#but going over the assesments just now

[pinkshadesofshame]

damn I really like my new therapist a lot 🥹 it's only second ses with her but comparing my time with her to with ashley there's some stuff I didn't notice that made me uncomfortable thats just completely not there with liz

[see-arcane]

I am almost fine with people saying he has one brain cell, because I have seen dozens of people make the worse claim that he is "an arrogant, smug, proud of his rationality Victorian who laughs at the locals for their superstitions."

It is such a prevalent assesment that it's now considered a core character trait of his. When today's entry indicates nothing of the sort.

UH OH, YOU’VE ACTIVATED MY TANGENT CARD

(Text Brick Incoming)

Jonathan’s fundamental flaw at this stage does involve looking down on or viewing the locals and their traditions as quaint/idolatrous/ridiculous et al. He uses poor terminology too, owing to the Doylist reason of his author’s knowledge and biases, while the Watsonian reason is easy enough to read as Jonathan 1) Having to rely solely on biased/incomplete knowledge from his homeland’s writings on the place and 2) What I think is him trying to overcompensate as a trained reflex

I’ve always pictured Jonathan and Mina as having not only a lower social and monetary standing, but possibly a hindrance of race. (Case in point, I suspect a certain unique prop Jonathan brandishes later on is something he inherited, not something picked up by happenstance.)

That said—they are poor, they are not the idealized picture of the fair English Citizen…but they are both polite, charming, hardworking, and masters of ~making friends~ as a defense mechanism. And I’d bet money that included relying on what few positive nods their peers allowed.

“You’re so nice! So industrious! Your physiognomy really counters your origins! And you are wise enough to look down on those silly foreigners, aren’t you? Of course you are! You’re one of the good ones.”

Now, regardless of what headcanon is landed on as far as race/ethnicity/other backgrounds go, those last points are key. Because they go towards Being a Good Englishman/woman. Being wiser than to buy into fretting non-English superstitions. Knowing to ogle the people of other lands like curiosities in a zoo. Judging people by their face or the shape of their skull. This is the Norm. This is Good of the Victorian Englishman Abroad.

And we see Jonathan hold to all these stereotypes…to a degree. But we see within these same early entries that his instincts and general good nature chafe against that social training. He’s too much himself to do entirely as a Proper Englishman should.

He went out of his way to study all the limited info he had access to, incomplete or half-informed as it was. He delighted in learning everything he could of the places and people as he traveled, wanting to embrace and be educated on the land. And even when a lifetime of advising against it, of insistence upon derision, tried to take over when the crucifix was offered? He still accepted it. He still wears it even when the old woman departs, whether or not he believes in its importance.

And, vitally, his instincts are very Very awake to the fact that Something is Off. A Proper Englishman (and many an oblivious or stubborn dad in a ghostly horror movie) would shrug this unease off at once. But Jonathan doesn’t. He remains on Dracula’s route only because he has no other choice. All he does is mention quietly that he hopes Mina gets his diary if he happens to die on this journey.

Imagine that. Bracing for and acknowledging the sense that You Might Die on This Little Business Trip and just…having to go along with it. Because what will you tell your boss otherwise? What will you tell your fiancée?

These aren’t the concerns of a well-off stuffy snob of a man. It’s the resignation of someone who understands they live on the lowest rung of the ladder and that they will risk losing what little progress they’ve made if they dare to turn back.

As for sneering at the locals’ superstitions, period, consider: How likely would anyone really be to suddenly believe in monsters after coming out of the background Jonathan has? What could possibly have convinced him of the reality of the situation OTHER THAN SEEING IT IN PERSON? (Note, a key plot point for certain other characters later!)

The point of his being unable to take the supernatural aspect at face value is that, well, Why Would Anyone Immediately Jump to a Supernatural Conclusion in His Place?

What possible context does he have here!? Maybe he should have read Dracula first, ha ha—

Oh wait. He can’t do that. Why?

Because this man has never read Dracula BECAUSE HE IS LIVING AND WRITING THE BOOK DRACULA!!

Anyway.

tl;dr: I am very tired of both the Stuffy Victorian Snobprick and Oblivious Idiotbaby takes on my good friend Jonathan Harker

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Baby lesbian Anne who didn't come out in Earth before Amphibia because she didn't want things to be weird with her friends and her parents, but she's known for ages, and she only begins to express her sexuality in baby steps while in Wartwood, even if all she does is looking at pictures of hot Croaker with Polly or talking about past crushes with Sprig, giving supposed "girl advice". The Plantars know she likes girls. It's cool, it's normal. No big deal. Sometimes Hop Pop will teasingly ask if she had a girlfriend back home, or Sprig and Polly will use the word "breakup" while discussing Anne and Sasha's fallout (mostly while Anne isn't around, because last time they said that, she broke into tears, and then acted weirdly jumpy the rest of the day). This is the most normal Anne has ever felt about her sexuality. It's not that bad. Maybe she could tell her friends and family when she goes back home.

But then they reunite with Marcy, who at this point is the queen of comphet (of which there can only be one, may I add 😉). And Anne is so happy to see her she can't leave her side, and they're sooooo touchy and soooooo clingy, and Anne is mortified seeing Polly do waggy eyebrows at her when Marcy isn't looking, or Hop Pop asking Marcy about how would she take care of a girl ("Well, all human beings have a series of basic biological, psychological and social needs. If I had a person to my care, I would begin by assesing her specific circumstances to elaborate a proper caretaking plan to contemplate all possible necessities, perceived or otherwise. Is this 'girl' you mentioned hypothetical or...?"). Sprig at least announces to Anne he's off to ask Marcy if she wants to be her girlfriend before Anne grabs him, and the rest of the family, and pulls them somewhere around the corner, awkwardly smiling at Marcy and blurting something about "emergency family meeting", which leaves Marcy too distracted gushing over Anne's found family storyline to question her.

Anne quickly sits them down and tells them they need to stop. Marcy doesn't know she likes girls, and she can't know. Plus, she doesn't even like her that way! (She doesn't like Marcy, right? I mean, that would be ridiculous. This is Marcy we're talking about! Just her old kindergarden friend, who is now a totally badass amazon queen, and she's super smart, like, wowzers, and - hey, did that hot newt lady call her 'Master'? Because that's so cool, gosh she's amazing, power and confidence look real good in her, not to mention her hair's grown a little bit and it looks so cute and - okay that's enough!)

They need to keep it down. She's not ready to tell her friends yet, and with everything going on with Sasha, the last thing she needs is to push Marcy away. So, please. Could they pretend Anne is a normal heterosexual girl with normal friendship feelings during their time in Newtopia?

Hop Pop is a bit confused - he thought everyone back home knew already. It's not like Anne is exactly subtle ("hey, I can be subtle! One time I had a crush on this girl for over a year, and no one found out. A year, HP, do you know how long human years are?" / "I... think they're the same as amphibian years, Anne" / "Anyway, I just avoided her like the plague and everyone in school thought I hated her! Which is the opposite of liking. Problem solved." / "So... does that mean you do like Marcy?"). But they all promise to keep quiet about it. Even if it's odd to see Anne so self-conscious of something she used to be so confident about back in Wartwood. Like a baby bird crawling back inside its egg. Or something.

She kinda wishes she'd never told them anything, at all, ever, because their idea of helping is overcompensating by talking about all the "hot frog boys" she totally liked in Wartwood (ew), or supposed past Earth boyfriends. It piques Marcy's interest for a bit ("Wow, Anne, you had a boyfriend back home??? How come you never told us!?" / "I don't know what they're talking about!"), but after the first day or two, everything settles into an only mildly embarrassing routine of wandering around Newtopia with Marcy and the Plantars as they talk about things more pleasant than Anne's crushes and imaginary boyfriends, like ancient computers hidden underground, or obscure Plantar family farming lore.

She has her sleepover with Marcy, Sprig and Polly. It's scary, because they almost get killed by ghosts, but other than that it was a lot of fun. Marcy clinging to her clothes and arms all the time certainly... exciting. And the second most terrifying part of the night (wow, when did things with Marcy get like this? Had they both really changed that much?). Thankfully Sprig and Polly are asleep by the time Marcy succumbs, around 6am, and cuddles into Anne's side, making her heart do sommersaults. She thinks about how free she felt in Wartwood, how far away her worries seemed. Thinking the ocassional frog lady was hot was the last of her problems when she was being chased by giant insects and carnivorous plants all the time, and everyone around her seemed to feel the same way. But Marcy was a reminder of their home world, and things in their home world didn't quite work the same as they did in Amphibia.

And Anne wanted to go back home. She wanted it more than anything. That, and to bring her friend group together again. Things with Sasha were already bad. She was not losing Marcy too. If that meant biting her tongue on a couple of inconsequential, irrelevant things, she could do that. Yeah. She's done it for years, it wasn't that hard. Really. No big deal.

