#interesting facts about sublimation

[lori11hen2ry]

The Sublimation Trend Unveiled

Explore the nuances of the sublimation cool trend in our detailed blog. Find answers to all your questions and stay informed!

[fatalism-and-villainy]

#yeahhh i really like the way you put this#god jack in s3 ... his grief; his guilt; everything about his interactions with hannibal too#after bella's death—or even by the time he goes after hannibal in mizumono— he's definitely beyond the constraints &#moral constructs of law enforcement#at the same time hannibal's comparison of him to god is fascinating considering the emphasis on god's duality/cruelty/need for sacrifices#since; as you mentioned; by s3b—despite his pervasive guilt—will becomes the sacrifice once more to jack's agenda#& in conjunction with that; ​post-fall jack's return to his s3a state of mind is definitely far more compelling#wrt the fallout of him sacrificing will one too many times & finally losing him entirely#yet if it came down to a choice; in the moment; btwn saving will but letting hannibal go or finally getting the closure of#hannibal's death at will's expense—especially if will's actions/becoming lead jack to believe will's death would be for the greater good—#i could see it going either way#after all; regardless of not being tied to the considerations of law enforcement; his moral compass is still more inflexible than will's#& in nbc hannibal; one way or the other; all gods demand sacrifices (via @carbonorchestrations)

ooh thanks for these thoughts!

Jack's moral compass is less flexible than Will's, in the sense that he's not torn between good and evil - he's pretty firmly positioned as the good angel on Will's shoulder (while Hannibal is the devil). But he is similar to Will in the sense that he's constantly internally divided - in his case not between righteousness and darker impulses, but between protecting the individual people close to him and sacrificing them for "the greater good." And just as Hannibal influences Will into leaning more towards his dark side, Will's (unintended) effect on Jack is to push him more in the direction of valuing personal loyalties (in season 2 he's all set to put his career on the line in order to defend Will).

Where Jack isn't conflicted, over the course of the show, is on the question of personal justice versus "public" justice. His vendetta against the Ripper is highly personally motivated, because of what happened to Miriam Lass (and later to Beverly, by season 2B), but catching him would undeniably be a public service, so the personal motivations don't conflict with his ideals. But post-canon, I'd love to see him get pointed in a direction that requires his personal vendettas and loyalties to clash with his morals, and just wind him up and watch him go from there.

I've talked before about how Alana in 3B gets to balance her sense of self-preservation with her moral impulse to protect others, but that those two goals might end up clashing for her post-canon. I think for Jack something similar could happen wrt personal and public justice, as well as having to choose between saving someone and killing the bad guy. So I really like what you've said about him having to choose between saving Will and killing Hannibal, or saving or killing Will based on what Will's become.

I think the other thing going on with Jack is the question of what constitutes justice, and specifically what the distinction is between state-sanctioned justice (and murder) and rogue justice. I had Jack in the back of my mind as I was writing this post, and it helped me reach a breakthrough on What Even to Do With Jack in my "Jack encountering Will and Hannibal post-canon" 'verse. Because I'd considered Will offering to help Jack solve some set of murder cases (unsanctioned), but wasn't sure what direction to take that in, but I think "Will persuading Jack to commit murder as a form of vigilante justice" is what I've landed on. (Especially since - to continue the Alana parallels - it might indebt him to Hannibal and/or Will in the same way Alana's murder of Mason Verger indebted her to Hannibal.)

While talking to @menciemeer, something came up re: Jack’s motivations for being in Italy in season 3 that I haven’t seen discussed much - and that is that he’s explicitly there not to catch Hannibal, but to save Will. Here’s his dialogue with Pazzi in Secondo:

Jack: If he hasn’t already, Il Mostro will return to Florence. Pazzi: Come back with me. We have a chance to regain our reputations and enjoy the honours of our trade by capturing the monster. Jack: I’m not here for the monster. Not my house, not my fire. I’m here for Will Graham.

This is even more striking in light of the context for his character that the very next episode gives us - his conversation with Chilton in Aperitivo establishes that he’s been forced into retirement with the FBI, but he’s not interested in regaining his standing or reputation. (Very odd in light of the fact that come the Red Dragon plot, he seems to still have his old job in Behavioral Science). Chilton tries to get him to use Will as bait to find Hannibal:

Chilton: Will is going to lead you right to him. Jack: Oh, no, he’s not. Not to me. I’ve let them both go. I’ve let it all go. Chilton: You dangle Will Graham and now you cut bait? You’re letting Hannibal have him hook, line, and sinker. Jack: You’ll excuse me, Dr. Chilton. I like to be home in the evenings when my wife wakes.

What stands out about this exchange is Chilton’s “letting Hannibal have him” phrasing. It foregrounds not subduing Hannibal, but preventing Will from succumbing to his worst impulses, as a central motivation for Jack in 3A. It’s also significant that it’s his need to care for Bella that leads him to defer pursuing anything relating to Hannibal or Will, because her death is framed within the episode as the impetus for his investment in following Will to Europe - as he tells Will in the funeral scene, “you don’t have to die on me, too.”

So much of Jack’s character arc in the first two seasons is juggling his repeated sacrifice of others for the greater good. His guilt over what befalls both Will and Miriam features prominently in season 2, and during Will’s trial, he’s already prepared to put his career and reputation on the line to stand up for Will and atone for what he feels is his role in Will’s downfall. Both the traumatic events of Mizumono and Bella’s death bring about more of a full turnaround in that direction - Jack becomes less invested in apprehending killers in service of public safety, and more invested in saving the specific person who’s been harmed by that project.

I think this motivation doesn’t always stick in people’s minds because these exchanges get eclipsed by Jack beating Hannibal to a bloody pulp a couple episodes later, as well as his inexplicable return to working for the FBI in 3B. But even in the former altercation, his fight with Hannibal feels personal, more about venting anger and grief than actually apprehending Hannibal. In Dolce, when Will asks why Jack didn’t kill Hannibal, Jack responds “maybe I need you to” (in the same exchange, of course, as “you need to cut that part out”). That scene also establishes clearly that Will and Jack are, like Pazzi, “outside the law and alone.” As in Mizumono, they’re effectively vigilantes - and Jack’s mission is not serving justice for the FBI, but in saving Will from Hannibal’s influence.

This is why, despite the fact that Jack is once again embroiled in FBI business in season 3B, I always envision his role post-canon as being a continuation of what haunts him in the first half of the season - less about catching or killing Hannibal than about rescuing Will. It’s a lot more compelling to me, at least, than him simply continuing to be the face of law enforcement.

[angelisverba]

praise

in which y/n notices something isn't quite right with her professor, and harry loves chasing this little bunny

word count: 5.5k

pairing: vamp!h and y/n (but really it's more like professor!h with a side of vampire)

warnings: this fic contains graphic depictions of sex and blood.

author's note: happy late halloween!

When y/n was little, her mother always told her to stay inside on Halloween.

She never got to go trick-o-treating like the other kids because of this, not until she was old enough to pay for her own costume, but by that time it was too late because trick-o-treating turned into bar hopping and candy turned into drinks. She took part in these activities for as long as it took for her to figure out that she didn't like alcohol or big crowds or dressing up.

Also by that time, many of the holidays took place around the time that she was stressing about papers and exams and midterms and other deadlines a college students faces around the end of the semester. She was a dedicated, busy little bee with few friends that knew her enough to know that when she's focused, theres no getting her to come out for anything, so they didn't even extend invites.

Which is why she finds herself inside, at the library, on Halloween night. She has a little ear worm of Linus writing his letter to the great pumpkin running around in her brain, but that's as far as her spooky spirit goes. The rest of it is consumed in her paper about sublime notions of nature in the latest gothic novel assigned by her literature professor, Mr. Styles.

Had it been any other teacher, she wouldn't have lingered so much on grammar, word choice, or reading her paper over and over again so that her ideas were clear and concise, but... but there was something about him. She can't really but her finger on it, but a big part of it is fear. Intimidation. He's so... commanding in the way that he carries himself. Almost menancing, his figure carrying the threat of punishment.

He walked into the lecture hall everyday dressed like a model from a vintage academia magazine. Tweed bottoms. Button up shirts. Loafers. Sleek black shoes. A pristine silver watch on his wrist. A golden chain that twinkled on his neck and disappeared into the collars of his shirts like a shooting star. Slicked back chocolate brown hair from which a single curl sometimes escaped and swayed on his forehead like the hooked tail of a monkey. Tailored pants that accentuated the litheness of his hips perfectly so, making her wonder if he had them altered to fit him exactly. A badge on a simple, black attachment pinned on his hip spelled his name underneath a coyly smirking ID picture of his face; Harry Styles. 

So y/n had a little crush.

A silly little bundle of love-misted roses perched in her heart with a ribbon and a name tag that had her English professor’s name on it. 

She tried to tell herself that it was a school girl’s crush (it literally was), but it was hard to keep her daydreams cemented underneath the rounded realm of reality when her heart kept reading into every single little interaction she had with him, knowing that all her fantasies would only ever exist in her dreams because he was an employee. He was older than her. He would never be interested in a girl, a student, like her. His serious disposition did nothing to quell her. 

In fact, it almost egged her on. The perfectionist in her wanted to be perfect for him, so be praised by him for her hard work. She wanted so badly to be his teacher's pet that it reflected in her work ethic. Every paper she turned in was better than her last, she paid rapt attention in class, took the most intricate care in her notes. She always looked her best on the days she had his class- black ballet flats with black skirts, frilly socks, cardigans and collared blouses- ever the neat student. She's every professor's wet dream, she knows this.

Yet, the approval and validation that she craved. No, needed. The validation she needed from him was never given to her, no matter how hard she worked. The notes on her paper were always asking for more, she could do better, she could be more clear, she wasn't quite*getting it. And he always left a note that she should see him in his office hours.

