#ignore the copy paste on second and third lol

[avis-fictional-world]

Based on AO3 fic called A Different Kind of Training

I find it both funny and a bit somber for Yoichi.

I hope you enjoy this @fractiflos

First

….

Fic could be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51782035/chapters/130913665

The use of “Yoichisan” is just a call back to the first comic

Previous

Next

[latelyanobsession]

Gossip Swap

summary rumors can be nasty. especially when straight out of your boyfriend’s mouth. kind words however, can make a world of difference when offered up by a kind soul.

warnings cursing, rumors/gossiping, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, smut, TW: use of fat-shaming slurs

word count 2,737

note based on a request by @harringtonfan4: "eddie x steve x plus size female reader…reader has been dating Steve he told reader he was sick he goes to party instead someone gets him on video all over Nancy and telling her and the others how unhappy he has been with reader because of how she looks and what he’s used too whole school sees it …eddie steps in to pick up the pieces (smut preferred) maybe eddie has a squirting kink or breeding kink (regular smut is fine if you don’t do those) and Steve decides he made a mistake..reader chooses eddie ….sorry my asks are long winded I have specific ideas I’m just not good at writing them lol. If it’s too much let me know I’ll tone down my explanations"

i've changed your request a bit by having the reader and steve's break up be based on the spread of a rumor through the school rather than a video. using a video would've taken a lot of effort back then, (ie. filming and then copying multiple VHS tapes or having to pass a single tape around to multiple people would've taken a lot of time). so using word of mouth to spread a nasty rumor would make better sense to spread something like that from a weekend party faster in the 80s.

also a couple lil tweaks to the smut and setting just to make it flow. a full disclosure as well that i've never read any existing smut for eddie so this is just my interpretation of how i think he would align in sexual interactions based on my interpretation of his character.

As always any feedback is much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

You pursed your lips, eyes zeroed in on the dial as you twirled the tumbler on your locker.

35 - 11 - 27

Hooking your finger in the latch, you opened the door. It's hinges squeaking.

"That her?" a voice asked, walking past.

"Yeah, I feel so bad for her..." another answered.

You peered past your locker door, eyebrows creased in curiosity.

The pair of upperclassmen quickly turning their heads away as they wandered further down the hallway.

You shrugged it off. They must've been talking about somebody else. There was nothing going on with you.

Sinking into your seat in first period, the low rumble of whispers slithered its way through the room, snaking its way up your spine and settling beneath your skin.

"I can't believe he said that...!"

"Well... I would want someone more... y'know..."

"Can you blame him?"

Clenching your fists, you tried to ignore their words as they coiled around you. Constricting you with each breath. Your chest pulling tight.

"What the hell are you talking about?!" you burst out loud, throwing your pen gruffly against your notebook, bouncing it to the floor.

Your classmates paused, quieting. Their faces mixed with looks of pity and guilt.

But none of them answered you.

The remainder of the period passed in relative silence, with you leaving the room in frustration.

It felt like the whole school's eyes were on you.

And you didn't know why.

The next period was no better. Nor the one after that.

The day was unraveling into an uncontrolled nightmare. And you wanted to get away from it as soon as possible.

Taking a deep breath, you latched the sliding bolt on the bathroom stall and sat down.

You didn't even need to pee. You just wanted a quiet moment alone.

You took another deep breath, closing your eyes.

The door to the bathroom swung open, the back slamming loudly against the tile wall as girls entered.

"I still can't believe Steve said that!" one girl hummed excitedly.

"Well you should, I was there. I heard the whole thing!" replied the other.

"He was seriously with Nancy?" asked a third.

"Of course!" answered the second, as if this were obvious. "They were all over each other... Steve was practically sobbing about wanting her back."

They giggled amongst themselves.

"But... what about the part... about... Y/N?" asked the first.

"Oh..." the second clucked, "Yeah, he wouldn't stop whining about how sick he is being stuck with a cow like her..."

They shrieked with laughter, the shrill sound clattering off the walls.

"He really called her a cow?" the third snorted ungraciously.

"...Like a pillow that's already too stuffed to stuff... if you get it..." the second mused.

They laughed again.

You swallowed thickly, trying to remain as collected as possible. You didn't want them to know you were there.

Your eyes were brimming over with tears as you clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle a shaky exhale.

"I mean why'd he ever trade Nancy for that whale anyhow?" the second complained.

"It's a complete downgrade..." agreed the third.

"There's no way a fatso like her could ever satisfy him... she's too busy stuffing her face." the first stated.

They all made varying sounds of agreement, washing their hands. The door slamming back open, and coming to with a soft thud.

You threw the stall door open, letting out a long-held sob. How could any of this be true?

But it had to be... "I was there. I heard the whole thing!"

Steve had bailed on you over the weekend. He called, coughing and whining pathetically through the phoneline of how ill he felt. And you bought it like an absolute sucker.

How stupid you truly were. Planning on bringing him homemade soup after school this afternoon, when he was already wrapping himself up soundly ... in Nancy Wheeler's lap.

Fleeing the bathroom, you quit the school building entirely. Not wanting to deal with another single pair of eyes on you.

You cut out across the football field and into the woods, just looking for a quiet place to walk. To seeth. To hide.

A few yards in you found a clearing with a weathered picnic table, empty beer cans scattered across its top.

This place didn't seem familiar to you, but it was close yet far enough away from school grounds that it seemed like a good place to settle.

Dropping onto the bench, tears began trickling out in steady rivulets down your heated cheeks. Your shoulders shaking with heavy sobs as the conversation you overheard began to replay in your mind.

Steve wouldn't have gone back to Nancy if I wasn't fat.

The voice in your head began...

Steve wouldn't have lied to me and gone to that party on his own if he wasn't embarrassed to be seen with me.

The voice pressed.

Steve doesn't love me. I'm too fat to be with Steve.

Too fat...

You crumbled.

Your hands coming up and hiding your face. Tears quickly turning bitter as your chest felt fit to shatter.

Every sweet thing he had ever told you must have been a lie. Why else would he be able to pivot so quickly? Turn back to Nancy so smoothly?

So thoroughly enveloped in your sorrow, you didn't notice someone enter the glade.

"Uhhhh?" the voice hemmed, cutting through a bout of your sobs, startling you.

"You doin' ok? I mean you're obviously not... but... Are you?"

You peered up through your fingers, snuffling horribly, your nose stuffed with snot.

A lanky boy with ratty hair and torn jeans was standing at the edge of the clearing.

He stood there awkwardly scratching his cheek, a black lunchbox in his other hand.

"I- I'm sorry... -'ll leave..." you sniveled getting up, not realizing you were intruding on someone's coveted lunch spot.

He tossed up his hands lightly, "don't worry about it... it's cool. Y/N right?"

You nodded slowly, he seemed familiar but you couldn't really place him.

"Do I know you?" you sniffed, wiping a sleeve at your eyes.

He shrugged, lips puckered thoughtfully as he clasped his hands behind his back.

"Well, you should... You and your boytoy bought weed from me a few times..." he stated dryly.

"He's not my -!" you clipped spitefully, snapping your jaw shut in realization.

"Oh?" he said, sitting down next to you. "My mistake... thought you were a thing."

"Not anymore..." you whispered.

You looked over at him, "I'm sorry..." you apologized again, "you don't need to hear about my shit."

Kicking his feet to and fro childishly, his heels tossed up leaves all around you. His eyes focused on the trees.

"Well sounds like someone should hear it... It's Eddie by the way..." he smiled at you gently, nudging your shoulder with his own to go on.

You smiled coyly, eyes dodging to your toes.

"It's just..." you sputtered, fingers wrapping around the bench tensely, "he said I'm too fat for him."

Tears were threatening to fall yet again.

He let off an obnoxious laugh, you wanted to punch him.

"I'm sorry..." his brows knitting together, as if in deep thought before they shot high, "Is he mental!?" Eddie shouted, hopping to his feet.

You blinked at him, dumbfounded, "What?"

"Boytoy. Is he completely certifiable?" Eddie pointed at his head, index finger swirling counterclockwise.

Your eyebrows furrowed, "I don't... think... no?"

He tossed his hands dramatically skyward, "Y/N!"

You jumped.

"He has to be!" he reasoned, arms still thrust high.

"You're just so .... kind. And so genuine. And smart. And beautiful and so –" he spoke rapidly, listing your qualities off each finger. Pacing himself into a small tight circle.

"You think I'm beautiful?" you interrupted him.

He stopped, looking up from his fingers, bringing his hand bashfully to his lips.

His eyes darting around the grove, before answering.

"Yeah. But you're so much more than that," he added.

Coming back to the table he straddled the bench, a leg on each side, looking you square in the eyes.

"He's a dumbass for cheating on you." Eddie declared. "I mean he couldn't be more of an idiot! Total dick move!" He waved his arms in an axing motion.

You laughed, "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem! If you were my -" his words fell short as your lips collided with his.

"Eddie?" you hummed, pulling away, your foreheads resting together.

"Yah?" he breathed.

"Please shut up." you giggled.

"Yes ma'am," he replied enthusiastically.

Yoking a hand around his shoulders, you pulled him back in. Lips ghosting over his, your tongue playfully laving at his bottom lip.

He groaned loudly, lips parting in invitation. His hands swiftly seizing you and pulling you in.

His grasp was greedy. Desperate. Wanton. Tugging your sweater out of place, his chilled fingers pricking up goosebumps in their wake along every inch of newly discovered skin.

Small gasps tumbling from your tongue to his as those long fingers crawled lower, twiddling with the button of your jeans.

"You sure you want this?" he asked breaking from you, his eyes shimmering with sincerity.

"Wouldn't want Boytoy to miss you or anything..." he chuffed with a somber smile.

You placed your palm on his cheek. "Eddie, he's already missed me..." you leaned in kissing him chastely, "by a long shot."

A brilliant smile lit up his features, warm brown eyes shining.

"Really?" he was shocked.

"Yes," you replied, crawling into his lap. "I want you. I need... this." You emphasized with a searing kiss, grinding your weight against him.

His hands gripped your sides, digging in and holding you close as he whimpered at the feeling. Even through layers of denim, you could feel a thick bulge burgeoning against your inner thigh.

Sitting up momentarily you wrapped your hand around his belt, yanking him forward, manhandling him. Pressing him back gruffly against the picnic table, he planted both feet back in front of the bench, letting off a slight wince of surprise.

"What you got planned sweety?" he asked cutely.

Propping a knee on the bench you towered over him, hands undoing his belt buckle. Fingers nimbly unfastening his fly.

"You'll see." you teased, a finger tracing up the length of his clothed erection, his neck straining.

"Oh .... ooooh, that's not fair," he whined, a foot kicking in protest. Your hand slyly enveloping his length and pulling him out into the open.

You kissed him, lingering to pull at his tongue. "You're gonna get yours don't worry about it." you hummed, hand pumping smoothly up his length as you admired his pained expression.

Backing off, you unclasped your jeans shimmying them down just below the swell of your ass. A sharp inhale reaching your ear, "fuck."

Peering over your shoulder, you regarded him with heavily lidded eyes. "Like?"

He swallowed thickly, nodding as his gaze washed over you. "Y-yah."

You smirked your cheeks heating.

"You'll like this better..." you challenged as you reversed, placing yourself between his legs.

You lowered yourself onto his lap, grinding your bare cunt against his cock. The evidence of your arousal coating him from base to tip.

"Shit babe," he whined hands clamped onto your hips more so for his own sanity than for yours.

Reaching back you gave him a couple short strokes before lining him against your entrance, the bulging head already pressed between your pussy lips in anticipation.

Sinking down onto his length, you cried out. The stretch making your knees weak, your hands gripping his thighs to ground yourself.

"God Eddie!" you exhaled, eyes blinking widely.

"Babe you gotta move..." Eddie complained, voice straining. "I'm not gonna make it!" His grip was becoming harsh, almost biting. His hips trying to thrust, heels pressing against the ground for purchase.

"Eddie please..." you warned pathetically, "don't do that." He was already so deep. Your walls wrapped snuggly around him. Each small movement lighting up nerve endings you didn't even know you had.

Roping his arms around your middle, he hauled you back, knocking you off balance. Gaining leverage and driving himself deeper.

"Eddie!" you whimpered, pressed flush against him. "Eddie I can't...I'll –"

His pace was gaining, thrusting deeper. The sounds of your pussy beginning to fill the air. The sopping wet clap between your bodies with each stroke.

"Eddie please!" you begged nearly sobbing. You could feel it. That tingle. It was growing with every thrust of his hips.

"Babe I promise. I'm so close." he warbled, his pace growing erratic and hurried.

You were trying so hard to hold back, trying to focus. Trying to clamp down on your muscles. Pulling your legs together snugly. But everything you were doing made the feeling more intense and made him respond more aggressively.

"Fuuuuuuck babe. That's amazing. Just like that!" he encouraged with your last attempt, curling himself up and pistoning his cock into you even harder.

Tears were at the corners of your eyes, you couldn't hold it back. The pleasure was unbearable. Your walls starting to spasm, shaking the pitiful attempt at self-control that you had.

"Eddie... I'm gonna cum!" you wailed brokenly.

"Cum babe...!" he panted, slamming against your cunt. "Cum on my cock!"

"No Eddie ... I'll –" you cut off keening as he connected. Your head tilted back and your legs shook as it struck, warm fluid gushing out.

You thought for certain he'd come to a screeching halt. Toss you off for that. But he kept going, hips stuttering as his lips found your ear.

"Babe can I... can I cum insi –..." his breath faltering, as you dropped your hips back, grinding into him.

"Yes..." you exhaled shakily, continuing to ride him through his high.

The forest became quiet again as you both panted. Eddie beneath you.

You pulled off, trying to gather yourself up. The embarrassment was already suffocating you.

"Eddie I'm so so sorry." you looked at him miserably.

Sitting up, he looked at you casually, "Sorry? Sweets that was so fucking hot!" Tucking himself in, he stood up coming over to you.

Pulling a black bandana from his back pocket he offered it to you.

"Y'know..." he started, as you gratefully took the cloth, cleaning yourself off as best you could. "I'd love to do that with you again sometime..."

You blushed, handing him the bandana.

Looking up at him you nodded. "Yeah... but maybe not outside..."

He smiled coyly, laughing. "Yeah."

You looked at his pants, your face falling into a frown. "God... I'm–."

He laughed tossing up his hands, "Don't worry about it. Was gonna skip after this anyhow."

"You sure?" you looked at him guiltily.

"–'m sure." he soothed.

The warning bell echoed through the trees. How many periods had you missed?

You checked your watch.

"Shit," you cursed, "I gotta motor, but find me tomorrow?"

You grabbed your things and scooted from the grove.

Sliding in late to your last period of the day, the eyes and murmurings from your classmates was no longer as bothersome.

When the day ended you actually had a smile on your face as you headed toward the parking lot. That was until you saw your boyfriend.

"Hey Y/N!" Steve waved you over from his beamer.

You walked wide, heading off to the opposite sidewalk.

"Y/N?" Confusion was settling into Steve's features as he jogged after you. "Hey what gives I'm here to take you home. Y'know..." He reached for your hand flirtatiously.

You jerked yourself away.

"What gives?!" your eyebrows shot high. "Why don't you go ask Nancy!"

You turned on your heels to walk away, as he wrapped a hand around your wrist.

"Guess you found out huh?" he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck with his other hand.

"Yeah I guess so..." you spat venomously trying to wriggle free.

Stepping into your space Steve stroked a thumb over your cheek.

"Ya know I didn't mean it right? I was drunk." he gave you a lopsided grin. "You're my girl. Always will be."

You gave him a rough shove sending him shuffling back.

"No, I'm not!" you shouted. "You chose her! And I'm dumping you!"

He was stunned, his arms hanging limply at his side.

"You what?" he spoke each word as if carefully chewed, his mouth running dry.

"I'm...dumping...you" you enunciated each word. "Don't call me."

Readjusting your backpack you walked away, leaving him standing there.

The next day, you were back at your new lunch spot.

[6ad6ro]

maybe i shouldnt complain but

my steam deck broke, weird gpu issues. idk why but any game that was 3d and came out less than like 15 years ago (graphical complexity i guess) would have it's polygons like explode (instability) and deck would crash. this was the second deck i had, the first already had been replaced for other reasons. valve had me spend like a month (it felt like a full time job) in testing dif things to figure out what was wrong. in the end, they wanted me to send it in for repairs.

first annoying thing, they waited until AFTER we tested everything to check if i was still under warranty. even tho it'd been i think less than a year since i got my replacement deck, i don't think that refreshed my orig warranty. so they told me to send it in and then they would send it to their official repair partner (united radio) and estimated it'd cost like 200. i sent it, and then got an email from ur.

this was the second annoying thing, because the person at ur asked me "so what's the problem with the device" as if they had no idea. like i'd tested dif things for a month and there were so many logs of conversations with valve, and they didn't look? nobody gave them that information?? well anyways i copied and pasted my entire log i had with valve tech support, because that would have alllll of the info including pics and videos. all ur said in their reply email was "thank you". idk why but i got vibes that nobody over there would be readin what i sent to them.

they got back to me and said it'd cost 200 and they would be fixing control boards and buttons and the battery. they were vague, i couldn't find info online about the boards, was confused why they were fixing things that weren't broken, but assumed i was ignorant of the part names and how they'd relate to the issue. so i decided to trust that valves repair partner would know what they were doing.

i got my deck back, and it took about 10 minutes of testing to experience the same exact issues as before. they obviously didn't test shit. i spent way more time lookin up what was actually replaced. for a purely graphical issue, they decided to replace the r1 button, the boards that affected controller input, and the battery (that was already tested by valve tech support to not be broken). it was like if you brought your car in for engine trouble and they replaced the windshield wipers and gave it back like "here you go!". fuckin morons. so third annoying thing, turns out they were just absolutely incompetent.

i sent valve an annoyed (but prob still too poilte) email trying to find what the fuck went wrong, and told em i wasn't all that happy. and they quickly got back to me and said to send it in to rma (for free this time). later i got an email sayin they were sending out a brand new deck. FINALLY. and so i waited. it was supposed to arrive today. i waited by the door all day bc my first deck got stolen. it was takin longer than estimated to arrive, so i checked tracking. ups was all like "hey the address is wrong, correct it to get package".

after some legit obnoxious hoops to do that, i found out whatever dipshit sent my package had just fucked up so bad lol? like number was wrong, but also they included my phone number after the street address so ups thought it was an apartment number. on top of that, valve restricts address changes so it's not like i could fix it anyhow. that's at least four super obnoxious things.

honestly i'm startin to think they should send me an oled switch instead for all the dogshit they've put me through. because what the fuck.

[rjalker]

here's the finished almost half of the Flatland "translation" into casual English.

First draft lol

uh lets see if tumblr will let me paste the images in all at once or if it's gonna be difficult...

nope it's not letting me put the images and it got rid of the image descriptions. alrighty then. so just ignore it when it mentions a diagram I'm not adding them all back in manually

This is 15,000+ words. With almost 15,000 to go that still needs done.

Preface to the Second and Revised Edition, 1884.

By the Original Editor

I am writing this preface for my friend from Flatland, since he has been so mentally devastated by his years spent in prison that he can’t write it himself. Rather than copying his words directly, I am paraphrasing on his behalf so you, my readers, will understand what he means.

First of all, he wants to thank all of his readers, both fans and critics, in Spaceland, who’ve enjoyed his book so much that he had to get it reprinted again to meet the demand.

Second of all, also wants to apologize for some errors and misprints in the original edition, though these aren’t actually his fault.

Third of all, he wants to explain a few things that have confused some readers.

He wanted to respond himself, but he’s not the Square he used to be. The problem is not just that he is a prisoner, it’s that no one believes what he has to say, and do nothing but mock him. He’s also an old man now, and his memory is fading. He’s forgotten many of the ideas he learned on his adventure in Spaceland, and the words to describe them.

So he has asked me to reply on his behalf, to explain two points that many confused readers are upset by.

The first thing people complain about is that when a Flatlander sees a Line, that means they have to be seeing something that does have height, not just width and length, otherwise it would be invisible from the side. So why doesn’t he admit that his people already exist in three dimensions?

I understand that people are going to complain about this, since it’s such an obvious problem with the idea that Flatlanders only exist in two dimensions. I gotta say, I really wasn’t sure how to respond when I first read this comment, since I couldn’t think of any counter argument, but fortunately my friend was able to answer it in a way that makes sense to me, so I’ll paraphrase his words here for you:

"I admit," he said, "What this critic said about us having some height is true, but that doesn’t mean we exist in three dimensions the way Spacelanders do. Yes, Flatlanders are tall as well as long and wide, otherwise we’d be invisible, but this isn’t something we can measure or recognize on our own – (Remember, I didn’t even know the word “up” before my adventure in Spaceland) -- and you Spacelanders also have a fourth dimension you don’t have a name for, that I’ll call ‘extra-height’, that you can’t measure or understand on your own either, but that doesn’t mean you’re fourth-dimensional beings anymore than I’m a third dimensional being. Even after my adventure, I still can’t measure height, or “upwards”, not by seeing it, or even trying to imagine it. But I know it’s there, and I have to rely on pure faith.

“Let me try to explain. You can only measure something if it has variation to be measured in the first place. If everyone, and every single thing you see – animals, people, trees, buildings -- is exactly the same height, you can’t measure height, because there’s nothing to compare it to. It’s just the way the world is. Nothing is shorter than anything else, or taller. There’s nothing there to measure. Especially because everything you see is all that you can see. You can’t see above the height of everything, or below it. It’s just what’s there.

“Some Spacelander critics who like to complain too much have suggested we invent a so-called “delicate micrometer” to measure our height, but again, that’s impossible for us to do, because we can’t measure upwards, nor can we compare it to anything else.

“When we see a Line, we see something that is long and bright, and that’s how we know it’s a Line. Brightness and length are needed for us to understand what we are seeing. If there’s no brightness, the Line becomes invisible to us, and may as well not exist.

“This is why, when I try to explin the concept of height, or ‘upwards’ to my Flatland friends, when I try to point out the existance of height in a Line, the only thing they can see is the Brightness. And when I tell them I mean something else, a different dimension, they demand I prove it’s there by measuring it. Which I obviously can’t do, for the reasons I’ve already explained. You can’t measure what has no variation.