[saltlickmp3]

cover of jazz standard my funny valentine but darker & scarier & now about killing people, for the arrangement assesment at school. now with horror themes <3 lyrics & notes under the cut

my bloody valentine

sweet sticky valentine

you make me smile, with my heart

you look so chemical

unphotographable

yet you're mine, my work of art

is you skin less than sweet

is your heart a little weak

& when you rip it out to speak,

do you bleed?

my bloody valentine

sweet sticky valentine

you make me smile in my heart

you look so edible

darling so beautiful

til death do we part

my bloody valentine

sweet sticky valentine

you make me smile in my heart

you look so edible

blood-soaked & beautiful

til death do we part

-

with this song i was hoping to capture a certain. deranged quality. its all within the realm of fiction of course but its fun to be able to scream yknow? i played my funny valentine in my jazz combo & its usually a very slow, very sappy ballad, but i thought the descending line was quite ominous & some of the lyrics had a bit of an edge to them 'your looks are laughable / unphotographable / yet you're my favourite work of art'. and the title reminded me of shoegaze band my bloody valentine, which is also the name of a slasher film (that i havent seen) & thought the opportunity suggested itself well to make the song a lot scarier. & writing lyrics it a lot easier when you have something to go off to begin with - i had a lot of fun choosing words that had the right feel.

the feedback & distortion was the funnest part of this - i put my earplugs in & turned everything all the way up & made very loud noise for twenty minutes, which i then cut & rearranged for the backing - there are some parts that fit together pretty well that i didnt even have to move so that's good! the bell in the background at the end is the end of class bell ringing over my bass track. none of this was recorded properly lol its all just hitting record on garage band and uh. it shows. but i do really like this so yeah :]

[babyboyagere]

5 times Daryl should have known you were little and the time he found out.

Chapter 6 - I gotcha

tags: Cg! Daryl Dixon, Litte! Male Reader, Classification AU/littles are known

You and Daryl had been dating for a few weeks, and it was marvelous. Alexandria had made you feel safe enough to admit your feelings to one another (you admitted and Daryl awkwardly agreed) and you were happily enjoying getting to know Daryl as a boyfriend.

You were worried, however, that he could tell you were a little. The more you got to know this side of him, the safer you felt around him. You fell asleep back to back with him every night, told him stories from your life before, and he told you about his. You had nearly slipped around him several times, but did your best to keep yourself in check.

That is, until you dropped a glass on the floor and broke it. The crash, the exhaustion, the cut you got trying to clean it up were all too much, and you curled into a ball sobbing, your headspace hitting you at once like a high-diver hitting the water. Daryl immediately rushed to your side, assesing the damage.

"Hey, 'sokay, I'm here. I gotcha,' He tried to get you to look at him, but you just grabbed his neck and hid your face in his shoulder, still crying. He sighed and lifted you up, setting you gently on the counter. You grabbed tighter, not wanting to be put down.

"I know, I know," He whispered soothingly, "I gotta clean up the glass real quick.''

After sweeping up the shards and dumping them in the trash, he picked you up again and carried you to the couch. He set you gently in his lap, rocking you back and forth, his caregiver instincts immediately taking over.

"Can ya tell me wha's wrong?" He asked softly. You could only cry, curling your face into his chest. Everything was too much, you were too small, too overwhelmed, too exhausted to even form sentences. Daryl just rocked you, content to hold you as long as you needed. After a long time, you were able to speak in small, hiccupy breaths

"I- m'sorry- small- s'toomuch-" you turned your face back into his chest.

Daryl immediately had a moment of realization. OH. That was why you bit your cuticules till they bled, that was why you wanted the surpressants, that was why you were always exhausted. Daryl held you tightly to his body, hoping somehow to undo years of damage the apocalypse did to you. Some littles never recover from longterm suppresion, and end up physically and mentally disabled.

"Can you tell me how old you are baby boy?" You held up two fingers. "Thats very tiny!" he said, in a voice you've never heard him use.

He rummaged around in his pocket for something, then popped a plain blue paci into your mouth. You immediately suckled on it, your hiccups and cries quieting down.

"There we go, little one," he continued to rock you back and forth, relishing the soft moment with you. You began to squirm, your back hurting from being in an awkward position for so long, so he adjusted, moving so you were laying flat on his chest.

"Feel better, cutie?" He asked, running his hands through your hair and scratching gently at your scalp. You nodded sleepily, barely containing a yawn. Now that you were safe, all you could do was drift to sleep.

"I gotcha, sweetheart. You're safe now."

an: hope yall enjoyed!! Reblogs are really appreciated and a great way to show me that you liked this fic:)

[ribbonsaikeaux]

Mirrored Faces

"Tell me, dear, have you ever thought about escaping this place?" The masked woman asked as she sat across from Emily and crossed her legs. She looked on expectantly, eagerly awaiting an answer, taking a moment to adjust her petticoats. Though her extravegant lilac dress with its shimmering silver forest embroidery was certainly eye catching, it was the mirrored mask that she wore that garnered the most attention.

It was there that Emilys' eyes were fixed. Seeing herself reflected across the womans' lips and nose was somewhat unsettling when trying to speak with her, but Emily felt compelled to answer.

"Of course I have. Theres nothing here for me anymore. I've outgrown this town and I'm starting to HATE the people in it." She froze a moment. She wasn't sure why she was so forthright with that information. After all, she'd literally just met this lady.

"I had a feeling you'd say that dear." The woman replied, a hint of a smile in her voice.

"You had that desperate air about you. It was... intriguing."

Emily looks taken aback at that comment, but laughs and smiles.

"Is it that obvious?" She asked, frowning.

The masked woman let out a soft chuckle.

"Only to those who know what theyre looking for dear." She says as she reaches across the table, gently brushing Emilys cheek. "And i must confess, this beautiful face of yours also caught my attention."

Emily froze, blushing despite herself. However, what trepidation she felt at this sudden advance quickly disappeared. For some reason this strange womans touch was incredibly calming

"Th-thank you..." she managed to stammer out.

"Oh, dear, thanks arent necessary. It is simply the truth. I mean, such lovely bone structure. Soft lips " The woman puntuates this by brushing Emilys lips "and such cute cheeks as well!" She exclaims, gently booping the young womans nose.

Emilys face rapidly went through several shades of red at the womans assesment, nodding in agreement, far too embaressed to speak at the moment.

The woman continued, folding black lace gloved hands on the table in front of her. "Oh my, I seem to have gotten a little carried away dear. Apologies." She chuckled. "Now, what if I were to tell you that I can get you away from here and you'd never have to worry about anything again?" She asks in a tone more serious than any she'd used thus far.

"I would be very excited, but also extremely skeptical." Emily responded, still confused as to why she was being so forthcoming with this strange woman.

The woman nodded, looking solemn, but Emily felt there may be a grin behind that mask. "Well, thats to be expected, dear. However, I promise you I can make it happen."

Emily raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly. "Yeah... and what would you want in return?"

The woman leanes in, once again playfully booping Emilys nose. "Oh come now. We can worry about payment later dear. This is your chance to stop living this pointless life and do something different. More fulfilling. Now I really must be going soon, I'm afraid I need an answer dear"

Emily contemplated the offer, eyes becoming distant as she thought. Hell, whatve I got to lose, her thoughts concluded.

"Alright. Im in. What do I need to do?"

The woman clapped excitedly. "Splendid! You let me worry about the details dear. First, though," she leans over the table "I want you to look into my eyes"

Emily rolled her eyes, a little annoyed, but decided to humor this woman. After all, shes her ticket out of here. So she also leaned forward, finding the womans eyes.

To her surprise the womans eyes were astounding! Purple with a grey starbust pattern and, strangely, a glowing gold spot in the center of her pupil.

"Theres a good dear. Just keep looking." The woman encouraged.

Emily nodded slowly, eyes never leaving those purple and grey orbs. Not even noticing that her own face had lined up perfectly with the mask. She blinked.

Staring back at her was her own face. Not a reflection. Her. Face. She frantically brought her hands up to her own head, only to be met with a feeling of a smooth and cold surface.

Emilys face grinned wickedly. "Why thank you dear! When I saw your face, I just KNEW I had to have it. Dont worry, I will still keep my end of the bargain. We will be leaving shortly, and you will never have to worry that pretty little head over anything ever again!" The woman laughs.

Emily tried to scream, but her voice caught in her throat, no sound escaping. Then she felt an icy chill move across her head. Reaching up she once again tries to scream, but to no avail. The mirrored glass was spreading across her head, encasing it. She looked around, panicing, only to find everyone else in the builing frozen in place. Unbeknownst to her, everyone had been like this since the woman sat down.

Slapping at her face and head, emily tried in vain to stop the spread, the cold having now fully encased her head. Her brain and throat began to burn with searing pain. Clutching her head, she thrashes as the chill travelled down her neck, a series of cracks could be heard as her skull and neck bones reset, becoming steel. For the first time she found she could make a sound, but to her horror, her ears were met them robotic glitchy static.

The new Emily sat there, grinning. Obviously enjoying the show, her eyes fixed intently on the changing form in front of her.

As the cold sensation spread to her shoulders, her skin took on a metalic sheen. More cracking and fragmented robotic screaming. Bones replaced with a steel skeleton. Veins replaced with wires. All sending agonizing, seemingly, unending pain through the former Emilys being. The scratchy electronic screaming never ceasing until the freezing spread to the bottoms of her feet.

Suddenly Emilys brain was on fire. The screaming continued as she pounded on her head. The pain to much to bear, but unable to pass out as her brain was morphed into complex circuitry. Memories fading. Thoughts diminishing. Self gone.

The new drone sat up straight, arms at its sides, staring blankly ahead.

The new Emily giggled and clapped excitedly. "Oh goodie! We simply must get you home and programmed!" She exclaimed as she stood. "Come now. We've a lot of work to do!"

