#do i have an entire magic system made up in my head about this one? yes

[aspiring-house-husband]

there was once a wizard who was obsessed with a young man. there was nothing particularly special about him- he was no prince, no sorcerer, nothing of note. but he was beautiful and alluring, sweet and kind. the wizard coveted him, was obsessed with no one else laying eyes upon him. 

the wizard invited the boy to his tower and offered him to stay the night, so that he would not have to travel home in the night. but he placed a spell on the young man. he was trapped, unknowing how the time passed. he could know his memories, understand that he had to wash his blankets in the morning, but he could never comprehend that he had been in the tower far too long. 

it was not for lack of luxury. he had fur blankets and any hobby he could think of pursuing. he wanted for nothing- the wizard’s magic made it so. 

and as such he remained, painting, quilting, carving, for decades. he could not know it, but birthdays passed. his youth remained while time moved on, while the wizard grew old and died, while the forest overgrew the tower and the world forgot about him. 

that is, until a new wizard attempted to piece together the magic of the ancient kingdom lost. he could sense magic, deep in the forest; magic he could learn from, perhaps? 

tangled in ivy and deep in the old forest, this new wizard finds the remnants of a tower wall. vials that were once brimming with potion lay shattered underneath rotted shelves, and books waterlogged by years of weather barely cling onto their bindings. 

but the magic is not here. it is up the stairs. up toward the light of the sky above the canopy, up and into stone that becomes pristine as he climbs, torches that illuminate brighter the closer he gets, until there is a door with polished metal hinges. 

he knocks, and the door opens. 

“oh!” says the boy, confusion crossing his eyes. “i thought you were the wizard. are you his apprentice?”

“pardon me?” the young wizard says, but he’s tugged into the warm room and the door closed behind him. 

“or are you here to take me back home? he said he’d get me an escort.”

“i don’t-“

“shh, don’t worry,” says the boy, dropping to the bed next to the wizard. “it doesn’t matter. i’m happy to have the company.”

“how long have you been waiting?” 

the boy leans forward and presses a shy kiss to the wizard’s shoulder. 

“far too long, i’m sure. i’ve missed having company.” he lifts a hand to trace the forehead, temple, cheekbones of the wizard. “i can’t help but miss some things more than others.” the wizard swallows. dryly. 

“what things?” he says, and the boy laughs.

“things that a handsome man like you must be more than capable of bestowing,” he says, scooting a bit closer. “can’t i have desires?”

“you can,” says the wizard. he knows he shouldn’t- something is happening here. something magical, and ancient. something he couldn’t understand. but this boy in front of him, this man out of time… he was handsome, and warm. he was like a nymph, a young god, and he wanted… wanted…

“can’t i desire you?”

“you can,” says the wizard, breathless. with just that much permission, the nymph throws him to his back, straddling his hips. 

“i can have you?” asks the nymph, and the wizard nods. like he had been released from bonds, the nymph undresses them both, strong and nimble alike, tossing it all from the bed. he whines at just the touch of their skin together, the wizard’s hands on his hips, his body beneath him. 

his hips rock slowly, more insistently pressing them together, teasing whimpers from them both. with ease he sits up and slides them together, his head dropping back with how it feels to be full. he hasn’t had this in… a long time. it overcomes him, and he can’t help himself, fucking himself full, whimpering and gripping down onto the wizard’s hips beneath him. his breath hitches and his thighs quiver- he can’t help it, his panting overtakes him and he collapses onto his lover’s chest. 

“tired?” the wizard asks as he tucks a lock of hair back. the nymph nods and whimpers, shivers racking through his body. “you haven’t even cum and you’re this wrecked? cute.” he strains his neck to kiss his lover’s forehead before tossing them both over. he is even more radiant on his back, soft hair splayed on the pillow and jaw slack with moans as he gets fucked, deeper and faster. one hand grips a pillow behind him while his other digs into his lover’s back. 

“please,” he whimpers, legs lifting, thighs trembling. “please, please, please.” he says it over and over, until the sounds lose their meaning, the vowels disappear, he only hisses out the end of the plea as he whimpers. the wizard presses harder, holding his lover down, pulling him close, making his voice bounce. it builds as he thrusts, fucking until he feels his lover cry out and clamp down around him. he spills deep inside, lowering himself down onto the nymph’s chest as they ride it out together, bucking and whimpering. 

“withhold,” breathes the nymph, a soft laugh making his chest bounce. at once, the wizard remembers just what has befallen the man, his little turn of phrase one that had fallen out of fashion a long time ago. 

“i’m gonna take you home,” he says, drinking in the magic in the air. “you don’t belong here.”

“i’ll go anywhere you want to take me.” 

[physalian]

What No One Tells You About Writing Fantasy

Every author has their preferred genres. I love fantasy and sci-fi, but began with historical fiction. I hated all the research that historical fiction demands and thought, if I build my own world, no research required.

Boy, was I wrong.

So to anyone dipping their toe into fantasy/sci-fi, here’s seven things I wish I knew about the genres before I committed to writing for them.

1. You still have to research. Everything.

If you want any of your fantasy battle sequences, or your space ships, or your droids and robots, or your fictional government and fictional politics to read at all believable.

In sci-fi, you research astronomy, robotics, politics, political science, history, engineering, anthropology. In fantasy, you have to research historical battle tactics, geography, real-world mythology, folklore, and fairytales, and much of it overlaps with science fiction.

I say you *have to* assuming you want your work to be original and unique and stand out from the crowd. Fanfic writers put in the research for a 30k word smut fic, you can and will have to research for your original work.

2. Naming everything gets exhausting

I hate coming up with new names, especially when I write worlds and places divorced from Earthly customs and can’t rely on Earthly naming conventions. You have to name all your characters, all your towns, villages, cities, realms, kingdoms, planets, galaxies, star systems.

You have to name your rebel faction, your imperial government, significant battles. Your spaceships, your fantasy companies and organizations, your magic system, made-up MacGuffins, androids, computer programs. The list goes on and on and on.

And you have to do it all without it sounding and reading ridiculous and unpronounceable, or racist. Your fantasy realms have to have believable naming patterns. It. Gets. Exhausting.

3. It will never read like you’re watching a movie

Do you know how fast movies can cut between scenes? Movies can balance five plotlines at once all converging with rapid edits, without losing their audience. Sometimes single lines of dialogue, or single wordless shots are all a scene gets before it cuts. If you try to replicate that by head-hopping around, you will make a mess.

It’s perfectly fine to write like you’re watching a movie, but you can’t rely on visual tricks to get your point across when all you have is text on a page – like slow mo, lens flares, epically lit cinematic shots, or the aforementioned rapid edits.

It doesn’t have to, nor should it, look like a movie. Books existed long before film, so don’t let yourself get caught up in how ~cinematic~ it may or may not look.

4. Your space opera will be compared to Star Wars and Star Trek

And your fairy epic will be compared to Tinkerbell, your vampires to Twilight, your zombies to The Walking Dead, Shaun of the Dead, World War Z. Your wizards and witches and any whisper of a fantasy school for fantasy children will be compared to Harry Potter. Your high fantasy adventure will be compared to Lord of the Rings.

You can’t avoid it, but you can avoid doing it to yourself. When people ask about your book, let them say “oh, you mean like Star Wars” to which you then can say, kind of, except XYZ happens in my book. These IPs will never fade from the public consciousness, not while you exist to read this post, at least, but Harry Potter isn’t the only urban fantasy out there. Lord of the Rings isn’t the only high fantasy. Star Wars isn’t the only space opera.

Yours will be on the shelves right next to them, soon enough, and who knows? You might dethrone them.

5. Your world-building is an iceberg, and your book is the tip

I don’t pay for any of those programs that help you organize your book and mythos. I write exclusively on Apple Notes, MS Word, and Google Suite (and all are free to me). I have folders on Apple Notes with more words inside them than the books they’re written for.

If you try to cram an entire college textbook’s worth of content into your novel, you will have left zero room for actual story. The same goes for all the research you did, all the hours slaving away for just a few details and strings of dialogue.

There’s a balance, no matter how dense your story is. If you really want to include all those extra details, slap some appendices at the end. Commission some maps.

6. The gatekeeping for fantasy and sci-fi is still very real

Pen names and pseudonyms exist for a reason. A female author writing fantasy that isn’t just a backdrop for romance? You have a harder battle ahead of you than your male counterparts, at least in the US. And even then, your female protagonist will be scrutinized and torn apart.

She’ll either be too girly or not girly enough, too sexy, or not sexy enough. She’ll be called a Mary Sue, a radical feminist mouthpiece, some woke propaganda. Every action she takes will be criticized as unrealistic and if she has fans who are girls, they will be mocked, too.

If you have queer characters, characters of color, they won’t be good enough, they won’t please everyone, and someone will still call you a bigot. A lot of someones will still call you a bigot.

Do your due diligence and hire your army of sensitivity readers and listen to them, but you cannot please everyone, so might as well write to please yourself. You’re the one who will have to read it a thousand times until it’s published.

7. Your “original” idea has been done before, and that’s okay

Stories have been told since before language evolved. The sum of the parts of your novel may be original, but even then, it’s colored by the media you’ve consumed. And that’s okay!

How many Cinderella stories are there? How many high fantasies? How many books about werewolves and witches and vampires? Gods and goddesses and celestial beings? Fairies and dragons and trolls? Aliens, robots, alien robots? Romeo and Juliette? Superheroes and mutants?

Zombies may be the avenue through which you tell your story, but it’s not *just* about zombies, is it? It’s about the characters who battle them, the endurance of the human spirit, or the end of an era, the death of a nation. So don’t get discouraged, everyone before you and everyone after will have written someone on the backs of what came before and it still feels new.

[ckret2]

Chapter 55 of human Bill Cipher finally having a little fun for the first time in over a month of captivity in the Mystery Shack:

Bill does his level best to teach Mabel everything he knows about everything as fast as possible (while Ford eavesdrops). In the process, he finally reveals something about his home dimension!

But not everything about his dimension.

"Did you have rainbows in Flatworld?" Mabel had started drawing her shapesona again at the bottom of a fresh piece of paper. The heart was holding out one hand with several strips of glue shooting in a beam out from the palm; Mabel started shaking glitter onto the glue strips to make them rainbow.

"Not natural ones."

"Awww!"

"We could make them with flashlights and prisms, though."

"That's something." Still, it wasn't as cool as a real rainbow. She started carefully drawing Bill floating above her shapesona. (She probably should have drawn him before she put down glitter. She had to push up her sleeve and lift her wrist to avoid smearing the glue.) "When's the first time you saw a real rainbow?"

Bill didn't answer.

Mabel glanced at him. He had a hard look in his eyes. "Bill?"

####

For the first time in his life, the triangle was up—up but not north—in space, in the third dimension, looking down but not south at the plane where he'd spent his entire existence. It shuddered and rippled and cracked, contracting, as the entire universe crunched together around him.

Great walls of pale blue flame half a googol light years wide erupted into third dimensional space, where stars were caught and crushed between the quickly collapsing cosmic tectonic plates. He hadn't known his flat universe had stars of its own.

His home world shattered and crumbled, shrapnel and rubble spraying out, stone instantly pulverized into dust. Distant oceans rode the waves of the convulsing universe, flinging billions of gallons of water into space in a fine thin spray, glittering in the sunlight.

As the triangle watched, a great flickering rainbow ring formed in front of the ejected ocean, like the hollow eye of a hostile god staring at him in judgment.

