helen was kidnapped and she did not want that to possibly happen to her too, etc.

He even understands her cautiousness to be reasonable.

As she spoke, lord Odysseus, who had borne so much, smiled and immediately spoke to Telemachus— his words had wings: “Telemachus, let your mother test me in these halls. She will soon possess more certain knowledge. Right now I’m filthy, with disgusting clothing on my body. That’s why she rejects me and will not say I am Odysseus. [...]

(Book 23, Johnston)

He even trusted her completely to take care of everything while he was gone before. And he does again when he wakes up and goes to see his father. Telling her about how she too wise to need instruction

Odysseus (and Penelope as well) is well-known for his cunning tricks and how his loyalties are often blurred but one thing that is for sure about him is that he trusts and is loyal to Penelope full-heartedly. He spent every day missing her and their son and wanting to go home to her. The only moment we see his trust in her waver is during the Treebed scene, (which is what she wanted to test).

They are "like-minded". 😭

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farfromstrange · 3 months

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Thumb v Printer | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: Your clumsiness keeps Matt on edge at all times. Like when you cut your thumb on a printer.

Warnings: None. (Maybe slight description of injury for those of you who are squeamish). Tooth-rotting fluff.

Word Count: ~1k

A/n: This did happen to me. It's healed now, but a piece of my thumb was missing for like a week and it wasn't fun. All because I had to print my sources for an essay and the paper got stuck. Smh.

Read Me On AO3!

If a stranger came up to you and told you, “I smell blood,” it would be more than enough to make you run for the hills. Sharing a home with Matt Murdock though, you have heard stranger things.

You turn from your spot on the sofa, putting your laptop aside for a moment to greet him. “Hello to you too,” you answer casually.

He tilts his head in your direction. His nostrils flare. You know better than to question it. He’s wearing the same suit he left your shared apartment with this morning, his tie only loosened slightly to allow him some air to breathe. The last streaks of sunlight filter through the window, enveloping him in an ethereal glow. He’s so beautiful, but he doesn’t allow you much time to admire him as he stands in the hallway, his hands propped up on his hips as though he is about to lecture you on criminal law before the Civil War.

“You opened the first-aid kit,” he states. “What happened?”

It’s an astute observation, you have to give him that. “Oh. Yeah.” You chuckle. “I just cut my finger on the printer, that’s all.”

He stutters for a moment, almost like an old engine. “You… I’m sorry, what?”

His worried expression fades into something else entirely. You know that look all too well; he’s confused—so confused, in fact, that he forgets how concerned he was a minute ago.

“I cut my finger on the printer,” you repeat, shrugging. “Happens.”

“I’m gonna regret asking you this, but…how?”

“Well, I was printing some documents earlier, and the paper got stuck, so, I had to lift the top and get in there, right?”

He nods. “Right.”

So far, it sounds plausible, but he knows you. Matt is well aware that your clumsiness manages to exceed his in many ways, and you have gotten yourself into predicaments in the past that he still hasn’t wrapped his head around. Sometimes, shit happens to and around you, and he has to accept that. He never fails to try though, which is kind of endearing, in a way. It’s something you have gotten used to over the years; he has to ensure you’re okay or he can’t find a moment to rest.

“I wasn’t wearing my glasses,” you confess, “so I had to put my face as close as possible to see what I was doing. Anyway, the paper ripped and since my position didn’t allow for any traction, I accidentally got my thumb caught on a sharp edge because if I’d pulled my hand out I would’ve hit myself in the face.”

A moment of silence passes. The wheels in Matt’s head visibly turn. He fidgets with the waistband of his pants, still processing. Eventually, he asks, “What?”

You sigh. “I’m sorry for not cleaning up. I was busy trying to fix my thumb and the printer.”

“I’m not… sweetheart, I’m not worried about the mess. I’m worried about you.” Matt slips the glasses off his nose and places them aside.

“I’m okay,” you tell him. But are you, really?

“You sure?” He bridges the gap between you, tugging at your hand to run his fingers over the bandage; the cut underneath screams in protest. “Let me check.” His hazel eyes focus blankly at the space where your nose is, but it feels as though he is staring into your soul.

“Matt…” You try to stop him, but he swiftly unpacks the injury.

He sucks in a sharp breath when the scent hits him. You wonder what it smells like; blood, definitely, and maybe some of the ink you accidentally got into the wound before disinfecting it. His thumb gently inspects the area around it, trying not to hurt you. Matt can’t help but shake his head again; it doesn’t take much for him to realize that it isn’t just a tiny cut.

“Jesus,” he curses under his breath. “Feels like you’re missing some skin there.”

You try to make light of the situation. “Maybe we’ll find it the next time one of us prints something.”

His jaw clenches. You’re not in pain anymore, and your fight with the printer did not lead to a life-threatening injury, but he can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, not even for a second.

“I love you,” he says, “but you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.” It’s not as endearing as it usually sounds.

“Huh.” You huff. “That’s saying a lot, considering you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m blind,” he retorts, eyebrows raised to his hairline. He’s standing there, expression suggesting he thinks you have officially lost your mind, and it rubs you the wrong way.

You retract your hand, glaring at him with all you’ve got. “And I’m extremely short-sighted!” You don’t have to yell for him to feel the intended sting of your tone.

His hands find their way back to his hips like a condescending mother. “Why weren’t you wearing your glasses?”

“Because,” you say, “I accidentally got coffee on them this morning and forgot to put them back on.” Your confidence falters halfway through though, realizing it doesn’t work well in your defense. Especially not in an argument with a skilled lawyer such as your boyfriend.

You love his caring nature more than life, but sometimes he treats you like a child who needs saving. Your heart is racing in your chest, and perhaps that is why he stops before you can make an argument out of a simple cut on your finger. It’s not worth it.

“I… you know what,” Matt caves, and his biceps relax, “I’m not even going to ask.”

You nod, albeit not triumphantly. You didn’t exactly win this battle of wits. “Yeah. Probably for the better,” you answer, chin held high, but it’s of no use.

You got defeated. By a printer.

His lips curve into a soft smile. “C’mere.” He leans in, his nose brushing against yours. He smells of his cologne, paper, and coffee—like home. And he probably tastes like what he had for lunch or maybe the water he gozzled before heading home, but there is always a slight tinge of something indescribable when he kisses you.

Before your lips can finally touch though, he halts. Matt sniffs, licking his lips and tasting the air. “You smell like ink,” he says.

Your eyes narrow. Asshole. “Thank you. That’s…should I pour bleach into my mouth to accommodate you, Murdock?” you snap, pushing away from him.

Instead of begging on his knees for forgiveness—a dramatic notion you would not be opposed to—he laughs. Matt Murdock has the audacity to laugh. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out between giggles. “I’m sorry. Hey!” He tugs at your arm once more. “At least let me hug you. Please.”

You pout. “I’ll bite you.”

“Please don’t.”

“I might.”

He brings you into his arms with little resistance from your end, guiding your head just above his heart. So you can hear him. Feel him. Smell him. “I love you too,” he murmurs against your hair.

You bury your face in his chest. It’s unfair how comfortable he is. “Hm. You’re lucky you’re irreplaceable,” you say, but it lacks conviction.

Matt clicks his tongue. “You’re so nice to me.”

“You started it.”

“That’s fair.” Grabbing your chin, he tilts your head back up. “I still love you.”

You can’t bite back a smile this time, purring, “Oh, I know.”

That’s never going to change, you know. And you love him. All of him, all the time, and unconditionally.

Tag List: @littlenerdyravenclaw @yarrystyleeza @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @thatonegamefish @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattkinsella @itwasthereaminuteago @linamarr @gpenguin666 @acharliecoxedfan @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x gn!reader #matt murdock fluff #daredevil #daredevil x reader #charlie cox

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 4 months

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ppl please. You are making Vaggie stupider than she is in canon

"Why didn't Vaggie know angel weapons could kill angels, when Lute used one to permanently gouge out her eye-"

Because Lute also ripped off her wings, seemingly permanently, WITHOUT using a weapon.

It makes sense that Vaggie would figure only other ANGELS can HURT angels. And that's still not the same as KILLING ONE.

You can say "well if she was scarred then by it then she should've assumed a real attack could have killed her" but why? In hell, Sinners can be TORN APART and pull themselves back together. Why wouldn't Vaggie assume that she can take damage up to a point but still not die? Or that she would just reform again afterwards?

"It was a writing mistake to have Vaggie not confess her past to Charlie before they went to heaven, no believable character would do that-"

It was a character flaw, one many other characters in the show have, and it is very true to life that longer you keep a secret about yourself- especially one you're afraid people will hate you for- the harder it is to admit to it.

We know she feels like her only point in existing is to help Charlie. She said it. And later it ties in perfectly with her backstory of losing everything about herself and being found by Charlie, of rejecting her life killing Sinners and devoting herself to supporting the dream of saving them instead.

We also know the last time she "failed" people in her life she was hurt and abandoned by them. We know her FIRST plan was to NOT go to heaven with Charlie, to try and make some kind of excuse.

But then she couldn't come up with a good excuse. And she couldn't bring herself to say no to her supportive and loving girlfriend. And then they were in heaven, facing a COURT HEARING to decide the fate of SOULS, that her girlfriend would have to argue a case for-

Does that really sound like the best time to drop an emotional relationship truth bomb?

Sound. Not "was". Would it have FELT LIKE a good time to come clean to Charlie about being a former Exorcist.

HOW would it have FELT like a good time for that to Vaggie? Especially after Adam and Lute got through telling her how being scarred and crippled by them was her fault, being left down in hell by them was her fault, and her girlfriend will ALSO hate her if the truth comes out?

THIS IS A SHOW. ABOUT PEOPLE. WHO MAKE CRAPPY SELF-SABOTAGING CHOICES (look at Angel Dust) AND THEN HAVE TO DECIDE WHAT TO DO WITH THE FALL OUT OF THaT

THATS THE SHOW

THATS. THE POINT OF THE HAZBIN HOTEL

it's not "bad writing" when a WOMAN does it TOO without an essay explaining her every thought leading up to it!

like im sorry her scenes were rushed, im sorry they had worse animation and story boarding and pacing than the guys' moments get, im sorry she didn't get more focus, im sorry she isn't a fav character of the show creators-

but she IS well written. tbh all of the characters in the show are.

they do things that makes sense based on what they've been through, and what they feel, and what they want, and that's. that's good character writing.

i don't LIKE a lot of the characters but they're still WELL WRITTEN

I HAVE QUESTIONS ABOUT VAGGIE- BUT ONLY BECAUSE IM OBESSEED WITH HER AND WANT TO CRAWL INSIDE HER SKULL! SHE IS, IN THE SHOW, A PERFECTLY BELIEVABLE CHARACTER

bad writing would have been- her getting angry at Charlie for being upset about the secret! it would've been her CAVING to Adam's blackmail and arguing against Angel Dust to save herself! It would've been her moping on the top of the hotel while Charlie was angry with her instead of actively doing what she could to help, like she did!

i've lived through SO MANY badly written characters DO NOT try telling me VAGGIE is one of them- i remember the horrors. THIS is not THAT

......anyway

im probably gonna regret posting this aren't i

#hazbin hotel #vaggie

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yuri-for-businesswomen · 2 months

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i have left

hey everyone this will probably be the last thing i post on this blog albeit im keeping it up for resources.

im eternally grateful for how this community has helped me through prostitution and everything, i have amazing mutuals and i have learned so much 💜

but it has become toxic. many of yall cant handle disagreement and default to being as condescending and obnoxious as possible. one of us calling out a post is not enough, we have to dog pile everyone with a slightly shitty opinion. some of yall have severely lost the plot if you ever had it in the first place. not everything is that serious, especially when it comes to online drama.

im sick of it. so many engage in the same bullshit we accuse online trans activists of. this is an echo chamber. so many just mindlessly parrot slogans and arguments. what im very sick of is seeing single tweets or posts by a nobody, usually anonymous, being spread as receipts and shit. you know how annoying it is when everything a self proclaimed terf somewhere on social media says is taken by trans activists at face value and representative of the community when theyre not even radical feminist, just transphobic? yeah. yet a lot of yall do the same by saving and sharing „receipts“ where some random person who claims theyre trans (or not even) says some fucked up or out of pocket shit. you will always find people like that online, from any politicial „camp“ or ideological alignment!

a lot of yall seem to think that debate is about winning and not like, having an exchange of arguments and let the audience come to their own conclusion

and i just dont hate trans people. in fact i feel kinship to any female or homosexual trans person, anyone except heterosexual males. many of yall dont even realise how male centered you are when you more or less equal the trans community to heterosexual men who have a fetish for humiliation and forced feminisation or whatever. who exist and are an issue and i do wish the trans community at large would distance themselves from those men, but its not all there is to it. yes i agree that we need to protect vulnerable young people, girls and especially lesbians and gay boys, from being pushed into transitioning, i think the age of consent should be put at 21 or something, but we have to acknowledge and consider that there are people who have already transitioned and will transition in the future and i just dont understand how you cant have any empathy for them. no matter what you think about transition, many trans people ARE vulnerable and marginalised. plus consider how many detransitioned women are in this community yet yall talk about trans people as mutilated and shit its gross. in the end we can only try to establish structures that keep people from self harming, but an adult of sound mind has the right to do so anyways, including plastic surgery and trans surgeries. and i want to keep my arms open to them; but a lot of rhetoric around it spread on here will only alienate them further.

right now im saving all my essays in notes so its out of my mind. i have missed the community a lot so maybe i will return at some point but i have also been feeling better since i stopped being on radblr. i miss the rare valuable input and thoughts by other women but overall i have felt unaligned with how things have been handled on here. it has been mostly negative instead of constructive and pragmatic. ive had the impression some of yall enjoy the „being in the in-group“ community aspect more than actually being here for feminist exchange. lack of nuance, lack of empathy, lack of reason. it pains me but i have more and more come to understand why people just block us without engaging on general suspicion because ive also come to be annoyed with some of yall engaging with posts - and im on „your side“.

anyways im doing okay, im going to drug counselling regularly now and am trying to establish a stable life for those of you who inquired, and i hope anyone reading this is self reflected enough to know whether this applies to her or not. bye

#and yeah i may have been guilty of some of this in the past and i dont like that i was swept up in this and distancing myself now

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lavender-storm · 2 years

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Does she feel the same?

summary | Theo always thought you were pretty, and no matter how much he tries to avoid you, he always ends up mesmerized by you.

pairing | Theo Nott x fem!Reader

warning | English is not my first language, so excuse my mistakes. I also typed this on my phone so even though I've reread it a hundred times, there's a high chance you'll find typos.

word count | 1,845

a/n: Happy New Year Everyone! I hope 2023 brings you everything you want and need! Be patient and stay kind to yourselves.♥️ I hope you enjoy this little story too! Let me know what you think. Thank you! xx

He decided that doing his homework in the library is the best decision, but of course he cannot have a second of peace anywhere. Of course she's here. She's everywhere he goes.