The drone stood stiffly, arms still at its sides and followed its owner wordlessly. Outside on the street sat a limo. The driver opened the door for Lady Emily. It shared the same mirrored face as the newly made drone. Said drone was unaware of this as it silently climbed into the vehicle with its new owner.

Shortly, they were both on their way to their new lives.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

I'd love to know more about the Bucky x autistic reader fic <3

This is such a pet project of mine to the point that I'm definitely overthinking it now and I just need to get it finished and posted.

I started it to help me work through my feelings while I waited for my assesment, and it's been so long I've had my diagnosis! It's very much based on my own experiences of being autistic and never feeling that I'm reaching the goals that everyone around me has set on my behalf. (But this has a soft fluffy ending).

It's called Let The Rain Fall and it follows Bucky learning about a talented agent who is still on desk duty, never really been in the field and doesn't go on missions. Determined to help her reach what he deems is her full capacity he befriends her and encourages her out from behind her desk.

She is our autistic reader, she much prefers being in charge of mission reports from the comfort of her office but, when disaster strikes, she steps in and is forced to reveal the full extent of her talents.

As Bucky gets to know her he starts to understand her more and more and they get closer and closer.

Little snippet under the cut, all SFW!

Bucky wasn’t sure he’d ever had such a nice time waiting in the jet. He was often resigned to babysitting the Avengers’ jet, car, boat, whenever there was actual teaching to be done. He didn’t mind so much, it gave him the space to read his books, listen to some music or catch up on all the history he’d either missed or inadvertently been a part of. 

But today you were there too, and your presence brought him a sense of calm that had truly surprised him. 

“Make yourself at home.” He insisted, gesturing to the spare seat. 

“Thanks.” You sat carefully.

“I mean it, make yourself comfortable, we’ll be here for a while. You want a drink?” Cautiously you tucked your legs up, crossing them on the seat. Your boots were clean, immaculate even, worn only through the compound and into the hanger this morning, but you were careful to keep them as far off the seat as you could anyway. 

Bucky poured coffee from a large flask tucked into the side of his seat and topped it off with a generous helping of milk. 

“That’s just how I like it.”

He smiled, wide and pleased, “I asked around, wanted to make sure you enjoy your first mission.” 

“Not really a mission if I don’t do anything,” you blew steam from the top of your enamel cup and took a sip, cupping your hands around the warm metal. 

“Well, it’s all I’m doing and I’m an ‘Avenger’.” Bucky laughed, reaching his arm out to clink your mugs together. “Cheers to the easiest job on the roster.” 

You fell into an easy silence, Bucky read his book for a while until you couldn’t hold it in anymore and told him you’d read it a few weeks before. Before you knew it two hours had melted away and you were curled up comfortably in Steve’s seat, giving Bucky a run down of your favourite books so far that year. He watched you, the wide grin softening into an indulgent smile while you blossomed before his eyes. 

He knew some of the other agents had been whispering about you, while you boarded the jet, that you were odd, childish, over the top and impossible to be around. But he enjoyed the exuberant way you described each plot, the glimmer of excitement in your eyes when he agreed with you and the blunt dry way you told deadpan jokes before breaking into peals of laughter. 

Silently he prayed that you’d come with him again, just to spend time with him even if you didn’t want to be in the field.  

[whalesongsblog]

🦋The Princess and the Parselmouth 🦋

Chapter 2: No sweeter innocence

“Are you sure about this, maharaj?” 


The Indian summer was merciless. Blistering heat beat down in sweltering waves on burnt ochre hills dotted with provinces that made up the Surya empire. The palace and its’ fortress sprawled along one of the hilltops, resplendent. Soaring spires scraped the azure blue sky, intricately carved with the ancient history and stories of the sun drenched land. Lofty halls and spectacular architecture made the palace draw eyes to it- an amber jewel set against the cloudless sky.

The faint chatter of people rose on the hot air like the shimmering waves of heat, the scent of spices and flowers carrying on the warm wind.

Raja Ashok Surya Lakshmi folded his hands behind his back as he turned away from the jharokha and faced his advisor, who adjusted his stance slightly.

“Why would I not be, Vikram? Mira is enthusiastic about going to this-“ the king halted slightly, a little smile quirking his lips under the impressive moustache he sported. “-Hogwarts. If she believes it to help her along her journey in magical education, who am I to refuse her? After all, she is the one with those gifts, not I.”

“Maharaj, it might be seen as… a snub to our own esteemed magic institutions if the princess chooses to go to Europe of all places.”

The king paused, sighing softly. A cry of a peacock echoed over the hills.

He remembered, all too well, the day the empire had turned upside down when the young princess discovered her unique abilities. The little five year old was discovered floating a few meters over the floor of her rooms with far too serene a smile on her face. However, it did fall slightly when her mother took one look at her, gave a sharp cry of alarm, and fell into a faint on the spot.

The next few weeks had felt like a bizzare dream. Suddenly, the palace was swarmed by delegations of witches and wizards and all manner of creatures the king had only read about in stories as a young boy. Whether seeking political alliances, offering congratulations on the birth of a magical child, or applying to join the team of magic tutors for the princess, the king had seen enough strangeness in those weeks and the subsequent sixteen years that he did not bat an eyelash anymore when his daughter amused her brothers by turning their swords into frogs.

A number of rude awakenings were dropped on him, on his court and family like cannons, unforgiving and rapid.

Magic existed, and his little girl was special.

There was a whole world of people just like her out there, many of whom lived in his own empire, under his own nose.

And now, he had an entire new community of people to balance.

“She completed her undergraduate degree at a Suryan institution.” The king pointed out. “And all her education so far has been in this country, in this empire. If she wants to travel, I would not wish to stop her, Vikram. Besides, her mother has already conceded, and I doubt I can stand against that.”

“No, maharaj.” Amusement colored the royal advisor’s voice. “No, I don’t think you could.” He sighed, looking out over the sun-baked hills. “Very well. The princess will complete her higher education in Scotland, and obtain her Master’s degree at-“ he paused, looking at the king again. “What was the name of the school, again?” 

“Hogwarts.” The king replied, sounding as if he could hardly say the words coming out of his mouth with a straight face. “Hogwarts University of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Sebastian Sallow did not enjoy distractions, and did not appreciate the assesment that it was because he was too prone to being consumed by them.

Sure, his brain was usually firing off in a thousand different directions like a Zonko’s cracker, but every sizzling ember could be traced down to a handful of rock- solid objectives. In the past few years, most of them had melted away- with the exception of his dissertation and dueling club- and took a back burner for the one that constantly plagued him.

Ridding his sister of her… affliction spun around and around his head- a persistent, all consuming mantra he had no choice or desire to disobey.

All that to say, he despised distractions and therefore was adept at recognizing them.

And it was a damn shame that the distraction led into the Slytherin dungeons by two aurors was such a lovely one.

The young woman casting her fascinated gaze around the space was tall- a vision of earth- brown skin and raven hair that fell down her back in a thick braid adorned with jasmine flowers.

A silver circlet sat on her head, accenting the regal edge of her features. She was draped in a shimmering, ocean blue sari bordered in gold accents, the fabric almost shifting around her like waves. It didn’t take a genius to guess that the embroidery was hand stitched and expensive.

She lfited her chin slightly, thick brows and thicker lashes framing a pair of honey hued eyes and Sebastian found himself walking forwards, blinking slightly as if he’d looked at the sun for too long.

He did not enjoy distractions.

And he hated being consumed by them.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sometimes, it felt like being stuck in quicksand.

Like he was clawing and fighting to get out and really, it was all for naught because the more he fought, the more he just got dragged down, and down, and down.

Ominis Gaunt was drowning and at this point, he wondered what the harm was in just allowing the waves to take him. To let the ice-touched undertow carry him along into whatever deep depths were dragging him under because he knew that even the frigidity of that unknown was more welcoming than the sticky, trapping tar of his family’s legacy.

“We’re at the bottom of the lake, aren’t we?” 

Ominis startled, head tilting, angled towards the voice as it reached out and tugged him from his stupor. His vision, as always, offered him little more than fuzzy light perception and faint blobs of saturated color.


He recognized the voice. The newcomer who had chosen to sit next to him during professor Hecat’s lecture.

“Your highness.” Never one to forget his manners, Ominis stood from the velvety sofa he’d been sitting in and gave a short bow. “My apologies, you caught me off guard.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry- I did not mean to startle you, and you really don’t have to do that- though I must say, your posture was perfect. Please, call me Mira. Or Miradevi, if I happen to be in trouble.”

A jingle of bangles alerted him to the fact that the princess was probably waving his gesture off with an embarrased sort of wave.

Blue-green hues of light fell into the large space of the common room, shifting with the current, the tall algae swaying and cutting in and out of the pale sunlight filtering through the water.


“I sat next to you in class earlier but I did not catch your name. I must admit, it was a bit of a lapse in my manners.” Mira laughed softly, a little sheepish. “I was slightly overwhelmed. But you are-?” 

“Ominis Gaunt. Welcome to Hogwarts, princess. Do let me know if I can be of any assistance as you assimilate here.” He paused. “It is an extremely safe location, and any threat to you would undoubtedly be swiftly dealt with. The professors here are quite formidable, and the protective enchanments around the castle even more so.”