“It was just yesterday that the Chief Circle – our High Priest, or maybe in your terms better understood as the ultimate President or King – came to visit me, the seventh of his yearly visits. And just like the last six times he came to visit me, he asked me the same question: ‘Are you sane yet?’.

“And so I tried to explain to him that he was tall as well as wide and long. And you can probably guess his response. ‘You say I am ‘high’, so measure my ‘high-ness’, and then I’ll believe you.’

“And how, exactly, am I supposed to do the impossible? I’ve already explained that we can’t measure height. There was nothing I could do to prove what I said, and we both knew it. He left the room, just as triumphant as the earlier six visits.

“Still confused? Then put yourself in my shoes – imagine a person from the Fourth Dimension decided to visit you, said:

“‘Whenever you open your eyes, you see what appears to be a two dimensional image, and you understand that these are actually many different three-dimensional objects, through shading and light, and because you can reach out and touch them. And you think all you are seeing is Three-Dimensional, but really, you’re also seeing a Fourth Dimension, and it’s not colour, or shadows, or anything like that, but a true, separate Dimension. No, I can’t point it out to you, no, I can’t give you any way of measuring it or seeing it, you just have to trust me.’

“And how would you respond to someone saying this? Wouldn’t you want him thrown into an asylum too?

“Well, that’s what happened to me. I was a Square who tried to convince my countrymen that there was a Third Timension, and I was locked up, just as you Spacelanders would lock up anyone who tried to tell you there was a Fourth Dimension.

“Alas, the family resemblance of ignorance and bigotry runs strong through humanity in all Dimensions! Points, Lines, Squares, Cubes, Extra-Cubes, it doesn’t matter – we are all just as likely to make the same mistakes, believing only what we can see, and refusing to think beyond that.

“As your famous Spaceland playwrite, William Shakespeare once said, 'One touch of Nature makes all worlds akin'."

That’s what he told me in response to this complaint, and it makes sense to me.

As a further note on this point, the Author also wants me to also tell you that in this updated edition of his story, we have added back in some of the extra details of his conversations with the Sphere that we originally left out, because we assumed you, the audience, would find them boring and unnecessary.

So there is his defence against the first point of complaint. I can’t find anything to argue with about it, it seems like a solid defence.

As for the second point of complaint…I wish I could tell you that his response to the criticism was just as well thought out, but I can’t.

It has been objected that he is a woman-hater, and, because many of the people making this complaint are Women themselves who feel hurt by this, I want to reassure you to the best of my ability that this is not the case, at least as far as I can tell you that without lying.

The unfortunate fact is that the Square who is the Author of this book is not used to thinking in terms of morality, let alone the ideas of morality that we in Spaceland have.

If I were to literally transcribe his response to this complaint, I’d be making him look much worse than he really is, because he doesn’t really understand how to articulate his thoughts on this topic, because Flatland (or at least, his country in Flatland) does not have the words to describe it.

((Note from the 2023 editor: I want to emphasize that when the original Editor here says the Author didn’t have the words for morality, he means that very literally, as you’ll see later, when the Author is narrating for himself.))

So, as I am already doing by paraphrasing his words for you, I paraphrase again his response to this allegation of misogyny.

It’s my understanding that since he was imprisoned seven years ago, he has changed many of the personal views he expressed in this book, both in regards to Women, as well as the Isosceles and other Lower Classes, such as Irregulars.

His opinion is now much closer to that of the Sphere who visited him, that Straight Lines are in many ways superior to Circles.

But, because he wrote this book from the perspective of a Historian, he aligned himself (maybe too closely) with the general views held by the Higher Classes of Flatland, and, as I’ve since told him, many among us here in Spaceland.

I don’t think I need to tell you that many of our own Historians, who are mostly Men, have generally not considered the lives of Women or other Oppressed People to be worthy of writing about or considering.

The Author also wishes to deny the idea that he is still a supporter of the Circles and Aristocracy. He has had a long time to think since his imprisonment, and while he doesn’t deny that the Circles are very intelligent – otherwise, he says, they wouldn’t have managed to stay in control for so long – he believes that the facts of Flatland speak for themselves.

Revolution cannot always be suppressed by slaughter, and because the Circles themselves tend to be infertile, he believes that Nature Herself has condemned their actions as a failure in the end.

“And this is where,” He said, “I see the laws of Nature working in all worlds. Man thinks he is doing one thing, and he thinks he knows best, but Nature is wise, and cannot be denied. Her end goal is much different, and better, than what Man plans for.”

For the other complaints, the Author begs the readers not to assume that every detail of daily life in Flatland is a mirror of some other detail in Spaceland.

He hopes that his book, taken as a whole, will be educational as well as amusing to Spacelanders who are willing to suspend their disbelief and not immediately cry, “That can’t happen”, or “No, things only work like this”.

The rest of this book, I leave to him, in his original words, now with the small edition of some clarification in his conversations with the Sphere.

Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions

by A Square

Table of Contents:

Part One: This World

01. Of the Nature of Flatland

02. Of the Climate and Houses in Flatland

03. Concerning the Inhabitants of Flatland

04. Concerning the Women

05. Of our Methods of Recognizing one another

06. Of Recognition by Sight

07. Concerning Irregular Figures

08. Of the Ancient Practice of Painting

09. Of the Universal Colour Bill

10. Of the Suppression of the Chromatic Sedition

11. Concerning our Priests

12. Of the Doctrine of our Priests

Part Two: Other Worlds

13. How I had a Vision of Lineland

14. How I vainly tried to explain the nature of Flatland

15. Concerning a Stranger from Spaceland

16. How the Stranger vainly endeavoured to reveal to me in words the mysteries of Spaceland

17. How the Sphere, having in vain tried words, resorted to deeds

18. How I came to Spaceland, and what I saw there

19. How, though the Sphere shewed me other mysteries of Spaceland, I still desired more; and what came of it

20. How the Sphere encouraged me in a Vision

21. How I tried to teach the Theory of Three Dimensions to my Grandson, and with what success

22. How I then tried to diffuse the Theory of Three Dimensions by other means, and of the result

PART I: THIS WORLD

"Be patient, for the world is broad and wide."

Section 01. Of the Nature of Flatland

I don’t call our world Flatland because that’s what we call it, but because I want to make what it’s like clearer to you, my happy readers who are privileged to live in Space.

Imagine a vast sheet of paper on which Straight Lines, Triangles, Squares, Pentagons, Hexagons, and other geometric shapes, rather than being drawn by pencil or pen, are alive, and move freely about, either on, or maybe you’d call it within, the surface of the paper, but unable to rise above or sink below it. Almost like shadows, but hard and solid, with glowing edges.

If you can imagine this, you’ll have a pretty good idea of what my country looks like.

Just a few years ago, I would have said, “my universe” instead of “my country”, but now I know better.

In such a flat land, you Spacelanders will almost immediately assume that it’s impossible for there to be anything you would consider “solid”. And yet, if you look down, you’ll see the Triangles, Squares, and other figures, just like I said.

We on the other hand, see no such thing, because the only things we can see are straight lines.

If this sounds confusing, let me give you an example, which you can follow along with while you read.

Get a penny, or another small coin or similar object, and place it in the middle of one of your tables in Spaceland.

When you stand above it and look down, you see the penny as a circle.

But, if you move back to the edge of the table, and lower yourself partway towards the ground – more like the way we Flatlanders see the world – you’ll see that the penny now looks less like a circle, and more like an oval.

Then, when your eye is level with the edge of the table, when you are closest to what you can get to being “on our level”, you’ll see that the penny, seen from above as a circle, now appears to just be a straight line.

The same thing would happen if you did this with a Triangle, or Square, or any other shape you could cut out of cardboard. As soon as you look at it with your eye on the table, it looks like a straight line.

Take for example an equilateral Triangle—who with us is a Tradesman, or Proffesional Man, of the respectable class.

Figure 1 below represents the Tradesman as you would see him while you were bending over him from above, as a triangle with all three sides of equal length.

Figures 2 and 3 represent the Tradesman as you would see him if you began to move your eye closer to the level of the table.

Figure 4 represents what you would see if your eye were level with the table: nothing but a straight line, which is how we see him in Flatland.

When I visited Spaceland, among other things not work talking about in detail, I was told that your sailors have a similar experience when they’re out on the ocean – distant lands might have bays, cliffs, buildings, and all kind of shapes on them from close by, but until you get close enough, or unless the sun’s bright enough to cast stark shadows, all you can see at a distance is a grey line on the horizon.

That’s like what we see when one of our triangular or other acquaintances comes towards us in Flatland. We have no shadows like you do, and none of the other advantages your vision has in Spaceland. If our friend comes closer to us, he becomes larger, if he goes away, he becomes smaller, but he’s always a straight Line. It doesn’t matter if he’s a Triangle, Square, Pentagon, Hexagon, Circle, or anything else. He always looks like a straight Line, and nothing else.

You’ll of course be wondering how we tell eachother apart if this is all we can see, and I’ll be able to make you understand better once I finish describing the people who live in Flatland.

But for the moment, let me pause this subject, and instead tell you about our houses, and the climate of Flatland.

Section 02. Of the Climate and Houses in Flatland

Like in your world, we also have four points on our compass: North, South, East, and West.

Since we have no sun or other celestial bodies like you do, we can’t tell where North is in the way you do, but we have our own way.

Similar to your birds, we always know where south is, because for us, we are constantly being pulled in that direction. This pull is very small in our most northern countries, so light that even a reasonably healthy Woman can travel for several furlongs (note that 1 furlong is equal to 220 yards) northward without difficulty.

But even at its lightest, we can still feel it, and tell which way is South. As an added bonus, the rain, which always falls on a predictable schedule, always comes from the North.

Because of this, when we are in a town or city, we can tell the direction from the way the houses are built – because the rain comes from the north, the solid roof faces north, so that the water can run of and safely down the sides without getting inside.

When you’re out in the country were there are no houses, you can use the trunks of the trees instead.

As you can see, it’s usually pretty easy for us to get our bearings.

But one problem is that when you are so far north that you can barely feel this pull, if you were walking in a deserted plain with no trees or houses in sight, I’ve sometimes gotten so turned around that I had to stand in place for hours straight, waiting for the rain to come so I’d know which way to go.

If you are ill or old, or a delicate Female, this pull to the South weighs heavier than on the healthy members of the Male Sex, so it’s considered polite that, if you meet a Lady in the street, you will move to the South and give her the North side to walk on. This can be easier said than done in such short notice, if you are in a northern climate where it’s hard to tell which way is south, or if you’re feeling sick yourself.

Unlike your buildings, ours have no windows, because light comes to us everywhere equally, whether you’re inside and out, during the day or night, and where this light comes from, we don’t know.

A long time ago, philosophers and scholars used to ask eachother “What is the origin of light?” and debate the possible answers. Many people have tried to find the answer to this question, and the only result is that our lunatic asylums have precious space taken up by the people who’ve claimed to solve it.

Our Government tried to persuade people to stop trying to solve this problem by forcing those who did to pay heavy taxes, but when it kept being a problem, the Law Makers, not so long ago comparatively, finally made it completely illegal to talk about.

And here I am, the only one in Flatland who knows the truth to where light comes from. But I can’t explain it to my countrymen, and they just laugh at me – me! The only one in this world who understands that Light comes from the Third Dimension! They laugh at me like I’m the maddest of the mad.

But I’ve gotten off track and this is a painful topic, so let’s get back to talking about houses.

Most of our houses are five-sided shapes, or as they are commonly called, pentagons.

Here is an illustration to help you understand:

The two northernmost sides of a pentagon house, which in the illustration are labled “RO” and “OF”, make of the roof, and these normally don’t have any doors. On the eastern side, there is a small door for Women, and across from it on the Western side is a much larger door for Men. The Southern side, or floor, usually doesn’t have any doors.

Square and triangular houses aren’t allowed, because their angles are much sharper than those of a Pentagon, and since the lines of inanimate objects, like houses, are dimmer than the lines of Men and Women, and are harder to see, if someone wasn’t paying attention, they could get seriously hurt if they accidentally ran into the corner of a Square or Triangle shaped house.

As far back as the eleventh century of our era, triangular houses have been illegal to build, with the only exceptions being for military structures like forts, ammunition stores, barracks, or other state buildings that most people aren't allowed to enter without special permission.

At that point in time, you were still allowed to build square houses, but they were subject to special taxes to discourage people from building more of them.

Three hundred years after triangular houses were outlawed, the Law finally decided that if a town’s population was above ten thousand, then the angle of a Pentagon was the smallest house-angle allowed to be built, in the interest of public safety.

The general community has common sense, and has agreed with this new law, so now, even out in the country on farms, almost all houses you can find will be pentagons. Now and then, though, in some very remote and poor farming district, an antiquarian might still find an ancient square house.

Section 03. Concerning the Inhabitants of Flatland

Most adult Flatlanders will reach a length of around eleven of your inches, or twenty-eight centimeters. Twelve inches, or around thirty centimeters, is considered a record breaking maximum.

Our Women are Straight Lines.

Our Expendable Soldiers, and the Lowest Classes of Laborers, are Triangles with two equal sides, each about eleven inches, or twenty-eight centimeters long, with their third side, or base, so short (Usually less than half an inch, or two centimeters), that they form at their vertices an extremely sharp angle, or point.

When these sorts of Triangles have a base of the most degraded type (less than an eighth of an inch, or three millimeters), it’s almost impossible to tell them apart from Straight Lines or Women, so sharp are their needle-like points.

Just like you do in Spaceland, we refer to these kinds of Triangles as Isosceles, which is how I will refer to them from now on.

Our Middle Class consists of Equilateral or Equal-Sided Triangles.

Our Professional Men and Gentlemen are Squares (which is the class I belong to) and Five-Sided Figures, otherwise known as Pentagons, as mentioned above.

Above us are the Nobility, with several classes, starting with Six-Sided Figures, or Hexagons. After Hexagons, the numbers of sides increase until one is given the honorable title of “Polygonal”, or many-sided.

When the number of one’s sides become so high, and the sides themselves each so small, that the figure can’t be told apart from a circle, he becomes part of the Circular, or Priestly order. There is no class higher than that of the Circles.

It is a Law of Nature with us that a male child will have one more side than his father, so that each generation rises in the ranks of nobility, as a rule.

This means that a Square (4 sides) will have Pentagonal sons (5 sides), and his grandsons will be Hexagons (6 sides), and his great-grandsons will be Septagons (7 sides), his great-great-grandsons Octogons (8 sides) and so on and so forth.

But this rule doesn’t always apply to the Tradesmen, the Equillateral Triangles, and it’s even less common in the Isosceles Soldiers and Workers. But to be fair, they can hardly even be described as human beings, since their sides aren’t all of equal length.

Because they’re subhuman, this Law of Nature doesn’t work on them, and most of the time, the son of an Isosceles is still an Isosceles.

But things aren’t entirely hopeless! Your children’s position in society can always get better, even if you’re one of the most degraded of Isosceles, through hard work, dedication, and many successful military campaigns!

Often, when Workers and Soldiers prove themselves to be smarter than their peers, when they are measured again, the measurements will show that their third side, or base, has grown, while their two longer sides have shrunk, producing a larger angle at the vertex!

The Priests then graciously intercede, arranging the marriage of the lucky Isosceles to a suitable Straight Line, and the sons born to these arranged marriages are almost always born with larger angles than their fathers, much closer to being an Equal-Sided Triangle than others who married for love.

Very, very, very rarely, a true, certifiable Equal-Sided Triangle is born to Isosceles parents.

(And a critic might ask, “But why does he need to be certified? When he eventually gives birth to a Square son, isn’t that a certificate from Nature herself, proving that he’s truly Equal-Sided?” And I tell you that no self-respecting Lady would ever consent to marry an uncertified Triangle.

Square sons are sometimes born to slightly Irregular Triangles, which would seem like cause for celebration, but almost every time, the Triangle’s Irregularity is passed down to his grandson, who either fails to attain the rank of Pentagon by being born a Square, or relapses entirely by being born a Triangle.)

If an Equilateral Triangle has any hope of being born to Isosceles parents, there must be a careful plan of arranged marriages for several generations, as well as strict self-control and frugality. Each generation needs to become smarter than their parents, and make sure their children are smarter than they are, for many generations.

When a True Equillateral Triangle is born to Isosceles parents, the birth is celebrated for many furlongs around.

The Sanitary and Social board performs a strict examination of the newborn, and, if he is certified as Regular, he is, with all due seriousness, allowed into the class of Equilaterals.

He is then immediately take away from his proud, sorrowing parents, and adopted by an Equilateral who has no children of his own, who has to promise never to let his adopted child go to the area where he was born, or even look at his biological parents, in case he mimics them without realizing it, and reverts to a degraded Isosceles.

The rare birth of an Equilateral from the masses of serfs is not only welcomed by the serfs themselves, as proof that their hope of their children climbing the social ladder isn’t misplaced, and gives them something to be temporarily happy about in their otherwise miserable lives, like a sudden, surprise holiday, but also by the Aristocracy.

The Higher Classes know that their own social status won’t be changed by these births, because it’s really the exact opposite – these births help maintain their power.

If the acute-angled rabble had been completely, absolutely without hope and ambition, it would have created many leaders to start their rebellious phases, and, with their superior numbers and strength, they would have been too much for even the wisdom of the Circles to handle.

But Nature is even wiser, and has decided that, as the working-classes get smarter, they also get weaker, as their acute angle, which makes them so dangerous and stupid, grows wider, getting closer to the comparatively harmless angle of an Equilateral Triangle.

In the most brutal, acute, and threatening of the Isosceles – creatures almost on the same level of Women with their lack of angle and intelligence – their ability to kill is matched by their inability to plan how to do so efficiently.

And in return, when their descendants have finally become smart enough to plan what would be devastating acts of terrorism, they’re no longer physically capable of carrying them out.

How admirable is this Law of Compensation! It just goes to show how natural, and -- dare I say, divinely inspired? -- the structure of our society is here in Flatland! It is as if Nature herself is helping our great Polygons and Circles to kill rebellion in the cradle!

Art, too, comes to the aid of Law and Order. Our doctors can usually figure out a way – through artificial compression or expansion of the figure – to make the more intelligent leaders of any given Isosceles rebellion become Equilaterals, allowing them to immediately join the privileged higher classes.

Many more of these rebel leaders, though, are too far below the standard for intelligence to be allowed the surgery, but, bewitched by the promises of becoming Regular through similar treatment, they are tricked into entering the State Hospitals, which they will never be allowed to leave. They spend the rest of their lives honorably confined to these hospitals.

Only a few of the more obstinate, foolish, or highly Irregular of the rebel leaders are actually put to death.

And then the wretched rabble of the Isosceles, without plan, without leadership, are either killed without resistance by the small group of Isosceles assassins the Chief Circle pays in case of emergencies such as this, or, more often, thanks to the suspicions and in-fighting stirred up by the Circular party, they begin attacking and killing eachother, until none of them are left alive.

There are a hundred and twenty rebellions recorded in our state records, and a further two hundred and thirty-five minor outbreaks.

All of them have ended as I have described above.

Section 04. Concerning the Women

Now that you understand how dangerous our highly-pointed Isosceles Triangles are, you can understand how much more dangerous our Women are. Because if an Isosceles is a wedge, a Woman is a needle, made up of, you might say, nothing but points, at least at the two ends.

Add to this sharpness a Woman’s ability to make herself practically invisible at will, and you’ll see that the Females of Flatland are not the kind of creatures you want to mess with.

But maybe some of my younger Readers are confused, and thinking, “But how can a Woman in Flatland make herself invisible?” I think the answer is pretty obvious, but it won’t take very long to explain, so even those who aren’t paying full attention will understand.

Place a needle, or another long, thin object, like a pencil, on a table. Then, lowering yourself until your eye is level with the surface of the table, look at your line from the side, and you'll see its whole length. But if you turn it so that you are looking straight at it from the front or back, you see nothing but a small point.

This is what happens with our Women. When her side it towards us, we see her as a straight line. When her front or “head” in you terms, the part, containing her eye or mouth (which for us, is the same organ) is pointed at us, we see a bright point.

But when her back is pointed towards us, we see a dim light, so dim it's almost as dark as an inanimate object. And this is how a Woman, by simply turning her back on you, can become practically invisible.

I need to make it clear to you just how dangerous our Women are. If running into an Equilateral Triangle, whose angle is 60°, will give you a painful gash, then running into an Officer of the military class will give you a serious wound. If a mere accidental bump from the vertex of a Private Soldier, one of the lowest of the Isosceles, is life threatening, then what can you expect from running into a Woman, except complete and total annihilation?

And when a Woman is almost invisible like this, imagine how difficult it is, even for the most caution, to avoid running into them!

Many laws have been put into place in the different countries of Flatland in order to lessen this danger, and in the Southern and less temperate climates where the force of the Southern pull, or gravity, is greater, where human beings are more likely to have sudden and involuntary movements from constantly fighting the gravity, the laws regarding Women are, naturally, much stricter and harsher.

But a general view of the regulations for Women can be understood from the following summary:

1. Every house will have one entrance on the Eastern side, to be used only by Females, and all Females must enter “in a becoming and respectful manner”. Females must never use the Men’s or Western door. [Note: When I was in Spaceland, I was told (in a conversation not transcribed in this book, to save my reader’s valuable time) that some of your Priestly institutions have a similar policy, with a separate entrance for the working poor (`Spectator', Sept. 1884, p. 1255) so that they can also "approach in a becoming and respectful manner."]

2. No Female shall walk in any public place without contually keeping up her Peace-cry, under penalty of death.

3. Any Female diagnosed with St. Vitus’s Dance ((A neurological disorder causing sudden, involuntary movements after an illness, usually affecting children)), seizures, a chronic cold accompanied by violent sneezing, or any other disease that causes involuntary movements, shall be destroyed immediately upon diagnosis.

In some countries, there is another Law that forbids Females, under penalty of death, from walking or standing in public spaces without constantly moving their backs from side to side, so that people behind them can see them better.

Other countries will sometimes demand that any Woman in public should be followed by one of her male family members or servants, and still others ban Women from public entirely, confining them to their homes except during religious festivals.

But our wisest of Circles and Politicians have found that having so many restrictions on Women not only leads to the weakening of our society overall, but also to an extremely high number of domestic murders, to the point where the number of Men killed as a result far outnumbers the accidents that the Law was attempting to avoid in the first place.