She's sitting alone at a table in the back of the library, the candles giving her a subtle glow that makes her look ethereal. Now how could he study, knowing that the gorgeous Y/N is only a few tables away from him? He would rather die, than admit his little crush on her, knowing that his friends would mock him. He doesn't have a chance anyway. But she's pretty. And kind, and smart and she's always a distraction. He doesn't know why, or how, but she's so mesmerizing to him, that he needed to avoid her as much as possible. Obviously, it wasn't working, and somehow, he always ended up right next to her, unable to act like a human being.

He's so deep in thoughts that he doesn't realize that his legs are moving on their own, until he's standing right beside her.

"Is this seat taken?" he asks suddenly, his voice is deep and raspy, and she stares at him in confusion. The library is empty, why does he want to sit here with her? Yeah sure, they have talked before, and they have many classes together, but they are pretty far from being friends. There's no reason for him to sit next to her. Unless… Unless this is another prank of him and his Slytherin friends.

Theo's expression is unreadable, she can't tell whether he's joking or not. But he doesn't move as he waits for an answer, eyes fixated on hers. Warmth creeps up her neck and cheeks as she silently nods, and without another word, he sits down to work on his essay.

Theodore can't focus on his homework for long, far too aware of her presence. He moves his chair closer to her, and puts his hands on the table. She's fidgeting with a few pages of the book she's reading, obviously nervous. Is he the reason she's nervous? Because right now, he finds it a little bit harder to breathe, and his heart is hammering in his chest. In any other situation, he would find these feelings repulsive and scary, but next to her it's exciting, it's pleasant. It's new. Does she feel the same?

He's unsure of what to do now, he can't do anything like this. Her perfume lingers in the air, and like an invisible rope, it's pulling him in, closer to her. His eyes are unable to focus on the words of the book. The urge to touch her hand is unbearable, his hands are itching to move just a little bit.

After a few moments, he moves his left hand again, his fingers barely touching hers, and her fidgeting stops. And his breathing stops. Neither of them move, as they bask in the feeling of electricity rushing through their blood from the small contact. Theo swallows the lump in his throat. He feels so out of control. He takes in a deep breath, and flexes his hand on top of hers before gently intertwining their fingers. She's totally still, unable to move, but Theo does not let her go. He can't. Not until she looks at him with those beautiful eyes. He drags his thumb across her skin, and finally, oh finally, she raises her head.

And the addicting, warm feeling runs through his veins like wildfire. He thought he could look away, as soon as he had her attention, he thought that a few seconds would be enough, but no. It's not enough. He suddenly needs more, more attention, more touching, more of her.

Her eyes are wide and shining, and he would give his soul to the devil to know what she's thinking right now. Does she see him as others? Does she find him scary? Or does she feel what he's feeling? It's so intense, so obvious, there's no way she can't feel this pull.

Her eyes are enchanting him, he's never felt like this before. He's not only unable to look anywhere, he doesn't even want to. Because in the dim light of the library candles, she resembles an angel. A fairy. A Greek goddess. She's so breathtaking, and he's so close to get on his knees and tell her all the things that run through his head, but a sudden voice pulls them out of the trance.

"Nott, where the bloody hell are you?" Blaise yells, and the librarian hushes him. He mumbles a quiet sorry. "There you are! Been looking for you dude. What are you doing here alone?" Theo raises an eyebrow. Can't he see that he is busy?

"I'm doing my homework w-" he tries to point out the obvious, but he can't. Because she's no longer sitting in front of him. What? Where did she go? She can't just disappear.

"Please do not run Miss Y/L/N! Nobody knows how to behave in a library."

He fucked up. He fucked up really bad, and now he's sure she's avoiding him on purpose. He can't do this, he feels miserable. No matter what he does, how loud he is, she acts like he doesn't even exist and it kills him inside.

"Could you at least pretend that you are listening to me?" Blaise asks Theo, who seems to be in a different world.

"I heard you Blaise, I'm pretty sure, everyone in this bloody school can hear every word you say."

Although he can't say that he comprehended every word, not when it feels like a million butterflies fluttering in his chest.

"For Merlin's sake, go and talk to her," Blaise groans when he realizes Theo's problem.

Out of all of his friends, only Blaise can read him like a book, and sometimes even he has a hard time figuring out what's going on with Theo. But not this time. This time it's so clear to him that it's actually annoying, how clueless Theo is. Does he really think he can't notice how his eyes keep drifting her way? Or how he sits up taller when he hears her voice?

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't act like you are stupid, Nott."

"I'm not acting like -"

"Oh so you're actually just stupid, great," Theo rolls his eyes at Blaise. He's really not in the mood right now. "You were with her at the library, weren't you?"

Theo just sighs, running a hand through his hair. Yes he was, but what does that matter? He couldn't even say a single word to her because Blaise is right, he really is just stupid. So stupid.

"I just… I sat down. I wanted to talk to her. But she didn't even want to look at me, and I... I probably looked stupid as fuck," he whispers, trying not to interupt Professor McGonagall's lesson.

"Yeah you probably did."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. That's what friends are for, right?" Blaise smiles, trying to cheer him up a bit.

"She might not even know my name and I just sat there like an idiot, not saying anything."

"I'm going to be honest with you, because I love you. You are scary, dude. Like really scary. With the death stare you got going on. You know what I mean. The- yeah, that face! Exactly," Blaise points at him, and Theo slams his forehead on the table. That's just the way his face is, what is he supposed to do? "I'm not saying you scared her to death, but the chances are higher than you think."

Is that true? Is she really scared of him? He knows most people are either scared of him, or hate him, but he's not doing anything on purpose. Especially not when it comes to her.

But he is like this by nature, he can't do anything about that. He also couldn't care less about his reputation, how others speak of him, because why would he? He knows himself, his friends know him, and that's all that matters. And people will always gossip and create theories about others, so what's the point?

Until now, he didn't think that his reputation could influence how people feel about him. Thinking about how scared she must have felt, when he sat down next to her. He feels sick. Is that why she hesitated when he asked if he could sit down? Is that why she was afraid to move? Is that why she ran away as soon as he looked away? And Oh Merlin, what did she think when he grabbed her hand like a creep?

Out of nowhere, someone pokes his shoulder, to which he only responds with a groan.

Another poke.

Another groan.

Another poke, and someone clears their throat.

"What the fuck is wrong with you Blaise-" he starts but he's cut off by Blaise nodding towards something behind him. He must have fallen asleep, because class is now over and everyone's rushing out. With annoyance plastered on his face, he turns around, seeing Y/N standing there, with wide eyes. He quickly relaxes his face, and tries to put on a gentle smile when he sees her hesitation.

"Is tomorrow afternoon good for you?" Maybe he's still asleep. Maybe he's in a lucid dream or something. Cause there's no way in hell, that Y/N is actually asking him this. Why is she asking him this? His confused blinking brings a cute, kind smile to her face, realizing that Theo didn't hear a single word Professor McGonagall had said in class. "We have to do a project. We are paired together." She explains.

Oh.

"Yeah, sure," he answers like he's unbothered, even though he's on the verge of exploding.

"Okay. Meet me in the library at 4," He can only nod. He should say something. Anything. And he wants to, oh Merlin he wants to say so many things to her. But he swallows his words, unsure of what would be the right thing to say. Blushing under his intense stare, Y/N also nods, and with a small wave, she leaves the boys.

"Man, you have such a way with words," Blaise whispers next to him, earning a smack on the back of his head before he gets up to leave for lunch. Blaise would tease him some more, if this were another situation, but Theo's eyes sparkle with excitement, and he has a small crooked smile on his lips for the rest of the day, and even a fool could see, that Theodore Nott is falling.

#theodore nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott imagine #theo nott x y/n #theo nott fluff #theodore nott imagine #harry potter imagine #theodore nott x reader #lavender-storm

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ttalgi · 7 months

Text

mistaken letters

wanderer x gn! reader

"hey, i was wondering why you even wanted to send that letter to hat guy, anyways?"

it took a moment to process what kaveh said, and when you did, you felt your body freeze up. it took an unusual amount of effort to get the words out of your mouth, maybe because of how dry it suddenly felt.

"what...what do you mean letter? i don't know about any letters?! why would i, of all people, write him a letter?! " you scoffed out the last part, hoping that your haughty tone would defend you from what you were about to hear.

"UGH! first of all, spend less time around alhaitham, you're copying his mannerisms a bit too well," he exasperated. "secondly, are you having early stages of memory loss?! i'm talking about the multiple page letter you left on your desk to be sent out alongside that package for your family."

your first instinct was to yell at kaveh for even sending the letter, but then taking a moment to think, you can't help but to berate yourself over why you would even leave the letter out on your desk. thinking even further you realize that it's actually all hat guy's fault.

you've spent too many years of your life trying to stay at the top of your vahumana class only for hat guy to swoop in and tear at your efforts. the last straw was when he received the top score on the latest essay, bumping you down to second,,,for the fifth time now.

your vexation for him caused you to begin writing how he shouldn't even be in the akademiya because he just showed up one random day in the middle of the year out of nowhere. which led to how you thought that he was insufferable, especially when he discovers that he surpassed your score. which somehow led you to write about how you sometimes stare at his stupidly pretty face when you spot him at the library, about his voice which holds a tone that musicians wish they could play forever, about his hair that you imagine combing your fingers through-

"hello?! anyone present up here??" kaveh knocked at your head.

"kaveh...im so screwed."

notes: i was reading "i hope this doesn't find you" when i suddenly thought of this prompt with scara so i made up this small drabble hehe. also this is not edited, so apologizes in advance...also it's 4 am where i am...i should really sleep

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #genshin imagines #gender neutral reader #ttalgi writes #genshin drabble

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consultingskeletondetective · 1 month

Text

Virginal, chapter 2

Michael had left you alive, and you couldn't begin to fathom why. You know all you can do is try and forget it and move on with your life.

Except...Michael has followed you home.

masterlist ❤️🖤 ao3

chapter tags: serial killer, murder, death, violence, blood, gore, weapons, knife, female reader, non con, stalking, hair pulling, forced orgasms

The police hadn’t caught him yet.

It had been almost a week since your encounter with Michael Myers in the woods on your way home from work, and he’d been on the run ever since. You hadn’t reported what had happened to the authorities, even if you’d been on the verge of it many times. You’d spent the whole week waking up in cold sweats with a gooey and shameful mess between your legs at the memory of Michael’s large hand on your neck, or the sense-memory of his cock pressed heavy and dangerous against your core. The way he’d used you, fucked you, like his own little plaything haunted you.

No one could know what he’d done to you, no one could know how you felt about it, even if the guilt gnawed at you. Maybe if you’d told someone, they might have caught him by now, and people might still be alive. But there was a part of you, a part of you you wished you didn’t have, that reminded you that if Michael wanted someone dead, then there was nothing any earthly power could do to keep that person alive. Michael left no survivors.

Except for you.

It had been on the news religiously all week; police were baffled by his location and utterly at a loss for his motivations and patterns. Michael, it seemed, cared not a bit to cover his tracks. He even seemed to decorate his murder scenes artistically, propping bodies up and, blurred though they were on the television, reminding you of a sick and gruesome game of action figures. They were Michael’s bodies, to do with as he pleased. Twelve people he’d killed since he found you. Twelve. That the authorities were aware of, anyway. The thought chilled you to the very core.

You’d learnt from the heavy reporting that Michael Myers had been being held at the Westbrook Sanitarium for the criminally insane, not four miles from where you worked, and he’d escaped that night he’d taken you - thrust against your weak body until he came on your cunt like a wild animal.

You were the first person he’d come across, apparently, and after years of solitude, Michael had some frustrations to take out on you. You knew well who he was, you recognised that mask and that boiler suit the second you’d seen it. You’d grown up with stories of the boogeyman who’d murdered his sister the same as everyone else, thrust into the spotlight when he’d escaped from Smith’s Grove Sanitarium a few years ago and murdered a bunch of teenagers on a spree. You’d seen the youtube video essays and buzzfeed articles on the stoic killing machine who’d baffled psychologists and doctors up and down the country, maybe even the world. You’d walked past books in shops written about this monster, his silence, his rage, his gore and death and damnation were a part of your culture. It made it easy to forget that Michael Myers was real, and not just some fictitious product of a sick mind. He became very real to you that night, your own personal boogeyman.