He stared back.

And he felt himself fill with more and more and more power.

####

"Bill?"

"Sorry, I was trying to remember!" Bill sat back, laced his hands behind his head, and shrugged, "It's not coming to me. But I'm sure it was after I took charge of Dimension Zero. From time to time planets with weather systems would fall in through a wormhole, I must've seen a rainbow on one of them!"

"Oh." The answer disappointed her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why. She puzzled over it as she drew a fireball shape around Bill's hands in glue and shook on pale blue glitter.

Bill nodded at the page, "So what are we up to?"

"Fighting evil! With rainbow lasers and... whatever that magic fire thing you do is!"

"Hey, superheroes! Sounds fun. Who are we killing?"

"Superheroes don't kill people!"

"Fine. Who are we sending to the hospital with third degree burns?"

"I don't know, I haven't made up a villain yet." She almost asked Bill what kind of monsters existed in his world; but the question died in her throat. That might be too depressing a question. She added a heart-shaped glue outline around her shapesona and shook on a glitter rainbow, and set the picture aside to dry. She grabbed a fresh paper and tried to imagine what a two-dimensional butterfly would look like. Would it just have flat little stick wings since that was more aerodynamic? That sounded boring. She started drawing a two-dimensional squid instead.

Bill studied Mabel's latest finished work—the glitter-outlined heart, the glitter rainbow laser, the glitter fire, and the plain him. After a moment, he casually mentioned, "I used to wear body glitter."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Earlier you asked me about glitter in my dimension," Bill said. "Body paint was makeup to us. I wore it when I went dancing."

"WHAT!"

"And I'd cut open glow sticks to paint my arms and legs!"

"What color glitter did you wear?!"

"Usually gold."

"What?! Bill!" Mabel laughed. "You're already yellow!"

"But I didn't glitter. That's important!"

"You're boring."

"Shut up! I was gorgeous and I knew it! Why mess with perfection?!" He gestured down at himself, perfection, as though he'd momentarily forgotten what body he was in. "Listen, club fashion gets repetitive. If you've seen one equilateral in cutesy primary color gradients, you've see 'em all. There's beauty in simplicity—not a lot of shapes can pull off a solid color with a little light highlighting and still look flashy!" He'd sat up straighter, chest puffed out proudly, as he talked about how pretty he thought he'd been. "Buuut sure, sometimes I highlighted my points for fun. And to keep from stabbing people—it's hard for other people to judge distances with strobe lights on."

"What colors."

"Usually red, blue, or purple. You know—nice contrasts with gold."

Mabel grabbed another paper and started drawing Bill dancing. He leaned closer, elbows on the table, watching with more interest now. Mabel asked, "You had clubs with strobe lights?"

"Of course we did, we aren't barbarians." Bill picked up yellow and black markers out of Mabel's supplies, leaned over to her drawing in progress, and started adding a decorative border around the nearest edge of the paper in dots and dashes.

"What kind of music did you listen to?"

"It was... It's closest to the music in— You've never been to that dimension. Well, it kind of sounds like... I'll never hit those notes with human vocal cords." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Hold on. Let me get Questiony's piano."

####

It turned out that Flatworld club music sounded kind of like a broken tornado siren.

"It doesn't sound very good on a human piano," Bill said, giving the electric piano balanced on his knees a disapproving look. "The intervals between notes are tuned wrong, it's about four octaves short, and it's missing that tympanic membrane shredding tremolo when the treble jumps."

Mabel regarded the piano with some dismay. "Do you know how to play anything else?"

Bill sighed.

He played "Don't Start Un-Believing" for her. He even did that cool thing where you drag a finger up half the keyboard at once.

####

By now, Bill seemed a lot happier to answer Mabel's questions about his world; but she quickly worked out which ones he'd actually give a direct answer. He was the most free with science-y questions, hit or miss on the fun cultural questions, and instantly evasive when asked about his own life or uncomfortable political issues.

When she asked if shapes and their houses just kinda floated unattached to anything because they didn't have a home planet, Bill said they did have a home planet—hundreds of miles below, marking south by its gravitational pull—and they lived in the sky in between their planet and its rings. When she asked what kind of clothing they wore, Bill said they usually didn't wear anything, unless it was for practical purposes (gloves for gardening; goggles for chemistry; elbow-, knee-, and corner-pads for spelunking), and when she asked about his top hat he said slyly, "You mean my telescope?" and gleefully refused to explain further.

But when she asked if it was true that equilateral triangles were the lowest rung you could stand on before getting knocked off the social ladder altogether, Bill said that was a pretty rude question to ask a triangle. And then he said his world didn't have ladders.

When he casually let slip that he'd been able to see the third dimension when nobody else could, she asked how that was possible. He'd paused, looked up from his seventh completely incomprehensible drawing of an animal (she'd asked him whether Flatworlders had pets), and, with an eager gleam in his eye, he asked, "How much time do you have?"

####

Ford heard Bill's voice the moment he opened the door—"All right, star girl, pop quiz, let's see how much of that you kept in your noggin."

"Oh, I'm so ready!"

Baffled, Ford leaned in the living room doorway. The room was absolutely plastered in crayon-covered papers—illustrations, lists, mathematical and scientific diagrams—stars, cells, planets, vehicles. At the moment Bill was pointing at six papers taped together with a diagram on them that Ford thought was a Punnett square that had been expanded into a four-dimensional tessaract. "A polygon's sides are determined by...?"

"Genetic inheritance!" Mabel announced, the proud student who knew all the answers. "You have however many sides your parents have genes for!"

"And the idea that polygons increase by one side each generation...?"

"Is propaganda! Because if everybody hides their kids without enough sides, and they only talk about the kids that did go up a side, it makes everyone think that's what always happens and their family is the only one that's failing!"

"Perfect! And the highest natural amount of sides a shape can have?"

"Twelve! Decadoggins!"

"Close enough, dodecagons! But this isn't Greek class, I'll give you full points. So, any shapes with more sides than that got them through—?"

"Random mutation!"

"Correctamundo! Meaning the only way to get shapes with hundreds of sides is..."

"Crazy bonkers inbreeding! Because the same rich families just keep marrying each other!"

"With consequences including—?"

"Um..." Mabel puffed out her cheeks as she thought. "Skeletons getting all crackly, having a hard time making babies, and high—uh—infant morality!"

"Mortality."

"Lots of dead babies."

"Yes! And remember: when a mutation makes a body produce so much more of something than it needs that it starts harming the body, that's called...?"

"Cancer!"

"Meaning circles are...?"

"Tumors!"

"And what do we do with tumors?"

"EXECUTE THEM!"

"YES!" Bill ripped the Punnett tesseract off the wall. Behind it was a piece of paper that read, in blood red crayon, ANTI-MONARCHIST ANARCISM. "You're ready to man the guillotines! A+, star girl! Give yourself another sticker!"

"Yes!" Mabel peeled a sparkly purple star off a sticker sheet and stuck it on her cheek. Her face had over twenty star stickers.

Ford leaned against the living room doorframe, watching the scene inside with wonder. He was more than a little iffy about the political lesson—he, personally, was incredibly opposed to the idea that it was morally imperative to execute anybody with extra body parts, nobility or not—but the presentation of it was certainly captivating. It had been a long time since Ford had seen Bill like this. (It had been a long time since Ford would have trusted any lesson out of Bill's mouth.)

"Now let's get back to biangles." Bill picked up a fake crystal ball that he'd drawn various lines and shapes on with a marker.

"Awww, again?!"

"Hey. Listen," he said firmly. "I believe in you. You'll get it this time, I know it."

Ford looked around the room, taking in the scene more fully. The floor was scattered with drawings of aliens. A few of them were various polygons—regular and irregular, with the irregularities further broken down by whether they otherwise showed radial or lateral symmetry—each with thin limbs and an eye on a corner. Most were fantastical alien animals, a few that Ford had seen or been warned about on other worlds. Some had been scribbled out and redrawn when Bill's limited artistic capabilities didn't live up to his unknown standards; a few were in Mabel's art style, meaning Bill must have described them to her while she drew.

Twenty pieces of paper had been taped together on the wall behind the TV, with a drawing of a planet surrounded by a circular ring of small blobs—a planetary ring?—and a moon further out. The empty atmosphere between the planet and the ring was filled with squares and rectangles, which were grouped together in red blobby circles that were each labeled by letter: "Country △," "Country B," "Country C," "Country D (communists)," etc. A badly-drawn sea serpent slithered along the outside of the ring with the words "Here There Be Monsters" written over it.

A tall column of taped together papers was covered in examples of alien writing systems—some of them Ford recognized from his travels through other dimensions. From the ones he understood, it looked like the words were demonstrations of Mabel's name in dozens of alien writing systems. Sometimes Bill spelled her name Maybell or Mabelle.

And there were so many papers scattered around the room with little graphs and symbols and arrows Ford couldn't make sense of. And in the center of it all, Bill, alive, energetic, his full attention enthusiastically focused on his student.

Bill had to be up to something; but Ford couldn't imagine what, based on the bizarre assemblage of information in front of him. What nefarious purpose could be behind showing Mabel how to spell her name in alien languages? Unless his goal was to so enchant her with tales of other worlds that he could persuade her to help him open a new portal...? No, even for Bill that felt like a stretch. 

He looked at the wall again. Surely, that wasn't Bill's homeworld. Ford had spent years of his life trying to find the world Bill was from; surely Bill hadn't just drawn it in the middle of Ford's living room. Had he?

"Okay, let's start with spherical geometry from the top," Bill said, polishing the crystal ball on his leggings to rub off the marker lines. "Don't tell anyone I can do this." He held up the ball, tapped it twice on the bottom, and it hovered in place when he let it go, freeing up both his hands to hold a ruler and marker. (How long had he been able to do that? Had he even noticed Ford was standing right outside?) He drew a line across the surface of the ball, "Pretend it's a planet. If you draw a line on a sphere, it's obviously curved, right?"

"Right," Mabel said.

"But now pretend you're on the planet. The surface of the world is a flat plane to you. From your perspective, you can walk in a straight line from point A to point B."

"But it's actually a curve. From space."

"Now you're catching on. That's what makes spherical geometry a little weird: when you're on the sphere you treat everything around you like it's 2D even though when you're off the sphere you can see it's 3D." Why in the world was Bill teaching Mabel about spherical geometry?

Bill drew two more lines to connect to the first. "So! You can draw a triangle on a sphere, no problem, right?"

"Right."

"And something you can only do in spherical geometry... is... pretend this is the North Pole and the South Pole..." Bill carefully rotated the ball under his marker as he drew a straight line from one "pole" to the other, and then drew a second straight line from pole to pole next to it. "Ta-da! If a tri-angle has three angles, a bi-angle has two angles. You've got yourself a two-sided polygon. Right?"

Mabel hesitated. "Right."

"You with me so far, Shooting Star?"

"So far," she said, with a tone that suggested she expected that to change very soon.

"But if you try to transfer that shape from spherical geometry to Euclidean geometry—" Bill turned to an expanse of still partially-uncovered white papers taped to the wall like a makeshift whiteboard, drew two points, and drew two straight lines, red and blue, between the points, "—it just doesn't work. You can't see a biangle in a flat world."

And now Mabel was squinting suspiciously at him.

Bill said, "I lost you."

"But where does it go!"

Bill shrugged. "You lost it when you lost the third dimension."

"But you said when you're on the sphere it's two dimensional!"

"From your perspective it's two dimensional, but there's still a third dimension enabling the sphere to exist."