He did not know why he added that on. Well, she was quite possibly one of the most high- profile students Hogwarts had seen but something about the idea of her potentially being in harms way latched onto his soul and burrowed in like a burn he could not soothe.

“Concerned for my safety already, Ominis Gaunt?” The princess teased, her bangles jingling as she leaned against the arm of the sofa. Ominis could hear the little grin in her words. “The tales of British gallantry are not at all exaggerated, it seems.”

His ears were aflame as he tried to say something witty in response.

Ominis Gaunt was drowning.

But suddenly, the deep, dark depths did not seem so forbidding.

xxxxxxxx


Miradevi frowned slightly, shutting the heavy tome she was scanning through, setting aside her parchment and pencil- since she staunchly refused to waste time by writing with a quill.

Rain pelted against the tall windows of the empty classroom the three of them had sequestered themselves into in a fruitless attempt to study. It was too grey, and even the lit braziers along the walls did little to bring warmth into the cold flagstones.

Her two companions- her new friends, she thought with a little spark of delight- sat with her, one sprawled on the floor, the other at a desk. 

“Put off by the delightful European weather, princess?” Sebastian asked lightly, not looking up from the notes he was scribbling, eyes fixed on the cramped writing of the book he was transcribing from. “Must be different from what you’re used to, I imagine.” 

There was a soft huff from where Ominis sat. The aristocrat readjusted his fingertips on the raised dots along the sheaf of papers in hand, trying to find the spot where he’d left off, but his ears were keenly attuned to the lilting, heavy accent of his new…

friend.

“Well, the desert can get quite cold at night, especially during the winter months, but this constant barrage of drizzle is…” Mira trailed off, casting an uncertain glance at the windows. “Unique.”

Sebastian grinned at her persistence politness. “You won’t offend us, your highness. You can say that the weather is bloody miserable.” 


“I believe in seeing the joy in even the most dreary of situations.” Mira replied, grinning. “Here, speaking of dreary situations-“ she turned the book slightly, looking between the two young men. “Your goverment system is in complete shambles, if you don’t mind my saying. I’ve seen bones that are less fractured than the society here.”

There was a snort of laughter that surprisingly came from Ominis. He tilted his head, indicating that Mira should continue speaking. “Please elaborate, my princess.”

“Well for one, the judicial system makes no sense. The Wizengamot seems to be the highest legislative body, yet a majority of its’ fifty members are predominantly senior members of pureblood families.” She gave a significant look to the two of them over the rim of the tome. “Misrepresentation of the actual population of the wizarding community which, according to this very outdated census-“ she produced a folder from her colorful satchel- “is around 63% muggleborn or halfblood-“

Ominis had to remind himself to breathe, and it was slightly shaky. Her voice had pitched slightly lower, the inflection steady and self assured, like she was about to speak in front of a crowd of thousands.

“Merlin.” Sebastian whistled softly, reaching for the folder. “What dusty corner of the Archives did you crawl into to get your hands on this?”

“The dustiest.” Miradevi said with a slight shudder. “I made good friends with a family of spiders. And then there’s the issue with nonhuman magic beings .” 

“And what’s that?” Sebastian leaned back, amused.

“Well, there was an article about a goblin uprising, or some sort of rebellion, and I looked a little bit into the history of wizard-goblin relationships or.. well, lack thereof, really, and it’s interesting. There are laws preventing them from carrying wands, which-“

“Mira.” 

The princess paused, startled by the warning note in Ominis’ voice. She looked up, brows raised.

Sebastian was looking at her strangely.

His chestnut brown eyes were slightly dark as he looked at her, but he waved his friend’s words off.

“Don’t interrupt, Ominis.” He said, his gaze fixed on her. “Let the princess finish.” 

“I was- I was just going to say that it seems like squashing the rebellion is a superficial solution to a deeper issue.” Mira pointed out. “Clearly, there is discontent in the goblin community-“ 

Sebastian stood, sudden. His jaw was clenched and Miradevi realized she had certainly put her foot in it somehow. 

“Allow me to give you some advice, princess.” He hissed softly. “I would not come swanning in from a different country and start casting judgement on how things are run here.” 

“Sebastian.” Ominis stood, lips slightly curled in a snarl. “Enough. She doesn’t know-“ 

“Exactly. She does not know, so perhaps she should not speak on things she is unaware of. Royalty or not. Excuse me.”

Mira stared at the door of the classroom that was slammed in the wake of Sebastian’s abrupt departure, her ears burning. She turned to Ominis, not speaking for a moment.

His ice-chip blue eyes were fixed in the general direction of the door, fists clenching and unclenching, before he turned slightly, looking off to a direction vaguely at her left.

“He-“ Ominis began, suddenly sounding very tired. “It’s a sensitive subject.”


“I gathered.”

There was an uncomfortable pause.

“I can… get too caught up in politics without considering that people have their own biases.” Miradevi said, hesitant. “When you are partially responsible for the smooth running of an empire, taking every single individuals’ emotions into consideration is difficult, and sometimes I can… get carried away by what I believe to be just.”

xxxxxxxxxx


Ominis had never met anyone like her, that was for certain. There was something about her voice, something so unabashedly open about everything she said, every emotion dredged from her heart and woven into each syllable she spoke.

She was genuine in a way that only someone who had never been hurt a day in their lives could be.

And whether that scared him or endeared her impossibly more to him, Ominis found that he was just dragged further into the princess’s magnetic gravitational pull.

xxxxxxxxxx

“And what is this supposed to be?” 


Mira shifted slightly, not used to such hostility, especially after being surrounded by nothing but adoration and love from her people, her family, the myriad of advisors and court officials and tutors- even from her peers in school and college. 

“It’s supposed to be an olive branch. I’m sorry for… clearly touching a nerve.” 


Sebastian cast an unsure look at her, before ripping off the horribly wrapped paper. Revealing the title of the book, his jaw slackened. 
“How did you-“ he looked up at her, voice slightly weak. “This is- this is ancient, how on earth did you-?”


Mira grinned. Success.

“You enjoy studying arcane magic, so I wrote home to my baba and asked for something from the royal library you may enjoy.” Her grin faded slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t consider that the politics of this goblin situation is not something I should speak on without knowing about it in its entirety.”

Sebastian softened. “It’s not your fault. And it’s-“ he huffed, running a hand through his hair, and he seemed pained by his next words. “It’s not all of them, I’ll admit. But Ranrok and his loyalists are pure evil and far from innocent.” He looked at her. “I’ll.. tell you about it, one of these days. In the meantime, I think I have some reading to do.” He grinned at her and stood, going in for a tentative hug. 
“Thank you, princess.”

xxxxxxxxxxx


There was a hysterical sort of bliss in the moments after waking from a nightmare.

The sudden, blessed relief that none of it was real, that it was just his traitorous brain weaving a tattered tapestry of the worst moments in his memory, breathing new life into it.

Ominis practically threw the sheets off himself, sitting up in his bed. His fingers instinctively went for his wand on the bedside table, a quick albiet shaky flick sending that familiar thrum of magic along his arm, opening up the world around him. Shapes and structures materialized from his blurry, dim surroundings as he swung his legs off the bed and stood.

The graduate students’ wing of the castle was silent, unusually so.

Following the pulse of his wand, Ominis made his way through the familiar halls, past the rushing waterfall and into the commons.

I will not have a cotton spined fool for a son. Cast it, or face the consequence.

Cast the spell, Ominis.

Cast the bloody curse. Are you a Gaunt or not?

This family will not have a blood traitor under its’ roof. Cast the c-

“Ominis! I wasn’t expecting company at this hour.”

His head snapped up, a wavering exhale leaving his lips.

“Mira.”

Miradevi stood quickly from her comfortable position sprawled out in front of the fireplace. She was wearing the thickest, fluffiest pair of sleepwear she had, her thick black hair falling openly over her shoulders, down her back. “I think my body still thinks its’ in India.” She grinned. “Hence why I’m up like an owl. Tell me why you’re awake at such an ungodly hour.” 

“Nightmares.” 
The answer spilled from his lips without hesitation, and he mentally berated himself for it.


“Nasty things.” Miradevi said sagely, completely unpeturbed. “I had a horrible nightmare once and refused to sleep for nearly a day straight after that. I consumed my body’s weight in caffeine to keep myself awake and drove my brothers mad.”

“You have brothers?” Ominis felt around for the edge of the sofa and sat down. Mira went back to her spot in front of the fireplace and he could just vaguely make out her completely blurry figure backlit by blobs of pale yellows and orange.

“Two. Arjun and Bharat, both older than me and both insufferable about it. Arjun is the eldest and the crown prince of the empire.”

“Ah, you’re the baby of the family.” Ominis said softly, leaning forwards, his elbows resting on his knees.

Mira titled her head slightly, her gaze darting over him. She’d never seen someone so lovely in her life, and found herself shuffling forwards slightly. “And the only daughter. Talk about being sheltered. Anyway-“ she cast her gaze around, convinced that the heat on her face was from the fire. “Your nightmare must have been bad to disturb you awake. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“… One day, princess. For now, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing?”

“Oh-“ Mira huffed a soft laugh. “Writing a speech. Arjun is addressing the nation in a few days and enlisted my help to write it. As if I don’t have enough on my plate, I told him. But-“ she sighed theatrically. “My duty is to my people, first and foremost.”