You’d learnt that Michael Myers was no man, he was an evil spirit, a hell-sent silent demon, a ghost - one that was haunting you.

You turned the television off and went into the bathroom, shucking your clothes into a messy pile by the bath as you stepped under the cool spray of the shower.

It was a warm day, your skin over-hot, and you welcomed the clammy dribbles down your back. You washed quickly, fingers pressing too familiar over the lips of your pussy, you expected them still to be swollen, puffy from use where Michael had rutted his scorching and elephantine cock against you like a beast in heat, but it wasn’t. It was like it hadn’t happened. Except it had, of course, because you still wore him on your skin. His fingertips were in every bruise, his grip was the ache in your bones with every groan of your sore body. It was like he’d marked you, made your tiny body a part of his eclipsing form.

You shook your head frustratedly to yourself in the bathroom mirror before flicking the lightswitch off and making your way to your bedroom. You couldn’t think of him every moment for the rest of your life, you couldn’t live in fear of the boogeyman. He had left you alive, and you had to live with that. Michael was gone, and you’d never see him again.

You pulled a short nightdress on, the flimsy material to combat the hot and sticky night you anticipated, and you made your way to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle to take to bed.

The outside light was on.

It wasn’t yours, but your neighbours. It was motion-sensored, you knew that because it blinded you every time you stumbled back from a night shift.

You frowned before crossing to the door, to close the blinds over the glass so no one would be able to see into your home in the middle of the night. Your hand tangled in the string before it froze, along with the rest of your body. Like your blood had frozen to ice inside you and made you a dead weight to the floor.

Michael was standing under the light, 50 yards away from your door. He was staring sightlessly at you through the empty eyes of his mask, utterly emotionless. His hands rested unclenched by his sides, his back razor-straight as always. He was just watching. His form gave no indication of how long he’d been there. Maybe hours.

Fear shot through you and the string began to shake violently in your grip as you stared at him. He’d come to finish what he’d started, you realised in horror, he’d noticed his mistake in leaving you alive. Was it so you couldn’t tell the police? Was it just that you needed to die, he’d had you in his grasp and that was that, a rageful itch under his skin that wouldn’t be quenched until your blood was soaking his hands?

It didn’t make sense. He was stood in the street, bathed in your neighbours motion light like a bloody homing beacon. Surely they’d seen him. Surely someone had seen him and called the police? Why weren’t there any sirens? It was deathly quiet. Just you, him and the wind. Maybe it was a fever dream, a sleep paralysis nightmare and your demon had returned to you.

He began walking leisurely towards the door, his pace bone-tinglingly unhurried as ever, before he stopped at the glass and peered down at you. You shrank, paralysed with fear. You’d somehow forgotten just how big he was. He might have been two foot taller than you, and just as broad, taking up the whole of the door so he blacked out any light behind him. That was as good a metaphor as any to describe Michael. The darkness followed him.

You didn’t know why you weren’t moving, dazzled, you supposed somewhere in the back of your mind. A monster brought to life, in front of you, enough to convince yourself that you were dreaming.

His fist shattered through the glass, shards of glittering ice hitting the kitchen floor as his hand curled down to find the handle. You screamed, backing off so violently your back hit the fridge and tears wept down your cheeks until they were quite literally soaking the front of your nightie. This was no dream. It was a nightmare incarnate.

Even his violent outburst seemed calm somehow, shattering your backdoor into shards of glass like it was nothing. His large hand found the door handle and began to rattle it, and the noise caused your brain to snap back to where it needed to be.

You forced your eyes from him, pushed yourself away from the fridge and scurried into the living room. The front door was in your sights. You didn’t know precisely what you planned to do with yourself when you got outside, your brain hadn’t made it that far yet. All you knew was that you needed to survive, and you had no chance of that locked in the same cage as this rabid animal.

You grabbed for the front door handle with a hiss of accomplishment, throwing your gaze back over your shoulder to ascertain how much time you had. No time. Michael was already in the living room, walking towards you like he had all the time in the world. You shrieked in pure terror at his towering form as you flung the door wide open, the concrete of your front step was cool on your barefoot but the sensation barely lasted a second as fingers tangled roughly in your hair and yanked you roughly until you fell onto the carpet. The open-palm of Michael’s free hand slammed the front door shut, cutting off your exit, and the oak creaked under the force of it, the foundations of the house damn-near shaking.

You scrambled onto your knees, screeching, crying, grasping at his hand in your hair, wincing when every flex of his fingers yanked at your scalp, tearing individual hairs out by the roots. He had to bend his back to hold you to the floor, his emotionless mask looking down on you. His breathing was barely audible over your devastated screams. You couldn’t move.

“Please, please, please, Michael, please don’t kill me. I didn’t tell anyone, I swear! I won’t! I don’t want to die, please let me go, please, please-”

You could barely beg, your throat hoarse, your words sobs. He didn’t respond except to drag you into the middle of the room by your hair, kicking the coffee table aside to make room for you both in the middle of the floor. One of the wooden legs of your poor table snapped under his boot before he tossed you down like a ragdoll. Your back hit the carpeted floor and it shook your whole frame. You instinctively planted your palms on the floor behind yourself, to crawl back, to spring up, you didn’t know.

Michael’s boot came to rest on your bare thigh, his weight utterly solid and you wailed as he pinned you to the floor. Your nightie had ridden up, not to the point of indecency, but enough that his boot kissed your flesh. You froze as fresh tears streamed down your face, remembering exactly what he’d done the last time he’d had you like this, as if just realising how acutely vulnerable you were in this position. Were you even wearing underwear? You didn’t think so. His boot was mere inches away from your exposed cunt, all he’d have to do was push your dress up and he’d see everything. See how fucking wet you were. You hated yourself.

“Please,” you tried again, voice barely a whisper as you looked up at him. Submissive, you realised, prey before a predator, begging for its life. “What do you want?”

He didn’t move, you could barely tell if he was breathing, just staring down at you as everything else in the world fell away. His hands were still loose by his sides, no knife, you noted, but a grim red-hued dirt on the rough palms of his hands you could identify without too much guesswork. Your stomach rolled.

His hand raised and you jolted, expecting pain, to be struck, stripped, killed.

How long had he been searching for you? Maybe he’d never left, maybe he’d been one step behind you all week, watching you sleep, watching you shower - were those twelve people dead because they lived close to you? Did you kill them?

His large hand came to rest over the front of his crotch and your mouth fell open. Not again. Why me? You were already shaking your head, breathy hitching sobs racking through you.

“No, Michael, please -”

He toed your thigh with the steel-gap of his boot, shoving it to the side, affectively opening your legs and you wanted to close your eyes, the feeling of vulnerability and shame as he spread your legs for him hurt something deep inside of you, you felt dirty and shameful in every one of your nerves. Your slick was soaking the back of your nightie and probably your carpet too. What the fuck was wrong with you?

He fell to his knees in front of you, in a way that could only have hurt, but he didn’t make a sound as his large, gore-stained hands gripped your bare thighs and tugged until you were lying in front of him. You squeaked, your legs not quite touching his, more left hanging in the air as he scraped his calloused hands down your thighs in a way that definitely didn’t make your heart speed up, no more than it was already hammering, before his palms were flat on your inner thighs, pressing them apart and into the floor. You tried immediately and desperately to close them and his grip on you tightened to the point of extreme pain, your femurs tremoring dangerously like they might snap if you moved even an inch.

You stilled completely, you couldn’t tell where he was looking, but it seemed to be right at you, that emotionless masked expression, or lack of, giving you nothing, but you could feel the rage and the dangerous power wafting off of him, you could feel the coiled strength in his fingers, the strain of his bicep muscles in his boiler suit as he held you immobile and you swallowed, shivering in fear and pitiful acceptance as you stopped struggling. If you had any hope of getting out of this alive, and as uninjured as possible, you had to stop fighting.

His pathetic, mewling hole, your brain supplied almost bitterly.

Once apparently satisfied you’d stopped struggling, MIchael’s grip on your thighs lessened somewhat, leaving deep red bruises regardless, and he shifted forwards on his knees, taking up more space between your legs, as he rucked your nightie up to your belly, sitting back a little just to stare at your pussy, exposed and dripping and vulnerable, as if getting a good look at the wet little hole that had made him come so hard the last time.

Your cheeks burned boiling hot as he looked at you, your thighs twitching conspirately to close but you forced yourself to try and calm, utterly impossible, you trembled like a newborn foal.

He dipped his head between your legs and your back arched, startled, wondering what he possibly meant to do, particularly, your horrible brain chipped in, with a mask over his face. You could hear nothing but that breathing, before it was sucked in, the nose of his mask just nudging your folds and making you jolt.

Was he - was he smelling you?

He made no noise, his body shifted an inch. What was he doing? It was like he was searching for something. He kept his nose buried against your soaping heat for a few more moments before he apparently found it. Then he was sitting back up again. Your knees were nearly knocking together in terror when his hands, fuck, how were they so big? framed your cunt, pulling at the flesh of the tops of your thighs, spreading your folds, revealing the vulnerable pink flesh of your seam, your clit.

Oh fuck.

He prodded you with a long finger a few times, painful sharp jabs until he caught the rim of your opening and sunk in to the knuckle. It burned, it burned so hot, you clenched painfully around his finger. Fuck, it felt like the size of a cock all on its own. But the finger was withdrawn as quickly as it had breached you, like a fucking dip test, but no less rough on the way out and you grimaced. You had a pretty good idea about what was to follow, and the anticipation of the pain alone was enough to make you cry again.

“You don’t have to do this,” you tried again pathetically, wondering somewhere in your mind why you were trying to distract him from fucking you, when the alternative was his heavy hands shattering your collarbone until your heart was pierced by your own brittle dagger. Survival, you kept saying to yourself, one day you might believe it, you were trying to live. Nothing else. Nothing else.

He’d already unzipped his boiler suit, you could just glimpse a sliver of pale flesh beneath but he undressed himself no further, reaching down into his trousers and pulling his cock free.

Fucking hell.

It was a goddamn fucking monster. It sat snug in Michael’s large hand, long and thick, crown red with blood and dribbling precome, it curved up slightly, in a way that was designed to attack that spot inside of you, and when he dropped it, it dipped, bobbing against his boiler suit, so heavy under its own weight it could barely hold itself up, but it did, his cock stood proud and to attention, ready for action, as he shifted down a little, hands once more finding your thighs and hauling you practically into his lap. He threw your legs over his broad hips, stretching your thigh muscles, as his cock rested hot and heavy on your pelvic bone, like a leaden weight on you. Oh fuck, you were so fucked. It was near enough the size of your thigh, and you knew it was going to wreck you.

You jerked your hips uselessly, trying in vain to put some distance between you and Michael’s thick cock, you’d never had a partner that size before, you’d never even had a toy that size. It wasn’t going to fit, it was as simple as that. Except he didn’t care.

He pressed his hips up, taking you with him, lifting your back clean off of the floor so your spine was arched uncomfortably. He paid you no mind as he gripped the base of his erection and slipped himself down through your folds.

He was silent, calm and ferocious as he pressed forward against you with so much pressure that it hurt. You could feel his heaviness hard against your pelvic bone and you trembled in fearful anticipation of what was about to happen.

Finally, Michael found what he was looking for and his thick cockhead breached your hole barely a centimetre but still you gasped, already undone by being so violently penetrated by not even a goddamn inch of that fat unforgiving head.

Michael surged forward, in triumph perhaps, or just in a hurry to get his cock stuffed deep into you as quickly as possible, but your traitorous cunt was wet enough that he slipped straight back out again, whole cock fucking upwards and jamming through your folds, gliding gloriously against your clit. You let out a loud moan and he stilled entirely except for the throb of his cock against you. You clapped your hands to your mouth and forced your eyes to the ceiling. You hadn’t meant to do that. You didn’t want to give him the sick satisfaction. It was the last thing you could keep for yourself.

Michael was a fast learner, it seemed, because this time he inched a little more slowly inside you until a good inch of solid cock was spearing you open. You thought you might die, knees knocking against his hips helplessly as he forcibly stretched you obscenely around him. You will take me, I will make it fit.

Only when he was firm in you, and you were surely going to pass out from pressure alone, did he plunge his hips forward, his whole cock sinking to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

The pain, fuck the pain was indescribable, burning, aching, stuffed full, stuffed beyond full - he didn’t care - he didn’t care that he’d probably just ripped you in half, stretched you so full you were more cock than you were yourself anymore. He didn’t care you were crying, shivering, he cared that you were an open, wet heat to warm his cock in.

Those blood-stained, murderous hands gripped your hips and an ache blossomed in your bones, your skin beneath his skin turned white to red to near-black with bloodied pressure-bruises as he gripped you hard enough you fully believed he intended to shatter bone. He could, you knew he could. It was enough to lose yourself to, you were going to pass out, you were going to die from the stress and agony forced upon your weak and small body. This was how he was going to kill you.

He moved, shifted his heavy length inside you, nudging spots of your flesh where a cock was not meant to be. He pulled out incrementally, shoved back in and oh - oh .

Your thighs shook again, trembled, as spiralling pleasure mixed with pain and your pussy clenched around his cock, contracting around it as he thrust in again, as if traitorously and deliriously pulling him in to you, to where that thick and hot pressure felt the best. He thrust in again, harder than before, faster than before, immediately picking up an athletic, robotic pace as if he were half-way through a marathon fuck, thrumming with energy. You had no time to adjust, no time to build-up - you were there immediately, clenching uncontrollably on Michael Myer’s mercilessly hard cock, your cunt fluttering and clenching on every brutal, animalistic intrusion, until you couldn’t take it anymore. There was no edge, there was just falling.