Because when the temper of a Woman is stoked by being confined to her home, or having to deal with harsh, inconvenient restrictions when in public, they are likely to unleash their fury upon their husbands and children or siblings, and several times, in countries with highly restrictive laws, the entire Male population of a town has sometimes been wiped out in just a few hours as the Females simultaneously and violently succumb to their wrath.

And this is why the first three laws I’ve outlined here are good enough on their own for the better-run countries such as the one I belong to, and can be used as a rough summary of the Female Code.

After all, it’s not the Law itself that protects us so much, as the instinct for self-preservation in the Women themselves. It I true that they can inflict instantant death by simply moving backwards, but it is also true that unless they can immediately remove their stabbing-end, their own fragile bodies can easily be shattered by the death throes of their victim, and be killed along with them.

The power of Fashion is also on our side. I said above that in some less civilized countries, Females are not allowed in public without swaying her back from side to side, but in my country, our high-ranking and ambitious ladies have been doing this of their own free will since as far back as anyone can remember. The idea that a law would have to be passed to guarantee this behavior, (which should be instinctive in ladies of high breeding), is extremely embarrassing.

The rhythmical and, if I may so say, well-modulated undulation of the back in our ladies married to Circles is envied by the wives of Equilaterals, who, trying their best, can only create a regular twitch like the ticking of a clock.

But even that simple ticking is admired by the wife of the ambitious Isosceles, who wishes to raise her family’s status, so that she becomes the first in all her family line to practice the art.

So you see, in every family worth considering, “back motion” is as old and ingrained as time itself, and the lucky Male members of these families enjoy their immunity from invisible attacks.

But don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying our Women don’t care about their families. But, unfortunately, their emotions in the moment overpower their other feelings, driving out every other thought until their anger passes. This, of course, is the result of their unfortunate configuration as Straight Lines.

They have no angle to speak of, and thus are mentally and physically inferior to even the very lowest of the Isosceles. They are, as a result of this lack of angle, completely devoid of brain-power, and are completely incapable of self-reflection, judgment, or planning, and barely any memory at all.

This is why, when they are in a state of fury, they have no idea what they’re doing, or who they’re doing it to. They will not recognize their husband or even their children.

I’ve actually heard of a legal case where a Woman murdered everyone in her whole household, but then half an hour later, when she’d calmed down and the fragmented bodies had been swept away by Police, asked where her husband and children were. She didn’t remember a thing.

So it should be obvious that you shouldn’t annoy a Woman if she’s able to turn around and stab you. But when you have them in their apartments – which are built so narrowly specifically to prevent them from turning and attacking – you can say or do whatever you want, because they’re incapable of reacting in any way except verbal, and in a few minutes, they won’t even remember whatever it is you’ve said or done that they’re threatening to kill you for, nor will they remember the hasty promises you’ve made (with no intention of keeping) to get them to calm down.

In general, we get along pretty well with our Women, except in the lower classes of the Isosceles military. These Isosceles, lacking in angle, also lack in tact and discretion, and many times this has caused indescribable disasters.

These Isosceles rely too much on their sharp points as weapons instead of the shield of common sense and knowing how to react to different problems, so these reckless creatures often fail to properly follow the safety code for building Women’s apartments, or irritate their wives by insulting them when out in public, and then to make things worse, refuse to immediately apologize.

And, being simple creatures who are too fond of the literal truth, these Isosceles refuse to make the kinds of lavish, impossible promises that Circles readily deploy to pacify the would-be murderess.

The result of this lack of careful handing is massacre, but you shouldn’t see it as a tragedy – on the contrary, these outbreaks eliminate the more brutal and troublesome of the Isosceles, and many of our Circles view the destructiveness of the Thinner Sex as one of many favors Providence has given us for naturally suppressing the population of Isosceles, and helping to nip Revolution in the bud.

But even within the families that most strictly follow the Female Code, even with our closest-to-true circles Circular families, I have to admit, our idea of “domestic bliss” isn’t as full of affection and comfort as it is with you in Spaceland.

There is peace, as much as the absence of slaughter can be called peace, but it is impossible for there to be shared interests or hobbies between Man and Wife, with the Man’s safety paid for in the loss of true comfort.

Since time immemorial, the women of our Circular and Polygonal houses have had the habit – which has now become a kind of instinct – of always keeping their eyes and mouths pointed towards their husband and his male friends.

If a lady in a high-ranking family turned her back on her husband, it would be seen as an omen of disaster involving a grevious loss of STATUS.

But, as I will soon explain, this custom, while insuring safety, is not without its problems.

In the house of the Isosceles Working Man, or the Equilateral Tradesman, where the wife is allowed to turn her back on her husband while performing her household duties, there are moments of peace, where the wife is neither seen nor heard, except the humming sound of her ever-present Peace-cry.

But in the homes of the upper classes, these moments of peace are few and far between. There, the loud and bright face are always directed at the Master of the household, and not even the never-changing light is more persistent than the never-ending feminine chatter.

The diplomatic skill required to avoid a Woman’s sting has no power against a Woman’s mouth, and, since the wife has absolutely nothing meaningful to say, and no intelligence or conscience there to prevent her from speaking anyway, more than a few cynics have been quoted with saying they prefer the death-dealing but mercifully silent sting of a woman’s back side to the obnoxious volume of her mouth.

To my readers in Spaceland, the condition of our Women may seem truly miserable, and indeed it is, without question. A Male of even the lowest type of Isosceles can look forward to some improvement of his angle through hard work and dedication, and eventually the increased rank of his entire degrades caste, but no Woman can ever hope for such things for her own sex.

“Once a Woman, always a Woman” is a Decree of Nature; and the very Laws of Evolution seem to stack misfortunes against her.

But at least we can admire the wise arrangement Evolution and Nature have given us, so that even though the Women have to be miserable for our great society to exist, at least they’ll soon forget it.

Section 05. Of our Methods of Recognizing one another

You, who are blessed with the ability to perceive shading as well as light, whose people are gifted with not one, but two eyes, who are understand perspective, who get to enjoy all shades of colour without thinking about it, you who can actually SEE an angle, and see the complete circumference of a circle from your happy, elevated position in the Third Dimension without a single speck of effort—How can I make you understand how difficult it is for us in Flatland to recognize eachother?

Remember what I already explained to you earlier. All thing in Flatland, alive or inanimate, no matter what their shape, appear to be, TO OUR VIEW, the same, or nearly the same, as a Straight Line. So then how can one shape be told from another, when all shapes look the same?

The answer is threefold.

The first way of recognizing different shapes is the sense of hearing, which with us is much more highly developed than with you in Spaceland, and not only lets us recognize the voices of our friends, but even to tell which class someone belongs, at least as far as the three lower classes – the Equilateral, Square, and Pentagon – go. As for the Isosceles, well, there’s no telling.

As we rise in social standing it becomes harder and harder to tell people’s classes apart by their voice, partly because the higher classes all speak in similar ways, and partly because using someone accent to judge their class is a poor man’s skill that is looked down upon by the Aristocracy.

And if there’s any danger of offending someone more important than us, we can’t trust this skill, because among the lowest classes, the vocal organs are more strongly developed, so that an Isosceles can easily fake the accent of a Polygon, and, with some training, even a Circle himself. So a second method is more commonly used.

Feeling is, among our Women and lower classes – I’ll explain shortly about our higher classes – the main test of recognition at all times between strangers, and also when the question is not to the individual’s identity, but his class.

As a result, a “formal introduction” in Spaceland’s higher classes is the equivalent for “feeling” with us.

“Permit me to ask you to feel and be felt by my friend Mr. So-and-so”, is still the go-to phrase for our more old-fashioned gentlemen who live in the countryside far from towns.

But in the towns, and among businessmen, the words “be felt by” are cut out, and the sentence is shortened to, “Let me ask you to feel Mr. So-and-so”, and it is just assumed that the “feeling” will go both ways.

Among our younger, more modern, and dashing young gentlemen, who refuse to expend extra effort than necessary, and don’t care at all about protecting the sanctity of their language, the phrase is shortened even more, using the words “to feel” as a shortcut for “to recommend for the purpose of feeling and being felt”.

At the time this book was written, this “slang” of the now allows such disgraceful barbarism as the sentence, “Mr. Smith, permit me to feel Mr. Jones”, to exist.

But please, my Readers, don’t assume that “feeling” for us is as awkward and tedious as it would for you, or that we have to go all the way around the person, feeling all his sides, before we can figure out what class he belongs to.

Years of practice and training, started in school and continued in daily life, allows us to immediately tell apart the angles of an Equal-sided Triangle, Square, or Pentagon at a single touch. And I don’t think I need to explain how the brainless vertex of an acute-angled Isosceles is obvious even to the dullest touch.

That is why, as a general rule, we don’t need to feel more than a single angle of an individual, and this by itself can tell us the class this person belongs to, unless he belongs to one of the higher sections of the nobility, where things become much more difficult.

Even a Master of Arts from our University of Wentbridge has gotten a ten-sided and twelve-sided Polygon confused, and no Doctor of Science, in or out of that university who would pretend to know, without hesitation, the difference between a twenty-sided and a twenty-four sided member of the Aristocracy.

The Readers who have been paying attention should remember from what I said earlier about our Women’s Code should quickly understand that the process of feeling requires serious caution and self-control, otherwise the angles of the one being felt might seriously injure the feeler.

It is essential for the safety of the Feeler that the Felt should stand completely still. A twitch, fidgeting, and yes, even something as simple as a violent sneeze, can prove fatal, and have ended, before they could begin, many promising friendships.

This is especially true with the lower classes of Isosceles. Their eyes are positioned so far from their sharp points that they can barely see what’s happening on their most dangerous end. These Triangles are also literally insensitive, and can barely feel the much more refined touch of a highly organized Polygon. So no one can really be surprised if a sudden toss of the head deprives the State of a valuable life!

I’ve heard that my honorable Grandfather – (one of the least Irregular of his unhappy Isosceles class, who obtained, shortly before his death, four out of seven votes from the Sanitary and Social Board to let him be certified a an Equal-Sided Triangle) –often bemoaned, with a tear in his venerable eye, an accident of the kind I’ve just described to you, which happened to his great-great-great-Grandfather, a respectable Working Man with an angle, or brain, of 59 degrees 30 minutes.

According to this story, my unfortunate great-great-great-great-great grandfather, who was suffering from rheumatism, and while being felt by a Polygon, with one sudden, unintentional movement, accidentally stabbed the Great Man in a horrific cut straight through the diagonal.

Half because of his long suffering in prison, and half because of the moral shock that swept through all of my ancestor’s relatives, our family’s angle was thrown back by a degree and a half, cutting off their ascension to higher standing.

This resulted in the next generation of the family brain being measured at only 58 degrees, and it wasn’t until five whole generations passed that the lost ground was recovered, and the full 60 degrees obtained, finally lifting us out of the class of Isosceles. And to think this whole series of calamities all came from one little accident in the process of Feeling.

And I think at this point I can hear some of my readers exclaiming, “How can you Flatlanders know anything about angles, degrees, or minutes? We can see an angle from Spaceland, because we can see two straight lines connecting to form an angle, but you Flatlanders can only ever see one line, or just a few pieces of different lines in a bigger line – how can you hope to measure any angle, let alone measure angles of different sizes?”

My answer is that while we can’t see angles, we can infer them, and do so with great accuracy. Our sense of touch, trained through constant use, lets us tell angles apart far more accurately than you can with the naked eye. We have many natural advantages that shouldn’t be forgotten.

It is a Law of Nature that the brain of the Isosceles class begins at half a degree of angle, or thirty minutes, and if it increases, it will do so by half a degree for every generation, until the goal of 60 degrees is reached, when the newest, freeman generation leaves behind the condition of serfdom, and joins the class of the Regulars.

This means that Nature herself gives us the tools we need, in the form of an ascending scale, or alphabet, of angles for every half a degree, all the way to 60 degrees, giving us all the examples we need, specimens of which are placed in every Elementary School throughout the land.

Due to occasional slip-backs like the kind my family suffered, as well as frequent moral and intellectual stagnation, not to mention the extraordinary ability of the Criminal and Vagabond Classes to breed, there is always a vast pool of individuals with an angle of half a degree or a single degree, and a fair abundance of Specimens up to 10 degrees. These are absolutely destitute of civic rights; and many of them are too stupid to even be useful in warfare, so they are given from the State and to the schools, to be used for education.

Shackled so tightly they cannot move in any way, to remove all possibility of danger, they are placed in our kindergarten classrooms, and and used by the Board of Education to teach the young Equilateral Triangles that have been adopted away from their biological parents the proper tact and intelligence that the wretched Isosceles who produced them are completely lacking in.

In some States, these chained Specimens are sometimes given food and water, and as a result, are allowed to suffer living for several years; but in better-run areas, we know that the educational interests for the children are better served with saving the food, and simply getting new Specimens every month – which is about how long a member of the Criminal Class can last without food.

The cheaper schools which choose to prolong the life of the Specimen loses in the long term by the cost of the food, and partly in the lessened accuracy of the Specimen’s angles, which, after a few weeks of constant “feeling”, become impaired.

And let’s not forget, as we think of the advantages of the more expensive system of constantly replacing Specimens, that it helps, however slightly, to lower the numbers of the Isosceles population, a goal that every statesman in Flatland constantly keeps in sight.

This is why I think (though I do understand that many of our popularly elected School Boards prefer the cheap system) that the more expensive system is, in this case, the best use of the money.

But I shouldn’t let the politics of School Boards distract me from my real subject. I’ve said enough, I hope, to show that Recognition by Feeling isn’t as tedious or confusing process as you might assume, and it is also obviously more trustworthy than Recognition by Hearing.

But many object that this method can be dangerous. For this reason, many in the Middle and Lower classes, and almost all of those in the Polygonal or Circular orders, prefer a third method of Recognition, which I will explain to you in the next section below.

Section 06. Of Recognition by Sight

I am about to seem very inconsistent. In the previous sections I’ve told you that all things in Flatland appear to us to be nothing but a straight line; and it was implied that this makes it impossible to tell people apart by looking at them.

But now I will be explaining to my Spaceland critics how we Flatlanders do recognize one another by our sense of sight.

If you, the Reader, will take the time to revisit the paragraph where you think I claimed that Recognition by Feeling is universal, you will that I specified “among the lower classes”. Only among the higher classes in our civilized societies is Sight Recognition practiced.

That this skill can exist anywhere, for any class, is the result of the Fog that covers the land for most of the year in all parts of Flatland except in deserts. What Spacelanders see as a depressing, evil smog that blots out the landscape and makes you cold and sick, is celebrated by us as a blessing second only to air itself, and is recognized as the Nurse of art and the Parent of science.

But I’ll try to stop singing praise for this beneficent Element so that I can explain to you what I mean.

If Fog didn’t exist, all lines would appear just as sharp and clear as every other line, and this is actually the case in those unhappy desert countries where the atmosphere is perfectly dry and transparent.

But wherever Fog can be found, objects that are at a distance of, for example, three feet, are noticeably dimmer than those at a distance of two feet and eleven inches. As a result, by careful, constant observation, we are able to understand, with very high accuracy, the shape of the object we are looking at.

A specific example will allow me to make my meaning clearer to you than many more paragraphs of explanation.

Imagine that I see two strangers approaching me, whose rank I want to learn. Let’s say that they are a Merchant, and a Physician, or in other words, an Equilateral Triangle, and a Pentagon – so how do I tell them apart?

Here is a diagram to illustrate:

It will immediately be obvious to every child in Spaceland who knows anything about Geometry that if I am facing these two men so that I am looking directly at their front point (A), my view, obviously, lies perfectly between the two points on either side of that (CA, AB), so that both points appear to be the same size.

Now when I look at the Equilateral Merchant, what will I see? I will see a straight line (in reality made up of three points), with the center of the line (which is really point A) being very bright (Because point A is closest to me).

The two seeming-ends of the line, though, will be much darker, with a very sudden shift from the white of the center to almost black. This is because the points (B and c) that make up the ends of this seeming-line are much further away from me, with more Fog covering them.

On the other hand, the line that represents the Pentagon Physician with shift from white to a lighter grey rather than almost black, because the points that make up the ends of the line are not as far away from me than they were on the Triangle.

[Note from the 2023 editor: To simplify further: The closer the point is to you, the brighter it is. The further away, the darker it is. Remember this, and you’ll be fine.]

The Reader will probably understand from this example how -- after a very long course of training aided by constant practical experience – allow those of us who are well-educated to accurately tell strangers apart when it comes to the Equilateral and Isosceles classes by our sense of sight.

If my Spaceland friends have grasped this idea enough that you’re not immediately rejecting it as impossible, I’ll consider my job done in this matter. If I tried to give you any more details, I’d only confuse you hopelessly.

But for the sake of the young and inexperienced, who might assume, from the two examples I gave above of how I would recognize my Father and one of my Sons, that Recognition by Sight is easy to learn, and I feel the need to point out that, in reality, the problems posed by Sight Recognition are much more subtle and complex than my simple diagram can convey to those in Spaceland.

For example, if my Father, the Equilateral Triangle pictured above, were to approach me with one of his sides instead of his angle, then, until I’ve asked him to rotate, or until I move around him to another angle, I cannot be certain whether I am looking at my Father, the Equilateral Triangle, or a Straight Line, in other words, a Woman.

Then, when I am with one of my two Hexagonal Grandsons, looking at one of his sides, it will be clear, I hope, from the diagram below, that I will see a straight line with a large center of brightness (made up by the points A and B), with two small darker sections above and below, which quickly fade away into dimness.

But I need to resist the temptation to keep explaining about these topics.

Even the best mathematician in Spaceland should believe me when I tell you that when you are at a ball or a convention, moving around the room and other people, trying to recognize and keep track of the many high-ranking Polygons around you is no easy task.

This is why we value our expert mathematicians – Professors of both Static and Kinetic Geometry, from the University of Wentbridge -- so highly. They are the ones who teach the elites of the states the complex art of Sigh Recognition.

It is only a few of the most promising heirs of our most noble and wealthy houses who can afford the time and money necessary for mastering this noble and valuable Art.

If I, a Mathematician of fair skill, and the Grandfather of two very promising and perfectly regular Hexagons, found myself in the middle of a crowd of rotating Polygons of the higher classes, even I sometimes find myself unsure!

And of course, to a common Tradesman Equilateral or Serf Isosceles, such a sight must be as bewildering and meaningless as it would be to you, my dear Reader, if you were suddenly transported to our country.

In a crowd like this, the only thing you would see, wherever you look, is nothing but a Line that seems to be straight, but with different parts in constantly changing light or darkness.

Even if you had graduated from your third year in the University’s classes for Pentagons and Hexagons, and had memorized the theory of the subject, you would quickly find yourself realizing that it will take many years of practical experience before you could confidently move through a high-society crowd without bumping into your betters.

It is impolite in the extreme to ask to “feel” such superior nobles, and it is without a doubt, due to their superior culture and breeding, that these fashionable crowds know everything of your shape and movements, while you, still inexperienced, know next to nothing about theirs.

In other words, the only way to belong truly in Polygonal society is to be a Polygon yourself. It’s a painful lesson I have had to learn the hard way.

It is astonishing how much the Art (I like call it an instinct) of Sight Recognition is honed simply by constant practice, while avoiding the custom of “Feeling”.

[Note from the 2023 editor: I apologize in advance for the next sentence you are going to read after this interruption is done.

The author here, as you may be able to guess soon enough, thinks he knows more than he does.

I will state now, for the record, that his idea of how Deaf and mute people learn to speak is completely and blatantly false, a myth long since thrown away, but I will still transcribe his words here for the sake of posterity, and to better help you understand his mindset.

Let me make it absolutely clear that denying Deaf and mute children access to language of sign language or Augmentive and Alternative Communication devices (AAC), and forcing them to lipread or spend years learning to speak perfectly aloud, does not help them learn to communicate better, the only thing it accomplishes is isolating and punishing them and delaying their ability to talk to you.

Let them learn sign language (and learn it alongside them!). Get them an AAC device. Stop trying to fit a square through a circular hole! It is a myth that sign language stops Deaf and mute people from speaking – just because you didn’t bother to learn doesn’t mean they’re not talking!

Interruption over now. You may continue.]

Just as with you, the deaf and mute, if allowed to gesticulate and to use sign language, will never acquire the more difficult, but far more valuable art of speech and lip-reading, so it is with us as regards "Seeing" and "Feeling".

None who in early life resort to "Feeling" will ever learn "Seeing" in perfection.

This is why “Feeling” is either discouraged or forbidden completely among the families of our Higher Classes.

The children of High-Class Polygons are not sent to the common Public Elementary schools where Feeling is taught. Instead, they are sent to private schools with very strict entrance requirements. At these schools, to “feel” is seen as a serious problem, and is punished with Suspension for the first offence, and complete Expulsion for the second.

But the lower classes think of Sight Recognition as an unattainable luxury. The common Equilateral Tradesman can’t afford to send even just one of his sons away to spend an entire third of his life studying abstract ideas.

So the children of the poor are allowed “feel” as soon as they begin moving, and in doing so become practiced at moving and interacting with others very quickly, which makes them seem, to the untrained eye, much better developed than the comparatively listless, unmoving attitude of young nobles Polygons of the same age.

But don’t let this disparity fool you – once the young Polygons have finally completed their course at the University, and are ready to go out into the world to gain more experience, a change sweeps over them so that they seem to be born for a second time. In all the skills of art, science, and sociability, they then rapidly catch up to and out-compete their Triangular competitors with ease.

It is rare for any of the Polygonal Class to fail their Final Test at the University, but it does happen, promising a life of pitiable misery to these unsuccessful nobles.

Cast out by other Polygons, they can make no friends among the common classes either.

They cannot function in Polygonal society because of their lack of Sight Recognition, but also have no idea how to navigate by Feel, as they’ve been forbidden and shamed out of learning it their whole lives.

There are no jobs they can perform, either professional or common, and though most States do not actually ban them from getting married, it is still difficult for them to find any willing partners, since history has shown us that the children of such marriages will be, at best similarly unfit for the noble life, or, at worst, blatantly Irregular.