His nightmare was already fleeing to the recesses of his subconscious mind, consumed by its dark corners and swallowed up, poised to be nothing more than a fleeting, bad memory. 
Ominis slipped off the couch and sat beside the princess on the plush, carpeted floor, smiling. “How very irresponsible.” He teased. “The crown prince, outsourcing his royal duties to his little sister.”

His heart lurched at Mira’s delighted laugh.

“What is the speech about?” Ominis leaned closer, his voice soft.


“I’m so glad you asked.” He heard a shuffling of papers, and the enthusiasm in Mira’s tone. “Prepare to be bored out of your wits.”

Ominis grinned. “I would love nothing more, my princess.”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

AN: thank you for reading!! So just to clear a quick thing up: in this universe, hogwarts also has higher education. Ominis and Sebastian are working on their phDs, while Mira is doing her Masters.

A few quick translations! Maharaj/ maharani are royal titles in Hindi, meaning king and queen, respectively. A jharokha is a type of shuttered window. I also recommend looking at photos of palaces in Rajasthan to get a sense of the architecture. It’s super beautiful!

I’m having so much fun writing this 😭🫶🏾 I hope y’all enjoy!

[hjeojeo]

The "im gonna go back to bed and sleep another 3-4 hours but first" thoughts.

I was trying to look for my anon asks tags cause it seems I've used a bunch of different ones over the years but i think i found the most consistenly used one (#anonasks)

And omg interesting observing how 2014~2017 ppl were very ready to ask about art tips and stuff

But definitely starting from 2020~2022 ppl don't ask anymore

But this also coinciding with the overall "gotta be a professional artist" vibe and overall art community changing where ppl expect a certain quality of art or something- it all makes me think about how hostile the current online art community is for both beginner artists and artists struggling with figuring out their art/self.

Im thinking on how to help encourage other artists more.

Im gonna try to think more on tutorials and stuff bc it's something ppl have asked from me for many years but i just never had the confidence to. But the real detailed reason is bc i never wanted the heavy responsibility of teaching, but i think i see now how important it is to dedicate to teaching and sharing what you've learned.

At the time i thought there's plentiful resources, i dont need to add my bumbling mess. But it seems that just bc there's plentiful resources doesn't mean it's assesible.

So i guess i can try to brainstorm how to collect helpful resources and share that and also put more effort into..thinking of how i can describe and explain my personal art approaches and thoughts/processes.

I think art should always give a person a feeling of "i want to do that! I CAN do that!" Instead of whatever the current vibe is, it makes me think it gives ppl the energy of "my art isn't good enough" and that is genuinely terrible. Art shouldn't be expectations and standards and whathaveyou. It should be whatever the fuck centered on joy and expressing yerself

[senka-mesecine]

I wonder how would domesticated hill country Barnes act when he's (very secretly) jealous or insecure. How would he react to his wife telling him about wanting to go out and meet with her girl friend or sister he never heard about before. Would he trust her or secretly follow her just to make sure she's not lying to him. I bet he would tho, maaaaybe even feel like a bit of a tool afterwards.

Oooor would he tease her and make sure she thinks about him the whole time before she leaves? 🥵

---

Honestly, I think the root cause of all his potential jealousy and insecurities for Barnes would stem for the fact that upon return from the war I don't imagine this man is built for these day to day mundanities like visits, relatives, friends, family, socialization, extracurriculars --- maybe he was, once upon a time, in what seems like an almost bygone, forgotten era now, but I mean, can you really even imagine Barnes in a situation like that? Sitting down with your chattering sister? Or a gossiping friend? Can you? Not without him standing out like a bull among pigeons, that is? That's right. You can't. And he can't imagine himself either. He is someone who is almost exclusively built for a time of war and not a time of peace --- which is the issue in the first place. You go out to visit someone who's dear to you and it's almost like letting you into the outside world to mingle what he might just see as 'your own folk'.

You know? Unscarred.

Tame.

Clear of conscience.

Painfully civilian.

And what if you rather realize you like it there?

Rather than with him?

Birds of a feather flock together --- that's just the way of things; what he wants and likes isn't the reality of life, it is just a folly; a folly he doesn't want to delude himself with, and I envision a domestic Barnes would always have this impression that sooner or later you'll be craving your own flock. One of these days, you'll inevitably wanna be gone. So, his conundrum is actually weirdly existential for him, even though it comes off as common jealousy and him being territorial, which, oh, believe you me, he is. He might just let you go all on your own, but he is just as likely to casually follow suit, watching from somewhere not too far off, having a smoke while he observes you entering, say, or your sister's or your friend's home, assessing every exchange, every goodbye, every hug, every smile, weighing it all out in his mind. He is home before you are even though you were followed and tailed and could never tell. When you come back, Barnes could very well be just where he was where you left, having a drink, twirling a stack of playing cards in silence, seemingly like he never moved. He doesn't feel like a tool for effectively stalking you. He feels, instead, that it is good to be prepared. Because the man genuinely thinks that with every visit, every hang out, every venturing outside, you'll crave the undamaged, the unscarred and the unmarred. He isn't self-pitying or self deprecating, nah. He would be painfully realistic, is all. Painfully realistic and it's not something that can be fixed with him having you or getting you off so he'd be on your mind as you leave. No, what he does is effectively go out of his way to wrap you around his finger to the degree you want him more than all those other assholes.

It's a quiet sort of assesment he comes to watching you with outsiders.

Uh-oh. She is happy. Good.

That can be dealt with.

What he does afterwards is one way or another getting under your skin so badly, playing the long con with surprising patience, that you'll want to spend time with nobody more than you want to do it with him. Is it a form of breaking you? Maybe. Is it him conditioning you? Perhaps. Is it a really obsessive form of love? Undoubtedly. Is it him winning the unspoken, quiet war for your soul over everyone else from your previous life? For sure. Next time your sister invites you, might just make an excuse for yourself all on your own while he wordlessly listens on.

[jon-withnoh]

Danbea prompts, you say?! "There was only one bed" #3 - Person A waking up to Person B curled up and sleeping on top of them. (Tbh any of the "there was only one bed" prompts.)

Okay so this became a whole thing. Here is part one of two I hope you enjoy! (Beware, this is three thousand words long.)

Danny drew her coat around herself, shivering. It was snowing so heavily she could not see more than a few feet in front of her. Clutching her carpet bag in both hands, Danny began to move in the direction of where she suspected the stationmaster’s house to be. She had only gone a few steps when a figure emerged out of the flurry of snow around her, knocking into her with surprising momentum. 

“Oh dear,” said the figure. “I do apologise. I cannot see further than my own feet in this weather.” 

Danny stopped short. “Mrs Lacy?”

Mrs Lacy, bundled up so heavily as to be almost unrecognisable, did a double-take. “Miss Danvers. Now what on earth are you doing here?”

“Mrs de Winter sent me ahead on the train so I could meet her when she arrived.” 

“She’s driving?”

“Yes, Madam. She has an appointment in London today and will set out afterwards.”

“Hm.” Mrs Lacy’s exhale produced a small cloud of steam. “I doubt she will be able to set out in this weather. I spoke to the conductor just before the delay was announced. They have had reports of heavy snowfall all over the country, even in London.” 

Danny gave a non-comittal shrug. 

“What do you recommend we do now?” Mrs Lacy asked. 

“There is no chance of continuing our journey this afternoon?”

“I’m afraid not,” Mrs Lacy said. “There are snow drifts all along the way. They will have to wait to clear them until it stops snowing. It would be a wasted effort otherwise. I suggest we go to the village and beg for a room somewhere. Come, I shall take you under my wing, seeing as you are without your lady and I am without a maid.” 

Danny opened her mouth and closed it again. She could see blurry figures all around them, moving from the train in the direction of the stationhouse. Clearly, Mrs Lacy was not the only one who trusted the train conductor’s assesment of the situation. Danny found herself torn. What if Rebecca did set out from London and Danny was not there to receive her? Should she not try and make her way to Scotland via some other route?

Mrs Lacy had been watching her. “Miss Danvers, we are in the middle of Lancashire. We are entirely reliant on the train and the train will not depart until tomorrow at the very least. If Rebecca does arrive before us and gives you any trouble, I will personally vouch for your dedicated attempts to continue your journey.” 

Danny blushed. “Thank you, Mrs Lacy.” 

“Good girl,” Mrs Lacy said, interpreting her thanks as aquiescence. “Follow me, I have excellent directional instincts.” 

Mrs Lacy led the way through the stationhouse and into the town beyond. It was small, smaller than Kerrith or even Lanyon. Spotting the pub amongst the row of houses along King’s street was no difficult feat, though Danny kept this thought to herself. Mrs Lacy gave her a triumphant smile and pointed at the pub, picking up her stride. Danny hurried after her. The snow on the pavement had not been cleared. It was beginning to melt inside her boots. 

As soon as Mrs Lacy pushed open the worn entrance door to the pub, Danny realised that they were not the only passengers to think of taking shelter here, nor had they been the first. She watched Mrs Lacy’s smile faulter as she took in the mass of people crowded around the fire place, the bar, and the reception desk. Nonetheless, the two of them joined the queue by the desk and waited their turn. 

The woman behind the desk gave them a cheerful smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Good afternoon,” Mrs Lacy said. “We were on the train that is currently stranded at the station and would like to spend the night. What kind of rooms can you offer us?”