You yelped, back arching up even more than it already was, legs squeezing the small of Michael’s back as your poor cunt spasmed, coming hot and hard until you felt your own slick dribbling down the backs of your thighs. Michael didn’t stop for a second, he didn’t even slow, you nearly choked on your own spit.

He was utterly devoid of anything, breathing heavy and focused, no movement except the piston of his hips as he fucked you deep and unforgiving until you were sure his thick crown was kissing at your cervix.

Your head was hazy, eyes unfocused, you had absolutely no control over your overworked cunt anymore, whining pitifully as you came around him again, lathering his cock in your traitorous spend, praying every time that he’d slow, but he didn’t, and you felt that molten lava in your core building again until you were covered in a sheen of your own sweat, spent, exhausted. He didn’t care. He wasn’t done yet, he wanted more. He took it.

He angled his hips up, chasing a sensation, you weren’t prepared for it. He hammered into you until his hip bones were slamming against your inner thighs with enough force to shake your entire body. His cock against your sweet spot was like a punch to the gut and you screamed. Pain, pleasure, you didn’t know anymore as your hips convulsed and jerked, clamping down on him hard enough that if he were a normal man, he wouldn’t have been able to move.

But Michael was no normal man.

He held your hips down, taking your clenching orgasm for himself as he slammed into you. Being fucked into your leg-shaking release was like being volted off of this ethereal plane and into another, your eyes whitened, your brain slowed to juddering holt as dizzying, mind-numbing ohmyfuckinggodthisfeelssogood short-circuited your entire being.

Michael slammed into you one final time, unable to withstand the vice-like grip of your velvet walls any longer before he was stilling completely, his cock an erupting volcano inside of you that spurted hot white heat against your walls, filling you utterly.

Your mouth opened in shock, or exhaustion, as your whole body trembled, jerking uncontrollably in the aftershocks.

He didn’t linger. His hands left your hips first, the bruises behind ached immediately, black and devastating to your skin where even taking a breath in bothered them. Then he snapped his hips back, swollen cock slipping free of your drenched heat, sopping with white. He let it hang there, between his legs, a stark contrast against his boiler suit, and you trembled with undignified arousal. Your cunt felt wrecked, stretched wide, forced open to accommodate him, and yet your body still somehow ached for more. No, you were terrified, fighting for your life, this wasn’t real. None of it was.

He stood, using core strength alone, leaving your legs to fall heavily to the floor. They ached where the muscles had been stretched, kicking the pain in your back and your hips into eleventh gear. You’d been twisted like a pretzel for too long. You frowned. How long had he been fucking you? It felt like no time at all, it felt like days.

You pulled your nightie down as far as it would go, scrambling your legs together despite the way they twinged. You could feel him squelching between your thighs and your untouched clit twinged pitifully.

When you gathered the courage to look up at him, you saw that he’d tucked himself away and zipped himself back up. He stood tall and menacing over you, gargantuan in your living room, his head near-touching the ceiling. He was peering down at you, that devoid mask giving nothing. The utter silence was as terrifying and deafening as any death cry.

He cocked his head ever so slightly and you winced, fight or flight response, before he was turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen.

Terror rocked through you, vomit-inducing, head-spinning terror, and you were on your feet in a heartbeat. Your mauled insides and your ruined hips complained at you but you ignored it. They would mean nothing if you were dead. Which you were about to be. He was going for a knife, surely he was. He -

The creak of the kitchen door caught you by surprise, but it took a few long minutes for your heart to stop thudding loud enough for you to realise that he wasn’t coming back in. After a few breaths, your curiosity got the better of you and you crept into the kitchen. The back door was shut, except for the hole gaped in the glass by his fist, of course, and the kitchen was empty.

You were careful with your bare feet to avoid the shards of glass on the floor, not that it would make massive amounts of difference to your ruined body, before you shakily peered through what remained of your door.

The motion detector light was on, the street was empty.

Confusion and shame rocked through you with enough force to make you tumble and you had to grip the countertop to keep yourself upright.

How on earth were you still alive? For a second time? What did the most infamous serial killer in the country get from keeping you alive?

A hot, wet hole to come in.

You could feel the ache between your legs like Michael was still there, it was a glorious, horrible burn, trembling pleasure, irrefutable depravity - the best fuck of your life.

What did that make you?

Everything was eerily quiet. Your water bottle still sat on the side. If it weren’t for the broken door and the shards of glass, it would be easy to imagine that Michael hadn't been there at all.

Except for the warm come dribbling down your thighs where he’d marked his territory inside you. You swallowed. Whether you were his next victim or his fucktoy - you couldn’t escape that you were his. And you knew, even now, with terrifying certainty, that Michael Myers was not going to let you go.

link to chapter 3

#virginal #skeleton_detective #michael myers #halloween #michael myers x reader #fanfiction #multi chapter #pls read the tags #dark fic

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justtrashperson · 10 months

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hi! could you draw college era ted? maybe with jenny? i'd love to see your take!

Anon I had to admit I had so many ideas and had to scratch my brain for this. Headcanon rant below

I think College Ted is like, how do I explain oooh sorry I’m not good with words.

Like he’s still an asshole a bit but more friendly and it’s more of a jokey asshole if you know what I mean. Like the guy who would say rude remarks if it’s funny and bully his friends but would apologize (without saying sorry, maybe through actions) if you’re actually hurt by it.

Like his friendship with Jenny was more of a play fighting but also shy around each other.

Jenny would talk and rant to him and Ted would react and rile her up and support her rights and wrongs lmao like these people are not normal but also they very much cannot say how much they love each other.

Idk I have a lot of thoughts and I think he was also a nerd (maybe either tech nerd or language. I like both) but he slacks off and party but somehow most of the time guy had pretty okay score. Not high but enough to pass. Friendship wise I think he’s average. Had a few friends here and there but his one true best friend was Jenny.

But then when Jenny left, he really didn’t know how to process it and regrets everything and blames himself, trying to change every ounce of his being from what Jenny knew and into someone he thought Jenny would like, but also into someone that doesn’t remind him of how he was with Jenny

Like I think Him and Peter aren’t so different, but Ted decided to be someone else because he thought it would put things back together, that stuff will be fine and that he won’t get hurt again and hoping one day when (if) Jenny comes back, she would want to be with him.

Sorry for the essay lmao I cant explain my thoughts in just a few sentences and need to explain my idea for Ted as a whole

Also as an extra while researching for outfit ideas I suddenly had a thought what if the sweater Peter uses after he talked to steph was actually Ted’s older sweater.

Maybe when Jenny left Ted decided to redo his whole wardrobe a bit and left his sweater hidden in either his closet or somewhere else where he can’t see it. Could also be he decided to give away most of his clothes to Peter but Peter never wore it bc it was too big before he was trying to figure out a new outfit bc of Steph and saw the sweater. Bc I don’t think he’d immediately bought a new sweater (though also a possibility) and as a younger sibling he definitely had Ted’s hand me downs

Anyway I’ll stop now lmao

#justtrashdoodles #justtrashask #ask #anon #starkid #hatchetfield #ted spankoffski #Jenny #Jenny starkid #listen I have #so many ideas about the spankoffski bros and their life #bc they’re silly

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wartakes · 3 months

Text

A Duty to Protect

Not gonna lie, I grappled with whether or not to do this one. I very nearly decided to trash it after having already written 99% of it. But, I've decided to share it anyway in an effort to talk about things going in Gaza (and elsewhere) right now while getting back to the roots of what I started doing War Takes content to begin with. Full essay under the cut.

Folks, I'm gonna be straight up and down with you: my heart hasn't fully been in it lately when its come to writing and posting and generally doing War Takes stuff.

That's not to say I didn't care at all about what I was writing about – whether its been in these essays, or in posts on social media, or what have you, but it definitely felt like ever since October 7th and the resulting Israeli War in Gaza, that I've been stuck in an ever deepening malaise (something that I'm sure many people who feel trapped watching events unfold feel). Obviously, what's going on in Gaza in particular and the Middle East in general not the only conflict I care about; I still feel very strongly about what's going on in Ukraine, Myanmar, Sudan, and on many other battlefields against fascism and brutally the world over, but what's going on in Gaza seems to specifically epitomize how the world feels right now. That there's a million fires burning, with innocents screaming in the middle of the flames, and the response of so many governments appears to be to hand gasoline to the person stoking the fire (if not pouring it on themselves) and then turning to you to say "actually, you're terrible for not thinking that this is okay" and yelling at you on Twitter for it.

The point of this long winded allegory is, I've been in a rut, the result of which is I've started to slip into becoming too focused on the here-and-now or the near-future in these essays, when one of the main reasons I started writing them is to try and think to the future, to a time when maybe, hopefully, we'll be in a better position to actually take action against the myriad of problems at home and abroad. Talking about the here and now is important, but you quickly become reminded of just how powerless we can be in the current moment, and then drive yourself insane by the perceived need for you to do something to fix all the world's problems right here, right now, when you quite simply cannot.

None of this means you should give up, nor give into apathy, despair, nihilism, doomerism, or whatever -isms you may be tempted with succumbing to. You can and should still do what you are able to make things better in the near term, but with the understanding that there are hard limits on what you can accomplish (barring massive, sudden, seismic shifts in society that you will probably only recognize once you're in the middle of them or on the other side). As one of my good online friends November Kelly recently said, you need to make your peace with powerlessness and keep your powder dry, while holding out hope and biding your time for the moment in the future when you and others will finally be able to make a substantive difference and change things for the better.

One of my ways I have always dealt with this feeling of powerlessness in the here and now, is thinking about how I would try to do things differently in my field in that hypothetical future where the United States tried to exercise its power in a more just, humane, and progressive manner. It was really the crux of why I started writing these essays, feeling that many on the Left were unprepared for a hypothetical, hopeful day when we'd be able to actually exercise power. Many of my first wave of essays dealt with thinking forward to that hypothetical better future, but I feel like in the last year or two I've gotten away from that for a number of reasons (the sheer hopelessness of some current events being one of them), so in this essay I'm going to try my best to try and get that mojo back.

In the hopes of tapping back into that original spirit of why I started writing War Takes essays, I'm going to try and link some thoughts for the future, to the ongoing event probably most responsible for my recent funk and lack of inspiration: the War in Gaza. In thinking closely about Israel's actions in Gaza since October 7th, and the response (or lack thereof, rather) of the Western world towards it, I managed to find some renewed vigor in considering how I would deal with the ongoing conflict and associated genocide if I was in a position of power.

Oh, but before we go any further, one quick housekeeping measure that probably doesn't matter but I'm going to do anyway just for the record because its been a while:

Hamas are not good and I don't support them.

I am focusing on Israel here because the scale and scope of what Israel is and has been doing to Palestinian civilians so utterly dwarfs the things that Hamas has done (which are also bad) and because the things Israel has been doing since long before October 7th set the conditions that caused October 7th to happen in the first place by making it inevitable.

Ok, that's out of the way. Let's get down to brass tacks.

Murderers Hate Him! Stop Genocide With This One WEIRD Trick!

After nine months of war in Gaza, I recently came to a realization.

I believe at this point, based on my own personal gut assessment, that even if the United States finally came to its senses and began to exert serious pressure on Israel – diplomatic, economic, and otherwise – that it wouldn't stop what its doing in Gaza and in Palestine and the Middle East in general.

I think even if the United States brought all manner of power to bear, enacting more stringent economic sanctions and arms embargoes, supporting prosecution of Israeli political and military leaders as war criminals in international venues, and so on, that Israel would not stop its actions.

Something in Israeli politics and society snapped on October 7th. To many of us who have looked upon the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict with clear eyes, we knew from the start what might happen and that what Israel is saying and doing now is not necessarily new. But while not new, Israel's actions against Palestinians and throughout the Middle East have reached new extremes, going into overdrive. The proverbial mask has truly come off, as the many videos and photos from Israeli soldiers documenting their numerous war crimes in Gaza have already demonstrated.

As a country that views any criticism what-so-ever as a borderline existential threat, if the United States and other countries actually chose to impose costs on Israel for its actions, it would go into absolute mental breakdown of derangement. After simply delaying one shipment of bombs (not canceling mind you, just “delaying”) while other arms have continued to flow, Israeli Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu recorded a video temper tantrum lashing out at U.S. President Joe Biden for only giving him 99% of what he wanted. A country only used to doubling down on its bad actions would triple if not quadruple down, fully embracing official status as a rogue state. Even if cut off from its primary foreign weapons supplier in the United States, Israel would leverage its own domestic arms industry and other like-minded partners (like Modi's India, for example) to keep its war – and accompanying genocide – going. It would not stop, because it would be even more convinced that it could not afford to stop lest it risked the very existence of the Israeli political project (something that may not really be that far-fetched given how the way things may go in the mid to long term).

Now, none of this to say that the United States and other countries shouldn't undertake the actions I laid out regardless of Israeli actions. I strongly believe there is an absolute moral imperative to do so, like, yesterday. But that being said, as I looked back on the history of such actions in the face of various forms of state violence of both the intra- and inter-state fashion, that they'd likely do next to nothing to stop the slaughter. It was that reflection on the past that reminded me of the only thing that can stop a genocide, or any kind of armed aggression, in its tracks: armed intervention.