But she couldn't.

Y/n was sure that she would spontaneously combust is she was in an enclosed one-on-one space with him. Which was funny because many of the female students fought for that time with him. One time she heard a few girls in her class say that they tried to call him by his first name and he told them that "it was Professor Styles or Sir to them". Just listening to it second hand was enough to have her squirming. The though it, to have his striking green eyes on only her, his gravely, accented voice directed at her. It was an intoxicating though.

She could imagine it.

He would sit on the other side of his desk in that suave way of his, ankle crossed at his knee, one hand resting on the arm of his chair while the other props his chin up as his finger taps against his sharp cheekbone. He would watch her with an unwavering, predatory gaze, like he's waiting for her to make a mistake to step in and correct her. Y/n would sit in the seat across from him, her hands under her thighs to keep from fidgeting, her lips wet with her spit from how much she'd chew on them, her eyes unfocused and struggling to keep contact with him. The silence in the room would probably be filled with her 'umm's and 'like'. She'd be so nervous, and he would see right through her, and all her hard work would be diminished to nothing.

And then she would probably cry and Professor Styles doesn't really look like the type to console his students, so y/n would just embarrass herself.

So she settles for putting her all into her work, tweaking what he's made notes on from previous papers, and hoping that it's enough, that one of these days she'll she exclamation points at the end of praise instead of at the end of 'explain this'.

With a weepy, overwhelmed sigh, y/n rubbed her fists into her eyes and ran words over and over again in her head. She was the last one in the library, the light from the lamp at her desk was the only source of illumination in her little study corner. This late into the semester the school didn't close libraries, opting to not get in the way of students and their work. It was nearing midnight, and she was getting tired, but this paper was due in two days and she wanted at least one to edit it.

A little delirious from lack of sleep and anger from how difficult this was all turning out to be, y/n blinked back tears. She was a little cold and she was hungry. But she was not going to leave until this paper was finished.

She would however close her eyes, just for a little while. Y/n put her head down on the desk, telling herself that she would only rest her eyes for a few minutes, that she was not going to fall asleep.

But like every college student that snoozes their alarm twenty million times because they're just going to rest their eyes for a few more minutes, she falls asleep.

She startles awake in the dark at the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

When she jerks upright, Professor Styles is sitting across from her, reading her paper.

***

Harry is so fucking hungry, and he's looking for a snack. Maybe even a meal if he can get away with it.

He hasn't fed in nearly a month, and normally even two weeks is pushing it. But it was the month of October, and as the holidays neared and the parties increased, so did security and people's guard. It was extra hard to find a bite now, not the kind he liked.

Sweet, pure, and innocent. Untainted flavor.

A few days ago he managed to snag a few blood bags from the campus' blood drive center, but it wasn't enough. He craved the puncture, the warmth of a body in his arms, the fresh throb of a pulse underneath his tongue. He wanted the erotic writhing of struggle and submission against his body. Many of his kind didn't share their fondness for this part, but he loved taking care of them afterwards. Making sure they were okay, steady. Sated in the same ways he was. Being a vampire came with the ability of glamour, a bit of mind influencing, so that he was able to make the situation a little more favorable on his end.

He had decided to go for a stroll, having been caught up late in his office grading papers, when he caught a hint of something sweet and familiar in the night air.

It reminded him of one his students, y/n.

She always sat in the middle of the third row with perfect posture, listened to his lectures as if he was God. Her eyes would get mooney, and if he listened hard enough (which to him wasn't really that hard because he was a vampire, he had super human hearing) he could hear her heart beat faster in the seconds that his eyes held contact with her as he talked, delicate and quick like the wings of a hummingbird. Everything she turned in was perfect. She was smart but not pretentious in her way of writing, and something about the way she wrote reminded him about the tender inside of a wrist. Her wrist.

But Harry was mean, and he liked to tease, and he could tell that y/n was waiting. She was sitting on a precipice, hanging on to his very word, her body strung taught and stressed. She was waiting on him. He was going to make her wait until he did as he asked. He wanted one on one time with her, and until then, he wouldn't give her what she wanted.

Whether she realized it or not, she was teasing him, too. In ways that y/n probably wasn't even aware of. The way she bit her lips so they were bright with her blood right underneath the surface, the promise of her heat with every exaggerated sigh she let out as she walked out of his lecture hall. Her clothes, god they killed him.

She wore these black kitten heels once, and they drove him crazy.

Now, he knows his place as Professor, and he didn't just get this job to fuck around. He enjoyed teaching and knowing secretly that he knew first had about the things he was talking about. He loved seeing how his life was absorbed by the younger faces (not that he looked old, he would forever appear to be 23). He respected others, their will, their purpose, and only went as far as his moral compass would let him to take care of his needs.

But he was a man, and he could be brought to his knees by a pretty thing like y/n.

Harry remembers that day, how his trousers were uncomfortable and he had to spend the whole time behind his podium. How he needed to slyly inch a calculating hand to the ever-growing uncomfortable center of his groin and tug the snug fabric away from their vacuum-sealed hold on his hips. It was maddening for him, but uncomfortable for her (he thinks). She never wore them again, and he suspects they may have hurt her delicate feet if the way she kept shifting was anything to go by. 

Not that he noticed.

Harry most definitely did not notice that the tip of her toes kept tittering tenderly up and around in slow, hypnotizing circles, meant to relieve pent up tension. He most definitely did not notice that the way her frilly white socks kept sliding down the slope of her ankle with every movement. Or the tantalizing trekk of her delicate fingers against the curve of her thigh, behind her knee, and a little further where the pads of her lucky fingers dug into the soft, aching- he assumed- flesh of her calves. He didn’t fucking hold his breath and become stiller than a statue to try and to hear the sweet, breathy sighs of relief that left her parted lips. No, he did not. That would be a violation of the contract he signed upon assuming his position. It would be betraying the trust of the snarky, reluctant, port-belly head of academics that judged his ambiguous resume with reluctance.

Of course he didn’t. And he wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed that he never saw them again. 

This student of his had captured his attention this semester, almost distracting him. Her smell, from what he knows the few times he caught a whiff of it amongst all the others, was sweet, yet not overwhelmingly so. It was mellowed out and warm, and the closest thing he could compare it to from the food he had as a human, was apple pie. She was warm, sweet, honeyed, with the zest of cinnamon.

He wanted to taste her so fucking badly.

Harry doesn't know if it's because he's so hungry that he's smelling her now.

Trailing after the scent with his nose leading the way like a drooling dog, he wonders- no, he knows that he won't be able to fight the urge to taste her if it's really her he finds at the end of the line.

It gets stronger in the library, but from the looks of it, it's dark and empty. From the looks of it, but Harry knows better. He can hear better and smells better, and he knows she's in here. The swift intake of her breath rings in the silence, his ears picking up on the only human sound in the buildings. The near-silent whines that sit at the base of her throat and die before they exit through her nose.

Her hearbeat.

Calm. Steady. Alive.

It sounds like a drum, low and pounding and it thrills him.

He wants to hear it beat faster and faster, like a bunny when it's being chased. He wants to hear the even paced breaths become rapid and disorganized with heightened emotion.

He can smell her, too, the delightful aroma making his fangs itch and his loins ache. Walking further into the library, the stacks of books growing dense with sharp corners and cozy study nooks, he can trace the direct path she took to her spot- the table in the corner with the lamp still on. She has her head resting on her arms, hair haphazardly strewn across the wooden table and some papers, a pencil between her fingers still.

She probably set her head down after saying she was only gong to rest her eyes. She's probably been here for a really long time, he can hear her stomach growling. Shaking his head in disbelief, he pulls the chair back with a motion that's sure to wake her up at the same time that he pinches the paper with two fingers and begins to read.

Waking with a little gasp, y/n straightened. He could pinpoint the exact moment she became fully cognizant of what was happening because her heartbeat picked up in a way that concerned him, and she became utterly still. From the corner of his eye (Harry was reading her paper, a really good paper, and hadn't looked at her. Not even once) he could see her mouth open and close a few times, words escaping her. Y/n rolled the pencil between hands that had begin to perspire and began to chew on her bottom lip.

Internally, Harry groaned. He needed to get her to stop doing that because he was imagining things that no person is his position of power needed to be imagining and his cock was fattening against his thigh. He was hungry in more ways than one for her. A part of him wanted to mark her up like he was a dog and she was his chew toy, licking and sucking and biting on the sweetest parts of her to suckle on her blood; everywhere. The other wanted to do all of those things, and not just for her blood.

He had to get her to speak.

The paper that he held in his hands was probably the best that he was going to get from her class, or maybe all of them put together. The ideas were fresh with just the perfect amount of information from his lectured tossed in for a response to the prompt on the book they were currently discussing. But he had to keep playing his game with her, he had to see her fold like a ragdoll. He wasn't going to tell her what he truly thought about it, how it was so good, how she was such a good student, how she made him so proud. How she was a good girl.

Instead he put the paper down in front of her, crossed his arms and spread his legs in the chair to give his swollen dick some room and said, "you should go home. Have a meal. Go to sleep.”

At this her shoulders sagged, and it was like watching dominoes fall against each other to release different triggers, Her lips crumpled, her chin wobbled, and her eyes blinked away a sea of crystalline tears.

Y/n stared at him, a wet look that punched his gut at the same time that it made his gums salivate and his hips itch to thrust up against the desk like a thing in heat. He looked back at her, his head tipping slowly to the side to track her gaze as it dropped. Like a predatory, he observed her with the kind of stillness that promised a charge of action. That promised death in the maw of a killer.

Her mouth did that thing where it opened and closed again, sounds that came before actual words coming out of her, but never intelligible sentences. Her heart was racing, but her lungs were doing a weird thing. Like they weren't getting enough oxygen.