This trash of the Nobility is where many of the leaders of the various Tumults and Seditions of the past centuries have risen. So many, in fact, that an increasing number of our progressive Statesmen have decided that either imprisoning these wretched outcasts for life, or at least mercy killing them, would make life easier for everyone.

But I am once again becoming distracted by the subject of Irregularity, which is actually so important for you to understand that it deserves its own separate section.

Section 07. Concerning Irregular Figures

Since the start of this book I have been assuming that my Readers in Spaceland were already aware of something that I of course take for granted. I should have made sure to explain to you the most basic, fundamental law of our society, upon which everything else is built:

Every human being in Flatland is a Regular Figure. Which means that a Woman is not simply a line, she is also a Straight Line. An Isosceles Workman or Soldier must have two of his sides equal (being an Isosceles, he is of course defined by his third side being irregular). A Tradesman must have his three sides equal. Lawyers, (the group which I, your humble narrator and guide, am apart of), must have four equal sides, and in the higher Polygon class, all sides must be, generally, equal.

The size of these equal sides of course depends on how old this person is. A Female at birth is about an inch long [around 2.5 centimeters], and a tall adult Woman might be more than 12 inches [around 30.5 centimeters] long.

As for the Males of every class, as adults, the length of all their sides, when added together, measures somewhere around two feet, give or take. [around 61 centimeters].

But it is not the length of our sides that is important. I’m talking about the Equality of the sides, and it doesn’t take a stretch of the imagination to see why the whole foundation of civilization in Flatland rests upon the fundamental fact that Nature wills all Figures to have their sides equal.

If our sides were unequal our angles might be unequal.

Instead of simply being able to judge a single angle by feel or by sight, you’d have to figure out the measurement of every single angle by time-consuming Feeling.

Life is too short for such mind-numbing groping. The whole science and art of Sight Recognition would be killed instantly. Feeling, as much as it can be called an art, would perish soon after.

Casual interaction would become deathly dangerous or outright impossible; no one would ever be able to interact with any stranger or make even the most basic social arrangements without being in danger. In a word, civilization would collapse into barbarism.

Am I going to fast for my Readers to understand how I’ve come to these obvious conclusions? Surely if you think for a moment, and imagine a single instance from our every day life, you’ll be convinced that every part of our society relies on Regularity, or Equality of Angles.

For example, say you meet two or three Tradesmen in the street. You know they are Tradesmen by a single glance: a seemingly straight line, with a bright point in the center, rapidly growing darker towards either end. You ask them to step into your house for lunch while you discuss business.

This is something you can do, right now, without any hesitation, because everyone knows how much space, give or take an inch or two, is taken up by an adult Triangle.

But imagine if one of these Tradesman dragged behind his regular and respectable angle, not just a straight line, but a parallelogram of twelve or thirteen inches on the diagonal. Now what are you supposed to do with a monster like that stuck in your door?

But I’m insulting the intelligence of my Readers by explaining things that are clear to anyone who lives in Spaceland. Obviously the measurement of a single angle wouldn’t help us interact with one another under such circumstances – one’s whole life would be hours upon hours of feeling or visually surveying the entire perimeter of everyone you meet.

It’s already hard enough to avoid running into others in a crowd, even for the trained wisdom of a well-educated Square! But if Regularity flew out the window, and you couldn’t assume anyone around you had logical angles, everything would devolve to chaos and confusion. The smallest panic would cause serious injuries, or -- if there happened to be any Women or Soldiers in the crowd -- considerable loss of life.

This is why Expediency teams up with Nature in stamping the seal of it’s approval on Regularity of conformation, and the Law, of course, seconds their efforts.

To us, “Irregularity of Figure” means a combination of both inherent moral failure and purposeful criminality, and is treated accordingly.

We do, of course, have some distributors of writings that claim there is no inherent connection between geometrical and moral Irregularity.

“The Irregular”, they say, “is, from the moment he’s born, rejected by his parents, bullied by his brothers and sisters, neglected by his nurses, scorned and suspected by society, and excluded from all forms of trust, responsibility, and fulfilling jobs.

“His every movement is openly surveiled by the police until he comes of age, and presents himself for inspection. Then, he is either destroyed if he is found to be Irregular past the set margin of deviation, or imprisoned in a Government Facility as a desk worker of the seventh class.

“Barred from marriage, forced to serve at a boring job for practically no pay, and with no other choice but to live and eat entirely at this same office, unable even to take a vacation except without a guard escorting him like the prisoner that he is – then is it any wonder that human nature, no matter how pure or benevolent it started out when he was born, becomes bitter and corrupted with a lifetime of this kind of treatment?”

None of this very plausible reasoning convinces me, nor has it convinced the wisest of our Statesmen, that our ancestors made a mistake when they set down the law that mandated Irregularity as incompatible with the safety of the State.

I have no doubt that the life of an Irregular is hard, but the best interests of the rest of society requires that it be hard.

If a man with a triangular front and polygonal back were allowed to exist, and to father even more Irregular children and grandchildren, what would become of the arts of life? Are the houses and doors and churches all supposed to be changed to accommodate such monsters? Are the ticket-sellers supposed to measure every man’s perimete before they let him into a theater, or to take his place in a lecture hall?

Is an Irregular supposed to be exempt from military service? And if not, how is he going to be stopped from killing his comrades by accident?

And just think of the horrible crimes and lies these creatures must be tempted to commit! It’d be so easy for him to enter a shop with his polygonal front forward, and order whatever he likes, on promise of future payment, from a too-trusting salesman!

Let the falsely claimed “Philanthropists” beg all they like for the abolishment of the Irregular Penal Laws, they won’t convince me, because I, for one, have never known an Irregular who wasn’t what Natuer clearly intended him to be – a hypocrite, a misanthrope, and, as far as he can succeed, a perpetrator of all kinds of mischief.

Not that I would (at the moment) recommend the extreme measures adopted by some States, where any infant whose angle deviates by half a degree from the expected angularity is summarily destroyed at birth.

Some of our best men, men of real genius, suffered, in their early childhood, through deviations as great as--or even greater than-- forty-five minutes. The loss of their precious lives would have been an irreparable injury to the State.

We have also achieved many victories in the art of healing, allowing most Irregularities to be either partly, or entirely, cured, through the use of medical compressions, extensions, fuses, and more.

I would say there is no point at which we should look at a newborn and decide it is incurably Irregular – but, if the Irregularities cannot be cured before the body begins to form its permenant shape, and the Medical Board has declared that nothing can be done to salvage it, then I would suggest that the Irregular offpring be painlessly euthanized.

Section 08. Of the Ancient Practice of Painting

If my Readers have been paying attention to this story so far, you may have realized that life in Flatland can be a little boring.

Obviously, I’m not saying there aren’t the wars, scandals, uphevals and drama that are supposed to make History interesting, or that we don’t enjoy our lives, as strange as they may seem to you in Spaceland. There is something indescribably invigorating about the need for constant calculating of angles, and the usually-instant gratification of knowing you’ve done so correctly.

I mean from the aesthetic, artistic point of view, that Flatland is, very literally, dull.

It would be difficult for it not to be, when all our lives, ideas, hopes, dreams, even our artistic masterpeices of all kinds, are nothing but a straight line, with no variation at all except for small differences of brightness and shadow.

It wasn’t always like this.

If our Tradition can be trusted, then we know that long ago, Colour allowed our ancestors to live in a splendor we can barely imagine.

Long ago, in the remotest ages of history, it is said that a Pentagon whose name we do not know for sure accidentally invented some simple colours, and a method of painting. It is said that he immediately began decorating his house. Then he painted his slaves, then his Father, his Sons, his Grandsons, and, finally, himself.

The beauty, and convenience, of the results were admired by everyone.

This Pentagon’s most commonly accepted name among historians is ‘Chromatistes’, and wherever he went, turning his colourful frame, he was the center of attention and respect.

No one needed to take the time to “feel” him anymore, and no one confused his front from his back. Every move he made was easily read by those nearby without any effort on their part or the need for calculation. No one bumped into him, or failed to move out of his way. He did not have to waste his breath exclaiming his rank, as we colourless Squares and Pentagons have to today, to get a crowd of ignorant Isosceles to show us our due respect.

The fashion spread like wildfire. Before the week was over, every Square and Triangle in the distinct had copied his example, and only a few of the more conservative Pentagons refused to join in.

After the first month or two, even the twelve-sided Dodecagons had fallen into the trend.

In less than a single year, the habit had spread to all classes in the district except the highest of the Nobility.

Needless to say, it didn’t take long for this trend to make its way out of Chromatistes’ neighborhood and into surrounding regions.

Within two generations, there was no one left colourless except the Women and the Priests.

With these two classes, Nature herself seemed to plant herself as a barrier to protest this infection spreading further.

For the Innovators, as they were called, having multiple sides was almost a requirement for having colour. They would say, “Distinction of sides is intended by Nature to imply distinction of colours”.

These words were popular, flying from neighbor to neighbor, and helped to convert whole towns at a time to the new cultural wave.

But it seemed that this idea could not be applied to Priests and Women. Women, being Straight Lines, have only one side, and thus, in all ways that matter, have No Sides. Women hated to admit this, and were ashamed of it.

On the other hand, Priests, if we are to accept that they are true Circles, and not just very high-ranking Polygons with many small sides, loved to brag and boast that they also had no sides, and were instead being blessed with a perimeter of a single line, or, in other words, a Circumference.

I hope you can see now why these two Classes could not be convinced by the so-called universal truth of “Distinction of Sides implying Distinction of Colour”, when it could not, apparently, be applied to them.

Even after everyone else succumbed to the temptation of self-decoration, the Priests and Women alone were still pure and unpolluted by the touch of paint.

Immoral, vulgar, anarchical, unscientific, there are many names used to describe the ancient days of the Colour Revolt, but, from an aesthetic point of view, those days were the glorious birth of Art in Flatland. A childhood that, unfortunately, was cut short before it could mature to adulthood, or even enjoy its youth.

To live them was to live in a world of endless delight, because living meant seeing, and even the smallest group of friends was a delight to the eyes, and the richly varied colours in a church or theater are said to have, many times, been so distractingly beautiful by the actors and teachers that they forgot their jobs.

But the most beautiful sight was said to have been the unspeakable magnificence of a military performance.

Imagine it: To see twenty thousand black-painted Isosceles bases suddenly spin to reveal the orange and purple of their two sides at their acute point. The Equilateral Triangles tri-coloured in red, white, and blue. The Square artillarymen rapidly rotating to show mauve, ultra-marine, gamboge, and burnt umber, with their vermillion guns.

The dashing and flashing of the five-coloured Pentagons and six-coloured Hexagons racing across the fields with their surgeons, geometricians, and chiefs of staff.

With this fabulous display of colour at military parades, its easy to believe the famous story of a powerful Circle king, who found the sight of his army so beautiful that he at once threw away his royal crown and ceremonial baton, and declared that from that day forward, he was never going to pick up another tool besides the artist’s brush.

The vocabulary alone that they used to express themselves shows how amazingly colourful the times they lived in were. Even the most mundane statements made by the poorest citizens during the Colour Revolt seem to be infused with a richness and creativity that is lacking today.

All of our finest poetry, and even the little bit of rhythm and rhyme that can still be found in our scientific statements of today, we owe to the amazing era of the Colour Revolt.

Section 09. Of the Universal Colour Bill

But while the beauty of colour was thriving, the intellectual Arts were quickly dying out.

No one needed to use Sight Recognition anymore, so they stopped practicing it altogether. Soon, the studies of Geometry, Statics, Kinetics, and other similar subjects became considered pointless as well, and became looked down upon, even at our greatest University!

Not even the inferior Art of Feeling was immune, and stopped being taught at our Elementary Schools.

Then the Isosceles classes, pointing to the fact that the Specimens were no longer needed for teaching, refused to pay up the members from the Criminal class that were owed to the schools, and as a result, their numbers, and their disrespect towards the more Noble classes, increased by the day now that they were no longer subject to the custom that had both thinned their excessive numbers, and removed the most dangerous of them from society.

Year by year, the Soldiers and Workers began to insist more and more often – and with increasing truth to their claim – that there was no real difference between them and the highest ranking Polygons, now that they could deal with all the problems of life just as easily as the nobility by simply using Color Recognition.

And they weren’t happy to just let Sight Recognition naturally die either, they began to actively cause its death by demanding the right to learn it themselves, calling for the law to ban the “monopolization of aristocratic Arts”, and thus ban the exclusive scholarships that allowed the higher, non-Criminal classes to study Sight Recognition, Mathematics, and even Feeling.

It wasn’t long before they began insisting that Color, which was a second Nature, had now destroyed the need for aristocratic distinctions at all, and so this meant that the Law should follow the same path, and legally recognize all classes as absolutely equal and entitled to equal rights.

When it became clear that the higher Orders were undecided and wavering in their convictions, the Revolution pushed even harder, demanding, at last, that all classes, including the Priests and Women, should honor Colour by allowing themselves to be painted.

When it was argued that Priests and Women had no sides, so couldn’t be painted, the Revoluntionists retorted that Nature and Expediency had worked together to make the solution to this problem simple: that the front half of every human being, containing his eye and mouth, should be easy to tell apart from his back half.

They created a Bill which they showed in front of an extraordinary meeting of all the States of Flatland, proposing that all Women should have the front half of her painted red, and her back half painted green. The priests were to be painted the same way – red on the half of their body where their mouth and eye were, and green for the rest.

You can see how devilishly clever this proposal was, and trust me, this plan was not created by any Isosceles – we all know they’re too degraded to understand, let alone think of, such an amazing political move.

No, the creator of this plan was an Irregular Circle who escaped being destroyed in his childhood due to foolish sentimentality, and was now repaying that kindness by bringing down destruction upon his country, and on his countless followers.

One part of this ingenious plan was to win over the Women of all classes into joining with the side of Chromatic Innovation. Because by painting Women with the same two colors as the Priests, the Revolutionaries guarenteed that it would be easy to mistake a woman standing in a certain pose as a Priest, and treated accordingly. This could not fail to appeal to masses of the Female Sex.

But I understand that some of my Readers might not understand how a Woman and a Priest could be confused even under the new Legislation, so let me explain it to you first, it’s very easy to follow.

Imagine that a Woman – a Straight Line – is decorated according to this new Code: her front half, or head, painted red, and her back end painted green.

Imagine you are looking at her from the side, as we would see her in Flatland – obviously, you will see a straight line, half red, half green.

Now imagine a Priest, a diagram of which will be provided below. His mouth is at M, and his front semicircle is colored red, and his hind semicircle green.

As demonstrated in the diagram above, ff you look at this Great Man from the side, you will see a straight line that is half red, and half green.

The line you see may be shorter than a fully-grown Woman would be, and might grow darker at the edges faster than a Woman’s edges would, but the colors alone would be doing most of the work in identifying this person’s Class to you, allowing you to be lazy and ignore those details, making it easy to confuse a Priest with a Woman if you are not paying strict attention.

Below is another diagram to illustrate the similarities.

Now, don’t forget what I have already told you – that Sight Recognition was dying out as an art at the time of the Color Revolt, and

[kpoptarotvibes]

Hello boo 👋🏻 I’ve seen Becky g mentioned on your blog a few times but I was just watching bangtan bomb and miss girl or whatever 🙄totally ignores Park Jimin… like, who are you to ignore any member?! I noticed she always does this and only talks to hoseok. Can you do a reading on what her problem is? Will they get away from her? Peace out 💕💕

This is my very last time answering this. After this, I'm not responding to this anymore. This was my last answer to this and I'm sticking by it.

Copy + Paste

First, because she doesn't have a relationship with the rest of the members. She was asked by Hobi to do the song and he was the only member to keep in contact with her. Not all seven members. She has spent most of her time with Hobi only. So in human nature, you are going to gravitate to someone you know or who you are familiar with. Jimin is not a familiar person who she knows. I mean you get off the internet and live real life and interact with human beings you would know this. And not take it personally or weirdly.

Second, a lot of things are edited. Maybe she did say hello to Jimin but they could have cut that part out. Because this was a bangtan bomb focused on Hobi. We don't really know what actually happened.

Third, I personally think Jimin was making faces in the back because they love to tease Hobi about her. They did it at the AMAs around her. So again I didn't think it was anything weird honestly I didn't even notice him. I was too busy looking at Hobi and Becky interaction. Hell I wasn't even paying attention to Jimin either. LOL!

Yall just want to find a reason to hate any woman they are working with honestly. Cause yall did the same thing to Halsey. No one is obligated to kiss your fav feet. No one is obligated to like and be nice to Jimin Park. No one is obligated to be nice to anyone. When your fav didn't bother even investing in a relationship or friendship with a person either. Let's be more realistic here. Yall are exhausting with this. This right here is why people don't like the Army fandom. And just be silent so they don't have deal with yall immature behavior.

[angelic-guardienne]

Six Signs

For the Frozen Hearts Collab by @kingkatsuki and @bakuroo-writings. I'm so glad I was able to participate in this collab! Be sure to click the link to the collab masterlist and check out all the other awesome creators there!

This is my first official piece for Demon Slayer, so I'm super excited and really looking forward to sharing it with everyone. It was definitely difficult for me to write, a little close to home since I took elements from my own experience with cheating (but it's not a copy-paste lol). Turned out to be kinda therapeutic. I hope y'all enjoy!

Pairing: Sanemi Shinazugawa/Reader

Word count: 2,797 words

Warnings: fem!reader, cheating, Sanemi shoves reader to the ground at one point, definitely some lore errors (forgive me it's been a min since I finished the manga), slight Genya spoilers, Sanemi has both Genya and reader at swordpoint(?) separately.

Genya has been avoiding you.

It’s strange. He’s never avoided you, even when Sanemi is around. He’s always made it a point to greet you if you came across each other, always made it a point to keep you company when Sanemi is away on missions.

What you don’t know is that it’s the first sign.

Sanemi comes home without his haori on. When you ask, he says it got shredded by a demon. It comes from his mouth so easily that you instinctively believe him -- why would he lie? He doesn’t stop you from making him a new one, and he only grunts when you tell him to be more careful.

Except, later on, you realize that it doesn’t make sense that any demon got close enough to even tear his haori, much less shred it. That’s the second sign.

You’re dusting in his office when Sanemi returns from another mission.

“What are you doing in here?” He yells. It startles you enough that you drop the duster and spin around instantly, even though you haven’t done anything wrong. Sanemi is known for his temper, but he’s never gotten this way over you being in his office. He’s never gotten this way about you being anywhere in the estate.

“Cleaning,” you answer hastily, like a small child caught doing something they weren’t supposed to. You weren’t doing anything wrong -- something you’d realize later.

He ushers you out of his office in a rush and tells you that you don’t have to clean in there anymore. That he’s embarrassed he’s letting his wife clean up after his messes. “I’ll take care of it from now on, so don’t worry about it. You won’t even have to step foot in there.”

It’s the third sign, and it’s when the little alarms in the back of your head start to go off. You ignore them. What does Sanemi have to hide?

You start to notice that Sanemi has been watching the skies a lot more than normal. It’s then that you remember that you also haven’t seen his crow around as much as you usually do. Normally, it’s always nearby, just in case you need to contact Sanemi when he’s away. Lately, it’s been absent.

You ask him what exactly he’s looking for since it’s a cloudless day. If his crow was coming, it would only take a glance to find it, but Sanemi is watching the sky intently.

He doesn’t look at you when he starts to speak. “Oyakata-sama has been calling for more missions and more meetings. Ever since that Kamado kid joined the Corps, the demons have been more aggressive.”

You’re skeptical. Even if he has been going on more missions -- at least that has some truth to it -- it’s not like he has to watch for his crow. It literally comes right to him, no matter the time or the weather. It even wakes him up when he’s asleep.

It’s the fourth sign. You start becoming suspicious.

You ask him outright. “Are you seeing someone else?”

He scoffs. “Don’t ask stupid questions. When would I even have time?” He doesn’t even look in your direction when he says it, and it’s not a direct no.

That’s the fifth sign.

You’re watching him train when his crow approaches. You’ve never seen Sanemi stop dead in his tracks in the middle of a breathing technique. He does when he notices his crow.

When he retrieves the letter attached to its foot and opens it, he gets this smile on his face. It’s a smile that you know well -- because it’s the smile that you would get when you received letters from him. You can only describe it as lovestruck. Anger starts to boil in the pit of your stomach.

He walks right past you to disappear into his office and you're so shocked you can only stare, speechless. It only takes a few minutes for him to come back outside, and when he does, he has a new letter in hand and that dumb smile still on his face. He folds the letter and ties it neatly to his crow. It takes off, and he watches it until it leaves his line of sight.

When he finally turns to look at you, it’s like he doesn’t even notice that you’re fuming. He’s still got that stupid fucking smile on his face.

You storm up to him and shove him. Sanemi doesn’t even budge. “Who are you talking to? Who was that letter for?”

It’s only then that the smile falls, replaced with the deepest, most intense scowl you’ve ever seen on his face. “What the fuck is your problem? It’s none of your business.”

You try to shove him again and he catches your arms, anger radiating from him in waves. “It is my business! I’m your goddamn wife!” You scream, thrashing in his hold. “Don’t lie to me, Sanemi. Who the fuck was that letter for?”

When he shoves you off of him, you fall straight to the ground. He doesn’t care. You’re too shocked to even stand up and confront him again. Sanemi walks past you and doesn’t turn to look at you when he speaks. “As I said, it’s none of your business.”

It’s the sixth and final sign.

After that, Sanemi is extremely distant. Any attempt you make to bridge the gap or even just have a talk with him falls flat, and eventually, you stop trying. You two sleep in separate rooms, and he goes out of his way to avoid running into you.

As winter creeps in, you’ve never felt more cold and alone. You can’t help but wonder how it came to this; it seemed like yesterday that you were happily married. Now you can’t even say for sure if he still loves you.

Snow is drifting on the wind when you finally get the strength to confirm the fears you’ve had. There have been footsteps through the halls of the estate, and you know for a fact that it’s Genya. Now, Sanemi doesn’t even set foot on this side of his own home.

If Genya is here, that means Sanemi is not. It’s time to take action.

You creep over to the other side of the estate, the side that used to be so warm with the company of your husband. He’s on a mission, but that’s not the reason why the air chills you to the bone.