Maybe I'll be proven wrong on this, but so far we haven't been an opportunity to see otherwise, as the few actions leveled against Israel so far have been so minimal as to practically be non-existent (not that its stopped Israel and its boosters from screaming bloody murder about them). And I think the longer Israel is allowed to continue its actions without non-military forms of pressure being levied against them, the less likely such actions would actually stop them if they were used.

This state of affairs leaves only one option as the last resort to stop the violence: large-scale military intervention.

Historically speaking, the only thing that has ever actually, conclusively stopped a genocide is military intervention. This was pointed out very clearly by the non-governmental organization Doctors Without Borders during the 1994 Rwandan Genocide, when they called for military intervention based on one simple reality: doctors can't stop genocide. What can be said for doctors can be said other forms of aid or action short of military intervention. If Israel chose to continue its actions even in the face of sanctions and embargoes and arrest warrants, none of those actions would likely stop them. Even if the world decided to send in all the food and medicine and more that Gazans would need to survive for as long as they needed it, none of that would matter if the IDF would be preventing it from entering in order to perpetuate the genocide further than its weapons were doing directly.

Such a military intervention could not, by definition, be limited either. It would almost certainly need to be extensive, and involve actual boots on the ground. Past perpetrators of genocide have continue to carry out genocide in the face of military intervention, even at the expense of their own war effort. Nazi Germany continued its execution of the Holocaust in the face of Allied advances from both the East and West, taking personnel and resources away from the war effort to do so and continuing to do so right up until its final surrender in May of 1945. In Rwanda in 1994, the genocide of the Tutsi ethnic-minority by the majority Hutus took place even as the Hutu-dominated regime and its military were pushed back by a successful offensive into the country by rebel forces. Not only is military intervention required to stop genocide, overwhelming, fast, and – more likely than not – complete and total to put a stop to the killing as quickly and completely as possible.

I realize such an action would not be without significant costs and risks, as well as almost certainly violating my own strongly held beliefs that I've stated before that regime change should not be imposed from outside and must come from within. To address the latter issue first, I acknowledge this apparent contradiction, and my only answer would be that I continue to stand by that view – to a point; and that point is the case of genocide. Once you reach that point, I think imposition of regime change from the outside not only becomes acceptable, but morally and ethically necessary to ensure that all the apparatus of state power in that regime are no longer being used to carry out genocide. In that sense, I see it less as a contradiction, and more of an order of priority.

To the point of costs and risks, I have less good answers other than I simply acknowledge that they exist and are hefty. In terms of costs, a massive military operation to put an end to a genocide in Palestine by way of direct combat with the IDF would cost a great deal in blood and treasure and would result in a long-term occupation that could potentially go very badly if not planned and executed properly. In terms of risks, aside from the risks associated with conventional warfare with the IDF, the issue of it specifically being a (undeclared) nuclear-weapons state is a necessary specter to raise – one that has given many a U.S. and allied planner sleepless nights envisioning a conflict on the Korean Peninsula ever since North Korea acquired its first nuclear weapon. Again, I have no good answers here other than, the risks are high and the costs could be just as high if not higher. But, it if we are truly to stand by our principles and not simply pay them lip service as others have, we have no choice but to accept certain risks and incur certain costs in the name of our shared humanity. Additionally, there is an additional cost imposed by the absolute imperative to ensure that one genocide is not simply met with another in response – something that cannot and must never be acceptable. The invading forces would be duty bound to go to great lengths to ensure that it prevented such a response and did not engage in one itself, working to set the stage for some kind of workable reconciliation in the end state to follow.

Of course, sadly, all of this discussion is purely academic at this stage, as such an armed intervention is in large part, impossible under the current geopolitical circumstances. Such an intervention would require the acquiescence, if not the active support and involvement, of the United States of America. Such involvement is completely unimaginable, given the United States' unshakable "rock solid" and "ironclad" support of Israel, even as its violence against civilians has grown more blatant, wanton, and brutal since the war began. Even if intervention was attempted without the United States, it would almost certainly engage all levers of national power – including its own military force – to prevent such an intervention from being carried out, having already utilized military force to protect Israel from outside attack after its own actions threatened to expand the war in Gaza into a true regional war (something that still, unfortunately, remains a very real possibility in the weeks and months ahead).

So, we find ourselves once again in a low point due to unwelcome and harsh truths about the reality we currently face vis-a-vis the ongoing genocide and other acts of mass violence and aggression tossing cold water on what may be the only real route to put a conclusive end to it. But, as always, we can't give into despair and give up. So, what can we actually do? It is that topic that I will close us out on (and hopefully maybe pull you up out of any funk I may have dropped you down into – sorry).

Never Again (But This Time, For Real)

Right now, as powerless as we may all feel, we can and must still do everything we individually can to try and help the people of Gaza – to say nothing of all the other peoples suffering from aggression or the threat of genocide, be it in Ukraine, Sudan, or elsewhere. As much as it may feel like a single lonely drop of water in a very large ocean, our actions do mean something, even if they aren't directly silencing Israeli guns or stopping U.S. bombs from being shipped to them. But while I'm not admitting defeat, I'm accepting, grimly, those previously mentioned limits on what we can do now with the way things are in our current domestic political system in the United States and the current international system.

With those aforementioned limitations in mind, I turn my mind to the future, as I've tended to in previous essays and have in some ways gotten away from. I turn my mind to a day when we have a government and a society in this country that has a different view of the world and our role in it. I turn my mind to a day when we as a country and a people view the world through a more just, progressive, democratic socialist, humanitarian lens. Quite frankly: I look to the day when we take all the truisms and platitudes and cliches of liberalism at home and abroad and actually hold ourselves to them – because at the end of the day, how much of socialism is simply taking all the nice fluffy things that liberals say that they want to do (both at home and abroad) but then actually, in good faith, doing them?

When that day comes – and I have to believe in my heart of hearts of that it will come – even as the world is better, it won't be perfect. There will still be forces that seek to do harm and commit grievous acts in the name of any number of causes. As long we exist as people, there will be those with the intent and access to the means to do harm that will be able to motivate some to do that harm in their name. To be blunt: there will still be "Israels", even if there is not still an Israel, and to that end: there will still be “Palestines” that they wish to subjugate and "cleanse" through violence; and when the opportunity presents itself, those who wish to commit another genocide will take their chance to do so.

When that day comes, it won't be enough to simple condemn those who are committing genocide or working towards it; it won't be enough to sanction them, embargo them, isolate them and turn them into a rogue state (if they aren't already). Likewise, it won't be enough to offer our profound apologies for our past inaction towards or active enabling of past genocides; it won't be enough to commit to various material ways to try and offer penance for our past sins towards those we wronged in the past, working tirelessly to repay a debt we will never be able to fully to repay. All of these things won't be enough (though to be absolutely crystal clear, we should do all of them anyway).

No matter what else we do in response to genocide, it won't be enough in the face of a new one emerging, unless we take actual, direct action to stop it – preferably in its infancy; and as has already been established, the only way to do that will be by force of arms, on the battlefield. If we are not prepared to do that, we will quite simply fall into the same "say one thing, do nothing" patterns of behavior that have been the norm for decades. Despite coming out of World War II and the aftermath of the Holocaust with a proclamation of "Never Again", the geopolitical competition of the Cold War provided cover to an assortment of mass-murder campaigns that we now only retroactively and belatedly recognize as genocides. When these became impossible to ignore post-Cold War in places like Bosnia and Rwanda, the developed world doubled down on "Never Again" with the "Responsibility to Protect" - but functionally very little changed. While in some rare instances, great powers and developed nations may do the right thing and intervene to stop slaughter of civilians, the reality is that what gets to be called a genocide and require action has depended on how politically convenient (or not) it is for those with the power to take action. If we do not take actual steps to break with this broken and heartless system when we are in a position o do so, we will become everything we have ever hated. We have to go further than a "Responsibility to Protect"; it must become a "Duty to Protect," one that is impossible for us to ignore or shirk no matter what the circumstances.

This need to be able to actually stop genocide by force reinforces the need for the democratic socialist project to be serious about actually achieving and maintaining power and accountability. Protesting (and even posting) is admirable and indeed necessary, but in the long term we still have to be serious about actually engaging successfully in politics and eventually being in a position to make and enact policy that is in keeping with our ideology and its core ethical and moral beliefs. We have to eventually be in a position where when the time comes, we have the means at our disposal – military and otherwise – to ensure "Never Again" is no longer a sad and infuriating punchline in history that is only selectively applied (if at all), but has meaning; "Never Again" won't ever mean anything, unless it comes from the barrel of the rifle and we are in a position where we have the will and ability to order a person carrying that rifle into combat to do so. Likewise, “Never Again” won’t mean anything if we don’t take such action in a way consistent with the ethical, moral, and legal principles we claim to be upholding, working actively to prevent another genocide in response to a genocide.

Time and time and time again, whether its in these essays, or on social media, or just in conversation, I talk about how I resist doomerism and strongly believe that we can, must, and will make things better both in this country and in the world. There are many reasons for that. One small, but not insignificant reason for it, is admittedly: cope; it helps me from falling into total dysfunctional despair in the here and now when I feel powerless. But the biggest and most positive reason I maintain hope that we can make things better, is simply because we're all worth it. We as people, all of us – ourselves and our friends and families and more – have value and worth and are worth fighting for. But that comes with the understanding that sometimes that operative word of "fight" will need to be literal and not just figurative. When it comes to preventing and stopping genocide, the literal interpretation will be essential if we are to be true to everything we claim to believe.

It is with that, I leave you once again. I hope with everything going on at home and abroad that you all find your own ways of fighting through the morass of despair and hopelessness and fighting on in the good fight. Until next time, keep your chin up and stay safe. Photo credit: Mikhail Evstafiev

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shwoyo · 4 months

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hello, i saw your reqs open and i wanted to ask if you could do a seokmin x reader where reader is a shy person who always listens and when they meet seokmin and he listens to their rambling and yeah, thnks in advance! :)

hi anon! thank you for requesting <3 i'm sorry this is kinda rushed + i kinda wasn't able to show readers shy demeanor lol, but i hope you like it!

comfortable with you. — lee seokmin x reader

; fluff, little angst, comfort – warnings: like 1 cuss word – wc: 1,481

note: first req ever, kinda nervous 😅i kindaa rushed it in the end,,, im sorry. BUT ANYWAYS!! i enjoyed writing this! i had so many thoughts on how i wanted to go with this, but stuck with this (kind of) short one. I hope you guys will enjoy this teww! not my best work tho

you love listening to people talking. you've always let people do the talking while you do the listening; its been in your nature since ever. they would talk, and you would hum in agreement or dispute, sometimes speaking your own thoughts. but sometimes, you wish you could just spill your unsaid thoughts to someone. but you can't, for some reason.

–

your junior year has started, new school supplies, new acquaintances, and, of course, a new seatmate. every first day of school always makes you nervous; everything is new, and by that you'd always have to introduce yourself; you hated it.

standing outside your new classroom with your other classmates, the teacher announced that she had already assigned the seating plan. you were kind of grateful, as you quite literally don't know anybody here; you got separated from your friend.

Ms. Shin, your teacher was calling your classmates one by one, then called your name, "next, l/n y/n!" you went up to her. "you'll be sitting next to lee seokmin, he's over there by the window, third row" she stated. you went in the classroom and walked to your seat, which is beside seokmin, your new seatmate. he sat at the aisle part, which left you sitting next to the window, and you were grateful for it.

you sat down and settled your bag behind your chair. honestly, you were pretty nervous because, for the first time, your seatmate was a guy. you were always seated next to girls for some reason.

"hi! i'm lee seokmin. but you can call me seokmin, or any nickname you can think of," he spoke. you quickly turned your head in his direction and just nodded, turning your head to look at the board in front. 'he's so... pretty,' you thought to yourself. it took a second until he spoke again, "what about you? what's your name?" he asked, and you turned to look at him again, quickly realizing that you haven't introduced yourself. "oh, i'm sorry! i'm l/n y/n sorry, did i come off as rude?" you replied, your voice lowering as you spoke. "ah, no, no! it's okay!" he giggled as he responded, waving his hands as a sign that it really is okay. "i'm sorry again," you said, voice low almost like a whisper. "no, i assure you it's fine! everyone gets nervous at the first day of school, even me," he stated. you just nodded, turning your head to look at your table.

your face was red in embarrassment, so much for a first impression with someone who will be next to you your whole junior year. you wished the floor could just eat you whole.

–

months into 11th grade, everyday was a struggle. there were new activities every week, mostly by partners, and you were grateful that in each partner activity, seokmin was your partner. seokmin is the most perfect partner you could ask for; he was always ready and always listened to the instructions of the activity given. you were so grateful for him; you probably wouldn't have survived first term without him.

right now, on a thursday afternoon, you and seokmin were at the library doing the essay activity given by your english teacher, a 15k word essay covering the important events and creations that happened during the renaissance, the deadline being monday. you were trying so hard not to cry as you were stuck on your third paragraph, the whole essay only having 487 words. usually you were quick with this; you love english, you always scored high on the subject. but right now, you were just not motivated enough to write properly.