"Why don't you take a deep breath , hmm? And we can talk about what's going on here," he got up from his chair and stood at the side of his desk, arms crossed and feet spread shoulder width apart, formidable. If she looked closely enough, she would be able to see a thick bulge at his crotch.

But she didn't have a reason to look. He wasn't adjusting himself. He didn't even look like it bothered him.

In fact, he looked almost... mad.

Y/n looked at him straight in the eyes, and her's went doe-like, everything in her stilling like the fawn-like creature in the way of an oncoming vehicle.

Everything, including her breathing.

He wasn't going to have her passed out before all the fun began. Needing to get a grip on her, he took a few heavy steps foward, and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, the other hand tucking into his pocket to actually adjust himself this time because it was starting to get uncomfortable.

Tilting her face up and closer to him, he bent forward so that their noses were barely touching. Her warm breath huffed against his nose, and he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head.

"Breathe, y/n. You can do it," peering down at her with his jack slightly slack and his eyes at half mast, he imitated inhaling deeply, and she mimicked his motions. Her lungs expanded, and her heart slowed slightly. "That's it, darling. Again."

She gulped and her hands squeezed the fabric of the plaid tennis skirt she was wearing, bringing the hem up slightly so the thinner skin on the inside of her thighs gleamed at Harry.

Then he smelled it, and this time he didn't fight the shiver that ran through him. She was wetHis eyes closed, and a groan rolled deep in his chest. His body tensed and relaxed at the same time, like a transformation.

And when he opened his eyes, he was a different version of himself.

One that didn't give a fuck that he was a professor and she was his student.

This version only had one goal in mind: to consume her in every way he could until y/n went limp in his arms.

"Now what's the matter, little bunny?"

***

Y/n didn't know what was happening, only that something had... changed.

She might have been a quivering mess for him, but she felt the shift in him. The edge to him. The gleam in his eye. She had seen his body shiver at the same time she felt her pussy clench at his words. That's it, darling. Again. Little bunny.

He was encouraging her, not far off from what she wanted to hear from him. It stroked her muddled brain and made her feel fuzzy all over. Some of what he was saying was very inappropriate. But she could care less.

“W-what?” she mumbled, confused. She blinked so that a few tears ran down her face, and she couldn't even feel embarrassed about it.

“Y’heard me loud and clear, darling. Don’t make me repeat myself," her professor tutted.

"i'm sorry, sir. It's just that... I need to work on my paper." And she mumbled something afterwards. Low enough that he wouldn't have been able hear if he was a human. But he wasn't. That didn't mean he couldn't play with her.

"Speak up, y/n. Good girls don't mumble." His tongue was like a lashing, a reprimand, and she felt the scolding everywhere.

"It needs to be better for you, sir." Gulping, she rubbed her thighs together and shuffled in her seat. Y/n was finally one-on-one with him, and she thought she knew what it would feel like.

She was wrong.

Everything was sensitive. Hot. Cold. She was twitchy and there was this squirrley, jumpy feeling inside her. She wanted to run away like a little mouse, but she also wanted to be warmed in his hands. By his words. She wanted to hear the praise come from him so that she could stop feeling so desperate.

Y/n got like this sometimes. Whiny. Insatiable. But no one ever knew how to handle her, when to realize that she was finally full. So she was always... hungry. Like something inside her needed to be stuffed. Abused a little, maybe. She wanted to be handled and then petted. Fucked and kissed and then held. She wanted to be good.

And being like this with him, in a position that made it seem like that was possible, y/n thrummed.

Humming in realization, he stroked his knuckles down the side of her face in a caress, "and what makes you think it isn't already good?"

She leaned into his touch without realizing it, nuzzling into his hand. All she had to do now was purr. Y/n shut her eyes before speaking, "Y-you... you never-"

"Open your eyes and look at me when you're speaking, bunny." Again, the stern, scolding tone. This time it made her flinch and whimper. Her hips rocked in the chair, and he tracked the movement like a leopard in the trees ready to pounce. Y/n knew that he saw, and her face bloomed with heat.

In a breathy, chocked string of words, "you never leave nice notes on my papers, sir. All the others do, but there never any on mine and I just thought... that I n-needed to work harder to be b-better."

She shuffled again in her seat, and her professor's eyes pinched. His had trailed down to her throat, and he squeezed to hold her still.

“Stop squirming, y/n. You want to be better? Stop fucking squirming," and he released her with a small pulse at the base of her neck. He could feel his teeth bulging under his upper lip, the thrum of her life under his fingers enticing him further. Every bit of reason was escaping him. He was going to lose control. Decades of practice, of edging on months of hunger, were nothing to her allure.

He stepped back at the same time that he realized they weren't close enough.

"Stand up," he told her. He watched as she pushed the chair back and stood on wobbly knees, her gaze still searching for recognition that he had heard what she had said, that he had read between the lines and realized what she needed. "Sit on the edge of the table, facing me so we can speak properly."

When she was seated and her hands began to fiddle in her lap, he stepped close enough that her knees were almost touching his hips. And she couldn't miss it this time. The thick length of him, hard against his hip.

"S-sir?" she prompted meekly.

"You want me to leave nice notes on your papers, y/n?" He asked, settling his hands on either side of her and haunching over her so they were nose-to-nose. She could smell him, strong masculine scents of vintage leather and tobacco and bergamot.

Nodding eagerly like a dog, "mhm. Yes, sir."

"Then why didn't you come see me like I asked on every single one of those papers? You didn't listen to me, so why should I reward you?" He mouthed the words against her skin, trailing them down her jaw to her throat where he teased the skin with the tip of his nose.

The area around her neck felt scorching hot, his lips trailing searingly against her. She couldn't hide how desperate she was anymore. She arched, her body was taught, fighting the urge to wriggle because she couldn't decide if she wanted to get away from him or have more of him, and she needed to be good. He had told her to stop squirming.

"I'm sorry, Professor."

Y/n closed her eyes and tentatively braced herself against him. Trembling hands settled on his arms, thick with deceptive muscle. She could feel the strength hiding beneath the surface, tense like a snake preparing to strike. A strong hand settled at her waist, clamping like iron, and another on cupped her jaw tenderly. It was a dichotomy of treatment. Rough and tender at the same time.

"You were a bad girl, y/n."

Then she felt it, a sharp sting where her throat met her shoulder, where Harry was biting her, and licking her, and suckling at her all at the same time. A mixture of a squeal and a moan jumped out of her, and she dug her fingers into his arms, frozen. Whatever he was doing to her hurt. But it hurt in a good way. A way that made her ache with that need to be filled.

She cried out, "I'm sorry, sir." A wet apology that bared how anguished she was.

His hot tongue flattened against her, and she she vibrated in the place where he left his heavy pant, "are you going to be good for me, bunny?"

"Yes, sir. I wanna be good, please," her head was bobbing in that earnest way again, but with his head in the crook of her neck he could only feel the movement against his hair.

He suckled a little more at bite that was already beginning to close, kissing it tenderly, "gonna be my good little bunny?"

Y/n was huffing, not even bothering to hide that she was horny, “please, p-please- I need-”

“Tell me exactly what you need. C'mon, you can do it,” he coaxed her. The hand at her hip molded the flesh there, pulling her closer to him so she was sitting just at the edge, and her knees were pressed into his dick with the lightest pressure. He bucked against her, a slow roll of his groin against her delicate bare knee.

“I need to cum, sir. I need-” 

“Don’t-” he pinched her hip roughing, his thick eyebrows furowing in disapproval, “forget your manners, little bunny. Rude darlings don’t get to cum.”

"Please let me cum, Professor," she repeated, eyes glossy but no longer with tears. This was something else. Something needy. Y/n could feel her slick juices seeping through her panties and making the insides of her thighs sticker. The triangle of cloth was sticking to her, and the tight feeling of it against her clit made her want to scream. It was just barely pushing, a teasing sensation that was driving her crazy.

She wanted him to touch her. To rub her swollen clit until she drenched hand in her cum, and then to- to-

"I'm not sure I should, y/n. You didn't listen to me. Didn't come to my office. Instead I had to come find you here. What about me, hmm? What if I need something from you?" Harry leaned back, letting his hands run down so they rested on her knees and his fingers could play with the hem of her skirt.

"Whatever you need, sir. Please." Y/n was beginning to sound a little broken. Her hips struggled to stay planted on the desk and her knuckled turned white from how hard she gripped the edge of the wood. She would much rather touch him, but he was too far away and she didn't want to upset him. She stared at him, silently pleading for his hands to creep up and shove into her panties, to play with her hole.

"Right now I need to eat you, little bunny. Are you going to let me?" He tilted his head at her again, calculating. Waiting, observing.

"Yes!" Y/n shrieked, her thighs trembling.

"Spead these pretty thighs, darling. Let me have a taste," he crooned down at her as she opened up, her skirting riding so he could see her panties, how wet they were, nearly transparent with her arousal. With a deft finger, he pulled the gusset of her panties to the side and dropped to his knees.

Y/n whined at the look on his face. Mouth parted, eyes half-lidded and downturned. He looked hungry. Desperate.

Without warning he leaned forward and covered her with his mouth, his tongue licking her and then dipping into her pussy to collect what had pooled at her opening, his teeth lighting tapping against her clit. He thrusted his tongue into her once, twice, three times, and that was all it took. A gush of wetness coated his tongue, and her tremors pulsed against his lips.

He leaned back and slapped her cunt with an angry growl, and then shoved two fingers into her, fucking her roughly so his fingers got wet with her, "seriously, y/n? Did I give you permission to cum?"

"N-no, sir," as she sat hunched over his kneeling form still twitching, Harry shoved his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean of her, and then stood up, not even bothering to lay her panties right before yanking her to stand.