You approach his office quietly. The way you linger in front of the door feels utterly pathetic, but it’s hard to make yourself move. The answers you seek are in there. You’re not even sure you want them.

You press on.

The door slides open way too easily. His office is exceptionally tidy -- like he was telling the truth when he said he would keep up with it. It doesn’t bring you any peace.

You carefully walk over to his desk. You can’t help but trail your fingers over the wood, trace the grain of it -- can’t help but remember what things used to be like. When the two of you were happy together -- when you’d come bring him meals, or drag him to bed, or just sit in here and spend time with him while he sorted through Corps paperwork.

That was all a long time ago.

You tug open the drawer where he keeps all the letters he receives. Gently, you pull out a stack of the ones on the top, the most recent letters. Oyakata-sama, Oyakata-sama, Iguro, Genya, Oyakata-sama… and then.

Your hands start shaking uncontrollably. The strength goes out of your knees and you fall to the floor, already curling in on yourself as you read.

When are you coming back? I miss you dearly.

Good morning, my love. Care to join me for tea and an afternoon in town again?

I still have your haori. I’m afraid I haven’t worn it much, I don’t want it to stop smelling like you.

I love you. Return safely.

Innocuous things. Things you’ve said to him before. But these -- these aren’t your letters.

The wail you let out makes your throat hoarse. Tears stream down your cheeks endlessly as you sob, there on your knees, alone on the ground. Sanemi -- Sanemi --

You don’t even hear the footsteps that rapidly approach your location. Your world is collapsing in on itself; you’re drowning in grief at the proof of Sanemi’s infidelity. When you feel hands on your shoulders, you immediately thrash, shoving the person away.

The shouts of your name are what finally get you to look up and try to make sense of your blurry vision. You’re shaking intensely and the world feels like it’s spinning and you can’t seem to catch your breath, but --

“...Genya?” You whisper, staring at him, letters still clutched in your hands.

Genya doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He’s never been in a situation like this -- he doesn’t know what you need. He’s never seen you look so small and broken and he doesn’t know what to do. When he offers his hand to help you stand, you just stare at it. Slowly, he lowers himself to the ground next to you.

“What happened?” He asks.

It only makes the floodgates burst wider. Your words are barely intelligible as you sob, so you shove the letters in his direction.

It only takes him a glance to put the pieces together. So now you know.

(Genya has known for a while. It’s why he’s been avoiding you.

He had just finished a mission in a rather distant town when he saw them. Sanemi, and a random woman that wasn’t you. He was presenting her with flowers he’d just bought from a merchant, and she smiled sugar-sweet at him, leaned up for a kiss. Sanemi met her halfway.

When they pulled away from each other, Sanemi happened to glance over her shoulder. Happened to see Genya frozen, staring. Happened to realize that he’d been caught.

Genya turned on his heel and sprinted down the path out of town. Naturally, he didn’t get extremely far before he was intercepted. The moment he found out, he wanted to tell you, but Sanemi --

“I have to tell her!” Genya yelled, storming down the path through the rice fields outside of the town. It was a long way to the Shinazugawa estate, but --

Sanemi snatched his arm and yanked, causing Genya to stumble. “If you tell her--”

“What?” Genya screamed, tugging himself out of his brother’s grip. “What will you do? You’ve already basically disowned me. You already don’t care about me. What more could you possibly do?”

He froze when he felt the blade against his throat. Sanemi’s expression was stone cold. “You’re too pathetic to use a breathing technique, so you eat demons to make up for your weakness. You might as well be one.” He pushed it closer, drew blood. “I’ll make sure you die like one, too.”

Genya stayed at the Himejima estate that night. And the next. And the next. He already knew he wouldn’t be able to face you and lie, or even remain silent. He needed to avoid you at all costs.)

He’s not sure what you want or need right now, but there’s no way he can leave you alone without doing something. So Genya does the only thing he can think of: wrapping his arms around you in a hesitant hug.

You immediately crumble into his embrace. You’re sobbing so hard it’s shaking his body, and your wails are breaking his heart. You don’t deserve this -- never deserve to feel any kind of pain like this, and he’s furious at his brother for putting you through this.

It’s a long time before you calm down. Even then, your grief hangs over you like a dark cloud. You keep your gaze on the floor when Genya guides you to your feet and back to the other side of the estate. He puts a thick blanket over your shoulders and makes you tea. You just stare into the mug.

“(Y/N)?” He says softly. It’s been silent for a long time and he just isn’t sure what to do with himself.

“Did you know?” It’s the first thing you’ve said in hours.

Genya hesitates. “Yes. But he said he would kill me if I told you.”

You scoff. “Typical.” You take a sip of your tea. It’s lukewarm. “Thank you, Genya. For being here for me.”

“Yeah… no problem.”

You don’t speak again until your tea is finished. “I can’t stay here.”

Genya nods solemnly. “Yeah. I know.” He stands, gives you a half-hearted smile. “Please let me know if you need anything.”

Before he can even move, the two of you hear footsteps. Rapid, stomping, angry.

Sanemi slams the door open. His chest is heaving as he scans the room with wild eyes. When his gaze lands on Genya, he draws his sword.

It feels like everything happens in a split second. You throw the blanket to the ground and rush over to Genya in the same moment that Sanemi charges forward. It ends with you standing between the two of them and a sword at your throat. It’s completely still.

Sanemi steps back and sheathes his katana. His eyes stay on yours. “Genya. Leave.”

He hesitates. You take a deep breath. “Go ahead,” you say, “I’ll be fine.” And he leaves.

You and Sanemi stand face to face. You’re both waiting for the other person to speak first.

Finally, he takes a deep breath. “Did Genya put you up to it?”

You raise a brow. “Put me up to what?”

“Going through my office.”

“No. I did that on my own. He didn’t find me until after I found out.” You snicker, scowling at him. “I can’t believe you threatened to kill him.”

He averts his gaze from yours, presses his lips together. “Doesn’t matter. Why did you go through my office?”

“Why did I-- are you serious?" You laugh incredulously. "That’s what you have to say for yourself? I wouldn’t have had to do it if you would have told me the truth."

He remains silent.

"You really don't have anything to say to me?" You yell, tears coming to your eyes again. "No reasons, no apologies, no excuses, nothing?"

When he still remains silent, you head for the door. It's when you start to slide it open that he finally decides to grace you with a response. “I'm sorry for not telling you sooner."

You roll your eyes and spin around to glare at him. "Is that all? Are you sorry for doing it in the first place? Are you sorry for not even respecting me enough to leave me before running off to some other girl?" He has the audacity to stand there looking like a kicked puppy, and it makes you want to punch him in the throat as hard as you can.

He steps forward, reaching for you, and you step back. He sighs. "Listen--"

"What, Sanemi? Please don't tell me you're about to try and justify your actions."

“It feels like we haven’t been together for a long time now.” He says, and it makes you stop and just stare at him. In the face of your silence, he continues. “We’ve just grown apart, and… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” You say flatly. “So instead of just talking to me about it or even just divorcing me, you just… what, broke up with me in your head without actually telling me? So you could go run off with someone else without feeling guilty about it?”

“No, don’t say I don’t feel guilty. I do. I just--” He clenches his fists at his sides. "I like her a lot, okay? She makes me really happy."

It's like he's trying to grind the shattered pieces of your heart into dust. Anger rises in you so quickly that you start to shake. "Why the fuck would you tell me that?” You can’t stop yourself from yelling at him. “I thought you loved me! I thought I made you happy! But you know what, Sanemi?" You storm up to him, yank your wedding ring off of your finger, grab his hand, and slam it into his palm. "Since you like her so much, and since she makes you so happy, why don't you just marry her?"

He stares at the ring in his hand. He looks utterly pathetic. “Because I do still love you. I don’t know, I -- I didn’t want you to leave me.”

You can’t stop the tears from falling, even as you glare at him. “Maybe you should have thought of that.” And the next second, you’re slamming the door shut behind you.

[professionalmccviewer]

BINGO BUT FAST REMIX

Hey... Do you like Bingo But Fast? I do and I made a monstrosity of a post about a remix idea. Here it is lol

Wrote and post this like 5 minutes ago on the subreddit btw, don't worry I didn't copy paste someone's else work.

What if bingo got a remix (even if the game still doesn't exist in S2)...? Well, here's a random idea I had. Also please don't take this so seriously, just a lil idea I had, nothing serious.

The New Bingo System

Instead of having a 5x5 item table available from the start, players would receive the items in batches, Kinda like Buildmart where you only can have 3 builds and you have to complete the builds to receive the next ones, but tweaked to fit bingo more.

One idea is to have a 5x5 table ready, but only having lines/columns/diagonals being released slowly either based on time or completion.

Here's and example of an initial bingo table.

Let's assume that the item unlocks is based on time (e.g. Having 10 minutes for a game and having 5 item batches, a batch could be released every 2 minutes). The 1st batch would be the initial batch, and players will have 2 minutes to complete it.

When 2 minutes passes, the 1st batch will be locked, and will be considered as completed for future batches - For example, if we add a column that overlaps the diamond hoe, the diamond hoe will be considered as completed even if the team didn't get the item in the 1st wave, meaning the team only haves to collect 4 out of the 5 items of the column.

Here are some exemple images to illustrate it. The items are purely random.

For the third batch is the same: The second batch is ignored.

The 4th batch should look like this...

And finally, the 5th and final batch will be different. Instead of unlocking a line/column/diagonal, it will unlock all the remaining items. 4th batch will be locked as usual.

The Scoring System and More explaining

OLD: Bingo's score in season 1 was as follows (taken from the wiki)

" For each item on the bingo card:

45 coins for first team to complete

30 coins for second team to complete

20 coins for third team to complete

10 coins for fourth team to complete

5 coins for fifth team to complete

No coins are awarded for an item if five teams have already completed that item."

In this system, 1st team gets a total of 180 coins per item.

NEW: As the system is quite different from the old one, I suggest the following:

Each batch counts as a separate challenge, kinda like Grid Runners. The placements for each batch is time based, just like GR, and each batch has its own timer. The final batch will be different, so we will have 4 regular batches.

Collecting all items in a batch might be hard, so you will have a placement even if you don't collect all items. If a batch has 5 items and two teams only collected 4, whichever team collected the 4th item the fastest gets the higher placement. So for example, if Team A collected the 4th item in 1:45 and Team B collected the 4th item in 1:46, Team A won over Team B, even if both didn't complete the batch.

Coins rewards for each regular batch is as it follows:

300 coins for 1st

following placements decrease it by 30 coins

30 coins for 10th

Because more items are unlocked in the final wave, some different approach for coins could be made here. For now, I will suggest the same system as the regular batches, but with different coin rewards. Feel free to give suggestions if you want!

Coins rewards for the final batch is as it follows:

600 coins for 1st

following placements decrease it by 60 coins

60 coins for 10th

Total coins should be 9900 if not mistaken... so close to the 10000 per game average...

Guess we could have a bonus for the 1st team to get each item! Totally didn't make this on the spot!

Additional coin bonus:

10 coins for the team that gets an item first.

Anyways... That's the post! Keep in mind this is just a little idea I had, nothing serious!

Thanks for reading and feel free to give your opinions!

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s R&S - Minor’s Memos

🍒This R&S (韩野的备忘录) is part of the Dream Heart Lake event which has not been released in EN🍒

More r&s from the event: 

> minor’s memos ♡

> tilted time

> little bro’s self-cultivatiion

> ashes

[ Chapter 1 ]

The First Memo

I was beaten up.

This morning, I was especially courageous and pasted a "Evil Spirit Begone" challenge letter on the school bully’s lunchbox. But I didn’t stop myself and pasted too many. The other party brought five people and cornered me in a small alley. I straightened my back, but felt a chill. What happened in the end were the four words I started off with... I was beaten up. With a bloody nose and a swollen face, I suddenly felt that there truly weren’t any heroes in this era... Even an ardent youth like me had to face such tribulation...

Suddenly, a pair of white sneakers stood before my eyes. Lifting my red and swollen eyes with difficulty, all I saw was an icy outline. He reached out to grab the neck of one of the school bullies, and had a sharp look in his eyes!

Oh my... It was actually Se! Nior! Ga! Vin!

Today, I finally witnessed what was a true 1 v 5 looked like. Gavin blew the dust off his hands, lowering his eyes and giving me a glance before leaving. Quick-wittedly, I tugged on the bottom of his trouser leg.

Senior turned out to be just as cold and indifferent as the legends said. During the entire process, he only said one word - “Scram”.

He’s such a MAN!

Hence, there’s a small goal in my heart. I want to learn the supreme feat of Senior’s 1 v 5!

-

The Second Memo

I looked for Senior many times, but was mercilessly ignored by him... He was either wholly absorbed in drinking water, or wholly absorbed in sleeping... I decided that I had to take the initiative! So, I came up with a plan to perfectly understand Senior.

Cough cough.

With this, I started embarking on the dull and dry life of “tracking” Senior. At 7.30am, Senior would appear at the school gate punctually, carrying a flat schoolbag. I don’t know if there are any books in it... Forget it, is that the main point? Nope!

After Senior reaches school, the first thing he does is head to the small kiosk in the north to! Buy! Breakfast! Does he actually lead such an ordinary life too? I even thought an existence like Senior’s should be above worldly affairs, and that he wouldn’t eat the food of common mortals! Hey hey hey! It seems that Senior really likes to eat fishballs? He’s been eating them for three consecutive days!!! Isn’t it good to change it to something else?!!!

During class, I deliberately went around the upper levels where the Year 3 seniors were, pretentiously passing by Senior’s window. Of course, Senior typically wouldn’t appear in the classroom at all. But!!! He was here today!!!!

As expected, he was assigned to sit in the last row, and was sleeping without restraint...

Did nobody care?! Wait, why am I feeling envious?

After school, Senior walked around, and I had no idea where he was headed to. Finally, he walked into the library. I couldn’t help but think - Senior really lives life as he pleases...

Huh? Hang on! Why would the Underworld Senior go to the library?!

He not only went to the library, but the thing which startled me even more till my jaw dropped was - I saw Senior helping the prettiest girl in class retrieve a book from the shelf!

He even... s-smiled...

Had my vision gone blurry? This was the Underworld Senior who’s said to be cold, unruly, and scares girls away?!

-

[ Chapter 2 ]

The Third Memo

I was beaten up again...  Writing these words is truly lamentable... Why did I have to rescue that stupid, unsophisticated and immoral four-eyed boy? But isn’t that what a hero does? What this era needs is a hero like me!

...this era might also not need such a weak hero like me...

That’s what I thought when I was pressed against the ground and punched by a school bully. My conviction was about to collapse. All of a sudden, I recalled the sharp look in Senior Gavin’s eyes. It’d have been nice if he were around...

Perhaps God happened to hear my wish, and Senior descended from the sky! With a dashing left uppercut, the other party lay on the ground, and I was moved to tears. 

Senior asked, why do you keep causing trouble for yourself? I very righteously said that it’s because I wanted to be a hero, and couldn’t stand to see school bullies targeting the weak. Senior then said, don’t you know that they call me a school bully?

In my heart, I responded that I knew. But I shook my head very firmly. The look he was giving me suddenly had a hint of bewilderment added to it... like he was looking at a... hm? An idiot? ...

Senior is very difficult to understand. He even told me about what true heroism was, which went beyond the words I recognised from Senior. He actually said two sentences! I’ll note them down, I’ll note them down...

Who cares about him! From what I see, heroism is about rushing to the rescue when one sees injustice!

-

The Fourth Memo

Today, I! Was! A! Hero!

I was following Senior around secretly today, though I don’t know how many days it’s been, and encountered Senior being ambushed! Those guys were the school bullies who beat me up the last time! A total of ten people were there! Terrible! Tyranny of the majority! How could I, Minor, allow such a situation to happen!

Without much thought, I rushed forward to help Senior! Of course, I was beaten up yet again... but I discovered one of Senior’s nuclear abilities-

1 v 10! Too dashing, too dashing. I don’t think Superman, X-Men or Iron Man are as dashing! Senior is a god in my eyes!

But Senior was very cold. He said two words to me which left me utterly heartbroken: courting death.

Feeling wronged, I told him that I wasn’t courting death. This was what heroism meant to me. 

Senior scoffed, then told me not to follow him around sneakily in the future, because it was annoying.

What what what? Was my perfect “Understanding Plan” exposed since a long time ago?!

For some reason, I spoke up at this moment. “Senior, I saw you handing a book to the prettiest girl in class... Are you...”

Senior coughed, then covered his mouth with a hand... W-was he actually blushing!!!!? Oh my goodness - did I discover something disgraceful? Senior actually blushed! If I say it out loud, would I get silenced?!!

-

[ Chapter 3 ]

The Fifth Memo

On the first day of becoming Senior’s, oh wait - Bro Gavin’s little brother, hehe, made me feel like I was suddenly floating. Today, I finally walked beside him in broad daylight, and felt as if a gust of wind was blowing past while walking hahahaha! I saw people looking me with that gaze! That~ Gaze~

But I never expected Bro Gavin to be so strict... All I did was mention casually that someone gave the prettiest girl in class a love letter again, and Bro Gavin suddenly got angry, and asked me to grab those people over.

Catching people is really tiring. I had to run to several classrooms, and it was really annoying to move personnel. In the future, I definitely wouldn’t do such work.

Bro Gavin glanced at them and didn’t say anything. Was I supposed to save the show?? After recalling how teachers typically lecture me, I copied them wholesale and gave them a lecture: At this young age, they should concentrate on their studies instead of fooling around.

[Note] I translated “copied them wholesale” from “原封不动”, which literally translated to “not touching the original envelope”. This is a beautiful choice of idiom because that’s exactly what Minor did later on LOL T^T

Seeing the fear and trepidation in their eyes, I became even more excited.

While I was lecturing them happily, Bro Gavin walked over and only said one thing: Get the love letters back. If you scare her, don’t blame me for being difficult.

Wow, Bro Gavin is so cool! Come to think of it, did I discover a little secret that I shouldn’t be aware of? For example, that Bro Gavin’s feelings towards the prettiest girl in class are actually..

-

The Sixth Memo

I think Bro Gavin is most likely, indeed, and definitely in love. Recently, I became Bro Gavin’s private detective, specialising in focusing on the prettiest girl in class. Maybe next time, I should change the way I address the prettiest girl in class to “Sis-in-law”... Well, since the ancient times, heroes have always loved beauties!

As of now, Bro Gavin isn’t really Bro Gavin anymore -

He hangs out in the library every day. If you want to know where Bro Gavin is, all you have to do is ask where the prettiest girl in class is... He no longer fights, no longer goes to the sports field, and no longer plays ball games anymore. He’s like a salted fish which has lost its dreams. And he actually started reading “5 Years of College Examinations and 3 Years of Sample Questions”... I just want to cry.

[Note] “5 Years of College Examinations and 3 Years of Sample Questions” (”5年高考3年模拟”) is a supplementary book for college entrance examinations used in China!

At noon, we had a PE class together, and I excitedly told Bro Gavin that Sis-in-law had chosen basketball! I initially thought Bro Gavin would snatch up a territory to play basketball. In the end, Bro Gavin hauled me over to the nearby volleyball court...

He said that it was a good place.

Good? What’s good about it? My basketball... I still wanted to display my coolness!

Afterwards, I found out that, tsk tsk, Bro Gavin was truly very sly...

The volleyball court was actually even closer to Sis-in-law’s location as compared to other basketball courts!

When I almost accidentally smashed the ball on Sis-in-law’s head, it was blocked by Bro Gavin, who was far away... How did Bro Gavin do it?!

He actually ran diagonally across the volleyball court so quickly?!!! Does he have some special ability? Will it appear!

But Bro Gavin isn’t attuned to flirtatious expressions at all...

[Note] I translated “flirtatious expressions” from the term “风情”, which literally translates to “information about the wind”

When Sis-in-law thanked him, his face was even colder than when he’s facing me... And when I “accidentally” pushed Sis-in-law onto Bro Gavin! He actually gave me a merciless killer glare. Just thinking about it makes my heart feel pained...

He didn’t recognise my good intentions, sob sob sob sob.

-

[ Chapter 4 ]

The Seventh Memo

Today, I saw another side of Bro Gavin! That is - the Bro Gavin at the sports meet! He’s such a MAN!!!

In the ten-lap long-distance race in the sports field, Bro Gavin won the first place, leaving the second place runner far behind him by three laps. He didn’t even pant!

What kind of supreme feat is this? Before, I used to think that he was only super capable in fighting. Looks like there are many other things I have to learn from Bro Gavin!

It was only today when I realised that although Bro Gavin is so fierce and is always called an Underworld Senior, he seems to be really popular, based on how the female students looked as if they were about to glue their eyes onto Bro Gavin’s body -

Ah, I just want to “tsk tsk”.

Bro Gavin seemed to be in a good mood, but when I asked him to teach me 1 v 10, he assigned me to work as a private detective again...

He was very concerned about Sis-in-law’s sprint. Perhaps he’s a tsundere or something, so he didn’t go himself, and insisted that I went instead. He even tossed his phone to me.

What’s that supposed to mean? His phone? Did he mean that I should sneak pictures? Am I, Minor, such a person?

I called out to Sis-in-law. She turned her head, and I managed to secretly photograph an utterly beautiful side profile. It looked really good. This time, Bro Gavin would definitely teach me 1 v 10, right?

In the end, he! Did! Not!

Bro Gavin is someone who values a lover more than his little bro!

What can I say? I had no choice but to squat at the side and watch Bro Gavin staring at the picture on his phone, occasionally revealing an unusual smile... 

Oh my, Bro Gavin smiled again!!!! It makes me feel frightened!!!!

Love makes people lose their minds!!!

-

[ Chapter 5 ]

The Eighth Memo

Bro Gavin looks very low-spirited recently. If he was a salted fish with no dreams before, then I reckon that right now, he’s not even a salted fish... He seems to have fallen in love with being in a daze lately.

After being in a daze in the piano room, he’d be in a daze in the library, continuously staring at the empty seat where Sis-in-law used to sit, and I have no idea what he’s thinking about. 

But I really didn't expect a person who sleeps in class to be in a daze in the library for an entire afternoon... Did Bro Gavin and Sis-in-law have a fight recently?

Very curious, I asked around, and found out that for some reason, Sis-in-law has been hurrying off after school, and no longer goes to the library nor the piano room. I also heard that she’s been doing her revision for exams at home... Could it be that she’s hiding from Bro Gavin?