"Then from my perspective when I'm on the planet shouldn't a biangle look like that?" Mabel pointed at the two straight lines on the piece of paper. "Since everything looks all 2D to me? But it doesn't! It's like flying from the North Pole to the South Pole through America and then flying back through China! China and America don't just squish together into the same place just because you're going in a straight line on a sphere!"

"I'd kill to hear you give a geography lesson to a Flat Earther convention."

Mabel gave him her best angry scowl.

"It was a compliment! I think you'd inspire some hilarious arguments, that's all!" Bill put two dots on the paper and offered Mabel the marker. "Look, try it for yourself! Draw a biangle."

Mabel took the marker and, after a moment of thought, drew two curved lines between the points, making a football shape.

"Those aren't straight lines, kid."

"Argh!" Mabel pulled the paper off the wallpaper, bent it into a curve, and shakily drew a straight line between the two points; but no matter how else she twisted or bent the paper, she couldn't find a path that would let her draw a second straight line between the points without overlapping the first line she'd drawn. She crumpled the paper, tossed it on the floor, and whispered, "It's witchcraft, Bill."

He burst out laughing. "I could name a few horror writers that felt the same way about non-Euclidean geometry."

"But whyyy does the biangle disappear when it goes from a sphere to normal flat paper."

"Because..." Bill groped for an explanation he hadn't already tried. He crossed an arm across his chest and tapped a knuckle just under the bow tied in his hoodie's draw strings the way some humans might tap a hand to their chin, his eyes narrowed in thought. How many times had Ford seen him make that exact same face in his true triangular form, whenever Ford was struggling to understand a lesson on portal physics and Bill was struggling to find a way to translate it into concepts Ford had encountered in his human education? "Let's try this another way."

The scene made Ford ache.

Look past the paper and the crayons, and the graph- and figure- and writing-covered walls looked so much like the advanced physics lessons and blueprints that Bill had coated Ford's starry blue dreamscape in during his sleep. Look past the flesh and bone, and Bill moved and gestured and spoke the way he had when he was teaching Ford how to build a bridge between worlds.

It was the first time since Bill's death that Ford had seen 100% of his personality shining—unhindered by grief, secrets, or a disdainful human audience. It was the first time in decades that Ford had seen Bill at his best.

In that moment, for a split second, Ford forgot how to hate Bill. He couldn't see Bill the traitor, Bill the invader, Bill the homicidal party animal. The only person in that room with Mabel was Bill Cipher the Teacher, Mentor, and Muse that Ford used to know so long ago. Like an ancient god who'd chosen to spend a day roleplaying as a giddy professor—Bill was holding back a tsunami's worth of vast, ancient, unintelligible alien knowledge so that he could drip out revelations at a faucet's pace, slow enough for his student to catch each drop in her hands.

Over thirty years ago, there had been moments when this Bill peeked out behind the above-it-all façade—and that had been the Bill that Ford was happiest to see, the Bill that Ford had thought of as a friend rather than a mere teacher... but each time, it hadn't been long before Bill seemly caught himself and turned off the faucet for the night.

Because he couldn't let Ford learn too much, or he would have seen through Bill's ruse.

Hatred tiredly crept back in.

"I've got it!" Mabel triumphantly flung her hands in the air. "It's like orange slices!"

"Orange slices?" Bill repeated.

"Be right back!" Mabel zoomed to the kitchen, shouting, "Hi Grunkle Ford!" as she passed.

Ford watched her go, then looked back at Bill; Bill had glanced at him for the first time. But all he did was frown and mutter, "I don't remember inviting you to audit this course."

Before Ford could decide whether to retort, Mabel charged back into the living room with an orange and a sharp knife. "Okay! If you draw a triangle on the orange," Mabel said, doing so with a marker, before cutting into it with the knife, "and then you—you cut it out all the way to the center..."

"Be careful with that," Ford said. Mabel was holding the orange in one palm and stabbing into it from the opposite side.

Bill said, "Lay off, Six Fingers. I'm keeping my eye on her, she's not gonna hurt herself."

"I'm being careful!" Mabel was struggling to get an even wedge cut all the way to the center of the orange; she eventually gave up and  dug into the orange with her fingertips to tug out a messy mangled handful of fruit, attached to a roughly equilateral patch of orange peel about two inches to each side. She shook orange juice off her fingers. "Pretend I cut that out better."

"I dunno what you're talking about," Bill said. "It looks flawless."

She pointed at each corner of the peel triangle. "Okay so, these are the three corners of the spherical triangle, right?"

"Right."

"And if you want to make a regular flat triangle, you can... try to cut a straight line between the corners, like..." She squeezed the rest of the orange between her knees, held the edges of the triangular peel with her fingertips, and sawed off the orange pulp underneath, trying to cut a flat level plane as near to the triangle's corners as she could. Ford almost warned Mabel about the knife again, but glanced at Bill's face and his expression of unworried, keen curiosity, and kept quiet. Bill reached out and caught the sawed-off chunk of orange pulp before it hit the ground.

Mabel held out the peel slice. "There! Right? Spherical triangle on top and flat triangle on the bottom!"

Bill considered that, one hand on his hip. He popped the orange chunk in his mouth. "All right. So far so good."

"But if you make a biangle..." Mabel drew two lines between the top and bottom of the remaining orange, and cut a wedge free. "There isn't anything extra to cut off to let you make a flat shape. There's just a straight line between the two points!"

"Ha! Okay, all right, that works! Brilliant! What do you need me for? You just taught yourself the whole lesson!" Bill ruffled her hair so enthusiastically that he knocked her headband askew.

She shoved him away, laughing, and straightened out her headband. "Bill!"

"What did I say! Didn't I tell you you'd get it?" Bill was beaming at her, impressed, delighted, proud. "Congratulations, you've just mastered college-level geometry."

"Wh—What? Are you serious? This is college stuff?" She shook her head. "No way, you're lying."

Bill pointed at Ford without looking at him. "Tell her."

He felt a little like a dog being commanded to bark; but he said, "He's right. I didn't start studying spherical geometry until my second semester in college." He was sure he could have studied it sooner, if his high school had offered it; and he doubted Mabel had absorbed an entire semester's worth of spherical geometry; but he didn't see any reason to point any of that out when Mabel's face lit up in excitement.

Bill said, "There you have it! Way to go, star girl! Two big stickers."

"YES!" Mabel peeled off two jumbo-sized star stickers with smiley faces and stuck them onto her earrings. "So does that make a biangle a girl or a boy?"

And Ford was immediately lost again.

"No," Bill said.

Mabel sighed loudly and tried again. "Does that make a biangle a line or a polygon?"

"Still no, but for a different reason. Externally, they look like lines to anyone who isn't psychic. Internally, their anatomy usually functions like a polygon's. But socially, you've gotta ask. Some of 'em consider themselves lines, some polygons, some claim biangularity is neither linear nor polygonal. Personally, I say they're whatever they say they are. Because," he said grandly, "I'm just that open-minded and accepting."

Ford stifled a derisive snort. But Bill's self-aggrandizing aside, Ford's mind was reeling trying to keep up—spherical geometry, the (gendered?) socialization of shapes, Flatworlder anatomy—what did psychics have to do with anything? Ford's fingers itched for a pen. He wished he had his journal with him.

Bill grabbed several papers off the floor and the floating crystal ball and climbed on top of the wooden TV cabinet. He left the ball hovering behind him seven feet up in the air, tossed aside several papers he'd already used both sides of to let them flutter back to the floor, and taped the rest to the wall with their blank backsides turned out. "Now back to remote viewing." He drew a grid in blue lines on the papers, said, "Toss me that triangle wedge," used a marker to draw an eye on the triangular orange peel, tapped it twice like he had the crystal ball, and stuck it against the grid, where it sat unmoving.

And the entire time, Ford watched with his arms crossed tightly.

Almost a month ago, Bill had given Ford his manipulative trap of a birthday gift, a miniature grimoire, five pieces of paper, margins filled, two rows of text per line, packed with as diverse an array of magical spells and occult knowledge as Bill could fit. It wasn't a gift, it was a boast and a taunt: look at everything I know that you don't; look at what I could teach you if you let me live. 

It was something Bill could have given him all along—effortlessly, with no cost to himself—but didn't, until Bill wanted something from him. 

On his birthday, Ford had wondered, furiously: when this was what Bill could have been—gift-giver, wish-granter, teacher, guide, friend—why did he choose not to be?! It was an internal scream of rage, the howl of a wounded victim at the condemned criminal as he was marched to the gallows: you monster, you monster, you monster, when it would have been so easy for you to be something better, why instead are you a liar, manipulator, torturer, murderer, life-ruiner, world-ender? Answer for yourself: why are you this instead of someone better? How dare you?

It had made Ford want him dead even more.

This was the exact opposite of the grimoire.

The question in Ford's head wasn't a scream of rage anymore. It was grief. It was a plea. It was one last desperate attempt to understand:

Instead of being who he was, why couldn't Bill have been this person? This charismatic, energetic, ecstatic muse who ruled like a king over a classroom he'd constructed himself, eager to share a trillion years of collected wisdom with a fragile mortal mind, lighting up with joy whenever she grasped something that was trivially simple to him? This guide to the vast wonders beyond Earth, competent and encouraging and funny, delighting in the weirdness of the wide wide universe? The Bill that Ford had once liked so much—the Bill that he'd called his friend?

"Okay," Bill said, all sunshine and excitement, "Back to how to view the third dimension from the second dimension—"

Mabel said, "Can you view the fourth dimension from the third?"

Bill hesitated a split second, but said, "Sure! You can view any dimension from any dimension! You've just gotta bend your eye the right way to see higher ones!"

"What does the fourth dimension look like?"

"Well—hm. Imagine the way that the third dimension looks different from the second, and that's the way the fourth dimension looks different from the third."

Mabel stared at Bill.

"Eddie wrote an entire book about a square meeting a sphere because that was the closest he could get to telling other humans what seeing the fourth dimension is like! If I could still visit dreams, I could just show you, but..."

"Isn't the fourth dimension time? Blendo showed us the time stream! Is that what it looks like?"

"Nnn—close! You're close. The fourth dimension isn't time, but time is in the fourth dimension."

"How's that different."

Bill pointed at the floor. "If the carpet's the second dimension and the lamp's shining on it, the third dimension isn't light, but light is in the third dimension."

"Ohhh." Mabel gasped. "That's why you called some weird thing flying around in a higher dimension an eclipse! Because eclipses were in a higher dimension in Flatworld!"

Bill's face lit up in surprised delight. "All right, skip three lessons ahead, why don't you! In a week's time you'll be teaching people how my dimension works." He turned back to his papers and started drawing a branching river. "So! That time stream you saw isn't time itself! It's a visual metaphor being generated so humans can see time too—sort of a hologram projecting from the fourth dimension into the third—have I explained that the universe is a hologram yet—"

Why weren't you this person, Ford wondered. Why did you choose not to be this person? When it was so easy for you to be this? When this made you happy, too?

Why couldn't you have been this person?

Why are you only like this now, when you're about to die?

####

(Hope y'all enjoyed Infodump: The Chapter. This is one of those chapters with something hidden in it that'll unravel the whole fic if you happen to find it, so have fun searching for that. Let me know what you thought of this week's chapter! And get excited—we've got Big Things coming up... soon.)

[theglamorousferal]

Persephone's Binding Part 2

Hardcover/Anger Management ship Sacrificial Bride au

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

(Things get a bit angsty here for a bit, but don't worry, it gets back to some of the cracky-goodness!)