"Get up. We're going to walk to my rooms. Your'e doing to do so quietly, and when we get there, you're going to take your punishment like a good girl, do you understand me?" With a single finger pointed at her, y/n understand she was in for it. Her hands flew to pick up her things, showing her papers into her bag and looping it on her shoulder so she was ready to go.

"I understand, Professor"

He took the bag off her shoulder and laid a hand on her lower back, keeping her at his side as he led her out of the library and into the night, "that's better. Come this way. The night is still young, bunny, and we're both in for a treat."

*****

happy halloweenie!! hoped u liked this heehee. missed mr. vamp. lmk ur thoughts!!!

[narutouzumakiarchive]

There are certainly gothic elements in Naruto and Sasuke's dynamic, particularly in Part 1, and there is one image that really highlighted this aspect.

Now, the sublime, according to Edmund Burke, is the attractive, "delightful horror" caused by the experience of pain and terror. Though I best like how it's described by John Dennis as the mingling of pleasure and horror. So there's a sharp emotional juxtaposition that's central to the modern conception of the sublime, and in Naruto, juxtaposition is a motif that has significant prominence in Naruto and Sasuke's relationship (especially given their function as foils).

In the lead up to VOTE 1, Kishimoto blends Sasuke's experiences of horror and terror because of Naruto. There's an increasing sense of astonishment and fear at the great magnitude of power that Naruto displays but there's also significant apprehension at what's to come — an apprehension characterized by Sasuke's constant questions about who, or what Naruto is. And things come to a head during VOTE 1, when Sasuke is so shaken by Naruto that he experiences a level of terror similar to what he felt during the massacre and his confrontation with Orochimaru.

That said, this particular post isn't about VOTE 1. In the image that caught my eye I noticed there was something interesting about Sasuke's expression.

Now the onomatopoeia used in that panel (zoku) of the first image that I posted has been used before. In Example 2 below we see it used to represent Sasuke's clear cut excitement at being able to fight Gaara, whereas in Examples 1, 3, 4, and 5 we see it used to represent a range of obvious negative emotions ranging from fear to terror.

But the image of Sasuke reacting to Naruto summoning Gamabunta evades simple classification. Sure there's that typical fear and incredulity that Sasuke felt towards Naruto, reflected in Sasuke's single sweat drop and thoughts. But his facial expressions don't neatly align with Sasuke's more obvious expressions of negative emotions (eyebrows thoroughly furrowed, mouth agape AND downturned, increased number of sweat drops, etc.) In fact, his expression was a near exact parallel to that of Orochimaru's throughly excited face after he saw Sasuke defeat his opponent in the Chunin Exam Preliminaries.

This image encapsulates the paradoxical nature of Sasuke's feelings about Naruto's strength that stretches throughout the Part 1. There's certainly an attraction to the Naruto's physical strength that had been present as early as the bell exam, but as the manga progressed, we also see how Naruto's strength generated a myriad of different emotions in Sasuke: anger, confusion, anxiety, incredulity, apprehension and fear.

And we also see this representation of the tension between the positive and the negative in Naruto's reactions to Sasuke as well, with the most significantly being Naruto's physiological response of "tingles" at hearing Sasuke acknowledge him, despite the fact Sasuke lashed out at him during a negative moment after being traumatized by Itachi.

The Orochimaru issue image really captures both sides of this contradiction at once. It perfectly represents the delightful horror that Burke called "the most genuine effect and truest test of the sublime."

Part 1 was really about building up the beautiful and complex tragedy between Naruto and Sasuke while Part 2 emphasized healing and progress, though we still see some of those tensions at play (ex. fighting violently with their fists to read eachother's hearts).

[evilminji]

I just realized? But a Reincarnated Force Sensitive Soul?

In Star Wars?

Would have a HELL of a time. Like... for real... you would be? Higher then most satellites. Assuming of course, you had ACCEPTED you're death. Made peace with it. Which? The Force would probably knock out for you?? In like... 3-4 business days. Tops.

What with being Connected To The Heart Of EVERYTHING.

Taste-Smell-Soul-Feel the RAINBOW and be at PEACE, bitch! Your Vibes are transcendent and your crops sublime.

It's? Probably like if LSD had not down sides or bad trips. You are ALREADY Luminous. Barely connected to this fragile matter. What do YOU care? Why be upset... about ANYTHING? Isn't the fragile light of this nearby fern ENCHANTING? Watch as it grows. Let's sit here for hours. Miss meal time. Pass out from hunger and dehydration, cause we forgot the flesh of our form need support, and we are a toddler.

We were watching grass grow.

At one with the universe.

No, we aren't paying attention. We haven't been and probably won't be. We concern people greatly. It's a legitimate medical concern.

Cause like?? Born knowing you are to die again. That this is all a beautiful dream. Why pay attention? Get attached? Why not relax instead? Watch the starlight. Ponder the flow of the Force through the trees? Lay by the fountains and just... listen to the water. Know Peace. Give Peace. Accept that it will end.

Be somehow the MOST Jedi a Jedi has ever been AND a living testament to how it is unsustainable to be so. You connect to no one. Cling to nothing. You do not thrive, you HAUNT. Your serenity is peaceful, yes. But it is the peace of the dead.

Is this what they have become?

It'd be? Very interesting? To see Cannon change? BECAUSE a character accepts it. Decides to do... nothing. In fact, so PROFOUNDLY does Nothing. So COMPLETELY is at Peace with their Inevitable Death... it horrifies everyone around them into action.

Is the small child, at utter Peace, radiating Acceptance and Tranquility, on the Temple steps. Well beyond the Gaurds. Knowing EXACTLY why Skywalker is walking towards them. Not looking up. Not stopping their meditation. Just... small. Peaceful. Someone who has never hurt him and isn't armed.

All it would take... is one movement.

A single slash.

So.....so why isn't he? W-why? (Because they're small. Because Padme wouldn't want this. Because they don't feel scared or angry or...or... Force, when has he last felt such... such peace? He's so tired.)

I can imagine, they'd still TRY to protect the innocent. It's different acceptance of your own End and acceptance of another's. But? It'd be so sadly beautiful? Hushed. And they'd make such huge differences while changing nothing at all.

That's just what haunting my brain, at least.

@legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @mayfay @babbling-babull @hypewinter

[alt-wannabe]

MCSR As Chemical Compounds

idk either man. expect very little actual explanation and a lot of chemical yapping from a very big nerd

Silverr as Silver Nitrate:

AgNO3

the above is the crystal structure

appearance is just a white crystal kinda like sugar

it took everything in me to not just make silverr plain Ag

silver nitrate is the most common precursor for all other important silver salts

also an extremely important compound in the development of photography! (and iirc silverr is a film major)

Feinberg as Ozone:

O3

produced during lightning strikes

pale blue at high ppm

only leaves gas state at cryogenic temperatures

naturally occurring in the stratosphere and absorbs UV rays from the sun

Fruit as Nickel(II) Chloride Hexahydrate:

NiCl2•6H2O

green

the non-hydrate form is a sort of olive-y yellow color

used to absorb ammonia in gas masks

Raddles as Potassium Permanganate:

KMnO4

Sometimes referred to as Purple Potion Powder

goes CRAZY purple when dissolved and is lowkey my favorite chemical

very strong oxidizing agent

one time i stained my hand purple through my glove with this shit idk how it happened

if made in specific solvents can look extremely similar to dragon's breath in minecraft imo

K4 as Octathio[8]circulene:

C16S8

also referred to as Sulflower (like sulfur and sunflower haha get it)

planar which is fairly uncommon for molecules of this size

can be stacked together to make sheets of sulflowers

Cube as Cubane:

C8H8

yeah this is self-explanatory

what is interesting though is that ring strain in 4 membered rings/squares is really high, so cubane existing is a bit of a chemical anomaly

i havent read into it enough to know for sure but i suspect that ring strain is why cubane is a precursor to a HELLA STRONG explosive compound

Reignex as PPTA:

Poly-p-paraphenylene terephthalamide

[-CO-C6H4-CO-NH-C6H4-NH-]n

the name is complicated as shit but this is just kevlar!

aka bulletproof vest material

looks fluffy when not woven completely together

aligning of polymer chains w hydrogen bonds creates EXTREMELY high tensile strength

Mime as Phenylmagnesium Bromide:

C6H5MgBr

a common grignard reagent aka a compound that can be used in a grignard reaction, an extremely important reaction in organic synthesis as it creates new C-C bonds

another fun fact about grignard reagents is that if water is added to them- or even if they're handled in particularly moist air- they fucking explode

extremely strong nucleophile and base

Poundcake as Xenon Hexafluoride:

XeF6

Noble gases don't react unless you REALLY make them

so a compound containing xenon is really interesting

colorless as a solid but sublimes (aka skips straight from solid to gas) into a bright yellow gas

fun fact a lot of instances where typical chemistry rules are broken (noble gases not reacting, octet rule in general, etc) involve fluorine to the point ive heard it referred to as a "batshit electron thief"

Fulham as Iron Hexacyanidoferrate:

C18Fe7N18

also known as prussian blue

extremely common pigment in paints and the first modern synthetic pigment

used extensively in The Great Wave

another one of my favorite molecules bc im biased and like inorganic chem aka things that contain metals

used as an antidote for heavy metal poisoning which is interesting bc it contains cyanide ligands!

Couriway as Bullvalene:

C10H10

in a state of constant resonance

aka the double bonds are CONSTANTLY shifting and reforming bullvalene into... itself but moved around a little

the bonds fluctuate so rapidly that in nmr analysis each carbon and hydrogen in the entire molecule is read as equivalent (for my non-chem people that's very uncommon and very cool)

formed through photolysis (aka using light/photons to fuel a reaction)

[sgiandubh]

So in other words, you agree, Sam and Cait are not very good actors as exemplified by the scene being them and not Beauchamp and Fraser. On that, agreed. She might be a C actor, he's definitely a D

Dear Beauchamp and Fraser Anon,

I suspect you might be a returning one, by the way, hoping to catch me unprepared with a very cheap sophism. Check this concept on Wikipedia if you wish, but I will give you my definition: manipulated or derailed logic, i.e. formally sustainable, but in reality just a fallacy; or, if you prefer, a bunch of crap, just for the sake of it. Also, it would be wise not to try these cheap tricks on someone trained to work with words and doing so every single day: you might find no satisfaction, ultimately.