Oh my god, why don’t I write an eight o'clock soap opera with such an imagination? It might even become popular!

Returning to the original topic... should I tell Bro Gavin about this? If Bro Gavin also thinks that Sis-in-law is hiding from him, he might be heartbroken.

I’m worried...

-

The Ninth Memo

Bro Gavin disappeared for quite a long time, and finally returned today! But he brought with him a body full of injuries, and it’s very worrying because I didn’t know what happened! He also stuffed a letter to me, saying that it was for Sis-in-law. Even though the envelope was flat and smooth, it had a lot of blood stains.

Did Bro Gavin do something dangerous? He bled so much! I asked him to go to the hospital but he refused... Bro Gavin is truly too wilful!

But he is really different today. Why do I feel like I’m handling funeral arrangements? Touch wood!

He also said that he’d teach me 1 v 10 when he we meet again... Wow! If Bro Gavin wasn’t hurt, I’d have wanted to pounce on him and give him a peck! Bro Gavin is the most dashing! Bro Gavin is the coolest!

Come to think of it, Bro Gavin is about to take the college entrance examinations, and the seniors from the graduating classes have been pretty sad recently. The next meeting Bro Gavin mentioned was probably summer vacation? Hehe, I’m looking forward to it a little!

In that case, while Bro Gavin isn’t around, I’ll be the one to help Sis-in-law block off all the rotten apples!

Other men, don’t even think of approaching my Sis-in-law!

She! Is! Bro! Gavin’s!

-

The Final Memo

During the entire summer vacation... I didn't see Bro Gavin...

More from the Dream Heart Lake event: here

[heartcal]

distant; c.h.

it’s finally here omg and being posted on time too (barely)!

this was an idea i started writing back in late 2015 (literally the first few paragraphs are from the old draft with some editing) and while cleaning up my drafts i decided to continue it since i liked it :^D

pairing: calum hood x reader (i tried to make it gender neutral so if i used pronouns while describing the reader, i apologize and feel free to let me know!)

summary: you feel like the relationship is deteriorating because he’s gotten distant. you want to bring it up with him, but how can you when he doesn’t realize something is wrong? and why does it invoke a hurtful argument when you voice your feelings?

warnings: none really other than some cursing, arguing, and cal’s kinda an ass sorry lol

genre: angst, very angtsy 

wc: 2,645

my masterlist!

The candle flickered on the coffee table as the sound of rain hitting the roof was prominent. Total silence engulfed you as you finally made up your mind. Your thoughts were running wild for at least the past two hours as you went through numerous scenarios on how he’d react.

Calum had been acting different ever since he came home from tour. It felt like he was distancing himself from you as he began to hang out with his friends right as he got the time off. He already planned visits to his family, which were coming up very soon. He would text you, but they’d only be a couple of words or no more than four sentences a day. At first, you believed it was because he was tired from tour, and honestly who wouldn’t be tired if they had been on a tour bus and planes for almost a year with minimal breaks?

You understood his profession and what comes along with it, you really do.

But when you saw fan pictures or paparazzi pictures of your boyfriend having a hell of a time, obviously without you, it hurt.

You’re not clingy at all; you want him to have a lot of fun considering his age and, due to his fame, he can’t do a lot of the stuff you and other non-famous people can do. You’re not clingy at all, but you would appreciate some one-on-one time with him, especially now that he’s back from tour and soon would be promoting yet another album.

You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down and bring forth your final thoughts on the situation. A break-up is the last thing you want to do. You want to work out whatever is happening between you two, talk it out, and straighten out any knots within the relationship. You don’t want to throw away the past two and a half years, and possibly the five years of friendship.

When you two got together it didn’t come as a surprise to those close to you. The guys were waiting for it to happen, and when it did they didn’t even bat an eye. Your family already thought the two of you were dating, while Calum’s family let out a sigh of relief when the news came out because they saw how happy you made him as a friend.

It started as a test; to see if this is what you want and if it feels right. It did, more than it should if you had to be honest. It almost scared you just how normal it felt to be with him, and the same can be said for him. You had minimal arguments, minimal disagreements; the good outweighed the bad.

But the honeymoon phase can only last so long.

The first time he went on tour when you got together, it was a promotional tour. He wasn’t gone for a long time but he did travel often. That left little to no time to talk, text, or facetime. When he was able to contact you, it was short, but he managed to make it worth it with sweet words and words of encouragement from you.

The second time was a domestic promotional tour. He had asked you to join him, and after getting the OK to work remotely from your boss, you agreed to join him. It was almost like a vacation for you, even if Calum was gone most of the day. On his days off, or when he had part of the day off, it was spent with you alone or with the guys plus you and their significant others.

The third tour was when things started to dwindle. Six months after their third album was released, they went on tour and contact was hard to get. You joined him for a month or two, but after leaving to get back to work, it began to feel like the first time he went on tour. Towards the end of the tour he frequently contacted you, stating that he was, “stressed from the constant traveling,” and he had a hard time keeping up with what day it was.

You didn’t think about it much. Touring like that can strain anyone, amateur or pro. But what you couldn’t understand was how he behaved after the tour. After the first two tours, it was fine, but after tour number three you noticed how distant he would get. Ignoring calls and texts, but updating social media at any time of day and night. It struck you as odd, but he eventually came around with an apology and lots of makeup dates.

Now after tour number four, he’s as distant as ever. You gave him some space but he never came around. It’s been two and a half weeks since you’ve had proper contact.

Running over what you want to say to him in your head, you miss the knocks on your front door. You also miss the sound of your lock turning and the door opening.

“There you are,” You jump at that, turning towards the front door with a hand on your heart.

“What—how did you get in?” You stumble, gone are the thoughts you had previously.

Calum holds his right hand up, his set of keys and key chains jingling as he shakes his hand lightly. He has a small smile on as he speaks, “You gave me a copy, remember?”

You stare blankly at him, recalling the time when you finally moved out of the apartment you shared with an old friend and their partner. You were so happy that you found a place to live on your own, closer to work and closer to Calum. You made him a copy so that he knew he was welcome (and also for safety reasons).

You nod with a hum in response, your eyes moving to the painting a few feet away from him.

If he notices your behavior, he doesn’t mention it as he puts his keys on the hook next to your while taking off his shoes (something you nagged him about since the living room had carpeting).

You knew you had to bring it up. It was sitting on your tongue but your brain couldn’t form the words and sentences that you had previously thought of.

He sighs out as he takes a seat next to you on your couch, his right arm stretched behind you on the back of the couch while his left arm rested on the arm.

You sat stiff, not leaning back or into him no matter how much you craved it. Rather than giving in, you were more focused on the anger starting to bubble up inside of you. How can he act like nothing is wrong after ignoring you for almost three weeks?

“You’re quiet tonight,” he retracts his arm from the back of the couch and moves his hand to your forehead, “You feeling okay?”

When he brings his other hand up to his own forehead, you smack his arm away.

You scoff, letting your anger show, “Really, Calum?”

His puzzled look pushes you over and you stand up.

“What?” He asks as his eyes follow you as you head to the window.

Taking a deep breath and staring out at the city below, you realize that it’s now or never. Releasing the breath as a sigh, you turn towards him.

“Is something wrong?” He questions again.

“I know that tour takes a lot out of you,” you begin, willing yourself to bring your eyes up to meet his, “but you’ve been distant—more than usual. I know you want some time to yourself after touring, and I give you the time, but I can’t help but feel ignored Calum.”

Calum stands with a frown, bringing his hands up to his head before running them down his face with a sigh. His mouth opens to say something but nothing comes out. He stands in front of his seat on the couch, hands on his hips and shoulders slumped. He wants to say something, wants to tell you that he’s not ignoring you, but he can’t bring himself to say so.

“I’ve seen the pictures of you out with your friends. I’m happy you’re spending time with them, that you’re out there having fun because I know you haven’t seen them in so long. And your family, too. But I would like to spend time with you before you head out again.”

“I spent a lot of time with you before I left,” he mumbles, taking a few steps towards you.

“I know-” you hold your hand up to stop him from getting closer, “but you also spent plenty of time with your friends.”

He takes another step towards you, ignoring your signal. His body language shows that he doesn’t want to argue; his steps are small, head tilted only slightly, his eyes are staring intently at you.

It’s silent. Your breathing picks up as you hold back frustrated tears, which causes Calum’s own breathing to falter. He moves his jaw to help ease the tension he feels – a tick you know he picked up from a tour crew member – and shakes his hands as if he was trying to rid them of something.

He inhales, eyes on the floor at his feet, “I feel like we spend too much time together.”

Ouch. His words had a sharp impact, like a punch to the gut when you least expect it. The kind of heart-dropping, breathless pain.

“You think—do you think I’m clingy?” The word leaves a bad taste in your mouth because you felt that you were far from it.

“That’s not what I said—,” he stops, taking in his lower lip with a hand ruffling the hair on his head, “—that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“But that’s what you’re implying,” you accuse with narrow eyes.

He shakes his head, growing upset with how this night is turning out. He came over to spend time with you, knowing that when comes back from visiting his family he will have only a couple more days of rest before putting all his focus on the new album.

“Look,” he sighs and sits on the edge of the couch with his head in his hands, “all I’m saying is, I wanted to spend some time with my friends since I don’t see them as often as I see you.”

Your jaw tightens, “I understand that, but what about our relationship?”

“What about it?”

“It doesn’t feel like a relationship anymore,” you’re blunt, straight to point out how you feel.

He scoffs, “Cut the bullshit.”

Your speechless, watching him stand up and walk to the other side of the living room. The rain outside has gotten louder with an occasional rumble in the distance, but you’re focused on how he brushed off how you felt like it wasn’t important.

“Just because I don’t spend all my time with you doesn’t mean we’re not in a relationship,” he says, resting his left arm on the bookshelf against the wall, “I have other relationships to manage besides ours.”

“You barely manage this one, Calum,” a tear threatens to spill over your lower lid, “Two and a half weeks of little to no contact, and you suddenly show up to my apartment as if everything is fine? I sat here wondering if something happened on tour that was making you this distant, but from what I’ve seen on Twitter and Instagram…you’re doing just fine. You’re smiling, you’re laughing—you’re seemingly your usual self. So why did all my texts get left on read, no response at all, especially when I just wanted to know that you were okay?”

He sucks his teeth, a humorless laugh leaving his lips as he turns to look at you, “You’re overreacting.”

Another jab to the heart, and this time you let the tears freely fall down your cheeks.

He stands up straight and licks his lips, eyes dancing around the room. They bounce over photos of you with your friends, family, and him. In the back of his mind, he knows this is too much. He knows his words may be overstepping and hurtful, but he can’t see where you’re coming from.

“I’m entitled to my own life, just like you. I have friends I want to hang out with, just like you. Sometimes I need time to myself away from you. Maybe you were right earlier, maybe you are clingy.”

He watches as your tears fall, the pained expression you wear didn’t go unnoticed but he does choose to overlook it.

He cuts you off when your mouth begins to open, “Maybe another thing you were right about before, this doesn’t feel like a relationship, right?”

He rolls his shoulders, jaw clenched as he walks to the front door. Your eyes are covered with unshed tears, previous tears leaving trails down your cheeks and nose. He sees them, there’s a pounding in his brain that’s trying to take control so he can go over and console you with unlimited apologies. But he doesn’t.

Calum grabs his keys, taking off your key and tossing it to your feet. He slides his shoes on, his movements rough as his breathing gets heavier. His eyes reach yours and those dark brown eyes you grew to love have now become hurtful, clouded by an unrecognizable emotion.

His hand blindly reaches for the lock, turning it before lowering to the handle, “If this relationship doesn’t feel like one, let’s end it, yeah?”

Without another word, he opens the door and leaves. Your eyes shed the built-up tears as they fall towards the spare key on the ground.

You don’t know how it came to this. You had your mind made up of how you wanted the conversation to go, what to do if worst comes to worst and how to repair the relationship itself. You weren’t expecting him to come over. Once he walked through that door all your thoughts evaporated and you were left grasping for any remaining thoughts.

You kneel to pick up the key, but your knees are too weak to stand back up. The key glares at you, reminding you painfully of what once was.

But behind your front door stands Calum, a racing mind and pounding heart. He stares at the floor and it finally dawns on him. Mindlessly he’s ended up outside, the warm air of your apartment lobby did not prepare him for the chilly rain outside. By the time he’s in his car, he’s soaked and he’s uncomfortable.

He doesn’t start the car, instead, he reaches for the steering wheel and grips it tightly. The emotions wash over him and the tears slide down as fast as they formed. He shakily inhales, followed by a sob and a sniffle.

The rain is heavy, muting his sobs to his own ears. A sharp crack of thunder makes him jump, and after a few more sniffles and constant wiping of his cheeks, he starts his car and drives back home.

It’s late when you go to bed. The numbing pain in your chest ruins your chances of a good night’s sleep, but selflessly you wished Calum a goodnight before attempting to sleep.

Calum sleeps on his couch, too tired to bring himself to his bed but too hurt to sleep. His eyes drift to his phone on the coffee table when it vibrates; a message from a groupchat talking about an outing scheduled for tomorrow. His sore eyes shut and he turns away from the table.