After allowing himself to relax for a bit and actually letting his muscles loosen for once, Jason rose from the bath and rinsed himself off under a piping hot and strong shower. He finished the rinse off with a flash of cold water to focus back up and made his way to the vanity where there was basic hotel amenities. He attempted to style his hair and after at least drying it, pulled on the fluffiest robe he has felt since he first moved into the manor all those years ago.

Fuck. The family. The Outlaws...

Jason put his face in both his hands and took a deep breath, then allowed his shoulders to slump as he dragged his hands from his face to his sides. He marched in a lazy manor over to the end of the large bed where he flopped face down. Surprisingly, it wasn't as fluffy as he was expecting and he silently thanked whatever force there was that he wouldn't have to resort to sleeping on the floor or a chair for the familiarity. Though, he turned his head to face the windows, that little reading nook looks like I could easily fall asleep there.

No, stop it. Do I remember the Dimensional Code for home?

Jason contemplated. On one hand, it could be useful, on the other, they could have an entirely different category system here. He spent the next however long trying to remember the dimensional code for his Earth and tracing the swirls of purples and greens out the large windows. A knock startled him.

"Jason? Are you decent?" He stood quickly and pulled the robe tighter together, not quite ready to show his autopsy scars to his soul-owner? A literal goddess? He wasn't quite sure what she was yet.

"Uh, yes, come in, I'm covered." He tried to stand casually next to the bed when he had just been sitting, his hands now in his pockets.

"Hi, so one of my aides figured one thing out about the ritual that is somewhat concerning and also something I probably also should have brought up. Mind if we sit at the window?" She strode in and settled herself with a pillow against the window and waited for him to do the same. Once he was settled, she hesitated for a moment before sighing and looking out the window to the haunting site outside.

"The Infinite Realms has another name, one coined from my Earth." She licked her lips before she spoke again. "It's also known as the Ghost Zone. As the dimension between dimensions, it is also where beings known as ghosts, the Restless Dead, Neverborn, Gods, and all sorts of other beings that thrive off a substance known as ectoplasm reside. As such, I am current Queen Regent of Ghosts." She let him think for a moment before turning to him. "That means I can tell when someone is death-touched." Jason froze. "I didn't mention it before because I know it's super personal, but then my aide figured out that the ritual only worked because of the fact you are and especially since you had spent time here-" She cut herself off as his eyes just bugged out larger with every word that spilled from her lips. "Sorry, I just, I'm death-touched too. I haven't died yet, but I have been around death magic, or radiation, or whatever it is, since before conception. I don't know exactly what you went through, but I know it was deeply traumatic. I can have my healers take a look at your soul and see if it's alright because it kinda radiates a bit how traumatic it was." She bit her lip with one hand raised near her chin.

Jason closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and clenching his jaw tight and blowing the air harshly out his nose. He fell back against the window, allowing his head to knock against the glass. It was warm, as though the sunlight was gently shining upon it. "Yeah." He croaked. "Yeah, I died." He said softer. "I was dead for roughly six months." He dipped his head forward to block his face with his bangs. "Crawled outta my own grave." He laughed bitterly. "Spent a while wandering, a while more in a coma." He swallowed tickly. "Got picked up by my dad's vindictive ex and trained for a while to be an assassin." He looked up at her, making eye contact. "She dunked me in this pit of magic shit, we call it a Lazarus pit in my dimension. It cures those near death and kills the healthy. Fixed me up the rest of the way, or at least the scars and issues I had pre-death. I got to keep these." He allowed the top of the robe to fall away, showing the tops of the large y-shaped scar that ran the length of his torso. She gasped, both hands coming to cover her mouth, tears began to form in her eyes. She reached out as if to touch them and stopped herself, her face turning determined.

"I, Jazmine Nightingale, High Queen Regent of the Infinite Realms, the Mediator, the Caretaker, and all those other titles." She waved her wrist. "Declare that I will help you however you deem necessary. Whether that be helping your soul, returning you to your dimension, breaking this binding, or whatever. You are currently bound to you, and as such that makes you my responsibilities." She paused in her speech for a moment, thinking. "I mean, you're already technically one of my subjects because I think you qualify as one of the Restless Dead, but we'll figure out your classification when we take you to a healer. For now, it has been a long day. I will have one of my aides come to get your measurements for some clothes, I'm sure we have some around here somewhere that should fit you at least for dinner. The aides can get any style you like and it can be made quickly by the seamstresses we have on staff." At his hesitation she added with a smile, "They work in supernatural means, they will not overwork themselves by making an entire wardrobe in a few hours."

She patted the cushion in front of her and stood. "I will meet you at dinner, it's not formal at all, don't worry about dressing fancy, I'm just still in this getup from 'official queen stuff'" she said with air quotes looking tired. "I'll see you in a bit Jason!"

"Yes, um, your majesty." He stood to bow, the robe making it a bit difficult."

"Just Jazz please, for the love of the Ancients." She said with a pained look on her face.

"Right, sorry," he stammered, straightening, "See you later, Jazz." She smiled softly before leaving him to himself. He smacked his hand to his face groaning at himself before flopping face-first into the bed again. "She's the ruler of the dead and she's so determined and nice, what the actual hell? She's so earnest, it's so cute!" he sat up leaning his elbow on his knee. "Okay, operation Romance Plot is go. She isn't put off by the fact you died, this is good, I can work with this. Okay, so castle, let's go with that aesthetic. I'm thinking let's go with a poet shirt and some black slacks for dinner tonight." He claps his hands in front of him, decision made.

As if summoned by his words, there was another knock at the door. A man with bright sky blue skin and a deep plum butler's uniform opened the door, a measuring tape casually thrown over his shoulders.

"Yes, hello good sir. What aesthetic are we thinking for this evening?" he said in a posh accent.

Jason clasped his hands together. "What should I call you? Would you possibly have a poet's shirt and a pair of black formal slacks for this evening?"

"You may call me Jeeves. Yes that Jeeves. I am the personification of the trope of the helpful butler, and as such my power set includes anything and everything that could help me complete the duties of head butler of the High Family's home. We absolutely do have that attire on hand, it would be but a moment for someone to fetch it for us. Now did you have any ideas about future attire?" Jeeves snapped his fingers and a skeleton manifested in a swirl of dust to obey his silent command to gather the requested clothing.

Jason paused for a moment, considering. "How does the Queen usually dress casually around the castle? I know she said she was from an Earth. I don't know where in the timeline her Earth is from and she mentioned that what she was wearing earlier was mostly for special occasions, so I don't want to look like an idiot." He explained.

"Very good sir, she typically dresses in either a less formal toga if she's to be seen anywhere near the public areas of the castle, her armor whilst sparring with her knights, the High Princes and Princess, and if she is only going between her room and study then her far less formal Earth clothing which is a long sleeved blouse and lightwash jeans, typical of the late 1990's and early 2000's."

Jason thought for a moment. He didn't know how long he would be stuck here, but decided that clothes enough to last a fortnight should work. For all he knew, time flowed differently between here and his home dimension. Decision made, he told the butler what he wanted. Measurements were taken, the skeleton arrived with the requested clothes and Jason was left to change into his clothes for the evening. He still is wearing his combat boots because he forgot to ask for a pair of shoes.

Once changed, he realized that he still probably had a bit before dinner and he walked over to one of the bookshelves browsing the titles. There were several classics that he recognized, his favorite, Pride and Prejudice, was there. There were a few as well with Jane Austen's name, but not titles he recognized. He decided to come back to those later and pulled what looked like a collection of fairy tales from the shelf then settled himself lounging in the window nook to read for the next few hours.

[doublejango]

Stolas doesn't always read the room. Or, if he does, he sometimes just continues blithely on, doing or saying whatever he feels is necessary. He doesn't always read the room--

But he did in Mastermind.

He read the shit out of the Temple of Justice, and he was amazing. I mean, we all know this, this is just me babbling something we all saw, but I have so many feelings about this episode and need to let them out. Which is kind of funny, because at first I was a little underwhelmed by it--with so long between episode releases and so many months of the plot feeling so damn heavy, I was a little burnt out. But I've watched it twice now, and listened to the song.... er. Let's say more than ten times and call it good. And the whole thing has just grown on me so much and I love Stolas so much, and need to get this out of my system.

Stolas showed up and immediately knew he was fighting an uphill battle. Not just against what was happening, but at the basest level: to get people's attention. He had to capture their attention or nothing he said was going to matter--and not just Satan's, either. Stolas had to turn the entire damn tide here, to make sure his voice mattered, to put everything on this line to save his beloved idiot, and he did it.

He loves music. He loves theatrics. He loves words. And holy fuck, he used them to his advantage so beautifully. Stolas was incredible. He could've come on and done a dry, dispassionate, logical argument, but he knew that wouldn't work. So even though he has been treated all too often as being cringe, as being too much, he stuck to what was true and meaningful for him--the song, the passion--and he went all out. He committed his whole heart (and fate) to this song...

But he didn't leave it at a performance.

Because he read the room.

Stolas kept himself unpredictable. He wasn't just an object for people to watch or a melody for them to listen to. He was constantly moving, mixing magic and physical movement as he shifted all around the Temple of Justice, so that the people who wanted to watch him had to move, too. He was always turning himself as well, so that he was never addressing just one part of the 'audience,' so that he was including all of them in the narrative, making sure they knew that he was speaking to them. They had to at the very least turn their heads, be sharp, be paying attention, just to find out where the fuck he was and to try and figure out where the fuck he was going next. They had to pay attention--which was a fucking feat, considering how desperately so many of them didn't want to. The laziness and apathy of the court is its own whole thing, but Stolas immediately read that and did what he could to deal with that, too. He was brilliant. He barely had any time to plan, and yet he executed all of that so wonderfully.

He's smart. Fuck, he is so smart. And good. And I just. Hi. I really love that character.

And then at the end, that little squishing, grabbing gesture he made at Satan? That was such a beautiful little test, making sure Satan was paying attention, making sure Satan was tuned in to him. It pissed Satan off, clearly, that big ol' beefy chunk of draconic hunk doesn't seem to like when people make that kind of gesture at him, but it worked. Stolas demanded his attention, checked to be sure he really had it and that he really could end this, and redirected Satan's wrath onto himself.

And I just. Hhfjghd. Hi. Guys? I love Stolas. I really, really fucking love Stolas.

[thechekhov]

Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts: CH38

Rip to these promising mages. I assume they will not survive this massacre.

IS that where her lungs and kidneys are? Because like. She's huge. Her entire body is behind her. Do you really think she'd keep her vital organs in the little human bulb on the front?

I mean, he has a point. What are you going to do? Fight off more hoardes of dragons?

oh noooo, Kabru.... too bad. That's so unfortunate.... anyway.

It's curious that Laios only got knocked away. He was just as likely to have had his head squished like a grape.

Guys, this is absolutely not the time to be concerned for her privacy.

Yes, queen. Free the tiddy. Murder everyone in this dungeon. I support women's rights and women's wrongs.

.......that's. One way to do that. I guess.

.......what's that rock about.

Oh, I see. That's convenient.

This guy dungeons! Maybe he even dragons.

So we got north (tallmen? dwarves?) and then the easterners.... and now the elves of the west?

He's going to give her to the Americans?! ಠ_ಠ

To be fair, at least they HAD a plan. And they executed it. It's more than you did. I don't mean to point fingers but... at least they... ya know... did something.