Fun fact: I don't agree with any single word you just wrote. Sam and Cait are very good and gifted actors. Both of them. They did wonders with a very inconsistent script and under barbaric public pressure. What dragged you in here, Anon? Mrs. Gabaldon's florid, even luxuriant prose? What kept you in here, Anon? Blood and sperm and rape galore? I should wish you were honest, at least for once in your life, and let your answer be 'not really'.

What I meant by that phrase was something very simple: the actors' life experience deeply informing and sublimating their performance. If you think real and creative lives are strictly separate affairs in any intellectual endeavor, then you are probably completely unfamiliar with anything remotely related to writing, singing, playing (an instrument), acting, composing or painting. All these are akin to magic and all of the above are a summoning of sorts: ask any 'content creator', you will probably get a very similar answer. In Cait and Sam's case, their real life story nurtures and elevates their acting, despite people like you.

I am not an actor myself, but a long time ago it was acting that liberated me and taught me to not be afraid of anything. I did not make a living out of it, but I will always have the tools making me able to access that very special energy, any time I should need it. So, I can only offer you an educated opinion of These Two:

C is a very, very good actress. She is classy, sophisticated and knows instinctively how to occupy a stage or a set. She worked and progressed a LOT since Season 1, when it took me a good while to warm up to her. Add to this what I think is arresting beauty. Not really a C-level, in my book.

S is a wonderfully gifted actor who, unlike C, does not have any idea of this potential and, to be honest, gives the impression to even not care about it. He singlehandedly dominated some of the most difficult moments of the series (that unwatchable Wentworth episode comes to mind). His mastery of the Stanislavski and Lecoq methods and techniques is excellent. He is likeable, personable and has an innate emotional intelligence, helping him navigate and compensate the weaknesses of (yes, I insist!) an often insufficient script. I have already written about it, with arguments, when I found some very interesting parallels between The Fiery Cross episode and Laurence Olivier's performance in Shakespeare's Henry V. I will say it again: this guy has been grossly miscast, spare for JAMMF.

Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the whole preparation and rehearsal process when producing a movie or a series or a theatre show. These people don't just learn their lines by heart and turn up for readings and rehearsals. They also read and watch a lot of things that could help them build better, more credible characters. But what makes the sometimes very subtle difference between a decent performance and a stellar one is the amount of themselves they allow inside their acting. And in this respect, I think Sam and Cait have been very lucky, in what is a very clear case of Art (instinctively) imitating Life.

I doubt this answered your question and to be honest, I don't care.

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

I really love how you draw Karkat and Calliope. You've already talked about how the other relationships within the POABPCL, so I was wondering if you could talk about Callikar in more depth as well.

Heehee okay so the short reasoning is that first of all, Karkat is also highly reminiscent of Caliborn, so there's Calliope's natural attraction there. But also Calliope desperately wants to experience a flushed romance, and Karkat is a crazy person who can't keep his quadrants straight. Which, for Calliope, would actually be a plus instead of a minus????

But yeah, for the Caliborn similarities, apart from the grey text and (mostly) capital letters and general cantankerousness and candy red blood and random textual callbacks to shit Karkat says:

CG: OK I DON'T SEE HOW WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE BECOMING FRIENDS IF YOU RECOIL FROM MY OLIVE BRANCH LIKE I'M WIGGLING A GNARLED TREE MONSTER'S DICK IN YOUR DIRECTION. [...] uu: HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BE BECOMING FRIENDS. IF YOU RECOIL FROM MY OLIVE BRANCH. uu: LIKE I'M FLAILING A WITHERED MUMMY'S SEVERED LIMB IN YOUR DIRECTION.

CG: THE FACT THAT YOU ARE DUMB CG: IS AN IMMUTABLE FACT I AM STATING FOR THE RECORD. CG: IT DOES NOT MEAN ANIMOSITY IS WHAT IS TAKING PLACE HERE. [...] uu: AND THE FACT THAT I MIGHT NOT CLuE YOu INTO YOuR FATE ALL THE TIME. uu: DuE TO MY AGGRAVATED APATHY OVER THE MATTER. uu: IS AN IMMuTABLE FACT. I AM STATING FOR THE RECORD. uu: IT DOES NOT MEAN THAT GIVING A SHIT IS WHAT IS TAKING PLACE HERE.

Did you know they both weirdly have a thing for right angles?

DAVE: i dont want to see your lines making any right angles do you understand KARKAT: IN MY MIND'S EYE I AM PICTURING A BEAUTIFUL LATTICE OF LINES AND COMPARTMENTS, INTERLOCKING WITH SUBLIME PRECISION AT NINETY DEGREE ANGLES. KARKAT: I IMAGINE THIS MODULAR RETICULATION AS AN ELEGANT VESSEL, IF YOU WILL, FOR THE GRAND SYNTHESIS OF OUR SHARED SHIPPING DREAMS.

So yeah, you know, they've got some similarities! Enough to fuel some initial cherubic romantic interest, I feel.

But obviously, cherubic romance is primarily - if not exclusively - pitch. Calliope expresses this in a way that makes it very much sound like it's a setup that her happy ending does, in fact, involve her finding a matesprit.

UU: thoUgh i trUly wish i were capable of those feelings. UU: perhaps the fact that i am not is why the topic fascinates me so. UU: and why i have been prone do indUlge in sUch... UU: fancifUl visUalizations. UU: of yoUr people's lovely bright red relationships. UU: they mUst be nice. u_u

Personally, I think that cherubs "can't experience redrom" the way humans "can't experience blackrom". In that, y'know. ;)

But let's move from Calliope's side from a moment and talk about Karkat. Hey, do y'all remember how he had a crush on a different Space player? (The fact that Karkat actually totally had a crush on Jade, and continued to think incredibly fondly of her for years after the fact, to the point of using one of her passwords as the password to his dream hive, gets lost in the melange of ~yaoi~ is honestly one of the reasons I'm not a fan of DaveKat).

CCG: I'M GOING TO VOMIT. CCG: I'M MAKING A MENTAL NOTE TO SLAP MYSELF THREE HOURS FROM NOW, FOR BEING ENOUGH OF A SAP TO START DEVELOPING RED FEELINGS FOR A DUMB ANNOYING HUMAN, IF I'M READING BETWEEN THE LINES CORRECTLY. FCG: I JUST SLAPPED MYSELF! I REMEMBERED MY LAME NOTE TO MYSELF FROM THREE HOURS AGO, AND THEN SLAPPED MYSELF SPECIFICALLY TO MOCK YOU. FCG: IT STINGS TOO, YOU'LL FEEL IT IN A WHILE. AND THEN THE GHOST OF PAST ME WILL CRY.

Hussie's commentary on this is also fucking hilarious, by the way:

First, by defending Jade like this, Future Karkat is virtually making the case to his own past self to give her a chance, and to try to acknowledge that his aggression toward her is masking romantic attraction. If that wasn't nuts enough, the altercation doubles as an actual confession of this to Jade, which she now has to bear in mind as she goes forward befriending this guy. Like most other shouting matches Karkat has with himself, it's a complete free-for-all of self-owns and eyebrow-raising psychological revelations. And yet, in the totality of this clusterfuck, it's probably about as sufficient as anything else he could have done to get her to start giving the friendship a chance. How do you sidle out of something like this? You don't. This miserable basket case needs all the help he can get.

But this is another example of Karkat's horrible problem with mixing his quadrants and sending out all sorts of mixed signals, which he lambastes himself for later RE: Terezi.

FCG: IS IT?? TELL ME, HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU TREATED HER IN A WAY THAT COULD BE OBJECTIVELY CONSTRUED AS A FORM OF BLACK SOLICITATION? CCG: THAT'S JUST CCG: NO, THAT'S HOW WE'VE ALWAYS ROLLED TOGETHER. IT'S LIKE CCG: SPIRITED PLATONIC CONTENTION. CCG: TOTALLY NORMAL TERRITORY IN A HEALTHY MATESPRITSHIP. FCG: YEAH, A *HEALTHY* ONE, NOT ONE INVOLVING A DEMENTED LOUDMOUTH WHO CAN'T KEEP HIS SHIT UNDER CONTROL. FCG: LET ME ASK YOU, HOW MUCH OF THAT ANIMOSITY IS INNOCENT "PLATONIC RAGE"? FCG: COULD IT BE THAT SUBCONSCIOUSLY YOU WANT TO PUSH THINGS WITH HER ONTO CALIGINOUS TURF, MAYBE SEE HOW THINGS WORK OUT THERE? FCG: SEE IF YOU CAN HAVE YOUR GRUB, AND CULL IT TOO?? FCG: THAT WAY YOU HAVE HER ALL TO YOURSELF!

And even his "confession" to jade has shades of this, as he basically forced her to auspicetize between himself and... himself. Just a really messy guy who can't keep his quadrants straight. I've already talked before about how this would be completely fine for Eridan, who is literally too bad at social shit to notice and is just happy for the attention, but... doesn't that seem like it would work for Calliope, whose fundamental attraction model is based in pitch?

And to really get into this, we should also talk about Karkat's taste in movies. The three posters he has hanging up in his room are for Serendipity, Hitch, and 50 First Dates. Between the three of them, it becomes really clear that Karkat is really into the idea of soul mates - of finding a romantic partner that just kind of perfectly clicks with you and all your idiosyncracies, with whom the romance is natural, and brings out the best in both partners.