In the darkness, he sees your pained expression, the way you shrunk as he threw those harsh words at you. It’s an image that will be imprinted forever in his mind, and he regrets everything.

~~~

part two!

[mspurplepanda57]

“Product of it’s time”

I have some thoughts about this phrase that may get some hate, but please hear me out.

I do think it’s important to understand when a piece of media was made, and what was socially accepted by the masses at the time, or at the very least not socially condemned. When talking about being socially accepted or socially condemned I am referring to the message that was being put out en masse, based upon what narrative was being pushed by the mainstream and public education/awareness, and I am recognizing that minority groups have been calling out bigoted jokes for decades but were ignored, and while should have been at the centre of these conversations were not. A personal example, in high school in the 2000s I would call people out for saying “that’s so gay” and would be further ridiculed. Today homophobic jokes are still made but there is a better understanding not only that those jokes are offensive but also why they’re offensive. People are more likely to call out the person making the homophobic joke rather than bully the person doing the calling out. Now that’s not to say the hurt or offensiveness is mitigated or taken away, but knowing the full context is important. Also important to know, that there is still tons of room for improvement and I am hyper aware that things are not perfect.

If a racist joke was made in a YouTube video 15 years ago, when you could still see black face on mainstream media, there is a difference than if that joke was made today in that socially those behaviours were not being openly condemned. There’s debate on if those behaviours were being encouraged or not, but I think we can all agree no one was being stopped. If a comedian made a bigoted joke 15, 10, heck even 6-7 years ago, but their comedy has since changed and reflects social values today, I am willing to give them a chance to prove that they have grown, even if previously it wasn’t a one off.

Now there are some caveats to this:

The first being figuring out the reason why their content changed. Did they make to change because they themselves had grown and changed as a person and learned why their old content was problematic or did they make the change just to save face?

The second is how readily available is that old content? Some times there’s contracts where people can’t get their comedy special pulled from a streaming site or their YouTube channel is owned by a third party and won’t let them delete certain videos, but has an effort been made to remove offensive content. Or is there a way they can no longer profit from the content? To paraphrase WB and Loony Tunes, to fully remove this content is to pretend as if this bigotry didn’t exist and that’s not okay either. People need to face their past, and know that it is impact over intent, meaning that it doesn’t matter if you didn’t intend to offend people, if you did you did and you can’t just erase that. Offensive content needs to be removed or not profitable, and that needs to be acknowledged. “I deleted this video because…” or “all ad sense from this video is now going to X charity because…” and it needs to be a clear statement explaining what is happening and why, that can be referred back to. Not an off handed comment in a live stream like “oh yeah I deleted that video, lol.”

Thirdly has there been an apology and has it been genuine? Now this does not have to be some 40 minute long YouTube video, but just some public statement with genuiness to it

And last how old was that person? I’m going to have a lot more grace for someone under 21 than I am for a fully grown 30 year old. People argue that “they’re 19, they were an adult, they should have known better” and if you are 18-21 please believe when I say, you do not know everything, no one does. If you saw your favourite youtuber making a joke that no one was calling out, and getting a good response, wouldn’t you try to copy it too? Maturity levels and levels of social understanding differ so greatly between people in that emergent adulthood stage, that some people just don’t know, and provided they’re open and willing to learn, that’s okay.

Now willful ignorance is not an excuse, performative activism is not an excuse, fake apologies are not an excuse, repeating the same mistakes after being called out not an excuse. There are so many things that are not an excuse, but again having full context when deciding if someone should be canceled is important and when something was made is part of that context.

[timelesslords]

Hey this random but can I tell you something strange. You’re the first Percy Jackson blog I’ve followed (you’re really cool). Recently I’ve fallen into a percabeth pit, and I’ve found a liking for dark Percy. I’ve even been through the dark Percy + percabeth tag on ao3 (was shocked by the amount of them had Annabeth dying, sorry I can’t do tragedy).

You see the reason all this is strange is because… I’ve never watched or read ANY Percy Jackson. I know I really love this couple, I found them through people reblogging Percy Jackson on my feed. I’ve gone through the percabeth tag on tumblr, I’ve manage to pick up some things and with my fixation on dark Percy I know more about what happened with the poison in Tartarus (sorry if I’m getting any of this wrong) - I actually read a fanfic which used the exact scene lifted from the books.

I’m thinking about reading the books or audiobooks, so I was wondering if you had any advice for a newbie. Like any misconceptions or fandom drama to avoid or if the reading order is right or basically what you wish you knew when you first read them (no pressure for this btw, you can ignore). I also wanted to say thanks, I’ve been teetering on the edge for awhile but your account pushed me over it. Even if I’m a bit lost. I’m a lil confused but I’ve got the spirit.

Honestly I’m honored haha and I love the confused enthusiasm 😂 I’ve been deep in this world since 2008 so I’d like to think I could do a decent job at a little beginners guide but who knows. I’m sure this is missing stuff but I have faith you’ll figure it out!! I’m gonna put this under a readmore so everyone doesn’t have to scroll for eternity to get past it lmao

the biggest thing is to read the books, and do not watch the movies if you can help it. You’re going to be struck by curiosity. You’re going to think to yourself, how bad could it really be? The answer is worse than you’re expecting. If you must, just look up the Lotus hotel scene and “don’t walk on my roof” because those are literally the only scenes worth watching out of the two movies.

As for reading order, it’s pretty straightforward. Percy Jackson and the Olympians is the first series, Heroes of Olympus is the second, and Trials of Apollo is the third. The first two series are basically required reading to engage in fan stuff, mostly because the characters for the second series are used in everything. Trials of Apollo is optional, though there are one or two big events from there that you should know that will probably be spoiled for you before you even get the chance to read it anyway lol. Personally I think they’re worth the read but people hardly reference them in fan works so you don’t need to read them to know what’s going on 98% of the time

There are also several short stories, both from the two collection books (Demigod Files and The Ultimate Guide) and from random other places. I bought physical copies of the collection books back in the day so that’s how I read them, though I’d imagine they wouldn’t be difficult to find online. I think the collection books came out sometime when the first series was still being published, so most of them take place in between books 4 & 5 of the original PJO. (You might want to double check that one to avoid spoilers lol)

In terms of Rick’s two other series, The Kane Chronicles and Magnus Chase, you don’t need to read them to know what’s going on, though there is some crossover and references which can be fun. I never finished the Magnus Chase books but the first Kane Chronicles book is super interesting, and there’s a few cute short stories with Percy/Annabeth and the characters from that series, so I think the first one is worth the read just for that. Magnus Chase has more direct involvement with Percy and Annabeth actually showing up as minor characters in the books, though you should read them after you finish HOO because I think there are some minor spoilers.

If I remember correctly the audiobooks for the original series are actually quite good, and most local libraries in the US partner with apps like Libby so you can probably listen to them for free on there! I haven’t listened to them for the second or third series so I can’t vouch for the quality of those.

Other than that, I would just say remember that the books aren’t perfect and be open to viewing them with a critical eye. It doesn’t have to ruin your reading experience to recognize problematic or even just poorly constructed elements that are in there.

That’s pretty much it!!! Sorry if that was long but I just tried to make it as detailed as possible without being totally overwhelming 😂 I’m sure it was anyway lol but honestly just have fun with it!!!

[takoyakitenchou]

masquerade ch.8

7? idk but this one isn’t on ff or ao3 yet i think

12:58 PM Nakiri Erina: Hi, it’s been a while. Are you free the day after tomorrow?

1:03 PM Yukihira Souma: how’d u get this #?

1:04 PM Nakiri Erina: Alice gave it to me. 

1:04 PM Yukihira Souma: sup

1:05 PM Nakiri Erina: I’m opening Kiralyno Haza. It’s not like I want you to show up or anything.

message opened

1:37 PM Nakiri Erina: Hello?

2:40 PM Yukihira Souma: hey sorry i just got on break. congrats nakiri!

2:41 PM Nakiri Erina: It was expected.

2:41 PM Yukihira Souma: surprised it took you so long to open. hurry up and get your 3 stars bubs then we’ll really see who’s the better chef

2:41 PM Yukihira Souma: and did you get tired of shinomiya or did he get tired of you?

2:42 PM Nakiri Erina: I got tired of him. Duh. Are you not coming?

2:42 PM Yukihira Souma: save 4 seats for me. i’ll be a balloon by the time im done w your food also i hope you have enough ingredients for a shokugeki after

“Ugh. You’re as shit at texting as ever,” Erina groaned, throwing down her phone, but then she picked it up again to stare at those four particular characters. Bubs. God, it had been so long since she’d seen that in her messages.

(under the cut to see souma and erina start to get their shit together lol)

To think that she had been the one to break the radio silence between them — good lord, that was fucking annoying. It was weird to think about. There had been plenty of opportunities for them to talk again, and yet they’d somehow managed to evade each other since they’d run into each other at Nakiri Mansion. Whether this was coincidence she had no idea, but Souma hadn’t been at the official Totsuki-sponsored 92nd gen alumni reunion, and Shinomiya had dragged Erina to some culinary conference that made her miss the freshman training camp where Souma threatened the living shits out of the poor first years but ended up not cutting anybody from the roster.

Erina had done her best not to linger on the fact that she had had to ask Alice for Souma’s new number, but goddamn would that remain at the forefront of her mind for the week following Kiralyno Haza’s debut until she got frustrated enough to the point where she damn near chucked her own phone out the window.

It was thanks to Alice that her condo was still in one piece.

The COO of the Nakiri-Totsuki Group was sitting next to her at a bar in Budapest, helping herself to her third shot of tequila, a few empty glasses and a growing tab between them. “Yukihira’s coming?”

Erina nodded, smiling despite herself. “Yeah. I guess he is.”

Taking sudden interest in her drink, Alice remained silent for a thoughtful moment before she said, “I haven’t seen you this happy since you two broke up.”

With a half-hearted huff, Erina scoffed, “Yeah, right.”

Alice gave her a long look. “I’m not kidding, Erina. Who was that other guy you were seeing? Darren?”

“Aaron. Darren was before him.”

“Doesn’t he have a 3000-seater concert hall named after him?”

“I couldn’t care less.” Erina said, and Alice knew it was 593% true. 

Whenever tolerating a guy got tedious, Erina had extinguished whatever spark he thought he had ignited, pretended to be hung up on it, and started over, systematically breaking hearts left and right, all the while building titanium defenses around her own.

And then, a year and half ago, she’d seen Yukihira Souma at Nakiri Mansion, and everything had changed. 

So. Much. Pining. Alice was more than a few years past sick of how long those two idiots were dragging their shit out.

Erina picked up her belongings. “We should probably stop day-drinking.”

“Sure,” Alice said, paying the tab before Erina could get her wallet out.

“I’ll pay you back for that,” Erina promised as they left the bar.

Alice put a hand on Erina’s shoulder. “You can pay me back by not fucking up your confession again.”

At this, Erina frowned. A withering counter should’ve been second nature, but she found herself incapable. She wanted to believe that whatever piece of her heart that had clung to the hope that Yukihira Souma would come back to her was nothing more than a memory. More than anything, she wished the voice at the back of her head telling her to move on and forget him and their past would finally win out, because there were people in her present waiting for her, and it would be a sin to ignore that.

But she couldn’t say the words; her heart belonged to Yukihira Souma — would always belong to him — and all broken promises and relationships notwithstanding, that was something she could not deny.

-

Although Souma technically hadn’t been invited to the kitchen for shift drinks when the front doors closed, he had taken the liberty of bringing a bottle of cab sauv that he and Erina finished in like ten seconds flat, to hell with sharing with staff, family, and friends.

The second she felt the words wanna come over? slip out of her atmosphere-drunk mouth, she knew it was going to take more self-control than she had not to demand he stay with her forever. 

“So, Yukihira,” she said like they hadn’t been catching up for the last two hours when they were sitting on the couch in her living room with pinot noir. “How’ve you been?”

The corners of Souma’s lips twitched. “Not bad,” he replied. “Mostly cooking. A few interviews and shit. I’ve been keeping up with all your stuff, by the way. Three tastings in twelve hours next Monday seems like too much, Nakiri.”

Erina frowned. “Even if you were as talented a stalker as Mimasaka Subaru, how the fuck would you know that?”

He held up his phone. “You were signed into my calendar app when I last downloaded a backup copy four years ago. So every time I get a new phone, I transfer all the old data.”

Erina stared at him, horrified. “Holy shit. You’ve seen everything?”

Shrugging, Souma said, “Not everything. Just… your dates with Darren. And Aaron. Also, I knew about Kiralyno opening before you texted me so I’d already cleared out my schedule by then.”

Erina had stopped listening halfway through. “Wait, Yukihira…”

“It’s okay, Nakiri.” Souma waved it off. “You’re here with me now. All that matters. Let’s not look too far into our past, yeah?”

“Don’t look into my future either, idiot! Sign out of my Google calendar right now!”

Souma shook his head seriously. “Sorry, Nakiri, I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Why the fuck not?”

He gazed at her intently and rested his chin on his fist. “I need to make sure I’ll still be in it.”

Erina rolled her eyes. “Don’t say sappy shit like that. It doesn’t suit you.”

“What if I just stayed?” he asked.

She sighed. “I think the question is, would I even let you? I thought we’re putting the past behind us? Don’t you want this back?” She pointed at the white cloth she was wearing on her wrist. His white cloth.

Souma ignored the second question and pulled Erina to him by her waist, close enough that she could feel his warm breath as he spoke, forehead brushing hers. “Another thing we both know is that you and I could never be just friends.”

“Take your hands off me or I swear I’m either going to spill my wine or kiss you, and I seriously do not care which.”

He leaned back with a sad smile. “You wouldn’t let me stay, would you, Nakiri?”

“I couldn’t,” she said helplessly. “We don’t even know where our lines are.”

“Do we need lines?” Souma asked, finishing his glass and balancing it on his knee. “You and I are beyond this dimension.”

Erina stared at him, memorizing every last square centimeter of his features — the way his hair seemed to get shorter every time they met until he somewhat resembled someone of his culinary pedigree; the way the creases formed on his sleeves along the contours of his toned arms.

“You know, Nakiri, if you let me stay, you wouldn’t have to stare so much.”

She tore her gaze from his collarbone, her whole face turning red. In all her twenty-one years, that had to be the most embarrassing moment of her life. “Shut up! I’m not staring!”

He was watching her with wistful eyes. “I wouldn’t mind if you were…” 

And they both heard it.

I wouldn’t mind if you were mine.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

What is your opinion on writing a chapter/book in first person and then changing all of the first-person singular pronouns to third person pronouns? I hope this question makes sense, but I think it would be an interesting way to approach writing a third-person close narrative by simply writing the story in first person pov and then transferring it all to third person pov! (Asking this because you just uploaded a video on close third person narratives <3)

This is actually a piece of writing advice I vehemently disagree with! BUT if this works for you—absolutely go for it and ignore everything I’m about to say!

I’ve had to do this a few times for a few classes across high school and even university, and I have literally learned nothing about POV by doing it. In my experience, transferring one POV to the next will teach one thing: how to transfer one POV to the next. It will most likely NOT teach you how to actually write that POV (and that’s because POV is complex and can’t simply be boiled down to an equation of which pronouns are being used). POV is oftentimes critical in how you construct your character’s voice - so a third voice is going to differ from a first. If you switch them by changing the pronouns, this difference between POVs is not considered, and the POV may risk reading as flat.

The way I write a close third narrative and a first are not the same because there are different things to consider. This is SO hard to verbalize, but if you write across multiple POVs, you might understand this feeling - you just know the difference between writing first present VS first retrospective VS second present VS third limited, etc etc. If I’m writing a first, I’m much, much closer to the stream of conscious of a character. If I’m writing a third, I can get very close to that stream of conscious, but it’s always filtered through the narrator (like I said in the video, this narrator can be close to the point where they and the character are essentially the same, or they can be much more distant). You can’t consider these nuances when switching pronouns.

Here’s an excerpt of Rewired (bear with me - this is old lol but I haven’t written a novel in first person since!), which is a novel written in first person present tense:

Dad took me to Gianni’s on the drive back down. We’d visited it on our way up, and he knew I liked the pizzeria for its deep-dish. I can’t remember if my father was Italian. He might have been. My parents had gifted me a disposable camera for Christmas, and I took grainy flash photos of the drink machines and tiny paper lanterns. This isn’t Gianni’s, and it’s 2:00AM.

Harrison orders us a deep dish large enough to feed all six of us, minus Emily because she doesn’t do dairy. Darren pumps napkins and caplets of ketchup onto his tray, and Foster brings eight straws, like two of us will screw up opening them, for some reason. Ris brings his car keys and Emily over to us at the same time and drops each off at the table before b-lining for the ticket machine.

This is what happens when we transfer it to third person:

Max took Reeve to Gianni’s on the drive back down. They’d visited it on their way up, and he knew she liked the pizzeria for its deep-dish. Reeve can’t remember if her father was Italian. He might have been. Reeve’s parents had gifted her a disposable camera for Christmas, and she took grainy flash photos of the drink machines and tiny paper lanterns. This isn’t Gianni’s, and it’s 2:00AM.

Harrison orders the group a deep dish large enough to feed all six of them, minus Emily because she doesn’t do dairy. Darren pumps napkins and caplets of ketchup onto his tray, and Foster brings eight straws, like two of them will screw up opening them, for some reason. Ris brings his car keys and Emily over to the group at the same time and drops each off at the table before b-lining for the ticket machine.

IMO, this transferred version reads super clunkily/awkwardly! There’s a roboticness to the sentence structure and the third isn’t really contributing to much in the narrative. To me, this reads very much like I’ve transferred first person to third haha. Third might give more room in this narrative - it might even switch the way details are presented to increase flow rather than jumping between small slivers of memory to the fictive present.

Here’s an excerpt from Feeding Habits, which is written in third present:

Trust looks like a road trip to Buffalo. This is not Harrison’s idea, nor is it Lonan’s—it’s all Suz. When Harrison eventually comes inside, staticky from the car, awkward, ready to flee, and his mother cooks everyone dinner and they all eat it around the kitchen table like some makeshift family and she serves dessert—her first attempt at baklava—and she cries briefly in her bedroom and exits okay and gathers both her son and Lonan in front of the television, she informs them they must communicate, hands them both envelopes.

And this is that same excerpt transferred to first present:

Trust looks like a road trip to Buffalo. This is not my idea, nor is it Lonan’s—it’s all Suz. When I eventually come inside, staticky from the car, awkward, ready to flee, and my mother cooks us dinner and we all eat it around the kitchen table like some makeshift family and she serves dessert—her first attempt at baklava—and she cries briefly in her bedroom and exits okay and gathers both me and Lonan in front of the television, she informs us we must communicate, hands us both envelopes.

The amount of discomfort I feel reading this ^^ LOL. Similar thing happens here: disjointed flow, robotic sound. What I like about the third person version is that there isn’t particular emphasis on one character (which I needed for this particular scene). To me, that focus shifts to the “I” when we change it to first so we lose a lot of Suz, who is so important in the original.

Let’s think back to my lens metaphor from the video. When you choose a POV for a story, you also place the story’s “lens” at a particular angle/distance. If you “transfer” this, you’re disrupting that placement because while it’s technically in the “same” place, it now must focus through a new framework, which is not what it was intended to do (like a camera now having to focus through a thicket of trees when it’s supposed to only capture a picture of the sky). It’s like choosing acrylic paint as your portrait medium expecting it to do the job of graphite.

It’s absolutely possible to transfer a first narrative to a third, but you’ll likely have to do more than just change the pronouns since point of view is complex and not exactly a situation of copy and paste. That new third narrator will change the way that story is filtered (which will adjust the voice, possibly even structure, and even things as small as the line level of course).

Perhaps I’m being cynical though, so I’d be curious to hear from others who’ve been successful using this transferal technique--what did you learn by doing it? Every time I’ve done this I’ve struggled to understand how it helps, but that could 100% be me so please share your experiences!

TL;DR: if you don’t know how to write a particular POV, the most helpful thing to help you learn is to actually write the POV! Get to know what different POVs offer by intentionally choosing one for the next story (or even paragraph) you write!

Hope this answers your question!

[storysofmyown]

Obey me! Scarred, Chapt. 6

Plot: It’s time for the next step in Diavolo’s plan to unify the  realms. But, in order to work, the demons would be subjected to confront  their worst fears, and in some cases, who they are.

Trigger warning:  Manipulation, Panic attack...I’m not sure if it qualifies as such, implied suicidal thoughts.

Word count: 2980

“Yes Lucifer, Beel said he would be joining me later.” Levi was waiting in a crowded room for a game he wanted to buy. It was a ridiculously crowded, Levi would have been waiting since last night, but Lucifer had forbidden him, and the only reason he had been able to even go and get a copy was because Beel offered to accompany him after his practice ended. Still, Lucifer was not all that happy with that idea and would not stop calling or texting him.

 “I still think this is a bad idea. Maybe I should go with you.” The man’s voice sounded worried trough the phone, Levi rolled his eyes.

 “Lucifer! I already told you I’m fine. I’m kind of an expert hiding from the public. There is no need for you to cut your meeting with Lord Diavolo short.” The older demon sighed from the other side of the line. “Besides, I’ve been waiting for this game for like, a year. I’m not going to let it sell out without me getting a copy.”

 “Fine, fine! But if Beelzebulb is not there in two hours, I want you to get home. I do not care if you were able to get a copy of the game, understood?” Levi nodded, forgetting he was speaking through a phone and that Lucifer could not see him.

 “Yes, gotta go now. They are selling merch!! And I already lost my opportunity to get the ultra-rare items, I won’t let that same fate fall upon me with the rare items.” Before his brother had an opportunity to answer Leviathan hanged up, walking around the few tables they had placed around. He held into his number tightly, making sure not to lose it, if he lost it, then he wouldn’t have proof that he had been waiting for the game and someone else would take his place.

 There were hundreds of demons in the room, thankfully it was a rather large room, there was enough space for him to walk around freely and not feel that overwhelmed by the amount of people around him. He was looking at some rare figurines, trying to see if he found one which he didn’t own yet. As the minutes flew by, Levi got another call. He was tempted to ignore it but noticed it said Beels name and not Lucifers. Before answering he glanced at the hour, it was half an hour past from the time Beel had said he would show up.

 “Beel?”

 “Levi, I’m on my way. The coach made us stay a bit longer.” Beels voice sounded agitated, like the demon was running. And judging by the ruffling he heard in the background, that was exactly what his brother was doing.

 “LOL, it’s fine. There still a lot of numbers to be called before us. So, no need to get here fast.” Beel was going to say something but another call interrupted him. This time it was Lucifer. “Gotta go, Lucifer is calling… again. I promise I will get you something to eat once you get here.” Beel didn’t respond, and that was fine since Levi needed to take the other call.

 “Do you have the game?”, Levi groaned. “I’ll take that as a no. Is Beel with you?”

 “No, the coach made the team stay longer. But he on his way is.” Levi heard Lucifer sigh at the other side of the line. Even he knew Lucifer was massaging his temples and Levi couldn’t even see him right now.

 “Once he gets there, you tell him to call me, okay?” Leviathan rolled his eyes for the hundred time today. He was getting exasperated at this and just wanted his damn video game so he could stay in his room and not come out until, like, two months, by that time he would have completed the game in its entirety.

 “Yes, I’ll tell him about it.” After a few more exchanges and Lucifer making Levi promise again to be back in an hour or so if he didn’t get the game, Levi was finally able to look around in peace for a couple of minutes.

  After buying another piece of merch, Levi turned around, and noticed something odd. The people in the room had been making the same five moments they had been making for a while now. Going forward and then backwards, the room had fallen into silence, which was then replaced with people saying the same things over and over again, the voices incredibly laud and merging until all Leviathan could make out of the incredible loud noise was his own name. The movements of their hands and facial expressions gave the sensation of them being robots or something. He realized that no number had been called in for a while now.

 “Are they…stuck on a loop?” Levis anxiety began raising, burning in his chest and he felt himself starting to shake lightly.

 “Took you long enough to realize it.” Leviathan snapped out of his anxiety for a second, head moving at the direction of the voice, which belonged to his father.

 “Dad?” Levi realized how he had called God, and immediately felt regret at such a level it made him wince.

 “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from referring to me as such.” Leviathan starred at his father trough his bangs. “I dread the idea of being related to any of you. Especially,” God made a point to stop in his tracks and stare directly at Leviathan, glancing up and down at him. What Levi could describe as a disgusted look appeared on Gods face as their eyes meet once again, “someone like you.”

 That sent goosebumps throughout Levis body, shaking him to his core. The bag in his hands becoming unbearable to hold on, but he refused to let it fall. They were grounding him somehow. He was scared but that comment made him mad as well. Taking a step forward and making sure his stance was firm, Levi glared to the man, trying to find the courage to respond to his father.

 “H-Hey! Wha-what is that supposed to mean?!” Levi gritted his teeth at the man, whose eyes were focused on the tables and demons that surrounded him. He was avoiding Levis gaze, almost mocking him. It was a way of saying that Levi was not even worth to look at.

 “It means,” God glared at Levi, his eyes full of a hatred that Levi had only seen once before. In the eyes of the same man that stood right in front of him. The people still stuck in an infinite loop around them, chanting Leviathans name like some sort of spell, “that I would rather not be associated with the likes of you.”

 “The likes of me? You mean demons?” Levi asked, still trying to face and maintain his ground around his father, it was hard though. Secretly, Leviathan only hoped that Beel would burst in the room and support him. Though, given the state of the demons in the room, he wondered if perhaps Beel was also stuck on a loop somewhere on his way there. “if you despise demons so much, why even bother with this trip? Why even consider the idea of having our realms united?”

 “My, for someone that spend so much time in literary works and mindless tv shows, one would expect you to read between the lines.” God took a deep sigh, one of his hands placed in the bridge of his nose. “I don’t mean demons Leviathan. In fact, I have found myself quite enjoying the distinct…ehr culture that Lord Diavolo has going around. No, when I say, ‘the likes of you’, I mean cowards.”

 Levi sucked in a breath, he felt heavy and was losing sense of the world around him. Before he could properly hear the last words, people starting chanting his name even lauder, now, Leviathan wasn’t sure if it was God causing it or if it was his own mind blocking and numbing away the world. His vision was blurry, and his heart was pounding. He felt the bag in his hand heavier than before and for a moment he completely forgot where he was, just wishing he could be back in his room under some blankets. Leviathan looked up, trying to locate God but for some reason the man was no longer in front of him.

 “Oh, pardon me. Quite a shock to you being confronted by reality?” Gods voice came from nowhere, yet everywhere. It was an echo in his mind, yet he could feel the vibrations of it on the floor.