"Hey, you okay there?" seokmin spoke up, noticing your distraught expression. you only hummed to his question. he was already making it easy for you; he has suggested that we should write 7,500 words each on our part to sum up the 15,000 so it would be easy. you felt bad as you were writing your part so... poorly. "we can take a break if you're stuck," seokmin suggested, "uhm, maybe i'll try to continue mine and you take a break. i wanna at least try and finish this third paragraph," you stated. "hmm, i think no!" he said cheerfully. seokmin closed his laptop, then yours. you looked at him in shock, but he just grabbed your arm, forcing you to stand up, then pulling you towards the door of the library. "s-seokmin! hey! what about our things?" you whisper-shout, "don't worry, we'll be quick!" he replied.

you kinda got used to this; whenever seokmin sensed that you were struggling or stressed, he would always do something to distract you until you were feeling okay. this time, he was pulling you in the hallways of the school, towards the exit, and then walked towards the ice cream stand near the school gate. "hello! can i get one vanilla ice cream and one chocolate ice cream? both no toppings!" seokmin said, the vendor nodded and made his order, "seokmin, i didn't bring my wallet with me." you stated, "its okay! its on me," he replied "no, i'll just pay you when we go back to the library," you said, "nu-uh, this is on me. i won't accept your payment," seokmin responded.

he's always like this. he does something nice for you, but whenever you offer to do something in return, he denies it. this is what you like about him, like as in platonically... yeah, platonically.

–

few more months in junior year, and your feelings towards seokmin kept growing, not platonically. you tried to deny your feelings, but every time you do, he does something that just makes your heart flutter.

and surprisingly enough, you've gotten so comfortable with him that each time you talked, you openly said your thoughts, even you shocked yourself. but, you still weren't comfortable enough to spill your deepest thoughts and rambles, rants you wish you'd said to the person who stressed your thoughts.

still, you were more than happy to be able to finally openly speak your thoughts, even if it weren't your deepest thoughts that hurt you. you were okay with this, you think.

–

but one day during the last 2 weeks of junior year, you were fed up. the world just kept testing and testing you, and you were so tired and just needed to rant, specifically to seokmin.

"and it's just... so fucking tiring! i don't get why they won't do their part. it's almost the end of the school year, and they're acting like this?! i'm just so..." you couldn't finish your sentence as you started to sob. seokmin looked at you with sad eyes, it hurts him to see you like this. 'why couldn't your group mates just do their job properly?' he thought. you sobbed harder as you thought about your uncooperative group mates, then seokmin hugged you.

it was the first time he physically touched you like this; usually he would tap your shoulder, pat your head, or pull your arm when he wants to show something, but hugging you? this was definitely new. but you were too tired to be shocked.

"mhm, i understand y/n." seokmin stated, you sobbed harder than before. for years in your life, you just wanted to hear those words—that someone understood you. you were always the one to listen; you never had the chance to be the one to rant as you grew used to listening. seokmin patted your back, still hugging you. it was so comforting; you wished you could stay there forever.

–

from that day on, you knew that you were super comfortable with seokmin. he's the person you trust your thoughts with the most. not a day goes by where you had to keep your thoughts to yourself anymore; you had seokmin, and he had you, of course. he was there for you, and you were there for him.

the feeling of finally being able to speak up about your deepest, unsaid thoughts and rants was so refreshing. of course, the more comfortable you got with him, the more your feelings grew too.

–

it was on recognition day when you had the courage to finally spill your heart out to seokmin. you were very nervous, but the funny thing was he beat you to it. he confessed first, leaving you shocked. of course you informed him that the feeling is mutual.

you were happy; he was too. your heart was so happy you felt like it would explode. you never have thought that you would find love this early in your life, especially with your old behavior of being shy. but seokmin was there, he was there for you in so many ways. he saved your heart and mind by letting you pour your unsaid rambles to him, and you were so grateful for him, for seokmin, who was now your lover 'till end.

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meabh-mcinness · 11 months

Text

Cheating (KalegoxGN!reader)

Main Masterlist

As a teacher at Babyls, you had to go through and experience many things. Demon-eating plants on the loose, potion labs blowing up, and the many, many events that Babyls put on and almost always had something go wrong before you, the teachers, had to fix it. In the few years you had been there, you thought you had gone through it all, until now.

For the first time ever, you had caught a student cheating.

I…yea. Look I'm not a teacher, yet at least (I'm getting a minor in education and intend to teach both ESL and probably biology (which is my major) and palaeontology (which is my Master's/PhD's) but the amount of AI generated essays I've seen as an undergraduate writing centre tutor and is just grrrrrrr. Anyway have my little rant fic.

"Do you know why I've asked you to stay behind?"

A smile stayed on your face as you stared directly into the eyes of the student before you. As a human, you had long mastered the look of a hard stare while still appearing to be friendly. When the student, a fourth year by the name of Muzuki, had first come up to you after class, they had been cocky, confident. The absolute picture of unwarranted hubris if there ever was one. And so you sat comfortably in your chair, a nice soft leather from some poor Netherworld beast that Kalego had kindly bought for you, quietly waiting for Muzuki to answer your question as you continued staring at them. The longer you stared, the less comfortable they became.

A shake of the head, purple braids swinging with the force of it. An eyebrow raised as the silence continued. "Really? None at all?" Your own head tilted to the side slightly, a smile still set on your face as you waited. Another more hesitant head shake followed. A disappointed sigh left you, and your body shifted forward so that you could reach a small stack of papers just off to the side and slid into their view. Their eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as they quickly glanced over the top laying paper, before freezing up a little. "Perhaps this gives you a hint?"

They tried to subtly shake themselves loose and continue to hold up that faked confidence. Lower jaw set stubbornly, but you could see that fear was in their eyes. And that was all you needed to pounce.

“Tell me Muzuki, do you think I’m stupid?” They visibly startled at the question, body jerking slightly in surprise at they looked back you again. You could see their mind racing as they quickly thought up an answer.

“No professor,” they settled on. You hummed in response.

“Then do you think you’re exceptionally deceptive? I’ll admit it’s an admirable trait to have in the Netherworld. To con others into giving you what you want is a way to ensure survival after all. Until of course,” you paused smiling slipping off your face and eyes narrowing at them, “you try to con the wrong person.” You watched as their body froze up; terror evident on their face before they mentally shook themselves and stood taller.

It was evident to you that they couldn’t understand why they feared you so much at that moment. After all, even if you were related to the great Sullivan, you were just some no-ranker. Supposedly not even worthy enough to receive an alef badge much less heranking like the student before you. What a shame that the demon culture never understood that sometimes, a rank meant nothing in the face of what someone could do.

While you hated making a student fear you, you also understood that this message really needed to sink in. You couldn’t let students think you could be taken advantage of, not if you wanted to remain a good teacher. And you also couldn’t let them think they could get away with everything, there were so many beings out there who would do far worse things to them if they had been deceived.

“Con, professor?” they asked, trying to keep a smirk on their face but you could see the slight tremors moving through their body that belied how they really felt.

“Yes Muzuki. Con. In this case, defined as trying to trick someone into believing something that is not true. Such as you writing this essay.” Muzuki started to open their mouth, but you held up your hand to pause them. “Don’t even bother. I’m well aware that you didn’t write this. The tone and style are far too different from your usual works, and at least three of the supposed sources you gave me do not exist. At all. And believe me I looked. I even contacted different clans to see if they had heard of the books because I wanted to believe that you wouldn’t cheat. And yet here we are.” You gestured between the two of you, a look of fear creeping on their face and a disappointed one on yours.

“I didn’t cheat,” they blurted out suddenly. You raised an eyebrow at them.

“Oh?”

“Yeah! Those sources are real books! You couldn’t find them because uhm because they belong to the Naberius clan! Yup, you know Kalego-sensei. He’s super grouchy but he always helps us in the end if we ask. And since this essay was on the particulars of summoning runes, I thought he would be good to ask.” They ended this sentence with a firm nod. You blinked at them. Once, twice, and thrice again as you tried to comprehend what they just said. Were…were they serious?

“You asked…Kalego-sensei?” you parroted back at them. More violent nods were your answer. So, they were being serious. As far as backup claims went, you could see how it could come about. There were just a few obvious issues with what they were saying. For example, “Why didn’t you ask Robin-sensei? The actual familiar teacher?”

“Well…Robin-sensei is new. Like you are professor, and to be honest I feel more comfortable asking Kalego sensei since he used to run the class. It’s a habit to think of him as the familiar teacher rather than Robin-sensei. Plus, I figured with such an amazing familiar as Cerberion combined with his old and high-ranking family line he had to have something worth checking out.” You slowly nodded your head, mostly in disbelief rather than actually agreeing with what they were saying. If you hadn’t known already known that the Naberius family had no such books, you could see it as a liable thing happening.

What a shame that you knew it wasn’t true since Kalego allowed you full access to the Naberius library. When his family wasn’t home of course. No need to have to deal with the drama fallout that would come if his family discovered that Kalego had feelings.

“I see. Yes. Kalego-sensei is rather helpful, isn’t he? Always so ready to lend a hand to those willing to ask for it.” Muzuki nodded more, so fast that their braids practically whipped around in a frenzy. It appeared they were really going to fight you on this. You admired their tenacity and their bravery to involve Kalego of all demons. A grin lit up your face, “In fact, since this is clearly just a misunderstanding why don’t we just call him over here?”

You watched as their face went through a series of emotions. First pride and relief at believing they had in fact tricked you, before confusion set in before finally landing in panic mode as your words sunk in.

They waved their hand about, “Well I mean there’s no need for that is there? It’s just like you said it was simply a misunderstanding. I’m sure Kalego-sensei is really busy right now and I would hate to bother him for something so small.”

“Nonsense! It’s like we agreed earlier, Kalego-sensei is always willing to lend a helping hand, and it wouldn’t be too much to tear him away from whatever work he is currently doing just to confirm this. Between you and me he could use some more breaks and since this is such a simple thing, he can be in and out and still get a few minutes’ rest from it to get back to work with a fresher mind. A win-win all around wouldn’t you say?”

The grin on your face was downright feral and you knew it. Briefly you wondered how far they would take this. After all, Kalego would never tolerate being used in a lie for something so insignificant as this. Honestly, there wasn’t much Kalego would allow someone to lie using him. You liked to think he would lie to keep you out of jail but that was a 50/50 shot depending on what happened to cause you to be arrested in the first place. Perhaps best not to chance it.

It took only a second for you to shoot off a text to Kalego’s phone and lean back in your chair, hands clasping in front of you. A second for the student to realize what exactly had just happened and you watched their eyes. Pure panic was enveloping them. The predator in you purred at causing the feeling and you understood why Kalego acted so spitefully so often. It really was a nice feeling.

It was only a minute of you and Muzuki staring at one another before you heard the clunking steps of Kalego’s boots. Ah, he was not in a happy mood for you to hear him. You suddenly felt pretty bad for Muzuki considering what you were about to unleash on him. The door to your room was slammed open and in walked the demon in question. You could practically see the dark shadows of anger flowing off of him; his lips pulled into a snarl. Muzuki shrunk into themselves at his look but you could only just barely control yourself from rolling your eyes at him. If this were an anime you were almost certain there would be a giant sweat drop on your head at Kalego.

“What,” he snarled at you, teeth on full display. This time you actually did roll your eyes before crooking a finger at him. A universal command to ‘come hither’. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Muzuki stare at you in horror at your blatant lack of fear towards Kalego, along with your audacity to actually command him. To be fair though, Muzuki wasn’t the one courting the growling menace before you, and this allowed you leeway. A lot of leeway.

“Afternoon sunshine!” you greeted him with a bright smile, the answering glare he gave in return being as much of greeting as you were going to get with witnesses about, especially while he was in a mood. Ignoring his sour mood you gestured towards your student who was still staring in terror at you. Likely believing this interaction will result in your death. “Muzuki-san here and I were just having a little discussion here and we just needed you to confirm something for me.”

Kalego raised an eyebrow at you, head tilting the slightest bit in his curiosity, before his eyes narrowed again. “And this required me coming all the way out here? Are you not a teacher? Confirm it yourself rather than wasting my time.” Another roll of your eyes came out. All the way out here was literally down the hall. It was rather convenient having your classroom only a couple hundred feet from the teacher’s room. Especially when it came to annoying your favourite demon.

“Unfortunately, it does require you to be here as it involves you. Muzuki-san here claims that you lent them books to help with their project. Directly from the Naberius library.”

“I did.”

It took every ounce of control for you not to do a double take, but the smile on your face did drop. He did what?

“I’m sorry?”

“I lent them three books from the family library.” He turned his glare over to Muzuki, “Of which I have yet to receive back.” Muzuki quickly caught onto his meaning and immediately started digging around in their bag producing three books. Each one was wrapped in beautiful leather of varying colours with gold designs embellishing them. It took everything not to drop your jaw at the sight. On the one hand you were glad the books were real ones, on the other hand you now had to apologize for saying they made them up.

Watching the books as they turned slightly you suddenly realized something. A smirk grew on your face. “I see, my apologized Muzuki, for assuming that Kalego-sensei didn’t lend you books about summoning runes. This clearly was-”

“Summoning runes?” Kalego interrupted. You turned your head back to look at him, putting on the most innocently confused face you could muster.

“Why yes, that is of course, what the essay I assigned was on. Or rather more precisely the history of evolution and modern applications and interpretations of summoning runes. We had a slight misunderstanding that they cheated on their essay, since the writing was so different from previous ones and the sources they used were ones I couldn’t find. They’ve assured me that they do exist and that they came from your library. That is the books they asked for from you, is it not? Or at least somewhere along those lines?” You watched with hidden glee as Muzuki froze at your words and Kalego’s sharp eyes trained onto them like a hunting dog before its prey.

Gotcha.

“No,” Kalego drawled out slowly and you saw his eyes glinting with understanding, “it is not. These books are on potions, which has little to do with runes.” Which you knew, because you had read those specific ones before.

“Oh really,” you said, locking your own eyes onto the now terrified student. “What a surprise. Are there any other books they borrowed from you?”

“No.”