Kabru's like 'no, no, hang on, I need to hear what batshit fucked up thing this dude is going to say next, this is important'

Laios is so stressed he broke character.

Then again, maybe it's healthy to let them slug it out a bit. Get it out of their system.

It's true. They wore fitbits and everything.

...hey, hold on a second.

Now hold on a minute.

Damn, this is. Kind of even worse because. I guess I could have guessed that Toshi was just pretending to be polite, like you do. Cultural differences.

But the painful thing is, Laios doesn't seem surprised. He just seems resigned. He's been told before that he's difficult to get along with. To the extent that he doesn't even consider Marcille and Chillchuck his friends? Even though they arguably both care about him? But because Toshiro didn't bother to be deadpan about him being a bit odd at times, Laios thought it meant that was fine.

And that kinda hurts. Like damn. Laios just wanted to make a true connection. And I can't really blame Toshiro either, he was just trying to keep the peace but. Damn.

Free her! Let her do her illegal magics! She deserves it! （︶^︶）

Thoughts:

Senshi just being annoyed about that one last harpy looking for scraps.... like "shoo, this ain't the time"

That gnome seems genuinely nice. I'm sorry Falin squished his pet undyne.

Kabru hugging his..... mage? Girlfriend???? Seems very...one sided. Kinda feel bad for her.

Laios and Toshiro still going at it, I see. Get it allout, boys.

Uhhhhhhhhhh ninja girls.

Aww, doggo.

Last question: Where did the cat go?

Senshi: I can fix that.

Are you all worried because he's finally making sense?!?!

Laios and he punched their singular braincells into several new ones, it seems.

F./....Falin... please give the caterpillar some privacy........

My man, maybe lead with that............

I can't believe Marcille was potentially more forward about her feelings.......

"his pupils are dilated" yes, thank you sherlock. You've finally realized what everyone else who meets Laios feels almost immediately. he's a monster freak club card carrying member. Welcome.

p.....pubby......

As long as he was also inside the dungeon with them.... yes.

The issue with Kabru isn't that he isn't trying his best. It's that Laios isn't trying at all.

On a scale of one to Kabru, how badly do you react to being offered a food you don't want to eat?

......oh no. He's so pathetic it's funny. He's growing on me.

Absolute morons, the pair of them. Immovable object meets unstoppable force. The funniest combination ever. Ghost type and normal type pokemon, forever throwing moves at each other that will never hit. Laios thinking he's made a friend. Kabru just barely stopping himself from killing Laios. Best comedy pair. Tom and Jerry in a can.

Anyway. What a great manga.

[misspelledwordswizard]

Rude Hylian: that water control doesn't look very threatening, and it wouldn't be useful in an area without water, so what are you going to do with that size and useless power, huh?

reader developing a branch of waterbending called 'bloodbending': ⁠(⁠・⁠▽⁠・)

It would also be funny if the chain was in danger, many enemies, few supplies, weapons are exhausted, Hyrule is about to collapse and suddenly reader is like 'The Windows operating system has been updated'

This is so funny to me, but I think I ended up writing something more serious hehe Ah, I think today is thanksgiving for you guys, so happy thanksgiving ;)

I felt my body burning and my head buzzing, when the sound of the environment was nothing more than a great confusion. A hot liquid ran down my head, which throbbed with pain. My blurred vision could barely notice as the blond heroes fought not far from me.  

Unfortunately, they were all too busy to help me. Each one had to deal with one or more enemies, I could feel their worried looks at me, but they couldn’t leave there to help me. The biggest problem was the member of the Yiga clan who was coming towards me. The same one who attacked me.  

Normally, I could easily help them with this using my waterbending, but unfortunately for me, we were in a dry region now. We were heading towards the Gerudo Desert when we were caught in this ambush, and the mountains we were crossing weren’t exactly a good representative of water. Shit.  

I managed to get up, still a little dizzy, but able to stay on my feet and try to face my enemy.  He laughed, laughed at my attempt to keep fighting. 

— Don’t bother, girl. We knew very well that with water you would be a threat, that’s why we made sure you passed through here. Here you are nothing more than a defenseless little girl. 

He said, laughing at my face as if I were a big joke. Little shit. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the boys try to come to me, but they were automatically stopped by a Yiga. Fucking cowards, they ran away to the desert so they wouldn’t have to face me. 

My blood boiled, anger took over me, I wanted so much to end these idiots. I wanted to drown them in water, kick their asses, make them regret their choices. 

— There’s no point in trying, you won’t- 

— Shut the fuck up! – I interrupted him. My body acted on impulse, I moved so naturally that I couldn’t even think, all I know is that, with one movement of mine, the Yiga was kneeling, writhing in pain. 

Did I do that? Instincts, that was all the information I had. And, somehow, that was enough to make me able to control a person. Or rather, control the blood, the liquids, that are in their body. Cool. 

I couldn’t help but smile wryly, it seems that not even in a place without water can they stand against me. Now consciously, I moved my hands, still based entirely on instincts, and threw the Yiga away, making him fly out of sight. 

This isn’t as easy as normal waterbending, it requires more effort, but I feel like I’m adapting to it.  I managed to stop the blood that was running down my face, eliminating my dizziness, and turned to the Yigas who were attacking the heroes. They seemed to be able to handle it, but it doesn’t hurt to help them. 

One by one, I levitated and threw them away, leaving them unconscious. I know I could do much worse with bloodbending, but I don’t want to lose control, I don’t even know how I’m doing it yet. In the end, I managed to get rid of the remaining enemies, allowing this tiring battle to end. 

— How the fuck did you do that?! – Was the first thing the Veteran asked. I just shrugged, also not knowing the answer. 

— Are you okay? – Hyrule said, coming towards me. The poor guy looked like he was done for after using so much of his magic when some of his brothers were hit during the fight. 

— It’s okay, I managed to stop the bleeding. Sorry, I don’t know if I can heal you without water... 

— Is there water in my canteen, is that enough? – The Rancher asked, offering his canteen to me. 

— For healing? I think so. 

— That was so cool! Tell me more about how it happened? – Wind asked excitedly, making me laugh. 

— Let’s fix you guys first, okay? 

[raviollies]

actually no im gonna yap

im trying SO HARD to gaslight myself into liking veilguard but so many narrative choices just make me scratch my head. I AM NOT DONE, I currently gotta go to Weisshaupt.

I'll start with things I like so far:

1. I think the game is really pretty and I like the puzzles :) Antiva is GORGEOUS, I think one of the prettiest areas in the entire series.

2. I really like the Minrathous/Treviso choice. More of that please! some actual drama and consequence!

3. Assan is adorable and I cannot walk past without petting him. I didn't anticipate myself liking Davrin so much since I'm usually drawn to magic babies over warriors, but he's probably my favourite alongside Bellara. I think him having left his clan is very interesting narrative choice (I am totally not biased considering it's very similar to Daee's story)

4. Thank you lord almighty for the wardrobe/mirror system. Godbless.

5. Everytime Lucanis speaks I think of Puss in Boots and that brings me great joy. Whimsy even.

6. When you place Tevinter decor in the lighthouse, they have a Hookah right beside a fresco of Solas killing Mythal and that is mind bogglingly hilarious. I do love that the Shadow dragons know how to unwind. We're turning up after fighting for elf rights.

7. Solas surviving entirely on meat, raisins and honey feels very r/malelivingspace

Things I am Not Liking So Far

1.Minrathous feels utterly toothless. Its described as terrible, den of slavery, conversion therapy through blood magic, treatment of elves being terrible - yet we walk around unimpeded. I expected a similar experience as the Winter Palace, or fights that could be avoided if playing as a human.

LAVELLAN is introduced in the TEVINTER TAVERN, wearing TEVINTER CLOTHING, like it doesn't...make much sense to me? Inquisition set up the cross roads with Morrigan AND the Inquisitior, it feels like it would have made much more sense narratively not just from..."I am the fucking Inquisitor In Fucking Minrathous" but "Solas and the crossroads are a vital connecting point of these characters story."

Speaking of Inquisitor, wildly bizarre to me that neither Solas nor Varric comment on you meeting them. Solas has a weird painting of the Inquisitor chair, but you meet the mf face to face and he just does't acknowledge it. I am not a Solavellan player but I felt Really Bad For Them In That Moment.

I think a good moment of comparison is the difference in tone of DAI and DATV...When we find out the orb is elven in DAI, Solas warns us to keep it to ourselves, with Lavellan even remaking that the world will blame us for Corypheus. In DATV, we inform everyone that Elven gods are attacking, and there's no thought or conversation about the impacts of that on Elves in society. The only one to mention it is Davrin way after we've been spilling the beans left and right.

2. I'm not done the story but hey has anyone mentioned we haven't fought a single Fen'Harel agent, what's up with that... I expected to be fighting Elves based on the epilogue in Tresspasser but ?? ???

3. I'm sorry I HATE THEM DISREGARDING THE WELL OF SORROWS IN FAVOUR OF MORRIGAN WHEN SOLAS MAKES A HUGE DEAL OF YOU BEING TIED TO MYTHAL IF YOU DRANK FROM THE WELL. Oh sorry, if it was unimportant then why the fuck did you go on a monologue about how you're "her creature" and connected to her. It felt like a retcon of the importance placed on it in Inquisition and how much of a deal both Solas AND Morrigan make about it. I'm sorry picking a ROMANCE was more important than acknowledging THIS?? ? ??

"But Ravie, they can't account for Inquisitors personality and making them important would piss people off" then just kill them off. If they're set on Morrigan carrying this piece of narrative, I would have written the Inquisitor off the table before the choice becomes relevant. Have them help you in the ritual at the start of the game and die. I feel similarly about Varric, because he feels like the writers stuffed him in the closet to not talk which just...JUST KILL HIM. Its better than being relegated to furniture!!!!

3. Speaking of Morrigan why the hell is so nice. This is not my beautiful mean witch wife. In fact everyone is nice. Even hardened Lucanis has been polite to me.

4. I HAVE A BONE TO PICK WITH ROOK. I profoundly hate starting off friends with Varric (and him getting shelved like what was the point). It ruins a lot of initial RP for character establishment, because it limits how the player character FEELs about the whole thing, your motivations are GIVEN to you. Furthermore, it feels like rook HAS an established character. I don't feel like I got to play my rook, just say things slightly differently based on an already established character. I dont feel like I am roleplaying a custom character, just as Biowares stand in protagonist. Maybe I'm just spoiled by the level of interaction that BG3 provided me.

The opening sequence is bizarre to me, because IF I MAKING THE STORY....I would have had the introductory quests for each of the companions be the first quest based on the faction you select (Shadow dragons with Neve, Mournwatch with Emmerich, Crows with Lucanis etc. etc.) That way you establish your character based on the faction and immediately get a little tutorial on what kind of character you're going to be playing. I would even keep the introductory quests the same with minor dialogue tweaks. The ritual would come after the tutorial prologue mission and then you start with Harding and the companion you got introduced with, since the order you get them...really doesn't matter or impact anything.

5. I think the Venatori and Antaam following Elven Mage Gods is kinda dumb. Sorry. I thought they both looked down on them for being either Elves or Mages/didn't even acknowledge them. What the hell is their goal anyway

My criticisms comes down to...I don't know what themes the game is trying to tackle? The game SAYS things but doesn't actually do anything with these topics. Minrathous HAS a slavery problem but we don't see it. Treviso is ruled by a faction of assassins but it's like a good thing! Elven gods are responsible for everything wrong in the world, but the narrative implications of what that means for modern elves are acknowledged in passing like acknowledging the weather. The game feels hesitant to actually unpack any of these things despite being the one to put them on the table.