“Offer? You don’t suppose you were the only passengers looking for rooms, do you? I have one room available and that is it. It is small, but neat and tidy as all our rooms are. It should have twin beds. Ethel—” The woman turned and called over her shoulder. “It’s twin beds, isn’t it?” There was a call of assent from somewhere at the back of the room. “There you have it. One room, twin beds, will that suit you and your—”

“Lady’s maid,” Mrs Lacy said. “And I suppose we will have to make do.” 

“Very well then,” said the woman. “Here is your key. You’ll want to take a left at the top of the stairs and go to the very end of the corridor.”

“Thank you,” Mrs Lacy said. “Come along, Miss Danvers, I am sure we will be quite comfortable.” 

Mrs Lacy’s easy familiarity made her blush. She was used to it from Rebecca, but that was different. They had grown up together; she had taken care of Rebecca when Rebecca had still been afraid of the dark. Mrs Lacy barely knew her. Still, she followed Mrs Lacy up the stairs and down a narrow corridor with doors on either side. As the woman had said, their room was at the very end. It was much colder here than it had been downstairs, where the logs were piled high in the fireplace and there was a steady stream of hot soup and tea from the kitchens. Danny stood back as Mrs Lacy set down her suitcase and unlocked the door.

“Hm,” Mrs Lacy said. “Hm.”

“Is anything the matter, Mrs Lacy?”

Mrs Lacy thought on this for a moment. “You see, I distinctly recall that woman downstairs speaking about twin beds, and, for that matter, confirming the existence of twin beds with Ethel, whoever she is. Do step inside this room and tell me what you see.” 

Curious, Danny went to stand next to Mrs Lacy and peered into the room. It was very neat, as the woman had said, with chequered curtains and a small peat fire in the fireplace. What did not match her description at all was the bed against the righthand wall. It too was exceedingly neat with a plain coverlet and clean white sheets, but it was decidedly one bed, intended for two sleepers. Danny’s cheeks burned. 

“She must have been mistaken,” Mrs Lacy said. “I shall go downstairs and see what they can do. Maybe they can swap our room with someone else’s. There must be something they can do.”

Danny bowed her head as Mrs Lacy turned down the corridor once more. She waited until the decided clunk clunk clunk of Mrs Lacy’s boots on the stairs had faded, then stepped eagerly into the room to stand beside the fire. However long it took Mrs Lacy to rectify the situation was as good an opportunity as any to warm up. Danny set down her bag and held out her hands. She sighed as the warmth of the fire began to envelop her frozen fingertips. She closed her eyes, feeling herself come back to life. 

“There is nothing to be done.” 

Danny whirled around. Mrs Lacy had returned, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. 

“It is this or finding another place to sleep and at this rate, every establishment will be completely packed by the time we get there. If only I had some acquaintance here who I could persuade to take us in, but of course, we are in Lancashire. We shall have to make ourselves as comfortable as we can.”

That was that. Mrs Lacy set down her suitcase on the stand at the foot of the bed and began to sort through her things. Danny remained standing by the fireplace, her hands folded. She tried to conceal her horror at this development. To share a room with a woman of Mrs Lacy’s standing — would Rebecca expect her to act as lady’s maid to someone who was not Rebecca? 

Danny kept her mouth shut and her eyes fixed on the floor as Mrs Lacy made herself at home. She followed silently as Mrs Lacy suggested they go in quest of dinner and ate her soup with as little conversation as she could muster. Fortunately, Mrs Lacy did not seem to require any long speeches from her. She seemed happy enough to converse without much back and forth, though more than once Danny found herself the recipient of an amused smile. Danny kept her eyes on her soup, unwilling to interrogate why the gentle curve of Mrs Lacy’s mouth flustered her so much. Finally, Mrs Lacy set down her cup of after-dinner tea and stifled a yawn behind her hand. 

“We had better turn in,” she said. “If they do get the train up and running over night we do not want to miss it.” 

Danny made to rise from her chair, but froze midway. She had carefully avoided thinking about the issue of turning in all afternoon. To share a room with Mrs Lacy was bad enough — there would be no way of avoiding each other in such close quarters — but to share a bed? Danny had not shared a bed with anyone since childhood, and never with a stranger. Maybe she could sleep in the chair next to the bed. Surely Mrs Lacy would be relieved at the suggestion. 

“Are you coming?” Mrs Lacy was halfway across the room already, calling over her shoulder. Danny hurried after her. 

Someone had come to turn down the bed and draw the curtains while they had been at dinner. The fire had been stoked and the lamp on the bedside table turned on. It would have been quite comfortable if Danny had not been so full of dread at what was to come. 

“Well,” Mrs Lacy said, “we had better not dawdle. I will brush my teeth and then we shall see about our sleeping arrangement.” She went over to her suitcase and took out a small bag.

Once Mrs Lacy had gone to find the bathroom down the hall, Danny forced herself to move from her spot by the door. She had left her carpet bag on the chair by the bed. She opened it gingerly, knowing already that she would find nothing but a few essentials. Everything else was neatly folded away in her suitcase and that had been sent up to Scotland along with Rebecca’s luggage. 

By the time Mrs Lacy returned, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, still wearing the dress she had traveled in. 

“You haven’t changed?”

“I have nothing to change into… Madam,” she added quickly. “My suitcase was sent ahead this morning along with Mrs de Winter’s things.” 

“That is unfortunate. You’ll have to borrow something of mine then.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Danny said decisively.

“Are you sure?”

Danny nodded. 

Mrs Lacy shrugged and turned to her suitcase. Danny averted her eyes as Mrs Lacy took out a nightgown and sat on the edge of the bed to take off her shoes. Remembering that she had brought a toothbrush, Danny stood up from the bed and excused herself to go to the bathroom. Shivering in the draughty room, Danny brushed her teeth. There was no warm water. Her shivers intensified as she washed her face. When she straightened up, her cheeks were bright red. 

Back in the little room, Mrs Lacy had finished changing. She had chosen the left side of the bed and was sitting up with her dressing gown draped around her shoulders. Danny noticed the coverlet, folded carelessly and left on the floor next to Mrs Lacy’s suitcase. 

“I hope you don’t mind my taking this side,” Mrs Lacy said. “I prefer to sleep further away from the door.”

“No, I…” Danny cleared her throat. “I don’t mind at all.” Avoiding Mrs Lacy’s gaze, she went over to the right side of the bed and sat in the chair next to it, folding her hands. 

“You cannot be serious.”

“Madam?”

“Miss Danvers, don’t tell me you mean to sit up all night in that chair?”

Danny opened her mouth, helplessly, but could not think of anything to say. 

“No, that simply will not do,” Mrs Lacy said fiercely. “You will wreck your back and resent me all the way to Scotland. I will not have that.” 

“I wouldn’t resent you.” Danny kept her eyes downcast. “But you must allow that I am doing what is right. You shouldn’t be forced to…”

“Forced? Forced? Miss Danvers, you do not think you are forcing me into anything, do you?”

“No,” Danny conceded, “but the circumstances…”

“My dear girl, if I had truly been outraged by the circumstances, I would have fought much harder to rectify the situation. My pockets might not be as deep as my brothers, but they are most certainly deep enough to find a suitable place to sleep, even in an overcrowded country inn. No, while this is inconvenient, I did not think it worth the effort to turn this whole place on its head merely so I would not have to share a room with my esteemed sister in law’s maid. Now come to bed. You will thank me tomorrow.” 

Unable to form another word of protest, Danny rose from her chair and sat on the edge of the bed. She unhooked her boots and put them closer to the fire to dry. With trembling fingers, she pulled her hair out of its twist and began to comb it with her fingers. There was movement on the other side of the bed. A moment later, Mrs Lacy wordlessly held out her hairbrush. 

“Thank you.” 

Danny wrapped her fingers around the handle of the brush. The dark wood was worn smooth, resting well in her hand. Danny brushed her hair in silence. She could feel Mrs Lacy watching her, it gave her the sensation that her skin was burning all over with a small, but strangely pleasant fire.

Hastily, Danny braided her hair and handed back the brush. 

“Thank you,” she said again. 

“If you wanted to take off your corset for the night,” Mrs Lacy said matter-of-factly, “you would be more than welcome. I won’t look.” 

Would the mortification never end? Moving as quickly as possible, Danny rid herself of the aforementioned undergarment, hastily buttoning up her dress again once it was done. Feeling rather exposed, despite the layers of fabric still covering her, Danny returned to the bed and sat on top of the covers, her back against the wooden headboard. Mrs Lacy raised an eyebrow. 

“Please,” Danny said. “You must allow me at least this. I couldn’t— with someone of your standing, it would be… please, Mrs Lacy, I will be fine.”

“Very well,” Mrs Lacy said patiently. “If you change your mind…”

“Good night, Mrs Lacy.”

“Good night, Miss Danvers.” 

The room sank into silence at once. Mrs Lacy turned onto her side and, with a small huff of exhaustion, was asleep within minutes. Danny sat up in bed, staring now at her hands, now at the fire and more often than not, she was ashamed to admit, at Mrs Lacy. She had often noticed that Mr de Winter’s sister was very handsome. Though his senior by almost a decade, her face had lost none of the youthful mischievousness that smiled down at the visitors of Manderley from pictures painted in Mrs Lacy’s youth. Her eyes were invariably kind, whether she was looking at her brother, Rebecca, or even one of the servants. In sleep, there was something else in her expression, a vulnerability Danny had never seen before. It was difficult to look away. It took an hour for Danny to convince herself that Mrs Lacy would not suddenly wake up and find Danny staring at her. Danny thought she might never look her fill. 