Serendipity most obviously, as the entire movie is practically a treatise on destiny and fate (and also, if you're only going to watch one, watch this one - it gets namedropped twice in the comic and I genuinely think HS draws like 30% of its DNA from it). Hitch's A-plot couple is widely considered the worse one, but the B-plot couple turn out to be perfect for each other - all the guy's lame, embarrassing aspects just happen to be what she finds adorable, and he just needed a courage boost and chance to be noticed by her. And 50 First Dates features a guy in Hawaii who loves taking visiting tourists on whirlwind romances, but is terrified of commitment, meeting a girl who can't make new memories - functionally rendering every date their first from her perspective - and it's really sweet. It doesn't even make you want to punch Adam Sandler at all. Like, not even a little bit.

In any case, what this says to me is that, while he still needs to undergo character development to be ready for it, the romance Karkat should eventually end up with is one where he doesn't have to compromise who he is, warts and all.

A lot of Karkat's more common fandom pairings tend to downplay, or even outright forget about, how genuinely uncomfortable it is to experience Karkat's nutso vascillation. Even if the edge is taken off via moirallegiance, Karkat is still the sort of messy guy who tells his flushed crush to "set the table on [his] bulge for their candle light hate date." Jade clearly isn't a fan of being treated rudely, while Terezi eventually gets driven off by the mixed signals he puts off... but what if there was a species who primarily experiences pitch attraction, who would find Karkat's frequent dips into black-coded flirtation hot?

And also... Karkat is obviously Calliope's favorite character troll...I mean, she's got his symbol as her cufflinks. And also:

CG: I THINK THIS SUBJECT IS BEYOND A LOT OF PEOPLE'S GRASP BUT I KNOW A LOT ABOUT IT, NOBODY EVER REALLY WANTS TO TALK TO ME ABOUT IT THOUGH. AG: Whoa really? Oh no shit, REALLY???????? CG: OK, MOST PEOPLE WHO HAVEN'T HAD THEIR LOBE STEM CAUTERIZED ARE CAPABLE OF FEELING THE TWO PRIMARY EMOTIONS, HATE AND PITY. CG: PITY IS OF COURSE JUST THE TONED DOWN VERSION OF THE CENTRAL EMOTION, HATE. CG: AND ALL THE NUANCES OF PITY MANIFEST AS VARIOUS OTHER KINDS OF FEELINGS LIKE WHATEVER CHEMICAL REACTIONS TRIGGER MATING FONDESS OR THE MYSTERIOUS FORCES THAT ARE BEHIND MOIRALLEGIANCE.

And:

UU: actUally, i have written hUndreds of pages examining the striking differences between hUman and troll romance, as well as reprodUctive habits, as the comparison makes for a marveloUs case stUdy in xenobiocUltUral differences. UU: as long as i am sharing specUlation with yoU, perhaps yoU woUld like to read my essays? UU: i coUld even paste each page right here in sUccession, and allow yoU to read them back to back to back to back to back to back! ^u^ TT: Oh hell no. UU: ah. UU: yes, yoU're right of coUrse. i'm probably getting carried away as UsUal. UU: forgive my enthUsiasm, it's jUst that i so rarely have anyone to talk to who shares my passion for these matters.

They could both be SO ANNOYING about quadrants and romance together. It would be beautiful.

[dodobird273]

YK WHAT RAMSHACKLE FACTS

Vinnie : Vinnie is an cocky orphan scrap (obvi) . Her theme song is Santeria by sublime. She’s more trashy punk than riot grrrl. She’s scared of thunder and losing her friends. She really likes pirates. She likes her marshmallows BURNT like more burnt than my grandma when she got cremated (she’s my dead grandma I CAN JOKE ABOUT IT) she’s exes with ditch and the twins owe her money I think. The prostitues that live above the trio are parent figures to vinnie most

Stone : stone hasn’t told vinnie or skipp about being rich before. His parents are like Matilda’s and used him as a butler and Avrilles labrat because he didn’t succeed. He doesn’t like physical touch. He doesn’t drink alcohol he drinks an energy drink that he’s allergic to and gets drunk off of. He’s the second oldest in the trio. Scared of mice and rats. Plays fiddle

Skipp : Related to maroon (cousins). Doesn’t really understand physical boundaries? (I think). Has the best experience with escaping jail. He gets along with his acid trip demon and smokes weed with him. He’s the oldest. He’s the shortest in the trio I’m pretty sure. He smokes the most WEED not cigarettes. He can give stick n poke tattoos (I also sorta head cannon that he pierced Vinnies ears) doesn’t like cen and Rigel. Plays mandolin. Likes apples

BG CHARACTERS.

Ditch : not really much on this ho other than he’s the gang leader and associated with maroon (maybe skipps family??). He used to be VERRYYY German. And used to be a cop when he was first a human. Used to be a dead dog. Stone doesn’t know who ditch is. Largest gang in ramshackle. Calls girls kitten?? Likes rap.

Maroon : Skipps cousin. Used to be a gangster (prob for ditch by the theory of that one post) shes tried to teach the trio to drive (stone was the best and most interested) used to be dating Avrille (but not canon anymore) doesn’t smoke. Friends with Danté. Chauffeur/bodyguard for tre

Avrille : not much on her. Scientist of sorts. Took over the family business and sells candy (those are drugs and illegal in ramshackle btw) really rich. Doesn’t like stone. Drinks wine and smokes a pipe. She has a limp so she uses a cane has three dogs.

Tre : a whiny little BITCH— so he’s older than the trio by one year. Has a rivalry with stone. Scared of his dad (hear me out on his mom) he’s FRENCH OUI OUI. He overworks himself. Can’t fight. Drinks (sorta) wannabe cop. Doesn’t like the two jocks he works with. (Zi mentioned something about wanting the three of them to be in an animatic of Blue from heathers)

SPOILERSS

acid trip demons (trio)

Tripp : smokes weed. Scene sorta. (Like a dj had a kid with a scene queen) gets along with skipp.

Pebble : likes to torment stone. Would play guitar. Brews his own mead.

Vinyl : not much on her. But vinnie dislikes her. Likes vinnie tho. Veryyy girly.

There’s not many and I’m really tired rn so I may update later.

[ananke-xiii]

ah yes, of course I have more to say. This time it's not about a specific comparison/trope, more about how angels are perceived by viewers (but also partly by writers, too, tbh).

anything about angels being ethereal and divine etc: I think sometimes the non-in-universe view warps what's canon when it comes to angels. For instance, the way we the audience commonly perceive angels sort of interferes with the in-universe depiction of said creatures. Like, maybe we see angels as ethereal, celestial, incomprehensible figures but in SPN they're anything but. We can very much understand their motives, their feelings and what their agenda is. It's totally not beyond human comprehension, as amatter of fact, it's very much human but it's also NOT human at the same time because angels don't have the same morality as humans do and their notion of "good" and "evil" is quite peculiar, if they even have one. This is also why the "halo and a harp" joke is thrown around quite a few times as a reminder that SPN angels are not "our" angels.

The same misrepresentation happens when it's about angels and love (and sex). It's pretty clear that in SPN (hashtag not all but many) angels are actually very, very, very much interested in sex and love. I'll concede that they tend to confuse obsession for love and that there's a lot of repression/suppression/sublimation/you name it going on in that department but, frankly, it's not something so inherently alien that humans can't relate to.

Anyhow, I don't think it's only the audience's fault, though, as I see SPN writers implicitly inserting their own personal view into the story as well. For example, the idea that Lucifer is the "primary agent of evil" in s14 after we've spent a whole season dealing with how God has traumatized and abused both his own sister and his own "son" and how said sister has, in return, abused and traumatized Lucifer doesn't exactly hold up. I mean, if there must be one primary agent of evil in SPN everything seemed to point to Chuck well before s14's big "reveal". Moreover, from their first appearance in S4 angels have perhaps wreaked havoc more than demons and other monsters combined. Lucifer is admittedly a big problem (among other things because he is an abuser and a general piece of shit) but he's not the only problem in paradise (lol).

Related to the first point, how Dean's in awe with Cas because he's a celestial being etc: this is something that I read in a lot of fics so it's just both my own personal taste and my fic preferences (I like when fics stick to canon as far as possible because I like to see how different minds might have developed a particular storyline) that differ from others and that's fine, to each their own. The thing is, I don't really see it. Maybe S3-4 Sam was more in awe with the idea of angels but after Lucifer I don't think the guy's particularly moved by them. As far as Dean's concerned, I actually see him hating on angels the most. Vampires can be okay, werewolves maybe, he's surprisingly okay with demons as well, but angels? He doesn't like them at all. And I mean this, this is actually interesting because out of all the creatures in the world he hates (and who have hurt him and his family) he ends up getting a best friend/consort who belongs to that particular flavor he just can't tolerate and who probably hurt him and his family the most ("Angels are just monsters with good PR"). As in: Dean finds Cas amazing because he's Cas, not because he's an angel but he IS an angel nevertheless and that alone causes some problems. It makes for a very interesting moral dilemma and an engaging angle to explore where a good chunk of their issues stems from.

[lori11hen2ry]

All About Sublimation Trend

Unlock the comprehensive guide to the cool sublimation trend, covering everything you need to know for a fresh and stylish perspective.

[fatalism-and-villainy]

Rewatching season 2 had me really struck by the sheer amount of time Will spends performing for other people, and how few fully authentic interactions he has. In fact, I’d say one of the biggest through lines between the first and second halves of the season is Will learning how to wear masks, and then actively deploying that for the purpose of catching Hannibal.

(And how fitting is it that the promo for season 2 had Will wearing the iconic hockey mask? Not just a franchise in-joke, but a reflection of the fact that he “becomes” Hannibal in this season, begins to symbolically merge with him, to the point in which his own goals become clouded to him.)