Anyway I am going to finish the game and probably play on Daee with a Solavellan Inquisitor to see if that improves my experience by picking a character who is more tailored to the Rook they portray/not having an emotional connection to the Inky, but atm...Man I Had Hopes. Made me feel stupid for getting so hyped up for a conclusion to a story arc for a character THEY SPECIFICALLY LEFT ON A CLIFFHANGER FOR A DECADE. I'll just draw art, lie face down in the ground and imagine a more narratively satisfying conclusion to my Inquisitors story.

[synthient]

Matrix parallels aren't the only or primary lens to read this movie through. But I gotta do the special interest shuffle (spoilers for I Saw The TV Glow throughout):

We get at least one overt matrix reference, which is the bit where Owen's movie theater is showing a sci fi movie where humans have been driven underground after machines took over the surface

There's the obvious thematic overlap of "is reality real," "are my memories real," "to what extent is my reality shaped by information/entertainment technology," "is there an Outside to escape to," "would I want to if I could," etc.

The pods and the coffin. "What if I was something powerful and beautiful, suffocating"

There's also some interesting overlap with matrix 4 specifically re "what's the line between transition and suicide," "to what extent is transition a kind of death," to what extent is not transitioning a kind of death." Along with the general stuff around nostalgia and mythologized source materials and hauntology (a term Schoenbrun has used in interviews & that I first heard in a matrix 4 podcast, lmao)

The pods and the heart/luna juice sequence both posit Being Made To Live Like This as a visceral bodily violation

Tv glow is maybe more cynical about the possibility of a true Outside/alternative to the system. Though Zion turns out to not be fully "outside." And Maddy's vision (of a slightly more magical suburbia that still can't escape the confines of "the county") is probably supposed to be less The Only Vision, and more filtered through the lens of someone young and very early transition. Generally though, tv glow is much more focused on interiorty and personal transformation (or lack thereof) than overt politics, although a critique of capitalist suburbia is certainly the background radiation

Also interesting, I think, that "how does kitsch and 'bad art' shape our identity formation" becomes a central question of the later Wachowski oeuvre. And something that's always been present in their work--and has maybe been one of the most polarizing things for viewers--is the combo of "we want to make serious art, And we want to make the kitsch we adored growing up. at the same time." The pink opaque conceit perhaps manages to draw enough of a boundry between The Art and The Kitsch to head off some of the confusion and frustration re "how much of the kitsch is intentional, and how much is an attempt at serious art that failed"

The Family (and the whole concept of having loved ones to leave behind) is basically nonexistent in the matrix trilogy, and Just Evil Robots Don't Worry About It in 4. Tv glow gets much more into this. Though both the saintly mother & and the monstrous father equally serve to keep you trapped, in the end

Anyway. Perhaps the matrix has shaped the entire concept of "trans cinema" to the extent that you kind of have to engage with it on some level. Perhaps it's simply that We Are All Having The Same Thematic/Philosophical Preoccupations. All very interesting regardless, to me

[fanfic-obsessed]

Pit Magic

This one…This one is going to start a little strange, and with a bit more world building than I let myself indulge in for my Tumblr ideas, but the set up is a bit necessary. As always there is no Canon to see here.

The first important note here is magic and how magic works. Magic here is both sentient and not. Magic does not necessarily have thoughts, but does have opinions about who and how it is used.  With Spells powerful enough to leave remnants behind, those remnants do not work well going against their original purpose or used by people whose intentions are too different from their first caster. All magic, after enough time, can be corrupted (made to work against its original purpose- so remnants of a spell made to kill used to heal would also be a corruption) but even corrupted magic is, for lack of a better term, protective of anyone or anything that matches the vibe of its pure form. 

This brings us to the Lazarus Pits. There is no recorded history of the Pits, with its mystical water that cures the sick and kills the healthy.  No one ever recorded its true origin. The truth is the original Lazarus Water was a non magical spring in a cave system in what is present day Turkey, a location that was long lost even before Ra’s Al Ghul began using the Pits.  This cave was the home to a small tribe in the middle of the last ice age. An illness struck this tribe, nearly wiping out the entire tribe in a matter of hours. All except the daughter of the tribe's leader, who had a natural magic. Though grieving, her main intention was to help, to save those she loved no matter the cost to herself. Her magic reacted creating a powerful spell to revive her tribe and kill the illness that afflicted them. She gladly gave her life so that they would live. 

The spell was so powerful it left long lasting remnants that sunk into spring water, turning the water of the spring into a healing elixir, the predecessor to the Lazarus Pits.  The spell also changed the tribe irrevocably, making them heartier, slower to age and more resistant to illness and infection; these resistances and the healing that came with them passed through the blood of the tribe, which then passed to most of humanity as the generations flew by.  Though no one had ever had cause to make the connection, the more of that lost tribe's blood that flows through a person's veins the better the Lazarus Pits work for them, the less the madness affects them.

By the time Ra’s Al Ghul took control of the Lazarus Pits, the original spring was lost to time and the remnants of the original spell were hopelessly corrupted.  

This brings us back to what this is setting up for.  Due to the nature of the League of Assassins, who their clients are, who their victims are, no one in living memory who had been exposed to Lazarus Water had come face to face with someone whose vibe matches the love and need to help of the original caster. This vibe check can only be done in person, not through surveillance equipment, or photos or reports. 

Until Jason Todd attacks Tim Drake at the Titans Tower.

Stubborn, self sacrificing, loving Tim Drake. Feral, protective, willing to do anything for his loved ones. And he loved so deeply, so desperately.

The exact match of a girl so long ago who poured everything she was into a spell to heal the people she loved. Who died gladly, with no regrets, creating a healing spell so powerful that it changed humanity itself.   

Jason Todd had broken into Titan’s tower, mind drenched green with Pit Madness, intending on hurting the little Replacement Robin. That is until he entered the room the Robin in question. The madness did not clear, instead it switched from Anger to ‘Mine! Protect!’.

The Pit Madness in Jason’s head screams that this is not a safe place for Tim (someone intending to hurt him had just broken in).  Running on adrenaline, madness, and an overwhelming protectiveness, Red Hood scoops up the little Robin and exits the tower stage left to get somewhere safe (depending on which is funnier, he either manages to escape with a struggling Robin over his shoulder-no knocking out Robin, that would be hurting him- , or said Robin figured out that Red Hood was Jason Todd and went quietly for ‘It’s Jason’ reasons).  Somehow Jason runs with his captured Robin straight back to the only safe place he can think of, Nanda Parbat. 

Later, after he is not running so fully on strange instincts, Jason would not be able to say how he got from San Francisco to the League of Assassins in the middle east, but somehow he did.  

While not every Assassin in the League has had a dip in the Lazarus Pits, most have and every single one of them, from Ra’s Al Ghul to Talia to Damian to the lowest Assassin who had been dipped in the Pits takes one look at Tim Drake and go ‘he is our precious cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure’.  It should also be noted that they do not want Tim to become an Assassin, not even Ra’s; this really is a ‘we must protect the innocent boy from all the evils of the world’ kind of situation (Which is hilarious given the age difference between Damian-who has declared himself Tim’s personal bodyguard- and Tim).

So now Tim Drake has been abducted by the League of Assassins and they all want to give him…hugs? Like Tim knows he’s a bit touch starved, ok, but he didn’t realize it was so bad that an actual villain organization would get concerned.  And there is talk about how he needs to be protected. Yeah, they are not letting him contact anyone or leave, but they are also not torturing him or trying to kill him. It is a little strange that he is getting more maternal affection from Talia Al Ghil than from his own mother, who he is not even sure knows he is missing yet.  AND Jason Todd is there, which means Jason is alive, so Tim is trying to get Jason to come home. Tim is also trying to figure out if this made his life weirder or not.

Back in Gotham, Batman is losing his whole mind. He has video from Titan’s Tower of The Red Hood abducting Robin, now one has heard from either since. It has been weeks.  In addition no one has reported Tim Drake missing. It has been weeks and there is no one outside their nightlife that would notice if Tim disappeared? Bruce has been trying to get in contact with Drakes for all of those weeks (in between his frantic searching for Tim himself). The messenger he sent to find them, one of the Justice League undercover, was told essentially not to bother them about Tim, just talk to him directly and refused to listen when being told he might be missing. 

Listen when Bruce gets Tim back from wherever he has been abducted to, he is going to be concerned about the implications of his parents actions. Right now he and Dick are scouring all of their contacts to find their missing Bird. Crime is at an all time low in Gotham, in spite of the Bats not patrolling. 

There was precisely one(1) Arkham breakout since Robin went missing. Instead of the normal round up, where the various Rogues all had time to get to their preferred battlegrounds before being gently (and until that breakout none of them would have ever considered that the Bats were actually being gentle with them) recaptured, with fights that served as enrichment in all of their enclosures the four rogues that escaped that night were all put down fast, and with broken bones to would put them out of commission for months, by an impatient Batman or Nightwing.  Neither have time for the normal crime fighting until they bring Robin home, they are on a Mission.   And everyone knows not to bother the Bats on a mission.

[irisintheafterglow]

hear me out....Hawks hcs with a significant other who has a Chemist/Potion quirk. Like im talking a buncha potion bottles and glasses of little remedies they've made and have yet to test 🙏. Kei would occasionally find her notebook on the counter or table, the notebook being filled with ideas of new mixes or something specifically for healing for Keigo when he comes home injured

Also love your work! Some of the best things I've read have come from your page

good chemistry (pun intended)

cw/tags: fem!reader, established relationship, pet names (my girl, love, baby)

note: YASS YOU ARE COOKING and so is reader!! please excuse any chemistry misrepresentations i got a 2 on the ap chem exam LMAOO. thank you for the love, i hope you enjoy this!!!! been a hot minute since i wrote for keigo and i missed him :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

"you've got a visitor."

you startle when your coworker's head peeks into your lab, carefully setting down the beakers of volatilely combustible liquids on the black counter of the bench. she tilts her head to the side, urgently commanding you to check out whatever was making her so concerned. slipping off your gloves and sliding your goggles up on your forehead, you thank her as she opens the door and your jaw hits the floor. talking to an obviously starstruck receptionist was your boyfriend, still in his flight jacket and sunglasses and causing the biggest scene you've witnessed in the office since all might accidentally set off the sprinkler system. golden eyes flick over to you in the doorway and his mouth breaks out into a dazzling smile, one that has your coworker clutching the back of a chair for support.

"there's my girl," he murmurs, embracing you with strong, open arms and a chaste peck on your forehead, right under your goggles. you can feel the jealous eyes of the entire staff, but all keigo only pays attention to you. "you look beautiful today, birdie."

"you're saying that because i have goggle marks on my face, kei," you remark, unfazed, and he shrugs in defeat. red feathers sprinkle onto the floor and you make a note to remind him to recall them before he leaves.

"eh, worth a shot. you're unfortunately immune to my charm, now. just means i have to come up with some new lines." you scoff despite your racing heartbeat. with his stupid superhuman senses, he definitely knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"shouldn't you be on patrol?"

"i am, but i wanted to see you and bask in your radiance," he grins boyishly, running his tongue over a sharp tooth. despite every cell in your body wanting to drag him into the nearest supply closet and kiss him until you're breathless, you're still skeptical about the unexpected visit. his voice drops to a low, private octave that sends goosebumps up your arms. "also, i think you left a certain notebook on the kitchen table." your eyebrows blast off into the ceiling, panic overtaking you as you whirl your head toward your lab where you thought your formula book was.