Before going to bed, she had wondered what it would feel like to be trapped in a room like this with Rebecca. Would Rebecca have allowed her to sleep on the bed? Would Rebecca have wanted her to? Danny could not say. Rebecca would not have looked at her the way Mrs Lacy had, though once she was asleep, Danny was certain the situation would have been the same. She would have looked and looked at Rebecca, her face as impenetrable in sleep as it was in waking. She would have warmed Rebecca’s hands during the night, leaning forward in her chair. She would have sat and burned and waited for an invitation that would not come. 

Mrs Lacy rolled over and sighed in her sleep, the covers drawn up almost to her nose. Danny’s back was aching. Moving carefully, so as not to wake Mrs Lacy, she lay down on top of the covers, first on her back and then, relenting, facing the centre of the bed. 

“Good night, Mrs Lacy,” she whispered and, pressing her eyes tight shut, drifted off to sleep. 

Danny awoke shivering. She was curled up on top of the covers, arms wrapped around her chest to trap a warmth that was not there. Her muscles felt sore from the cold. How long had she been shaking in her sleep. Danny did not notice the hand on her shoulder until it gave a gentle squeeze. She gasped in shock and turned around to find Mrs Lacy sitting up in bed with her arm outstretched. 

“Miss Danvers,” Mrs Lacy said groggily. “You’ll catch your death.” 

“Let me j-just—” Her teeth were chattering so intensely she had to break off and start again. “I will rekindle the fire.” 

“There’s nothing here to rekindle it with.”

“That f-feels like an oversight.” 

Mrs Lacy held up the bedcovers. “I would prefer if you did not freeze to death under my supervision. Rebecca would never forgive me.” 

Danny shook her head, weakly. 

“Miss Danvers, what does it matter who I am or why we are here? You can barely speak for shivering. Don’t be a fool and we will never discuss this night again.”

Danny’s eyes darted from Mrs Lacy to the empty grate and back again. It could not have been past three in the morning. It would be hours before she could go down and ask for their fire to be lit. Mrs Lacy tugged at the bedcovers, her face expectant. 

It did not feel like defeat, slipping under the covers next to Mrs Lacy. Danny was much too cold to feel anything but relief. Even under the covers, her muscles would not stop twitching. 

“There now,” Mrs Lacy said gently. She pulled up the covers to cover Danny’s shoulders, then took her dressing gown from the foot of the bed and piled it on top of Danny as well, rubbing her arm through the layers of fabric. “There now,” she said again. “That’s much better, isn’t it?”

Danny could not reply. She was beginning to feel warmer under the covers, too comfortable and exhausted to speak. Mrs Lacy seemed to understand. She lay back down, facing Danny and closed her eyes. Danny expected her to withdraw her hand now, but it stayed where it was, gently brushing along her arm. 

[ticklish-n-stuff]

Happy birthday, Kaveh!

I wrote a silly for Kaveh's bday so, happy birthday to my fave sensitive boi~💖💖💖

___________________________________________

Kaveh x Alhaitham (romantic)

Lee: Alhaitham

Ler: Kaveh

Warnings: Tickles!

___________________________________________

There they were, Alhaitham sprawled out in the middle of their shared bed, and Kaveh straddling his waist. Assesing his body up and down...

"Will you start already? Or are you just gonna stare me up and down all day?"

"Don't rush me!..." Kaveh's cheeks slowly started to flare up, although he tried to keep his cool.

I mean he did ask for this. For his birthday, Kaveh had asked Alhaitham if he could tickle him, and to his surprise the scribe agreed. But now that he actually had to act upon it, he suddenly felt so... shy? Embarrassed? And stupid Alhaitham looking up at him expectantly sure wasn't helping.

The younger male let out an exasperated sigh as he reached out to grab at Kaveh's hands. Gently guiding them down to his sides. "There, now you can start".

The blonde had to blink for a moment at what just happened before returning back to his senses. "R-right! ...I know what I'm doing!... Pfft!" Kaveh scoffed, earning an eye roll from the other. He tried to seem confident in his abilities, but even when in the role of the tickler he was still a nervous wreck. "Erm... is this okay?" he asked as his nimble fingers started to explore Alhaitham's torso. Tracing over his abs and the dent of his navel. He noticed Alhaitham's body start to jerk slightly with each delicate touch, but his face remained the same.

"Is that the best you got?" he spoke arrogantly, making Kaveh fume up in anger.

"Hmph, fine! How this then?!" Kaveh dug his digits a bit more harshly against Alhaitham's ribs, causing the scribe to gasp in surprise. "Hah! How's that for your liking?~".

"Heheh... I can handle wohorse" the scribe spoke through soft, breathless giggles. His lips now starting to form a wobbly and yet cocky smile. He knew exactly how to push Kaveh.

"Oh now you're just asking for it! Don't say I didn't warn you...~" the blonde grinned down at him as his hands shot up to Alhaitham's armpits, his short nails scribbling against the soft flesh.

"GYAH!" Alhaitham instantly threw his head back. Eyes closed and nose scrunched up. As that hysterical laughter started bursting out of him. "W-WAHAIT! KAVEHEHEH!".

"What's wrong? Can't handle a few tickles?~" Kaveh cooed near the scribe's ear, enjoying the soft, pink color that spread across his cheeks.

"WEHEHEH! S-STOHOP YOU GOOF!".

"Alright fine, I'll go easier on you~" Kaveh chuckled as he stopped the tickling. Now opting to cuddle his junior, going back to the light traces all over his belly. "Better now?~" the blonde asked as he peppered soft kisses along Alhaitham's neck.

"Hmhmhm.... yeah..." the scribe let out a happy sigh, relaxing into the touch. "Happy birthday, Kaveh...".

"Best birthday present ever! We should do this again sometime~" Kaveh said with a giggle, snuggling further into Alhaitham.

"Don't push it".

___________________________________________

Idk what I did for the ending, I still feel a bit crappy. But I hope this is okay 💖

Now back to my break lol

[lil-tumbles]

I'm really angry right now. TW Suicide, political transphobia

Okay so, any of my british mutuals will know about the ban on puberty blockers to treat gender dysphoria in England - and now Northern Ireland, too. And we all know about the complete lack of actual, credible, good quality evidence, the way the government actually explcitly went "we will not be listening to the voices of the community affected by this" and then turned around and only listened to transphobes, and most of all, we all know about the dangers of the puberty blocker ban, specifiically the increased suicide risk. This article from the goodlawproject talks about whistleblowers who revealed that there was a dramatic increase in suicides among trans people on the waiting list for the gender identity development service after the tories restricted trans healthcare back in 2020, after Bell vs Tavistock.

You may also have seen this article from July, re-published in a bunch of newspapers. I hadn't before today, and it's what's making me so angry, because I only have some basic knowledge about statistical testing, and even I know this is absolute bullshit. Let's break it down.

First off, it says Professor Appleby, the guy who conducted the review, found 12 suicides at the Tavistock over the three years before and three years after the restrictions. Becuase he only used Tavistock, and ignored attempted suicides. He did not look at the wider picture, and then tries to generalise his claims to the entire population of people needing puberty blockers?? babygirl that's just bad science. The whisteblowers told of a total of 17 (1 before, 16 after Bell vs Tavistock) from across the whole GIDS waiting list... an actually appropriate fucking sample that should have been investigated.

Oh, and that one? that was in seven years. Seven fucking years. And the 16 were in only three. Whereas this fool only looked at three years either side. This means he misses the larger picture - he ignores the very real possibility that increased transphobia leading up to government anti-trans action could have also accounted for the similarity in number. He should have also done a wider investigation into, say, the decade before the Bell case and subsequent anti-trans government action.

We've talked about neglect of the present (only focussing on patients at Tavistock), about neglect of the past (only looking at the three years before, so inable to see any kind of pattern), but we haven't talked about the future. This review's purpose wasn't just to tell us what happened (which it failed to do), it was to use the past to provide the government with an idea of the risk of their actions. This should also have included a risk assesment with projected figures on likely suicide rates following the puberty blocker ban. Now, I haven't been able to find the actual review, only news articles talking about it, so maybe he did do this, but it really doesn't seem like he did. The articles say that he was using these figures to find the statistical significance. This is a number that you use a statsitical test to work out following results of a clinical trial - may I remind the court that this was not a fucking clinical trial, this was real childrens' lives, what the actual fuck. But let's focus on the number itself for a sec. This man said that the rise from 5 to 7 suicides comparing the two sets of three years was normal fluctuation and is not statistically significant.

Using the numbers he had, that's true. Now, I don't have all the numbers he did, so I'm going to have to do a little guesswork, but here we go: I am going to use the chi-squared independent test, the '5' and '7' from Appleby's review, the figure '9000' for post-2020 number of patients (based on this), and the figure '5,000' for pre-2020 (based on this). My sources are far from perfect but it's all I can find so here we are.

The p-value from this data is "0.667099". Any value above 0.05 should be taken to be significant; this is not below 0.05, so yes, it is insignificant. (also, the X^2 Test Statistic is 0.185015, if anyone is interested).