It's a natural extension of season 1's establishment of his empathic abilities, where he begins to more actively use his ability to read other people and discern their motivations as a tool, or weapon. Simply telling the truth about his innocence doesn’t serve him - so he adapts a façade very quickly, in his faked tears for Hannibal and Alana. All of his interactions with others while in prison - Chilton, Lounds, Matthew Brown, etc. - are very deliberately engineered, and lean into what Will knows (or thinks) each person wants to hear - all setting the stage for him doing the same thing to Hannibal. Every word, everything about his intonation, is so precise - something that specifically struck me in this stretch of episodes was when he talks to Gideon and very carefully leans forward as he’s trying to drive his point home:

(And the body language, interestingly enough, is not just persuasive, but also mirrors the way Gideon sometimes leans/dangles his arms out of the cage when talking to others - and it reminds me of Will also mirroring Hannibal’s body language during the “not now that I finally find you interesting” scene, when he bites his lip in the way Hannibal so often does.)

It really highlights how so much of how he interacts with others during this entire stretch of the plot is a very carefully crafted performance, with so many of Will’s actual feelings and motivations subsumed into his manipulations. I remember watching the DVD commentary on Su-zakana, and they talk about how Will’s visible surliness with Hannibal was meant to stem from the fact that he didn’t want to be too friendly with Hannibal right away, because it would look suspicious. And I think that gets at something that’s present with how both Will and Hannibal manipulate others - they’re not necessarily lying about their feelings, just consciously using genuine feelings or motivations as a method of influencing others. With Hannibal, he frequently does feel genuine affection for others, and his care for them stems from that, but it’s also often used to put them at ease, serve his own ends. Will, for his part, is genuinely angry with Hannibal, but actively uses those feelings to fashion an aura of standoffishness. And of course, Hannibal has a genuine pull for him, and he deliberately leans into and cultivates that enjoyment for the sake of entrapping Hannibal. …Which of course leads to a situation where he has to put on a show for Jack as well, in which he downplays how deep into it he’s getting.

So it’s entirely fitting that the opening of Mizumono features the two halves of Will’s face - the front he’s presenting to Hannibal, and the front he’s presenting to Jack - merging, mask-like, in the middle of the screen.

They’re both the real him, and they’re both masks - and he gets so subsumed into his performances for others, the modulation and accentuation and sublimation of his feelings that they require, that he gets lost to himself (and is also terribly lonely and isolated). No wonder he’s confused and unmoored in early season 3.

[angelasscribbles]

Crush: A Bad Romance One-Shot

Series: Bad Romance Continues

Original Series: Bad Romance

Fandom: The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir

Pairing for this chapter: Riley x Max, Riley x Drake, Riley x Liam with tiny hints of Liam x Max

Rating: Fluffy

Warnings for this chapter:  None

Word Count: 3,274 

Thanks to @kyra75 for this ask for the "secret admirer" prompt for the @choicesprompts 2024 Flufftober event. This is my late submission.

A/N: This is a prequel because we already know what happens during Bad Romance so it doesn't fit there. I could have placed it after but I would have had to either bring in a new person which I didn't want to do or go the predictable route of it turning out to be the person's partner all along. Instead, I decided to place it before the events of Bad Romance, and here's why: I've written next to nothing about Riley's first few months in Cordonia but Bad Romance does state that Liam had to work his butt off to pry Riley's attention away from Max during that time. In fact, Liam mentions it often because he's still salty about it. Max mentions it too because he did eventually get dumped for Liam. I thought this was a perfect place to show some of that. I know it's a little angsty, but I hope it's got enough fluff to satisfy the requirement.

To reiterate: This takes place in the first month of Riley being in Cordonia, while she is sleeping with Max, Liam is trying to change that and Drake is trying to pretend he doesn't like her like that.

My other stuff: Master List.

For the life of me, I cannot remember if someone sent me this image or if I stumbled across it myself. It's been in my save folder for awhile. I'd like to give proper credit, so if you sent it to me, speak up!

Riley entered her room and stopped to smell the roses. The two dozen red roses to be exact. They had been delivered to her room earlier. She closed her eyes as the sweet floral scent washed over her.

The smell was sublime.

She opened her eyes to admire the blood red petals. Her fingers gently stroked a lush bloom, her expression contemplative as her mind whirled.

She turned her head to observe the man who had entered the room with her. “You’re sure they’re not from you?”

“Yes, Riley, I’m sure,” Max admittedly a little reluctantly.

“Any ideas who they might be from?”

He shrugged dismissively. “Could be anyone, really. You have many admirers at court. I’m not surprised one of them decided to shoot his shot.” Hana’s face flashed before his eyes. “Or hers.”

She fluttered her lashes at him. “Does that bother you?”

Max shook his head, and then gave her that boyish grin that always made her heart flutter. “How can I blame them? You’re the total package, babe.”

“You sweet talker.” Riley grinned at him as she strode across the room to pinch his cheeks.

Despite the fact that they were sleeping together, the simple sign of affection from her caused heat to flame across his face. He studied the toe of his shoe as he told her, “You deserve flowers. I should have thought to send you some.”

“Hey,” she put a finger under his chin and lifted his head. “The roses are lovely, but you do sweet things for me all the time. I’m very happy with our little…. Arrangement.”

His face lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She leaned forward and brushed her lips softly across his. “We’re staying in tonight, right?”

They were in between royal events for the next week and while eating in the main dining hall was always an option, Max had suggested room service and a movie marathon in her room instead.

Riley had agreed because frankly, she was sick of Madeleine’s shit. Eating with all the bitchy divas of the nobility was not her idea of fun. Drake avoided her like the plague ever since their encounter on the plane ride over, and Liam rarely made appearances in the public dining hall in between official royal events.

Not that she was interested in him. Their night in New York aside, she knew he would never choose a waitress to be queen. He couldn’t. So, she had found other diversions.

She could certainly do a lot worse than Maxwell Beaumont.

“Right,” Max agreed, as a shiver ran down his spine at her touch. “I had the kitchen make your favorite dinner.”

“See?” she purred. “That’s what I mean about how thoughtful you are.”

“Let’s meet back here at dinnertime, okay?” He stepped away from her and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“You’ll see.” He gave her a mischievous grin as he exited the room.

“Okay then.” With a furrowed brow, she returned her attention to the roses. After a brief moment of consideration, her decision was made.

She might not know why Max was acting weird all of a sudden, but she had enough time before dinner to do a little investigation into her secret admirer.

****

“I’m coming!” Drake yelled in irritation.

Who the fuck was knocking on his door in the middle of the afternoon on his day off?

“Can’t get any peace and quiet ever.” He muttered under his breath as he yanked the door open. “What?”

His eyes widened with a sharp intake of breath. “Riley! What are you doing here?” His eyes darted frantically up and down the hallway. This girl was a scandal waiting to happen.

“Was it you?”

“Was what me?”

“The flowers. Were they from you?” Her gaze bore into him with laser intensity.

His forehead creased as he tried to make sense of the conversation. “Flowers?”

Her eyes scanned his face, then she shook her head. “Of course not.”

His brain finally caught up. “Someone sent you flowers?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Weren’t they from your boyfriend?”

Was that a note of bitterness she detected? She smiled from ear to ear as her body swayed slightly back and forth. “What boyfriend would that be?”

His face fixed in a scowl, he grunted, “Max.”

She bit into her lower lip as she leaned forward and ran a hand up his arm. “Are you jealous of Max?”

His arms crossed defensively over his chest as he took a step back. “No!”

“Sure, you’re not. But someone sent me two dozen roses, and it wasn’t Max. Any ideas who it could have been?”

Drake blew out a resigned sigh. Of fucking course he knew who it was. Who else would it be? But he wasn’t telling her that.

While he wasn’t going to stand in Liam’s way, he sure as hell wasn’t going to help him. Instead, he shrugged with what he hoped was nonchalance as he shook his head. “Nope.”

“Okay. Bye then.” She spun on her heel and started back down the hallway.

“Riley, wait!” He stumbled out the door into the hallway, ready to sprint after her.

She stopped and turned back with arched eyebrows. “Yes?”

“I…” All the reasons he should not and could not pursue this woman poured through his mind as he stood frozen in the middle of the corridor.

“Well?”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“Hm. Well, if it’s ever something, you know where my room is.” She wiggled her fingers at him before spinning to leave again.

He watched her go as frustration and regret danced through his chest.

****

Riley questioned several guards and a couple of butlers, but no one knew anything.

She was on her way back to her room when she bumped right into Liam. She found herself tangled in his embrace, laughter rumbling through him as he caught her. “Whoa there! Where’s the fire?”

“Liam!” She made no move to extract herself from his arms. Instead, she smiled up at him. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.”

“I see that!” He stared down at her with a sappy grin for several long seconds before remembering himself. He cleared his throat as he stepped away from her. “Were you on your way to the dining hall?”

“No, my room, actually.”

“I hope everything is okay.”

She gave him a bright smile as she leaned in and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Everything is fine. I just can’t take another dinner with those fucking harpies.”

Liam threw his head back and laughed. Yes, it was a scandalous remark, but he found her honesty refreshing. He found everything about her refreshing, not to mention alluring. He moved closer to her to whisper, “Why do you think I never eat in the public dining hall?”

It was her turn to laugh. “Oh, my! What an unprincely thing to say!”

“You seem to bring out that side of me.” His tone suddenly serious, he blurted, “Have dinner with me tonight? In my private dining room?”

“I’d love to, but I already have plans for tonight.”

“Oh. I thought you said you were having dinner in your roo—”

“Yes, we are.”

His shoulders slumped. “I see.”

“Tomorrow?”

His head snapped up. “You’ll have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“That’s…. not exactly the response I was hoping for—”

“I mean, if you’d rather not—”

“No! No… I mean yes! I mean… I definitely want to have dinner with you, Riley. Tomorrow night it is.”