You hummed in understanding, slowly getting up to walk around your desk and lean against it with your arms crossed in front of your chest. “Muzuki, I think it would be best if you told the truth now. Don’t you?”

___________________

“An auto pen!” you shrieked as soon as the door shut. Muzuki had spilled everything before being reprimanded by the both you and assigned detentions for the next two weeks. They also had an automatic zero on the paper and considering it was worth 15% of their grade, well things weren’t looking too good in your class for them right now. “A pen that automatically writes essays for them! That does everything for them! If I hadn’t noticed the writing style and checked the sources who knows how many assignments they would have gotten away with! How many others are currently doing it? Delkira above I’m going to have to carefully go over each and every thing they’ve all handed in to me again. Just to make sure others didn’t do it!” You were a snarling mess, teeth bared in anger as you paced back in forth in front of your desk, Kalego sitting calmly on one of the student’s tables as you essentially lost your marbles over this.

“I mean seriously! Why did they think it was ok! It’s not like I asked for much! Three weeks to write 1500 words and they decided to have a stupid pen do it for them! I have so many students out there pouring their heart and soul into these papers, weeks of their time down the drain so that they can get what they feel is the perfect paper. Then people like Muzuki think its ok to wait till the last minute and just have something else do it for them! It makes me want to scream!” In fact you did scream, a small aggravated yell tore from your throat at the end of the sentence, hands thrown in the air.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? I thought you of all people would be spitting fire over…this.” You turned to face him properly as you once again passed right in front of the demon and faltered in what you were saying at the look on his face. To an outsider he would have been completely unrecognizable. His dark eyes were soft as they stared at you and his lips were turned up in a small smile. You felt your heart clench at the look and everything in you melted. Pale fingers reached out the short distance and hooked under your belt, pulling you closer to him so that you were so close you might as well be sharing breath.

His other hand lifted up and caressed the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “I love seeing you like this.” Was all he said as you leaned into the touch.

You couldn’t help the small snort of laughter at the sentence. “What? Angrier than a hydra whose nest had been messed with?”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes in exasperation at you, “No you fool, caring about your students. You treat them like your own younglings most times but never let it stop you from doing what needs to be done. You’re so angry because you care about them and want them to succeed. If Muzuki had actually written that essay, you would probably be throwing around praises like no tomorrow. And I’ll be everything that when you see them next, you’re probably going to have them write an extra credit essay to retain some of that grade. Even if I do think you should let them sink.”

A flush rose to your skin at the feeling of being called out. “That’s because they’re good kids! They’re just a little…misguided in thinking at times. And I wouldn’t do it the next time I saw them! Just maybe… in a week or two…if it seems like they learned their lesson of course.”

“Of course,” He hummed at you, before smirking slyly. “Although that would mean I lose the bet.” He his hand suddenly slid from your cheek to the back of your neck and pulled you forward. Just a hairs breath away from your mouth was his own. “Which means I owe you everything.”

With that he connected your lips and you couldn’t help the sigh that left you. Your arms lifted up and wrapped around his neck, hands lightly playing with the short hairs that ended right above his capelet’s collar. The both of you pulled away after a few seconds and rested your foreheads together. It was rare that Kalego showed such levels of intimacy outside of the walls of your shared home, and you couldn’t help but soak in every second of it.

“I think your everything is a rather acceptable payment.” You grinned at him before going back and giving him another kiss. A rather acceptable payment indeed.

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amerricanartwork · 9 months

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I saw your lilypad art post, and I got curious: why do you enjoy lilypad? it's not a common RW ship, so I'd be interesting to hear what about it you enjoy!

Hear me out, guys... I must explain myself before I get onto the Lilypad essay.

I made that original comment because, at the time, I wanted to just get the aforementioned headcanons out as soon as possible. Understand, my reluctance wasn't because I didn't want to talk about Lilypad, but rather the exact opposite: I had so many feelings about it, yet had put so little effort into expressing them in a coherent, presentable format that I just knew it'd distract me for the next week or two if I let it rent too much space in my conscious thoughts. But now that little comment has left me with several people asking me to share those thoughts, and, both thankfully and unfortunately, I simply can't resist indulging in thoughts about the characters I love—!

Keep in mind, I haven’t finished Saint campaign yet, and even then I’ve found like less than half the broadcasts in Spearmaster campaign yet, so there’s likely some extra canon info I may be missing that could add to or change some of what I say here. I also apologize if some of what I write here seems really out-of-character. I try not to let my passion for my little headcanons and scenarios make me disregard the canon, but even so, I might slip and think up some weird things occasionally. Nonetheless, I feel like I’ve got enough of the picture to start confidently enjoying this ship, so I’ll talk about it anyway!

As always, feel free to add to these ideas if you can! Without further delay, enjoy this 3381-word essay, with a few initial headcanons sprinkled in, on why I adore Lilypad!

Oh, and just in case, if you couldn’t already tell, major Hunter campaign spoilers below.

Quetzalli on Loving Lilypad

I’m gonna start this out with a preface: I can generally find the appeal in a lot of different ships and the art other fans make for them, but for me to ship something enough to actively draw it and make my own headcanons about it and such (outside of, perhaps, gifts for other people), it usually has to contain a variety of “ship tropes” that I personally fancy. Many of my most-favorite ship tropes tend to be the ones that aren’t just cute, but that carry narrative significance and seem poetic in some way, usually because they can facilitate character arcs in the involved characters. The more of these a ship has, or the more ship tropes I can portray it with without it seeming too out-of-character, and the more I like those specific tropes, the better. This principle is a major reason why I’ve gravitated towards Artimand as my main slugcat ship, but for now, I’m going to focus on which of these I see in Lilypad — in canon content, other fan-portrayals, and my personal headcanons — that, as opposed to other iterator ships, has currently won me over.

I’m gonna describe the main general things I like seeing in this ship. Some of them are more due to fandom portrayals than what’s in the canon, but they all play a big role in my current love for Lilypad.

Synergy

I’ll begin with how I really appreciate just how much synergy Looks to the Moon and No Significant Harassment are shown to have, at least in fan content! I always like seeing pairings where the characters aren’t just romantic, but also work really well together as a team or even just as friends. After all, just because the characters may be romantically in love doesn’t mean they must only show it in explicitly romantic ways. To me, Lilypad strikes me as a relationship where Sig and Moon would make an amazing team in many aspects of their lives, whether it's collaborating on projects, sharing their interests, or trying to maintain order in the rest of their group. And their compliment is just really sweet to me, though I’ll get to that later.

A Shoulder to Lean On/The Lady

One of my favorite ship tropes is “character with a lot of weight on their shoulder who finally gets to lift it off and be ‘normal’ for once when around the other”. I’ve always found it sweet when characters like this, especially ones who are normally very selfless, finally get a chance to indulge and enjoy themselves for once! And once again, this is another thing I imagine in Artimand too, and you could project this onto Trafficlights given Suns’s implied high status, but I think it works especially with Lilypad, given Moon’s role as group senior means she objectively has a lot to manage all the time with no permanent escape from it. Even beyond the whole Five Pebbles rot drama, Moon probably had a lot on her plate just in terms of maintaining order between the rest of the group and setting a good example to the younger generations, especially as the group expanded over time, not to mention trying to find the solution herself. Combine this with how I picture her to be the kind of person who cares a lot about her image as a “proper” and “dignified” leader, and someone who often sacrifices her own desires to promote the group’s welfare, I just find it really soft for her to have someone to lean on, metaphorically (and in a worm-off-the-string scenario, literally), and who better to go to than her best teammate, who knows the power of a good laugh and will stop at nothing to have fun with those he loves? Not to mention, since I headcanon Sig as slightly younger than Moon (2nd gen, specifically), I just find it rather cute in an ironic sense that the older, more serious Moon is soft around the younger, far more chaotic Sig, especially as Moon would go through the realization that she actually kinda likes this little troublemaker!

This also comes back to something I mentioned in the tags of that beepsnort post, which is that one of my other favorite ship tropes is “guy who loves/is good at making people laugh x girl who has a REALLY weird/embarrassing laugh”, and that just works so well with Lilypad! It’s admittedly a very headcanon-based thing for me, but given how I’ve already explained my perception of Moon as very proper and serious, I imagine one of the best ways Sig takes the weight off her shoulders is by being the only person who can consistently make her laugh so hard! And with the beepsnort headcanon it’s even cuter, because of course Moon would be super embarrassed every time she even so much as gives a half-chuckle at one of his jokes, because Sig is relentless when it comes to getting the giggles out of her, and he won’t stop until she’s rolling and shaking on the floor of her chamber, her beepy-snorts filling the room! My GODDD I love this trope so much, and for beings who are inherently such workaholics, I think getting to genuinely relax and have fun for a bit, once she gets over the initial shock and embarrassment, would be something Moon would really come to value.

Inverses Attract/The Tramp

I’ve mentioned it in my last Artimand headcanons post, but one of my absolute all-time favorite ship tropes is the classic “opposites attract”, although I prefer the name “inverses attract”. As I like to portray it, the trope not only involves characters who are opposites personality-wise, but those being opposites of the same core aspect, and ultimately helping balance each other out by offering the other half of the equation to each other (hence the name “inverses”). The trope I just wrote about above is how Sig helps Moon to relax and have fun, but as I try to do with all ships, how does it work the other way too? Well, I really like to imagine Sig learning to be more openly serious and dedicated! Don’t get me wrong, Sig is a hard worker (it’s pretty much the nature of all iterators), but given he seems to pretty strongly reject the quest for the Triple Affirmative, I imagine the next problem would be in him finding a new purpose to strive for. And what better new purpose than in standing by and protecting the group senior he thinks he just might wanna be more than friends with?

It already works because Moon, of course, would work to keep Sig in check and make sure he doesn’t go too overboard with his shenanigans. But just imagine how inspired he’d grow over time seeing Moon work so hard to keep the group together and keep them striving for their purpose, even if he doesn’t agree with it. I imagine it’s why Sig’s methods are still rather controlled rather than purely chaotic, and there’s a reason to his rebellion. Thanks to Moon, rather than slaving away at a seemingly impossible solution until his mind collapses with his structure, he’ll use his talents to, at the very least, keep the local group together as long as possible, because even if they’ll all be gone one day, that doesn’t mean they have to go alone!

It’s why I’m also labeling these two tropes together as “the Lady and the Tramp”, yet another ship dynamic that gets me every time! It’s a specific instance of “inverses attract” where the noble, proper lady finds a taste of freedom and courage from the dangerously charming tramp, who from her finds a new sense of purpose and honor! And in my opinion, Lilypad is most definitely the best opportunity for this dynamic among Rain World ships!

The Fated Couple

Slow-burn couples seem to be pretty popular in many fandoms, but what about a really slow-burn? There’s something just so romantic to me about the idea that Moon and Sig, from the moment they met, have always just clicked so perfectly, and have been by each other’s side so constantly ever since, to the point it seems practically inevitable to everyone (except them of course) that they’ll eventually get together romantically. Of course, there are two main roadblocks to their romance being 1.) their whole objective and purpose for being created is kind-of fundamentally opposed to strong attachments like love (I mean, if Karma 3 is Companionship, wouldn’t romantic love be considered the worst example of that?), and 2.) even if they did reject this purpose, being massive immovable structures with the only humanoid part stuck deep inside a box, a budding romance seemingly couldn’t really go anywhere anyway. In fact, because of these roadblocks much of my Lilypad imaginings take place in the ever-popular “worm-off-the-string” scenario, especially since the next couple of reasons for why I like the ship play a lot into the themes I like to incorporate in this story concept.

However, these issues towards such a romance are also what make it so sweet in the end! Just think of Moon, alone in her chamber, beginning to worry about how she’s actually kinda sorta, maybe, hypothetically, possibly, just a little bit starting to like the carefree and charismatic Gen 2 in the local group as even more than just a work partner and a dear friend, but oh no, that’s indulging in a Karmic Sin, and as group senior she can’t just throw away their purpose like that and set such a bad example to the rest! What’s she gonna do?? And then on the other side, Sig puzzling in his chamber, pining so hard for the group senior yet seemingly unable to confess, because, even disregarding Karma 3 and the fact that giant immobile calculators aren’t about to be snuggling any time soon, why would someone as perfect and powerful as her want someone like him, so dismissive of their core purpose and unorthodox in his methods? Is there even a point in having these feelings at all, when they might very well end up simply fading to dust along with the rest of his structure?

Maybe, they both think, it’d be better to just keep these feelings to themselves and quietly love from a distance. That is, until…

Moon’s Collapse and the Slag Reset Keys

The fourth reason is, of course, the most steeped in canon. It goes back a bit to the “shoulder to lean on” concept, but even aside from that, there is something just so romantic about this on both sides.

Firstly, from Moon’s perspective. There’s no doubt that the collapse must have been very traumatic for Looks to the Moon physically, but I like to think about just how much it’d affect her emotionally, too. I mean, being so painfully destroyed by your own brother, with seemingly nothing that can be done to stop it and no one to help you? And then consider how lonely it must have been in her final moments. The only comfort she does get is from Spearmaster’s visit, and even then she sends him off to go deliver her final words, which has still got to be really depressing. And finally, think about how betrayed she must have felt, trying so hard throughout her operation to help her citizens and the local group and be kind to everyone, only to have it be repaid like this, forced to collapse in on herself, being buried under her own body, unfathomable pain all around, and with not a soul to help her.