 “You can’t talk to me like that! I…im- uhg”, Leviathan groaned shifting his position, looking everywhere trying to find where God was, “I’m one of the highest-ranking demons here. Yo-you shouldn’t talk to me like that. I am the third most powerful demon from my family, and we are all high-ranking demons.” Levi gritted his teeth and clenched his fist. He was sweating and this wave of overwhelming emotion was killing him.

 “I shouldn’t? Oh please, you talk like you have any authority boy. We both know that this status you uphold was misplaced upon you. Please, the third most powerful in your family?” God scoffed, before laughing hysterically, exaggerating and making every second fill with even more tension. “Anyone that can see at all knowns that title is wrongly placed, just look at you.” Levi felt cold wind pass around him, making every hair in his body stand up. “It’s curious. Satan, your nephew, is far younger than you, yet…he is only one position behind you. How does that make you feel?” God cackled as the wind around Levi become colder, the demon wanted to run from the place, but he was frozen, hugging himself to try and provide some sort of grounding feeling, bags forgotten on the floor. Hoping he could open his eyes, and everything would have disappeared.

 “Th-that’s not t-true! I am the general of…of the navy.” Levi spoke, but his voice was less fierce. The fear was evident on the demon’s voice. His mind was a mess. For years he has struggled with the way he is, to the point of trying to change several times, but in the end he wound up disappointed. Disappointed in how everyone saw him as the weakling of the family, disappointed in himself for not being good and disappointed and enraged that he was the way he was, and that no matter how much he tried, he would always go back to his old ways.

 “What low standards must this place have for their soldiers and whatnot.” God was still nowhere to be seen, Levi was shaking, he could not tell if it was from the cold or for the fear he felt in that moment. “It is outstanding the fact that you feel so devoid of valor or care in your family that you need to seek comfort in such things.” For a split-second God appeared beside a table, taking one of the many items in his hand and turning it to dust. Before Levi lost track of him again. “The again, if I was your family, I would also ignore you.” God laughed again. This time, Levi could feel the grin in the man’s face.

 “I know you are trying to get me all worked up. But that won’t work. You can’t…hurt me with stuff I already know.” Levi was aware of how bad that sounded but it was true. All those thoughts and sentiments, those insecurity’s and degrading thoughts were already on his mind, thinking about them constantly. But he lied, those thoughts hurt, even if he did constantly think about them.

 For a moment there was silence in the room. The slow movements of the demons around had stopped completely, the sense of dread Levi was feeling overtook any logical thought his mind could have. He was frenetically trying to find where God was, being prevented by the people around, who did not let him move around the room freely anymore. Levi didn’t know if it was just his eyes, but the room was getting darker. Then, the demons started moving rapidly, this time it wasn’t the same movements as before, these ones were frantic and there was no rhythm to what they were doing. The loop they had been stuck on burst and the had lost control completely.

 The loud noise of demons talking, and walking was becoming too much for Levi, he closed his eyes and put his hand on his ears. Demon form flickering, trying to jump out but he was also trying to stay in control of what was happening. His breathing was accelerated and even the sound of his own heartbeat was annoying him. He could feel the weight of his horns and his tail when they appeared, and the constant shift in the weight on his head was starting to give him a headache, his tail, when it appeared, moved like crazy making him lose his footing and trip various times.

 “Then what about the fact that none of your brothers trust you?” Gods voice was so loud it snapped Levi out of all his thoughts, he turned around to see the face of his father barely a few inches away, making him jump and fall on the floor. “I mean, Lucifer wouldn’t stop calling to “check up on you”, and none of them were really happy with the idea of you coming here alone, the only reason why you were even allowed to come here was because they appointed you a babysitter. And it seems like the babysitter forgot about your existence as well.”

 God laughed dryly, bending to Levis level. Levi had fallen and was looking up at his father, his vision blurry and shaking so much his hands could barely even maintain the weight he put on them. His tears were now more visible than ever, and his breathing had never been more accelerated, didn’t matter how much air he inhaled, it still felt like he was suffocating. Like an invisible hand was choking his. For a moment, Levi glanced at the side and felt himself lose the little balance he had regained, but God put a finger on his forehead. Forcing Leviathan to look at his father, even though he felt like he could pass out at any moment. Leviathan didn’t knew when, but the room was entirely black except for a light that had him and God illuminated, he was feeling weak and at some point he even almost threw up.

 “You are so weak; your family doesn’t even trust you to get out of the house alone. What does that say about you, Leviathan the Third born, admiral of hell’s navy?” Leviathans eyelids felt heavy and his throat was sore, he tried to push his father away, but he was in a state of shock. He felt exposed, demon form fully displayed. “Well I should get going. But you, Leviathan, you buy that game and try to replace your value and the love you don’t deserve and are not getting with entertainment.” God finally stopped holding Levis head up with his finger, and the moment that he did, Leviathan felt himself fall down an endless hole of all the insecurities he had ever felt.

 The only thing that kept him from keeping spiraling down was the pain he felt caused by God stepping in the demons tail. Leviathan closed his eyes and covered his face his hands, trying to breath less hastily, the entire room was on silence, until he heard the echoing booming voice of the door, which then merged into every other sound at the convention. The steps, the voices, the movements, the noise of people paying and the rustling of bags, the noise of plastic and the smell, everything was overwhelming to him. But there was a noise that muted all others. His phone was ringing.

 “Leviathan, you have half an hour more. If you do not-” He had finally managed to pick the phone up, knowing damn well who it was Levi tuned out the voice, before hanging up and finally standing up. Walking lazily and stumbling around until he existed the store he was on. The burst of light made everything worse. He was looking up, still not having entirely processed what had happen, he felt the vibrations of the phone ringing from his pocket and the way the cold wind hit his body, that reminded him of what had happened a few minutes ago. Leviathan hugged himself and focused on his breathing. Who knows how much time he spent like that, all he can tell is that after calming down a little, he heard a voice call him, and upon opening his eyes, he noticed it was Beel, centimeters away from his face, making Leviathan screech and jump, almost falling but his brother prevented the fall.

 “Are you okay?” Asked Beel, in a worried tone, looking at his brothers to make sure he wasn’t wounded or anything. Levi nodded, putting his hands on his pockets. A few seconds passed and Beel noticed the lack of bags from someone whos entire plan was to buy something. “What happen to the game?” Beel asked, thinking that might at least break the silence that settled in.

 “It…was sold out.” Was all Levi said, and started walking towards their home. Beel didn’t want to comment anything, but seeing his brothers in demon form like that, was troubling his mind. Had he been late again? Had his absence caused Levi to go through something? Beel didn’t knew, just like he didn’t know that the moment Levi entered his own room that night, he broke down like never before, feeling so small and scared, he even, for a moment thought, he shouldn’t exist.

So, this was late... on my defense, i do have an excuse- i mean an explanation. I was editing this yesterday, and stopped for a sec to see i got a notification and bam, it was the lessons. Naturally, i stopped everything i was doing and wolfed em down. So yeah, that is the reason why i didn't post this on Monday, I apologize. Next chapter will be up Friday night, that is a promise.

Anyway, i hoped y’all enjoyed this chapter. I was trying to play with Gods powers a little and also playing with his personality, in this one he is much more direct than in others. Reason being that i he feels like Levi is way easier to manipulate, just some harsh truths and you got a broken demon in your hands. But yeah, thank y’all for reading this, and i promise next chapter will be up on time.

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

[kpop---scenarios]

Teacher's Pet

This is part of the OT12 incubus collab! Other writers in the collab include: @ninibears-erigom​ @kwanisms​ @mint-yooxgi​ @k-pop-boy-scenarios​ @broccoli-channie-soup​ @chan-yolo​ @mylifeinhopeworld​ @biaswreckingfics​ @gamerwoo​ @baekwell--tart​

Warning: Unprotected sex, dream fucking. 

Word count: 2.5k 

A/N: I struggled alot with writing this..  please be kind lol 

"..and when you're writing this paper, please don't copy and paste from any sites. I will know what is and what isn't plagiarized" Suho says to his class before the classroom door is ripped open to reveal a heavy breathing..you. Although he sees you every night in your dreams and other times in person, he still loves to see you in person. You look even more beautiful in real life than you do in your dreams. As the two of you keep eye contact, he thinks about the first time he had met you, in the beginning of the summer. A few months ago he had been dragged out by his friends to a bar, O'Reilly's. He hadn't wanted to go out that night, but Baekhyun had a weird way of making him laugh enough until he got annoyed and just agreed to go out to get him to stop. Suho sat in the booth with his friends, sipping on his third drink of the night as his eyes roamed the large diverse group of people s lounging around the bar, and that's when he noticed you. You stood there looking extremely annoyed and unimpressed at whatever story the man who had cornered you was telling. He could read your lips with ease and chuckled when you told him for the fourth time that you were not interested. The man paid no mind to what you were saying, he was so wrapped up in his own story and laughing at his own lame jokes as you rolled your eyes. When he finally stopped talking, you tried to walk away from him, not wanting to be totally rude but he wouldn't let you go. His hand gripped your arm firmly as he pulled you back to stand in front of him. You looked pissed off as he tried to explain to you that just walking away was very rude. Suho slipped out of his seat, casually walking towards the bar, near where you and the man stood, overhearing your conversation a little better. "No what's rude is ignoring someone when they tell you their not interested." You snap, trying to walk away again. "So is walking away from someone again, when they're having a conversation with you" the man spits, yanking your arm to bring you back again. "Stop trying to fucking walk away from me." "Excuse me? I am not interested. Why can't you get that through your thick skull?" You snip before brushing past him, again. Suho couldn't understand the mind frame of this man, and why he continued to try to win you over when you so clearly wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. "Listen here you little bitch." The man snarls through gritted teeth, squeezing your arm. "I'm fucking tired of being polite and you brushing me off, thinking your better than me. What's a guy gotta do to get a little fucking action?" "Let go of me and take the fucking hint." You yell, attempting to yank your arm away from the man but his hold on you was far too tight. "Hah. You think you're so much better than me don't you?" He asks, staring at you with intense eyes. "I believe she told you she's not interested, and to let her go." You and the man hear a growl from behind you. "Back off, buddy." The man snaps, turning his head slightly and looking over his shoulder. "How about you back off, buddy" Suho snaps. "Are you hard of hearing? Let her go." The man's grip on you loosens quickly as he turns to face the man whose saved you. "And what are you going to do about it?"   "Are you sure you'd like to find out?" Suho asks, a sinister smile on his face as he eyes turn black in a flash before resuming to their regular colour. The man stares at Suho, his mouth gaping open before he stumbles away, tripping over his own feet in the process of trying to escape. All you could do was stand there, staring at the man who saved you from what you knew would have turned out to be an extremely terrible situation. You're at a loss for words for a second as you look him over thoroughly. He's older than you but not by a lot, extremely handsome, brown hair, brown eyes and a smile that could melt anyone, including you. "You okay?" He asks. "I am now. Thank you." You respond, your eyes never leaving his face. "I don't know how I can thank you enough, that could have ended very badly. Can I buy you a drink?" You smile. "Sure." The man chuckles. "I'm Suho." He says introducing himself. "Y/N. Nice to meet you, Suho" you smile as you slide onto a bar stool. "What can I get you?" The bartender asks. The next few hours are spent telling stories and jokes while the two of you laugh over your drinks. Looking at the clock behind the bar, you let out a small gasp, not having realized how late it had actually gotten. "Shit. I'm sorry I have to go" you say, rushing off your chair and gathering your belongings. Before you leave, you pull out your phone and you see 23 missed calls and texts from your now angry boyfriend. Suho had hoped you were going to ask for his number so he could see you again, it would be much easier to find you that way. "My boyfriend is pissed." You groan as you call the bartender over so you can quickly pay for your drinks. "Boyfriend?" Suho asks, his eyebrow raised. All night you hadn't mentioned a single word about a boyfriend and now there suddenly was one. Although, that didn't really matter to Suho. Would you be the first girl he had met and became a little obsessed with who had a boyfriend? Yes. But did it make him even more excited? Absolutely. "Yes, boyfriend. His name is Mark." You smile. "Thanks for tonight. And saving me earlier. I really appreciate it." "No worries" Suho says forcing a smile. "Maybe I'll see you around." You say before turning to walk away. Suho quickly threw some money on the counter, paying for whatever before he grabbed his coat to follow you down the street. He smiled to himself as he watched you switch from walking to a small run and then back to walking again. Suho really hadn't planned on following anyone home tonight, until he had seen you earlier, and had partially gotten to know you. He liked you, he enjoyed spending time with you and he knew he would enjoy it even more as you slept. ** For the first few weeks all Suho did was watch you. He figured out your routine, your boyfriends routine, what you liked and disliked. It was honestly a little unnerved at himself. He had never taken this much time before coming into a dream and seducing his prey, which was something he really had always enjoyed. He was beyond excited to have found a new pet, but now he was aching for a release. You had been on his mind for far too long now and he was itching to take you. He wanted to hear your moans, listen to you cumming from his cock and hopefully, if all went well, have your boyfriend hear you cry out his name causing a much needed break up between you and him. Suho had never dreamt about the possibility of changing someone to be like him, entrap unsuspecting, vulnerable people with him but you would make the perfect partner for him. The two of you ruling together, and as much as he didnt want to mentally induce or manipulate you, ge would if you decided against being with him. He wanted you to choose to be with him, he wanted you to want it but he wasn't opposed to simply persuading you to doing what he wanted. That night, weeks after the two of you had met, Suho snuck into your room, standing on your side of your bed as you softly snored while your soon to be ex boyfriend's arm was draped across your stomach. Suho watched you for a few moments before kneeling at your bedside, tracing his fingers along the side of your face before leaning forward, and placing a small kiss against your temple, inhaling deeply, taking in your scent. He smiled as he watched you, focusing all his energy on you, and in a moment he disappears into your mind, turning your once happy dream to an extremely different direction. You look around, noticing you're in a bar, the same one you had had a few drinks in a few weeks ago, where the man, Suho had come to your rescue. You stood there, the entire place empty, not a soul in sight. "Hello?" You called out with no answer. Standing there for a few more seconds, you decide to leave, but before your hand could reach the door knob you hear a chuckle. Turning around you see the man from the bar, Suho behind the bar. "Taking off already?" He asks with a smirk on his face. "I thought no one was here" you say. "Can I get you a drink?" He asks. Nodding your head you walk over to the bar and pull out a stool. "Vodka and cranberry" you tell him. You watch him as he makes your drink, unable to take your eyes off of him. Suho finishes your drink, sliding it towards you. As you take a sip he emerges from behind the bar walking behind where you're seated. "Can I get you anything else?" He whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His hands reach up landing on your shoulders, giving them a small squeeze. "You seem very tense" he whispers. "I am" you admit, closing your eyes as Suho massaged your shoulders, slowly moving his hands down your arms. "You know, I can make you feel extremely relaxed" he moans, turning you around in the chair to face him. As you looked into his eyes, they turned black. "Do you want me to help you, baby?" He asks. You were unable to speak, only nod your head. He smiled as he leaned into you, placing his lips on yours, tilting your chin up with his finger tips. Suho kneels down, spreading your legs wide as you still sat on the stool. The skirt you're wearing rides up, exposing your already needy pussy. "Mhm, no panties?" He smirks pulling you forward a bit. Suho spreads your lips with his fingers before leaning his head forward, licking a long strip up your already wet pussy. You throw your head back with a gasp as your hands grip tightly onto the edge of the stool. "Delicious" Suho murmurs before diving back in, sucking on your clit. "Fuck" you gasp as he moves from sucking on your clit to flicking it with the tip of his tongue. As Suho continues to work, building your orgasm up, your hands grip the stool tighter with each lick and suck until you're almost at your peak. "I'm going to cum" you cry out. Suho abruptly stops, removing his head from between your legs. "First time you cum will be all over my cock" he growls, standing up to unzip his pants. He pulls down his faded jeans just enough to let his fully erect cock spring free. You gasp at the length and thickness of it, your mouth beginning to drool. Suho grabs your hand to take you off the stool and turns you around pressing your front against the bar. He spreads your legs and lubes himself up before lining himself up with your entrance. Without warning he thrusts himself into you fully, giving you no chance of adjusting to his size as he stretches you out completely. "Oh my god" you scream as he pulls out before harshly thrusting himself back inside of you. Soho's hands grip your hips tightly, digging his cold fingertips into your hips as he fucks you, hard. "Shit baby girl" he groans, continuing with his thrusts. "You're so tight" A cold chill courses through your body as his frigid hands hold you tighter. "You're mine now baby." You groans into your ear. "You do as I say, when I say." "Yes, yes, I'm all yours" you cry. "Who do you belong to?" He asks, continuing to fuck you. "You. I belong to you" you moan. "Good girl. Now play with your clit" he demands. You reach your hands in between your legs, rubbing the throbbing bud that needs release. Your orgasm doesn't take long to build up again, but it remains right on the brink of throwing you over the edge. "Do you need to cum, baby?" He moans into your ear. "Yes, please" you cry. "Cum" he demands. As the words left his mouth, your orgasm seizes through your body, causing your knees to buckle. Suho holds you up tightly as he rams his cock into you, eagerly chasing his own high. Within seconds his orgasm explodes through him, shuddering as he releases his extremely hot cum inside of you, coating your walls. The two of you are still for a moment as you both catch your breath. Before he pulls out of you he leans forward, whispering one more thing into your ear. "When you wake up, end your relationship with that boyfriend of yours" he says before pulling himself out of you and disappearing. Seconds later you wake up trying to catch your breath, your pussy sore and wet, and the sudden urge to end things with your boyfriend who is no longer next to you. "Morning babe" Mark says as he walks out of the bathroom. "Get out. I'm done." You snap, brushing past him to the bathroom. A few hours later you had finally convinced him you were being serious about breaking up with him, and he had finally packed his belongings and left. You felt satisfied and relieved, like this was how it was supposed to work out. As the summer came to an end and the first day of classes came, you had been feeling a little down. Almost like something had been missing from your life, until you ran into your class. You ripped open the door to the classroom and your eyes landed directly on Suho and you began to remember. You remembered your dreams involving him, being praised by him for doing as he tells you, his cock filling you up every night. He smiles at you, nodding his head towards the desks, telling you to sit down. You do as you're told, sitting directly in the front, eyes never leaving him as he finishes talking about the first paper due in his class. You know as long as you continue to do whatever he wants you to in and out of the classroom, he'll never stop fucking you or giving you the world, or fail you. Sometimes being teachers pet has it's perks.

[licenselesswriter]

1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, 14, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 41, 44. And if I could send more, I would.

Inspiration and Reading Asks:

1. How long ago did you start reading fanfiction? Writing fanfiction? Started reading when I was 12, started writing it, when I was 14, so reading, 19 years ago, and writing 17 years ago.

2. How do you spend your time when it comes to fanfiction? Are you primarily a fic reader, writer, or a perfect 50/50 split of both? I’m a 33.3% reader, 33.3% WIP machine, a 33.4% writer, and 100% mess, I usually spend my time doing an absurd amount of WIP that comes out of thin air, like, I can be eating an apple, boom, Bori WIP, a cup of coffee? Boom, Roro WIP, breathing? Boom, Lucaya WIP (that last one happens the most)

3. Are there any fics that inspired you to write what you do? It’s called Unfaithful (EN), it’s on fanfiction.net, and honestly, it’s so well written, that I had nausea 3 times while reading it, the pain was so palpable that I felt ill from it.

4. Link your three favorite fics right now. Right now, and in order 1 - Unfaithful (EN)  2 - Twenty Nights  3 - Perfect 

6. How do you find a new fic to read? Where do you primarily read fanfiction? Fanfiction or AO3, and have an excel doc with my favorite ships, then I go to the random number generator, putting 1 as the minimum and maximum the number of the last ship I added to the list, then hit random, and read about that ship, keep things fresh.

7. Do you prefer to read short fics or long fics? Both.

8. How often do you reblog/comment on fics that you like? When they are on Tumblr, a few times.

9. Tag 3 fic writers you think are underrated/unknown in the fandom/fanfiction community. I’m sorry, but I don’t know if they have Tumblr, so, amirmitchell, snowdrifts, and Onde Tu Esteves

10. What’s your favorite fandom, pairing, or character to read fic for? Fandom: Game of Thrones, love all those modern universe AU I have to say. Pairing: Lucaya (Not a surprise) Character: Lucas Friar, Portgas D. Ace, Roronoa Zoro, or Prince Zuko.

Fanfiction Writing Asks:

11. How do you come up with your fic titles? Coffee, food, and usually, Spotify, all that, sometimes, make my brain work into having titles about the things I want to write.

13. Do you outline your fics? How much of a headache would someone get if they just looked at an outline of yours without reading the fic? I do outlines, in 5 stages, so a pretty big one. 1 - I write in my notebook, what I want to write, like a general idea. 2 - Post it on my walls and door, to give the story some structure. 3 - Notebook outline the arch of the story. 4 - Outline every chapter on word. 5 - Reduce that chapter into mini arches to write faster.

14. Do you have a personal word minimum that you hold yourself too? Why or why not? I do (now), I usually don’t post anything that is less than 2900 words, Why? because we must not forget that writers not only write for people in the fandom, they mainly write for themselves, and I love to read something among that word count because that’s long enough to keep me on the hook.

16. Do you research for your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you gone down by accident when researching? I do research for my fics, how deep? I can give indications for divorce paperwork in the state of New York, even if you want or not to go scorch the earth with the “fault” rule, I can give an appropriate value to an apartment or a house in New York, Texas, Nashville, and San Francisco, and I can do taxes on those states too, and I know more about how high school classes work in the US than in my country, even when I went to those classes, and I’m from Santiago, Chile, you know, in South America, like, the last country of South America

17. How obsessively do you sit and stare at your fic after you’ve just posted and wait for feedback? I don’t, once I finish writing something, I run away, and watch anime for a few hours, or work (Yeah, sometimes I write on my lunch hour)

18. Do you have a WIP that you keep telling yourself you’ll eventually get back to, but deep down you know that’s probably a lie? I do apologize to “The Games we Play” I have no idea how I outlined your 26 chapters, but I’m still on chapter 2, and I’m sorry.

19. Do you edit your fics after you write them, or do you prefer to just hit post and run (because it’s someone else’s problem now)? Sometimes I do because sometimes, I write things wrong.

20. What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process? That happiness I get when I’m in the Zone, and I write something that makes me say “Fuck, that was good”

21. What’s your least favorite part about the fanfiction writing process? I call it “The Deep White”, also known as writer’s block.

23. What’s your absolute favorite trope to write? I don’t write it anymore, because I was banned from a forum for writing it, but I love to write a bad ending, like “Killing the main character that I make you love for 30 chapters in the end” ending. I’m evil, I know, sue me.

24. What’s a trope that you’d like to never hear about as long as you live, let alone write? The “Good girl trying to change the bad boy,” I hate, apologies, I DESPISE that trope, it’s not cool, first, to be with someone abusive, and second, to try to change someone because you think you’re so almighty that you will change him (or her)  because of love, bs, I SAID BS.

25. Do you listen to music as you write? If possible, link your writing playlist. I do, and of course, it’s named “Writing Shiet” because my brain can only process decent titles for fics (Says the guy who once named a fic “No Title”) Here’s the link 

26. What’s your biggest distraction when writing? Anime and Manga.

27. Do you like to give your readers some warning of what might be coming or just slap them in the face with content at random? I don’t usually do it, but when I do it, I do it cryptic, like “You might be surprised, but this, I called in the beginning.”

28. How do you deal with writing pressure (ie: pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc)? I ignore it, If I can ignore good advice, ignore something that gives me more stress it’s an easy cake.

29. Have you ever written for an exchange or event of some kind? Which one(s)? Did you enjoy it? I did but didn’t submit, I wrote for 2019 fictoberfest on Tumblr, but never send a shit, I did enjoy it tho

30. Post a snippet from your current WIP without context - no more than 300 words. "Well, we're still not in Texas," he says, implying something not PG-13 at all. "My God, in what did I turn you?" Maya teases him before getting up and grab his hand, pulling him up. Lucas grins at her, "On," he replies, making Maya flirty hit his chest

31. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones? I love writing Lucas and Maya, and honestly don’t know if it helps me or not LOL.

32. Copy and paste your top three favorite lines/jokes/sentences you’ve ever written. What fics do they come from? 1 - From November to June CH3 A few hours later, Maya heard a knock on her door. She takes a peek through the magic eye on her door and saw Lucas. She grabs her phone and fastly texts him. She was able to hear the 'ding' of his phone, and spying through the magic eye she saw his reaction. "Ok, first of all, I'm not that, second, my mother is not that, and third, I'm not gonna put that there, that's fucking gross, and probably deadly if you consider the size of my hands." he defends himself. 2 - Ten Duel Commandments CH2 Maya smiles at him, "Since you're all Texan cowboy goody-good boy, I imagine you would relate more with the honorable Lord Stark," she teases him. "Says the woman who read three books in a row and texts me at four in the morning," he replies before pulling out his phone, "R+L=J," he teases her, reading her text. "That's private, asshole," Maya recriminates him. 3 - The One Who Stayed CH18 "Then, I have less... GET OFF ME FUCKER!" Maya screamed, punching the person who grabbed her arm, "Holy shit, Lucas." she says, looking at the person she just hit. "Noted, never approach to you by surprise." Lucas says on the floor, "Well, this makes me feel more confident about you being here alone." he says before start laughing.

33. What do you like writing better: one-shots or multi-chapter stuff? Multi-chapter, unless, it’s wedding fics because I love weddings.

34. How much of yourself and your life experiences do you put into your writing? What do you think your readers’ image of you is? None.

35. How much has writing fic changed your life? Not much, but has made me happier.

36. Are there any fics or fandoms you’re embarrassed to have written or been part of? The Glee Project Fandom.

37. Give an update on your current WIP - if you don’t have one, give a sneak peek to a title or idea that you have and would like to write. "Shawn called him, and he assures him that if you try something inappropriate, he has a shotgun," she adds, making Lucas's face go pale. "Well, guess like father, like son," he comments, making Maya show unexpected interest in his words.

38. What does your writing process look like? How chaotic is it on a scale of 1 (very tame) to 10 (you can’t handle this kind of chaos)? As I explained in the outline question, pretty tame if we count that I have my outline process numbered LOL.

39. What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on? That I try to make it real, I try to make people feel something when they read.

41. What’s your most popular fic (with the most notes on Tumblr, most hits/kudos on ao3)? Tumblr? The One Who Stayed Fanfiction.net? Ten Duel Commandments

44. Rant about something writing-related. Please, let’s stop glorifying the “Bad Boy” character, he’s an asshole, allow me to explain, Bakugo, fucking asshole, he’s just a bully with an oversized ego, no, he’s not a tsundere, no, it’s not cute, that shit is abusive, and it really makes me want to punch people in their nose when the romanticize that bullshit.

Done

(Told ya I was bored)