The review could have been good for what it was really measuring: relationship between government action against trans rights on Tavistock patients. But the fact that it was supposed to be a review on the entire damn situation with puberty blockers means that it falls short and should not be used as evidence in this debate, let alone generalised to such a degree and brandished about by news outlets and the government as proof that trans activists are dangerous for talking abotu the relationship between suicide and lack of access to puberty blockers.

[ezraxmp]

Read-a-thon

cont. from an sns thread with the same name with @mpxinvidia

Ezra picked up their tote of the floor and went to the front to pay for the books they had picked. Ten pretty hefty ones, sure to keep the literature student entertained for the next couple of weeks.

As they stepped out of the store, ballparking the amount of books scattered around their home, their phone pinged.

Say less, be there in twenty

Remembering the mess that was the poet's entire appartment - books and notebooks scattered everywhere to start - Ezra's eyes widened. They thought the other would come around maybe tomorrow. Or a week from now. The Egyptian demigod quickly assesed the situation mentally, and came to the conclusion they could make their home presentable for guests if they hurried.

Cool, see ya then!

The young student made a quick stop at the grocery store for some snacks and cat food, then rushed home. Instead of just kicking their shoes off and leaving them where they landed, they put the pair of sneakers away on the shoe rack. And picked up one of the many stray books laying around. Eleven.

They made their way to the kitchen, opened a cabinet - twelve, thirteen, fourteen - and put some of the groceries away. Then they turned to the fridge - fifteen?! - to put away the drinks.

Risha greeted her owner with a soft meow, to which Ezra responded with a soft pat on her head. "Yea, yea, food's coming," they chuckled. First filling up the food bowl, then cleaning the cat's litter box.

Since company was coming over soon, the enby demigod left their bedroom for what it was and focused on the living room. Tidying it up generally. Picking up books, both read and unread, and putting them where they should go. The ones they had started - three, making eighteen - they left on the coffee table. The rest went back on the many shelves - twenty, making thirty-eight. Craming those books into the tiniest of empty spaces on their shelves, Ezra realized they probably needed more of them. They looked around trying to figure out where to create more space. But their apartment wasn't infinite...

That was gonna be a problem for future Ezra.

After making the living space presentable enough for a friend to come over, they turned on a kettle for tea and some music before starting the big count.

[fictionkinfessions]

For post canons I suppose I can share one of my favorite post-fontaine story mems.

My assesment for becoming a Harbinger. It was a few years after fontaines canon. I think Traveler was in snezhnaya at the time, though I can't say if it was during its arc or after.

Harbinger assesments were part of the Fatuis annual gathering to test the harbingers, adjust rankings within, ect. Which meant Lynette and I got to fight as many Harbingers as we could get through. I remember details about each fight we faced, but One of them was my favorite.

My fight with Tartaglia. Now my Fontaine Arc was rather divergent, Tartaglia was handled differently, and we had gotten into a rather abusive relationship during his months there. Tartaglia of course denied it for years, and I have no memory of him ever coming to his senses about it, even after Aether stopped speaking with him.

Needless to say I used our required fight to get some much craved revenge. While even years later of no contact, he was still so angry, and thought he could finally "shut me up". Though I suppose I did decimate his reputation by being open about it ;p Even got him banned from returning to Fontaine by the Fatui. (the Fatui informed the court that should Tartaglia be seen he is to be sent back to Snezhnaya immediately, your boyfriend being the head of meropide certainly helped in ensuring fontaine complied with the request.)

Tartaglia was so blinded with rage during our battle that he gave up all his advantages inorder to go straight to his strongest form, foul legacy. And doing so was his downfall, as he lost all his movement and speed advantage over me, allowing me to get good range and just absolutely decimate him. It's surprisingly easy to overwhelm foul legacy with attacks too fast for the heavy form to retaliate against.

I did the other Harbingers a favor by putting him out of commision for a few days according to Father. He would apparently beg every other harbinger to fight until they taped his mouth shut every year.

I still think its funny that I was so ready to finally give him a taste of his own medicine that I completely forgot that Lynette was supposed to be fighting with me (as she counted as part of my ability, like dottores clones, or sandrones primary puppet).

Though Pierro should be grateful I forgot about that, or else he'd have more harbingers to replace. I could keep myself from killing him, but nobody stops Lynette when she wants to kill. Pierro just seemed very confused when Father and I mentioned that to him.

The other fights were all realy fun- Lynette being allowed to go all out is truly a terrifying sight. With the speed she has you'd think her vision were electro. Ever seen a woman of her stature cut through over a foot of solid metal before you could blink? She nearly distracted me in that fight when she did that- I know I was technically stronger than her, but I didnt take "you're allowed to kill eachother" as an invitation. (Sorry that she almost killed you btw Sandrone.)

And yet despite Lynettes terrifying speed- You would never think it. But Pulcinella? Even faster. That fight was over before we could really even get started. No Old Man should be allowed to be That Fast I swear. So of course, being defeated by Harbinger no.5, We were placed in seat 6. Ofc I held the title officially, and Lynette was just my primary assistant, but we were treated as a duo of harbingers by everyone anyway, even though I was the only one who got the big Harbinger jacket >:)

I don't think I'll ever remember future assesments, as my initiation is obviously the most important one. But I wouldn't mind getting more memories of fighting Tartaglia during them. Because the one in this timeline certainly deserved it.

While I'm here of course. Thank You, Pierro. For making sure I was comfortable. I get the feeling the other harbingers hated Tartaglia enough they wanted an excuse to remove him, and just didnt want to deal with the headache of removing him themselves- He was more trouble than he was worth after Fontaine if my hunch is right (truly a downside of delusions, hm?) And even if your kindness was only because of that, it is still very much appreciated.

~Lyney 🕯♟

s

[drawnbinary]

It's me again! I hope that you don't mind me chatting you up, just say so if you do, I'll understand! 😅

Do you think that Hassel can be originally from Johto? Since Blackthorn City is a home of probably the most well-known active dragon clan in the series so far (since Draconids, the people Zinnia's from, are mostly gone)? I've seen theories that the little cape Hassel has on his jacket is a call back to the capes "dragon tamer" trainer class has (and I'm mostly agreeing with this). And when I thought about it, I had this idea: What if Hassel's first pokemon wasn't the baxcalibur that's his ace now, but the dragonite he uses in the school champion tournament? Since the dragon clan from Blackthorn mostly uses the dratini line. What if he got that dragonite as a dratini when he was a kid and raised it his whole life, and now kinda retired it after a lifetime of battling? Baxcalibur is his main now during champion assesment, but he brings out dragonite for some friendly competition every once in a while, like the school championship. And, of course, that would mean that Hassel, Lance and Claire are distantly related.

Oh and I think that Hassel is totally besties with Rika. Gay/lesbian solidarity who go to brunches together. I think that it would be a fun contrast between his husband being such a grandiose artistic mind and his bestie being a very grounded and sober-thinking person.

Oh my god, could you imagine if the DLC will allow us to have some kind of a gym leader/elite four doubles tournament like they did in SWSH? If I'll get to see Hassel and Brassius fight together in doubles as partners I think that I will explode.

I'm also super excited to see them both in the anime and maybe, down the line, in masters. And I hope that they will somehow will return/be referenced in the DLCs- the first one is a school trip, so maybe Hassel will go as a chaperone.

And I totally get you about fanfics and such- I'd love to write something for them one day, when I will have a specific concept in mind. I'm thoroughly disappointed that I can't find any character studies for them, my favorite genre 😔 do you have any headcanons you'd like to share? 👀

You're definitely not alone on pretty much all of those >:D

Again, under a cut because I'm long-winded lol

I've got Hassel from Johto, Galar, or a region we haven't been to yet. Regardless of which region, I figure all the dragon clans are connected in some way so he's cousins with Lance and Clair in some sort of way. The childhood dratini -> semi-retired dragonite is definitely one I've seen and discussed before. I think the fic where Hassel rescues/nurtures a sick baby one isn't on AO3 but it's cemented for me that he's had it since he was young <3

The cape is a nice visual to connect him to other dragon tamers and it being short and part of his jacket also separates him from the dramatic looks of Lance and Clair

I think Rika teases Hassel for being old and out of touch but it's just friendly banter. I hope she was the one who told him about "fleek" over a cup of coffee with pastries.

I pray so hard for them teaming up for double battles (my drawing of them in a silly double battle pose) and/or for them to be at the festival at all (I drew them in the outfits from the trailer). I'm hoping for crumbs at most but I definitely want so much more of these two. They're so interesting.

I am so impatient to see Hassel in the anime. Besides that I love him, I also need to see him moving in 2D so I can figure out how to draw him better/more easily because he gives me so much trouble 😅. I want to know what kind of voice they give him too. Brassius' voice surprised me but it worked really well and wasn't distracting

If they end up in Masters, then I will be downloading Masters. God I want to see them put in funky alternate outfits. And whatever else happens in that game.

I'm super self-conscious about writing (and as you can imagine from my drawings, I'm all about that soft, tender shit) so most things I write pretty much live on Discord

I'm a little head-empty right now so the only headcanon that immediately comes to mind is that Brassius being ill and them spending a lot of quiet time together while Hassel helps care for him gave them both time to figure out their feelings and they don't do anything about it until after Brassius is better.