"oh my god, did someone take-"

"no, baby. you're okay," he reassures you and the notebook magically appears from the depths of his jacket pockets. "i'm glad i picked it up before i left this morning," he chuckles. for good measure, you flip through the worn pages to verify that every experiment was, in fact, still there. exhaling a deep sigh of relief, you meet his gentle gaze with a thankful smile. the pages were worth more to you than any sum of money, since it held all the formulas for the antidotes and counteragents you made for keigo when he was injured.

you'd created it after he asked, between colorful strings of expletives, why getting patched up hurt more than the actual injury. being the loving partner you are, you decided to do something about it. your quirk allowed you to visualize all possible outcomes for a chemical reaction depending on the quantities of reactants and lab conditions. it ensured that every experiment you instigated would be successful, as long as you followed the conditions in your head down to the air temperature of the lab. your recordings in the notebook started as a simple antiseptic that didn't have the sting of store-bought bottles, one that could douse a wound without so much as a flinch from the injured patient. now, you were part of an independent company that created first aid products for heroes to use and distribute during rescues. and, it was all thanks to the oversized chicken-man that slept in your bed.

"whatcha workin' on right now?"

"some stronger eyedrops for eraserhead," you reply, taking his gloved hand and guiding him into your lab. he delicately picks up a few beakers, inspecting their color through the bottom of the glass like a kid in a soda shop.

"like the stuff you put in my eyes when-"

"when you got hit by that smoke quirk, mhmm," you hum, milling about in front of the shelf of chemicals. "if i figure this out, it'll also help when your eyes get dry from flying."

"you mean, when you figure this out," he reminds you, turning you to face him and pulling you close by your hips. he leans into your hand when you card your fingers through his wind-mussed hair, melting against your touch. "there's nothing in this world that you can't do."

"you're a really sappy guy, you know that?"

"i know it, as much as i know that you're never getting rid of me."

"you promise?"

"as long as the birds still fly, baby."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[sidsinning]

I could write an essay about how much I love my GOAT Toji seriously

Like he represents everything a jujutsu socerer shouldn't be and uses EXACTLY those traits to solo both the socerers and the curses they work so hard to exorcise

The fact that he has NO cursed energy at all, what made him worthless in the Zenin clan's eyes, was exactly what sealed all their fates in losing to him is an INSANE twist to pull

(Yes there's Maki, but she feels more like she's trying to work within the system despite her limits (like the glasses she wears to adapt), unlike Toji who is totally free due to overwhelming raw senses alone)

His introduction opened up a whole new way to see the power system of cursed energy while making complete sense with what has been established, for me at least

(I wasn't super interested in the jjk power system personally until Toji showed how its strengths can be the user's own weaknesses if exploited properly)

He is an iconic infamous stain on both the socerer world inside of JJK and to one of the most important characters which kicked off the whole plot

He EASILY solo'd the world's most powerful socerer at the time- someone who represents everything that is the opposite of himself- with base planning and strategy

Didn't break a sweat the entire time

But despite all this power he has, despite the reputation he has for his strength, despite seemingly killing the world's strongest socerer at the time- the man was a deeply depressed and jobless bum

He is not any happier before or after his assassinations are done

Feels good in the moment then he's back to his life doing nothing but gambling his money away until the next job

This man who has beaten everyone of every age and species now in the series (he said these hands are rated E for everyone) was actually a WIFE GUY

He was living a shitty life in his clan who abused and feared him but found fucking LOVE and turned his ENTIRE life around for ONE PERSON to be a normal man, even having a child with her

And after she dies he spirals into deep depression, to the point he is incapable of being a good father; he knows on some level that his mental state is so bad he couldn't take care of Megumi properly- THAT is how DEEPLY he loved this woman

HE SOLD HIM THO WHICH IS TERRIBLE

BUT AGAIN

Showing how he's shit (making money from it) but also tries in his own way (I'm too mentally fucked up so a proper family should take care of him)

Then just looking into Megumi's eyes during his zombification knocks his consciousness back into himself, showing if there was one thing he truly cared about during his final moments, it was his son

Then sacrificing his life for his son in the end without asking for anything but his name to rest in peace

BUT ALSO HE MURDERS EVERYTHING WITHOUT REMORSE LIKE?

THE JUXTAPOSITION????

Literally kills teenagers and even during his final moments and his comeback he doesn't give a shit

Like he did a crazy anime fight to kill Gojo which was brutal but still a cool magical fight to watch

Then he fucking snipes a teenage girl in the head with a gun

A plain gun

No crazy stunts

No regrets

THE GOAT? 😭

ALSO THE WAY YOU CAN TELL GEGE LOVES HIM LOL

You could easily write his zombie ass out of the Shibuya Incident Arc but the man wanted to draw him again so bad he made room for necromancer granny to kick start the GOAT's return for a hot sec

HIS FIGHTS ARE SO COOL LIKE HE DON'T GOTTA RELY ON ANY SOCERER SHIT JUST HIS HANDS AND AN INVENTORY ON HIS SHOULDER ARE ENOUGH ITS SO RAW THAT HE CAN GO HEAD TO HEAD WITH WIZARDS AS JUST A DUDE AND WIN

[spilledcoffeeclub]

I can explain.

Well, can I?

Those who follow me or have followed my Filofax journey know that this image is Wrong. I use a Filofax for all my planning, memory keeping, journaling and commonplaceing. So what is this?

Honestly I blame Lindsey @/lindseyscribbles and her new moleskine daily journal. We’ve all seen it, it’s amazing. And usually I would say I’m sort of immune to fomo from watching other peoples notebooks, I’m so wrapped up in my own notebooks and honestly looking through my old notebooks is usually what gives me the most fomo I would say. But Lindsey’s video just struck a cord with me. I looked at her moleskine and I thought “that looks so nice”.

Moleskines in general were my first love, from before i knew how to plan (I very much believe planning and journaling etc is a skill just like drawing or taking neat photos, something you have to learn and practice) or what I would ever do with a notebook. They were and are very widely available where I live, can be found in any stationary section or bookstore quite easily. And they’re so fancy. Not fancy enough that you wouldn’t give a pocket moleskine to a 10 year old, but fancier than spiral bound notebooks or cheap notebooks marketed for kids. It felt like such a an adult thing, I guess.

So I think that’s one of the reasons why Lindseys videos struck a cord within me, to begin with and I just couldn’t get the thought of a daily dated journal out of my mind. This is such a huge move (for me at least) from the ever adaptable Filofax with endless customization and flexibility. A Filofax is also such an open system, where as a moleskine daily journal is very much a closed system. It has dated days - meaning that if you fall sick for a week and don’t feel like writing in your little journal, you will always have those blank pages there. This was what scared me most with this and one of the reasons why I have stayed away from dated planners for such a long time. I just don’t trust that I’m gonna keep it up for the entire year and I don’t like backfilling, and previously that has sort of made it impossible for me to keep a dated journal. Having spent more time in the planner community though, I’ve realized that it’s okay to leave a couple of pages blank, and that your notebook will still have value if you have a couple of missed sections. Another thing that scared me was that what if I need more than one page to write about my day? Because we all have those days.

But still with all these thoughts bouncing around in my head, not to mention the terrible paper quality in moleskine - the fact that they differ from book to book, even within the same series or from the same place is just TRASH - there was something that felt so comforting about a dated journal.

And I think that was what really sold me in the end. I wanted that comfort of knowing where I would be for the next 12/18 months. Coming from Filofax with its endless customizability there is a constant upkeep with new pages and because there is always other options its easy to fall into the trap of never really stopping to adapt and pick at your system which just becomes exhausting after a while. With a bound, dated book you only have the system that they offer and you can manipulate it a bit but there’s really only so far you can go with it. And somewhere in between having these thoughts I had put the 18 months in my cart and ordered it.

The experience has been maybe not as glamorous as i had initially hoped - a new sketchbook has a lot of promises and potential until you realize its just a couple of papers bound together and its you who have to bring the magic. I’m using the page very much as Lindsey does, a small timed to-do list and then just rambling about my day. It’s only been about a week and I feel like I’m still learning what I want from this. It’s not so much memory keeping, because nothing all that exiting happens in my life, but rather a sort of mixture of talking my way through various tasks I need to do, and small sort of check-ins on how I’m feeling and if I’m eating etc. It’s something I’ve been doing for a long time in both bound books and Filofax and while I dont put too much value into these inserts after they are done - as they don’t have a lot of substance - it is still something I need to do every day to function and having a separate space for this has just made a lot of the noice in my head just lessened a bit. I also think that this could be something I use for a longer period (I’m not gonna say this is the one because that would just jinx it) because its such low maintenance - there is no memory keeping or decorations or backlogging, just brain dump after brain dump. I’m also very much open to the fact that my page layout will shift as the year goes by, but that hopefully all the change will happen within these pages instead of in another system.

Obviously, I’m one week in and have a terrible track-record when it comes to dated planners, but I’m feeling optimistic. Has anyone else recently changed systems?

[aishangotome]

[Silvio] A Love Tailored To You Part 3

Credit to @shatcey for providing the video upload.

That night, after buying the liquor, I was alone in my room, facing the algae-colored bottle.

The glass next to it was still empty. Once I poured the drink, there would be no turning back.

(If I drink this, I'm sure I'll become incredibly bold, like a different person.)

(Silvio will surely be pleased with this different me.)

(But...)

I looked at my own face reflected in the window.

(If I'm "like a different person" and I don't even have any memories of that time, is that really me?)

(What if Silvio tells me he prefers the bold me...?)

I looked away from my reflection in the window and pushed down the growing unease in my chest.

(What's the point of worrying about it now?)

(I knew all that, and I bought this liquor to please Silvio.)

With determination, I pulled out the cork and poured the liquor halfway up the glass.

The unfamiliar whitish drink seemed like a magic potion at this moment, and yet, also like a poison.

Emma: Gulp...

I lifted the glass and drank it all in one go.

Emma: Cough... !

(This is stronger than the last one...! It burns my throat.)

My body grew hotter with each breath, and I felt the alcohol coursing through my entire system.

I glanced at the window, and the reflection of my face was flushed––

-

Emma: ––Silvio!

Silvio: What the–!?

I flung open the door to Silvio's room.

I walked straight towards Silvio, who was sitting in a chair, and lightly grasped his arm.

Silvio: You're staring blankly. Are you alright?

Emma: I'm alright.

Emma: I'm going to make you feel good today.

With my clumsy hands, I somehow managed to start taking off Silvio's clothes.

Silvio: Hey, wait! Don't take them off, you idiot!

Emma: No. I'm taking them off.

Silvio: Don't "I'm taking them off" me. Calm down for a second!

He firmly pressed my hands to my sides and then sat me down on the chair.

Silvio: You reek of alcohol... Don't tell me you drank that liquor again.

Emma: I drank it.

Silvio: You really are an idiot...

Silvio brought over the water pitcher that was on the bedside table.

He poured water into a glass and placed it in front of me.

Silvio: Here, drink this––That's why I told you not to take my clothes off!

Silvio grabbed my hands, which were still trying to undress him, and made me touch the glass.

Emma: But I can't make you feel good if I don't take your clothes off.

Silvio: Just drink the water.

Emma: Can I take your clothes off after I drink it?