So then, think about just how shocking and heartwarming (literally, if you think about it) it must be when that lovable Gen 2, always so playful and carefree normally, is the one to give her a second chance and being her back when all hope seems lost, and using such a unique delivery method no less! I mean COME ON, Sig literally brought her back to life, how could one NOT fall in love with someone who did that for them? It links back to the “shoulder to lean on” idea, in that, for once, someone finally looked out for Moon and gave back to her for all the kindness she gave to the world. Think about this as the moment she truly realizes she’s in love with No Significant Harassment, and how tragic it’d be knowing now, it’s too late to say it. But, even so, if he’s willing to go this far to make sure she’s okay, then maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance her love at least wasn’t alone.

Now, my thoughts about this from No Significant Harassment’s side (which also kinda turned into a mini NSH appreciation paragraph that links back to the earlier Inverses Attract and Lady and the Tramp segment), I think it’s very poetic to see him going out of his way to take his messenger concept, originally used for no more than a trivial prank and at most a very experimental and unfinished alternative communication method, and turning it into a noble last-ditch effort to rescue the one he loves. It doesn’t just clearly show how much he cares for Moon that he worked to save her when no one else did (and if that’s because the odds of being able to do anything seemed very low to the rest of them, that makes it even more sweet) I think it shows off a lot of Sig’s character beyond just being a jokester. Like, I’d seen this kind of personality for Sig in the fandom content before, but this action and the other broadcasts are what first made me truly realize not just that it is based in canon, but that, more importantly he’s not just stupid or unfocused, he’s rebellious. He doesn’t joke around because he just doesn’t care, it’s because he’s independent, he’s got other places he wants to go and plans that don’t fit into what most of his peers are used to. He makes light of the world because he sees what others don’t, and it’s honestly pretty frickin’ funny how blind others can be most of the time (case-in-point: him making a slugcat from a messenger, which no one else thought to do because those creatures seemed too “dull” and “primitive” to ever be capable of such a thing). So think about how significant it must be when he’s openly taking something seriously. This is where that dynamic of the Tramp, and how Sig would benefit from this relationship is really highlighted. I just adore it when the easygoing, carefree character finally finds purpose in their lover, and springs into serious action like they never were before! And it makes sense too given what I said about them not getting together before: seeing Moon collapse would show him directly that even beings as durable as iterators don’t last forever, so if he’s got these feelings for Moon, he’s got to make a move while there’s still a chance! And what better way to show his love than to bring her back when all hope seems lost? Which brings me to the final aspects I’ll talk about here, first of which is…

True Love’s Kiss

Yes, you read that right. The real reason I love the slag reset keys as a plot element so much is not just because it shows Sig’s secret strength of character, not just because it finally gives reward to Moon’s kindness, but because it is a real fairytale come true!

I know this sounds crazy and probably totally unrelated to Rain World, but think about it! You guys have probably seen Snow White and Sleeping Beauty before, or at least one of the two? Isn’t the whole trope that the beautiful princess, fairest maiden in the land, gets cursed through some means or another to die (or in Aurora’s case, fall into an indefinite sleep), which is only undone when the strong and brave prince, riding upon his noble steed, awakens the princess by giving her true love’s kiss? I already love both those movies on their own for various other reasons, but after my description, is this starting to sound familiar in another way?

I mean, with everything I’ve said about Moon in this post so far, there’s no doubt you could perceive her as the “fair princess”, who through unfortunate circumstances is put to a premature and indefinite death. And there’s no doubt Sig fills the role of the brave prince by working to save her with the slag reset keys, which in this metaphor are undoubtedly the “true love’s kiss” that ultimately conquers all, always longed for, and finally delivered! And hey, given Hunter is the one to carry the keys to Moon, a small yet courageous beast who stops at nothing to meet his goals, Sig even has his own “noble steed”! And even if Hunter is technically the one to actually deliver the green neuron, and the death the “princess” succumbs to wasn’t out of genuine malice towards her, I think the sentiment is still there and the parallel is close enough!

But yes, as strange as it may sound, the fairytale parallel is the main reason Lilypad resonates with me so much! Those classic fairytale-esque romance tropes and that poetic storytelling found in Disney’s first feature-length animated films has always been dear to my heart, and is even more so now that I’m older and can truly appreciate the beauty of them. So now, even in my fandom experiences, ships that win my appreciation over all others are often those that manage to embody those classic romance tropes and themes as best as possible, and frankly, even Artimand loses ever-so-slightly to Lilypad in this regard! Or, as I also enjoy calling them, “Lifeline”, for reasons that are probably obvious now.

And it’s even better when you consider…

Some Things Never Change

Another trope I’ve recently begun to love is the idea that some phenomena in the world never truly disappear, but simply manifest in different ways, sometimes unexpected ones. And given the whole Triple Affirmative quest and the Ancients’ mass ascension philosophy, this idea is something I especially love seeing in Rain World content. Even the canon events show this idea, but think about how wonderfully it would work with Lilypad beyond just the slag reset keys, especially taking up that “worm off the string” iterator AU concept some have explored in this fandom already.

Just think about how sweet it would be when Moon and Sig, operating primarily through their puppets now, get to finally hug and kiss and be with each other so directly now! Think of the way Sig would speak to Moon about how, even after her collapse, she's still somehow beautiful as ever, and Moon returning with how even all the trouble the group has faced hasn't put a dent in his charm! And it's even sweeter when you consider it’s against everything their creators stood for! Think of Moon, after everything she’s been through and how much she’s probably changed at this point, now willing to give some of these “worldly attachments” a chance, because you can never truly get rid of them, but she knows better than anyone that you won’t be around to experience them forever, so why not enjoy it while you’ve got the chance? And it’d make sense too, not just for her own benefit, but for Pebbles and the rest of the group’s sake too! She’s always strove to set a good example for them, and since their original quest has left them with nothing but pain and trauma, why not show them that maybe all these attachments aren’t so bad after all?

I just think it’d be really interesting to see Moon joining Sig in that rejection of the Triple Affirmative, and what better way to do that than by finally embracing that love they’ve felt for each other for so long? Because love never truly dies, it just appears in new people. And maybe they don’t have to spend their whole lives as grand iterators, the vast infinitely-advanced mechanical deities who embody perfection in almost every way. Maybe, even just for a bit, they can just be people, falling in love just as their creators did all over again!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

And with that, I think I’m FINALLY done here. HOLY COW, this is easily my longest post yet, and I hope it doesn’t disappoint! Part of the reason it took so long was because I was trying to find the perfect way to express all these ideas without it just spilling out onto the page in some weird half-coherent mess. But eventually I just said “ah screw it, let’s just ramble about this ship and see where it goes!” and my god, did it go far! And I still managed to somewhat organize it, so yay!

But aside from that, thank you SO MUCH to everyone who asked for my thoughts on Lilypad, and everyone who made it to the bottom of this essay! I’ve never really gotten a chance to openly ramble about one of my favorite ships to the rest of the fandom like this, so seeing that some fans, even if it’s ultimately not a huge amount, actually wanted me to do it was such a welcome surprise!

I hope you all enjoyed the drawings and the art! I’ll be around in case someone wants me to write another ship essay or something! And who knows, it’s likely I’ll find more reasons I like Lilypad as time goes on and I see more fan-content and find the rest of those broadcasts! But at least this was a starting point!

Expect more LIlypad content to come in the future, but until now, thanks again for the opportunity!

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ghostly-cabbage · 5 months

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A friend recently brought to my attention that Something's Wrong With Danny Fenton is now on the first page of DP fics when sorted by kudos (excluding crossovers) on AO3.

I'm genuinely so floored and SO SO grateful to everyone that has read and left kudos on SWWDF!

When I started it that year for Invisobang I never would've guessed that it would do as well as it's done. I worked so hard and I wrote something that I'm tremendously proud of. I'm happy that it's resonated with so many people. It was a lot of work to write and don't even get me started on the editing.

I will be eternally grateful to @kkachis for her skill and dedication as an editor - not only did she tackle that fuckin' thing, but she did so while remaining subjective and unafraid to tell me when the style was working and when I needed to reign it in. We both learned so much over those 3 months, and we continue to learn from eachother to this day.

To celebrate, and in honor of SWWDF, I want to show a little hint of something I've started working on to share with everyone.

When I started SWWDF, the thing that terrified me the most is that I knew I wanted to swing for the fences stylistically. I wanted to write it the way I would something that I was going to submit to a literary journal for publishing. I did this full well knowing that it may be a style that turned people away at the door. It's not for everyone and that's okay! Little did I know how many people would love it 😅

I struggled a lot in the beginning to find a balance between narrative fiction and my voice as a literary fiction writer. I had a low level but near constant anxiety that the style was "trying too hard".

My struggle and fears in 2021 is what's inspiring me to write an essay of sorts on this topic. If I could help or inspire other writers to play with style when it comes to fanfiction then that would make me pretty happy!

Anyway! Thank you again for this achievement!

Also! Let me know/send me an ask if any of you have specific questions you'd like me to address in the guide/essay about how I use/d style in fanfiction. Any questions will give me a better idea of what to narrow down on and cover.

#kei writes #something's wrong with danny fenton #swwdf #danny Phantom

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 1 year

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what meaningful plenaration does "sane" add to "safe sane and consensual"? safe and consensual are both pretty intuitive as to what is and isn't and why they're important, but what is the aspect of this nebulous hypothetical insane sex (this would work better as a phrase if insane sex wasn't already a thing people said about good sex. much to think about) which is uniquely best to avoid but not already covered by safe or consensual?

i've been thinking about that one thing i saw a while ago about reevaluating ssc in the face of increased awareness of like, mad liberation and the ways that mentally disabled people are barred from sexual agency by ableism & the psych system and i genuinely can't come up with a reason why sane was in there in the first place

great question! let's talk about it!

but first: hey. what on earth does plenaration mean. I absolutely understand the question that you're asking but I don't know that word (unusual for me, if I may flex a little!) and google is giving me NOTHING.

anyway, moving on!

SSC was initially popularized by in 1983 by the New York group Gay Male S/M [Sadism/Masochism] Activists, and particularly activist David Stein. let's take a look at their full statement:

GMSMA is a not-for-profit organization of gay males in the New York City area who are seriously interested in safe, sane, and consensual S/M. Our purpose is to help create a more supportive S/M community for gay males, whether they desire a total lifestyle or an occasional adventure, whether they are just coming out into S/M or are long experienced. Our regular meetings and other activities attempt to build a sense of community by exploring common feelings and concerns. We aim to raise awareness about issues of safety and responsibility, to recover elements of our tradition, and to disseminate the best available medical and technical information about S/M practices. We seek to establish a recognized political presence in the wider gay community in order to combat the prevailing stereotypes and misconceptions about S/M while working with others for the common goals of gay liberation. (x)

GMSMA was founded three years prior in 1981, which is only important because that was also the year the first AIDS patients were identified. I don't know if you're familiar with a little thing called The AIDS Crisis, but suffice to say that during the 80s the public perception of gay male sexuality Was Not Good, particularly something double deviant like sex that was gay and also kinky. in a later essay reflecting on (and criticizing!) the mainstreaming of the term, Stein said he wanted to SSC framework to distinguish mutually consensual sadomasochism from "the criminally abusive or neurotically self-destructive behaviour popularly associated with the term 'sadomasochism'."

in other words: while I can't tell you everything that lay in the heart of David Stein when he first used the phrase, it's very clear that the GMSMA seemed invested in improving the public image of kink by separating it as much as possible from the notion that it was something only practiced by crazed degenerates - you know, something queer people have been forced to do for pretty much all queer sex throughout history? in the same 2000 essay linked above, Stein reflects on how many people took SSC as "a welcome validation for a type of sexuality still considered "sick" or "crazy" by much of our society."

is there still ableism baked into that narrative re: the notion that mental illness is a bad thing to be affiliated with? yeah, absolutely, and we'll get to that! spoilers: it's been a source of much criticism, which is why many people now prefer RACK over SSC. but give me a second to get there!

in the essay I've been pulling from, Stein freely admits that GMSMA never attempted to offer concrete definitions of SSC, particularly not the latter two: "We left "sane" and "consensual" much vaguer, "sane" because it's pretty vague to begin with once you get past the obvious meaning - able to distinguish fantasy from reality - and "consensual" because we didn't realize how tricky it is."

the idea of "sane" meaning a person is meaningfully able to distinguish fantasy from reality was echoed by Gil Kessler, a longtime kink educator and board member of GMSMA. rope enthusiast Tammad Rimilia defined it differently, saying that sane kink referred to a situation where "all parties are engaging in this activity by direct intention and can judge the effects of their actions." you can see that echoed in Stein's earlier statement about differentiating the kind of sex that GMSMA encouraged from "self-destructive behavior."

tl;dr, the "sane" is mostly there to specifically draw attention to the fact that some people engage in sex in ways that may be a form of self-harm and/or may want to engage in sex when they are experiencing reality in a way that prevents them from making rational, fully-informed choices, such as psychosis or manic episodes. per their own statement, it seems the GMSMA would discourage having sex with people in this category.

obviously that may already fall under the purview of safe and consensual, but show me an organization that's never gotten a little redundant in its mission statement and I'll eat my shirt.

now, back to that criticism! as Stein notes in the essay I've referenced heavily in this answer, understandings of safety, sanity, and consent have come a long way since 1983! the risk-aware consensual kink model (RACK) has gained popularity for many reasons, with much of the conversation centered on both the inherent ableism of SSC and concerns about the promise of "safe" and the unhelpful and unrealistic expectations it may set. hell, even notions of consent are constantly growing and evolving. and that's wonderful! SSC comes from a very specific time and place in the history of kink and may no longer be the pinnacle of best practices for everyone, but there's still plenty to be learned from its origins.

#sex edventures 2023 #RACK

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