Silvio: Do you want to take my clothes off, or do you want to take your clothes off? We'll worry about clothes later.

Emma: Okay, I'll drink it.

I gulped down the water.

The cool liquid flowed through my burning body, but it didn't cool the heat.

Emma: I drank it, so I'm going to love you a lot.

Silvio: What are you planning to do in that state? Just drink some water and calm down. Don't do anything unnecessary.

I tried to stand up, but he pressed down on my shoulder, making me sit back in the chair.

Silvio: ...Knowing that you'd get drunk to the point of losing your memory, why did you drink it again?

Emma: Because when I'm really drunk, I'm bold, and I thought I could please you.

Silvio: Honestly, you really have forgotten everything about the other day.

Silvio: Well, I guess it's partly my fault for teasing you like that.

Silvio's hand covered mine, which was resting on the table.

(His hand is cool and feels nice.)

(Being like this with Silvio makes me feel very calm.)

Silvio: When you got drunk at the party the other day, you kept asking me if I "liked it when you were bold."

Silvio: You said something like, "I might not be able to satisfy you."

(Did I...?)

With my drunken head, I desperately tried to remember what happened after the party.

Perhaps because the situation was similar to that time, the memories vaguely returned.

*flashback*

Emma: If I were more alluring and had the confidence of a mature woman, I would look good standing next to you.

Silvio: What's the point of looking good? Are we going to be painted in a portrait or something?

Emma: Not a portrait, but... I want to be told we look good together, don't you?

Emma: Besides, you always tell me to be bolder...

Emma: I thought if I could express my love without being shy, I could satisfy you.

Silvio: Listen...

Silvio: It's not that I like bold women in general. I like it when the woman I love acts boldly.

Silvio: It's irresistible when the woman I love is erotic only in front of me.

Emma: Is that how it is?

Silvio: That's how it is.

Silvio: Besides, I can't be satisfied with anyone but you.

Silvio: Bold or not, I'm satisfied just being loved by you.

Silvio: So don't overthink things.

*back to present*

Silvio: ...Did you remember?

Emma: Kind of...?

Emma: Huh? So, that night we didn't do anything...?

Silvio: That's right. I didn't sleep with you that night. So there was nothing bold about it.

Emma: But you said I was like a different person.

Silvio: I was just bluffing.

Silvio: You were drunk and rambling, and it made me say some embarrassing things too.

Silvio: I wouldn't sleep with a woman who's drunk to the point of unconsciousness.

Silvio: A man of Benitoite doesn't leave a drunk woman alone. ––In every sense of the word.

(So that's how it was...)

Silvio's words warmed my heart, but my body was even hotter from the alcohol.

In fact, precisely because my love for him was growing, I desperately wanted to express this love to Silvio.

Emma: But today, I'm not drunk to the point of unconsciousness.

Emma: So, today, let me drive you crazy.

Silvio: You're already pretty crazy right now.

Emma: I'm fine. I won't be shy.

Emma: I'll accept anything you do to me. Because I love you...

Silvio: If you'll accept anything, then go to sleep for today.

Emma: Wah!

He suddenly lifted me up and placed me on the bed.

As Silvio held me and stroked my head, my vision gradually became hazy––

--The next morning--

Emma: Mmm...

I woke up and, just like the morning two days ago, Silvio was lying next to me.

(My body feels so heavy... and again, I have no memory of last night.)

As I winced from the pounding headache, Silvio shifted his position and turned to face me.

His expression, once again, seemed satisfied.

Emma: Um... how was last night?

Silvio: You were saying some embarrassing things. Both of us were.

Emma: Like what?

Silvio: Ha, I can't repeat it while sober.

(I wonder what I said. But Silvio was satisfied... right?)

(There's still quite a bit of that liquor left, and if he likes the bold me, I can be that way any number of times.)

As I was thinking about all this, Silvio gently grasped my chin.

In his ocean-blue eyes gazing at me, I could somehow sense a "hunger"––

Silvio: Be prepared tonight.

Emma: Huh?

Silvio: You'll take responsibility for what you said yourself.

The day passed without me understanding the meaning of Silvio's words––

––And then came the night.

I asked Silvio, who had come to my room, to wait a moment while I retrieved the bottle of liquor I had hidden away.

(I don't know what I said last night, but it's probably better to drink it, right...?)

Just as I was about to pour it into the glass, Silvio snatched the bottle away––

Silvio: I don't want this. I'm here to crush you in my arms.

.

.

.

Part 2 | Part 4

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

For the Crowley interaction event how about him getting lunch one day and a food fight breaks out in the cafeteria? It can be a mob student or a main boy that starts it I just want to know how he reacts and deals with it or not.

Enter; An Unkindness of Ravens.

Meat pie, meat pie🎵

Crowley hummed in his head as he fell into the cafeteria line. He could smell the spices and hearty game meat stewing in the kitchen. His mouth watered, eager to sink his teeth into a slice.

Students inched forward, drifting to vacant tables with trays of food and drink. The system the school had in place was streamlined, efficient--before long, Crowley was the next to be served.

“Ah, headmaster. Here for your lunch break, I see,” one of the chefs greeted. He plopped an entire meat pie onto a platter and slid it toward Crowley. "There you are, an extra-large helping of your favorite!"

"Thank you, my good ghost," Crowley responded with the tip of his hat. "Please do keep up the excellent work!"

"Anytime. I know how hard you work to keep this school running. It's the least I can do to help fill your stomach."

"Fufufu, and it is very much appreciated~"

While Crowley exchanged pleasantries with the ghost chef, he failed to take note of the students in his surroundings. The usual murmurs had grown tense, like a rope pulled in two different directions. Shifty eyes met one another, fingers fidgeting.

Then, in the midst of the tentative peace, one boy's voice rang out.

"FOOD FIGHT!"

Hell broke loose in the cafeteria. Students were suddenly out of their seats, food flying, people racing for the exit or ducking under chairs to avoid the incoming fire.

Sebek made a desperate leap to defend his liege from mashed potatoes, Jamil hurried Kalim out, using his own body as an unwilling shield. Ace and Deuce were targeting each other, and on the opposite side of the room, Epel was flinging spoonfuls of applesauce, much to his dorm members' horror. Floyd busied himself with trying to catch wayward food in his gaping mouth. Riddle shouted over the chaos, attempting to gain control of the frenzy--no one listened.

"Oh, sweet, merciful Seven!!" Crowley cried out in distress. “G-Gentlemen, let’s calm ourselves and put down the—eeeep!!”

"Take cover, sir!" the ghost chest warned, diving under a table himself.

Crowley yelped at a rogue banana chucked his way. He managed to dodge it, only to find a gravy stain blooming on his vest. The next hit was to his tray, knocking his meal to the ground in an unceremonious heap, crust ruined and meaty innards oozing out.

"M-My clothes!!" he pathetically wailed. "My meat piiiiie!!!"

The food fight continued, unaware of his plight.

A great wave of irritation overcame Crowley. They will never learn right from wrong without a stern hand to guide them.

Slamming his tray down, he seized his walking stick in its place. Magic welled up from within him, bringing about a rain of shimmering light at his command.

At once, the frantic scene was put on pause. Limbs locking, food dropping to the ground.

"Hey, what gives?"

“Why can’t I move?!”

“M-My body…!”

"That's enough of that," Crowley announced, making his presence known. He folded his arms and tutted disapprovingly. “Really, now! I expect better behavior of my students!!”

"He started it!" the boys chorused. Crowley suspected that they would be pointing at one another, were it not for his spell freezing them in place. A few dissenting voices--Riddle ("I tried to control them, headmaster!!") and Sebek ("THE YOUNG MASTER HAS DONE NOTHING TO DESERVE THIS CRUELTY! PUNISH ME IF YOU MUST, BUT NOT HIM!") only contributed to the madness.

"Regardless of who did and did not instigate, all of you will have to be reprimanded. After all, the majority of you did participate or otherwise worsened the situation once it started!!"

Crowley thrusted a finger at the floor, then the walls. They were splattered with sauces and chunks of meat and vegetables.

"You should all be ashamed of yourselves. The ghost chefs toil to prepare these delicious, nutritious meals for you growing boys--and here they are, gone to waste!!"

He waved his hand, loosening his magical hold on the boys. Buckets of soapy water and mops materialized beside them. Realizing what was coming next, they collectively groaned.

"I believe the appropriate punishment would be to clean up this mess you've made. I recommend that you hop to it--there's only so much time allotted in the school day for one's lunch break." Crowley's eyes glinted with mischief. "Fufufu, yes, yes, that will do just nicely!"

I'm such a genius~

[katzkinder]

Today, the official servamp account made a tweet in celebration of Otogiri’s birthday on the 28th of September! Her favorite food is soba and she does karate for a hobby!

Under the cut I have some headcanons of my own for her, so please enjoy!

This one is my favorite and it’s that whenever Sakuya needs to have a teacher meet with his guardian she goes along with Tsubaki and they act super annoying to embarrass him lol. Like she dotes on him and calls him goofy pet names and pinches his cheek. On the occasions where he’s in trouble for something Team M view as justified, though, she puts on a face of “our perfect little angle? No, never, you must be mistaken”

This is still somewhat humiliating to Sakuya. She loves teasing him in her own way. Makes her miss Johannes.

Speaking of Johannes as kids he used to cut the hair off her dolls or tear their heads off. It’s fine she’d tie him to a tree with her jump rope and leave him there.

Karate was actually a hobby she picked up as a child for self defense purposes. She continues with it because it’s good to help her destress, especially when doing her forms. Something about the rhythm of them helps her clear her mind

She writes fan fiction and will die if anyone finds her ao3 account

I headcanon her, personally, as wlw (not sure what flavor though. Just in general) A major part of this is because she’s the only female member of the cast you can gift chocolate to during the valentine’s event at TanakaBox! I’ll put a link to the event translation in a reblog later

Because she’s so busty, she has a fair bit of problems buying bras she likes that don’t cost an arm and a leg. Living with Tsubaki and working for him means money is no object, of course, but it’s the principle of it. Belkia surprises her once with a custom replica of Madonna’s cone bra corset in bedazzled hot pink. She needed to take several moments.

She did in fact try the whole thing on for him. She felt ridiculous. She also loved how silly the whole affair was. Far too often people get weird about the size of her chest and it makes her so uncomfortable, but with team M… It’s just another body part. She can relax around them

Speaking of people being weird about her body, this is a headcanon Yarra told me that I loved so much I adopted it immediately. She used to go out late at night into seedier parts of Tokyo trying to find men who would start trying to feel her up or force the issue after she rejected their advances, so that she could kill them without feeling guilty, using them as proxies for the doctor who assaulted her. This was not actually a healthy way to cope.

She wants to do a soba tour. Just go around the country trying all different types of soba. One day she wishes to be able to boast she’s had every soba from every restaurant in japan. For now she’s working her way through Tokyo. She’s a subclass so she has all the time in the world to do it.

The entire hotel is (was) outfitted with her strings. They kind of acted as an early warning system. It’s a strange kind of magic that doesn’t seem to have much limits in the way of distance so long as the space she’s in is enclosed.

During holiday seasons, especially Halloween, Christmas, or New Years, these become places for decorations to be hung.

She truly cherishes everything Tsubaki has done for her. The one regret she has about being a subclass is that she had to kill herself for the chance to meet so many wonderful people. She thinks if she’d had anything remotely close to this while human, she would have found the strength to keep living.

They’re her family. Someday, she hopes Hansel can also be part of it again.