“Great. Just text me the time.”

He immediately whipped out his phone and sent her a text.

She rewarded him with a seductive smirk. “That was quick.”

“He who hesitates is lost.”

“I would have said you snooze, you lose. But that works too.”

“I don’t intend to lose.”

“Lose what?”

His voice was unusually low and quiet as he returned the phone to his pocket. “You, Riley.”

Riley Brooks was seldom taken aback by anything a man said, but that did the trick. “What?”

“Surely you haven’t forgotten our night in New York so easily.”

“Of course, not. I just didn’t think—”

“Did you like the roses? They’re from my mother’s garden.”

“That was you?”

“Yes.”

“But…why?”

“Why?” He looked at her with his mouth agape. Glancing around quickly to ensure they were still alone in the hallway; he reached for her and yanked her body to his. Lowering his lips to her ear, he murmured, “I know you think New York was just about sex and that a prince would never marry a waitress, but you’re wrong, Riley. Dead wrong. On both counts.”

She pulled back to search his onyx eyes with her emerald ones. She couldn’t help the skepticism in her voice. “Really?”

“Yes, really! What do I have to do to convince you of that?”

“I don’t know, Liam. But it’s going to take more than a few roses.”

Gifts were not about to win her over. Sure, she had come from poverty, but he hadn’t. Material things were easy for him to come by and easy for him to part with. Simply spending money on her only convinced her that he wanted to sleep with her.

While sex with the smoking hot prince was something she was more than willing to engage in, she refused to let her heart get involved when she already knew disappointment was waiting at the end.

No matter what he said, he was never going to marry her. He wasn’t in love with her. He was in lust with her and that was something she was familiar with, something she could roll with. But she would not be tricked into letting her feelings get involved.

If he expected her to fall in love, he was going to have to invest a lot more than just money. That was too easy. She refused to be merely one more victim in the trail of broken hearts he’d left behind him.

Liam watched her walk away with a myriad of emotions crashing through him. If she wanted him to work harder to get her attention, he would do that. He knew she liked him. The night in New York had proven that. But since her arrival in Cordonia, she had frozen him out. Were her plans tonight with Max? What the fuck did she see in Max that she didn’t see in him? It was frustrating, galling, and, if he were being honest with himself, a little thrilling. He did love a good challenge.

***

Riley let herself back into her room to a stupendous surprise. The two dozen red roses still graced the console table near the entry, but every other available surface, save the bed, was now covered in vases brimming with all manner of blue flowers. Deep blue roses, baby blue hydrangeas, several shades of carnations, and blue and white morning glories, among others, were spread across the tops of the dresser, the end tables, and the vanity.

She gasped as she turned circles, taking it all in. “Max! What is this?”

“Ah…” pink flamed across his cheeks. “I know red roses are romantic and all, but I also know blue is your favorite color, so I took a chance that you might like them.”

“Like them? Max, I love them! But you didn’t have to do all this just because Liam sent me flowers.”

“It was Liam?” His heart sank.

He felt pretty confident about his chances of competing against most of the men at court. But Liam was another story entirely. Of course, she would want Liam. Hell, he wanted Liam, so he certainly couldn’t blame her.

Maybe now was the time to tell her that his feelings for her were real. That it was more than just fun and games for him. “Riley, I—”

There was a knock on the door.

“Hold that thought,” she told him as she strode across the room to answer it.

She pulled the door open to find Drake standing in the hallway. Her face lit up with surprised delight. “Hey, handsome! Did you finally decide on something?”

“I…ah... wanted to talk—” his words cut off mid-sentence as Max appeared in the doorway behind her. A storm raged across his face. “You know what? Never mind. I shouldn’t have—”

“Drake? What are you doing here?”

All three heads turned toward the new voice.

Drake’s brain spun frantically, trying to find a reasonable explanation for his presence. “Ah, I noticed they were missing from the dining hall and wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

Liam’s shoulders relaxed. He had asked Drake to keep an eye on her for him. To personally ensure her safety.

“What are you doing here?” Riley directed her question to Liam.

“I needed to change the time of our date tomorrow night.”

Max stiffened. Drake inspected the casing around the doorframe.

“You couldn’t have texted me that?”

“I could have…” that sparkle that she remembered from New York was back in his eyes. “But I wanted to see you in person.”

“Hm.” She smiled as her finger tapped her lips. “Well, since you’re both here, would you like to come in and join us? We were going to have dinner sent up and have a movie marathon.”

Drake looked skeptically from her to Liam to Max. “I don’t know if we should—”

“I’d love to!” Liam swept into the room with satisfaction radiating from every pore of his body. He pushed past a dismayed Max.

That satisfaction evaporated as he took in the scene in front of him. “That’s a lot of blue flowers.”

Max perked up as his arm went around Riley’s shoulder. “Blue is her favorite color, so I thought she might like some to offset all that red.”

“Yes, I get it. You had to go big after copying my idea.”

“I—” Max’s reply was cut off by Riley’s hand on his chest. “No fighting, boys. We’re going to watch movies and have fun tonight.” Turning back toward Drake, she motioned for him to come in. “Are you going to stand in the hallway or are you going to get in here and help me make sure these two behave?”

Drake hesitated only a second or two.

What could it hurt?

He glanced around at the room full of flowers. Two dozen of Cordonia’s finest red roses, straight from the crown’s own garden shimmered in the waning daylight. At least a dozen vases of flowers turned the room into a shimmering ocean of blue. The younger son of one of Cordonia’s noblest houses and the crown prince himself at a standoff over her attentions, and still she wanted him there. That meant something, right?

Not that he was interested in her. If Liam got his way, and Liam usually did, she was going to be the next queen and his best friend’s wife. Both of those things put her firmly off limits to him, no matter how much she inflamed his desires, haunted his dreams, and bedeviled his waking hours.

Still. What could it hurt to watch a couple of movies with her and two of his oldest friends? It was really Liam and Max he was staying for. To make sure they didn’t fight over her too much. Yeah, that’s why he was staying.

Riley leaned over and whispered into Max’s ear. His scowl was replaced with a flushed face and a broad grin. He nodded as he pulled his phone from his pocket and started swiping. His eyes flicked up long enough to say, “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll have the kitchen send up more food.”

Drake took the lounge chair next to the bed just as Riley climbed up and settled herself in the middle of the bed. She patted the space on either side of her. “Who wants to join me?”

Before Drake could react, Liam was in the closest spot and Max had hurled himself onto the bed, clambering over two sets of legs to claim the other side. With a disgruntled shake of his head, he thumped back into the chair.

This had been a bad idea.

But it hadn’t been a bad idea. His misgivings were soon put to rest as they all balanced their dinner plates on their laps and got completely and inexplicably sucked into Barbie.

Not a movie he would have picked, but as it turned out, it was not a kid’s movie at all. The existential angst, the clever humor, the insightfulness, and the adventure had him forgetting the awkwardness of the situation and laughing along with his friends at the onscreen antics. He was relaxed and actually enjoying his night off.

Max had pushed aside his insecurities about Liam, choosing to focus, instead, on the promises Riley had whispered in his ear about the rewards he’d receive later for being a good boy and playing nice with everyone. His eyes kept sliding sidewise to gauge her reactions to the movie. He wanted to share all of them with her…. every laugh, every gasp, every moment. Not just of the movie, he realized, but for the rest of his life.

His gaze flicked briefly to the man on her other side. He knew Liam was still an obstacle, but he had infinite amounts of patience and faith, deep in his heart, that everything would work out in the end.

Liam didn’t miss the sidelong glances Max was throwing at both him and Riley. He couldn’t say he was completely oblivious to Max’s charms, but he was nothing if not persistent.

She didn’t trust him yet. That was fine. He would prove to her that she could. She needed him to put in work, and he would do that. He had yet to set his mind to any task that he couldn’t master. He just needed to try harder, be smarter, and focus deeper. Winning her heart would be worth it. He knew to the very core of his being that they belonged together.

Long after the dishes had been cleared, and the night had deepened, Riley lay with her head on Liam’s shoulder, drifting off as the credits for the latest Ghostbusters movie rolled. Max was curled up against her on her other side, one arm slung over her waist as Liam’s fingers gently combed through her hair. The sound of Drake’s soft snoring drifted through the room.

She should probably wake everyone and tell them to go sleep in their own beds. That would be far more comfortable, especially for Drake, who was dozing in a chair. But the warmth emanating from the men on either side of her, combined with the softness of the bed and the darkness of the room, lulled her into a contented coziness that she was loathe to break.

The quiet hum of the air conditioning filled the room as the TV clicked off, sealing her decision as she let herself drift off to sleep surrounded by the sounds, scents, and warmth of the three men who had commanded all her attention for the last month.

For the moment, none of them were fighting each other or her. Their earlier laughter still rang in her ears. For tonight, things were peaceful, calm, and happy, and not a single one of them wanted to do anything to disrupt that.

Liam was the last one left awake. He kissed the top of her head and whispered, “Good night, Riley.” Before closing his eyes and slipping into a contented slumber of his own.

[holden-norgorov]

"What are The Hunger Games for?" An essay on the fans' puzzling response to Snow.

This is basically my take on the entire TBOSAS discourse. [Warning: this will be long.]

The assertion that showing why a villain makes villainous choices (and why often from the villain’s POV they get reframed as morally good or right choices, so as to allow him to justify himself or self-excuse his own behavior to carry them out) is somehow “problematic” because it runs the risk of legitimizing his evilness or even praising it as a valid and commendable response to the world is by itself insulting and implicitly insinuates the idea that good and evil are not choices every human being makes, but rather independent constants that have nothing to do with each individual’s autonomy – when in fact the whole point of the book is that good and evil much closely resemble multiple differential functions whose variables can be extremely varied in both nature and number. In the case of Snow alone we already have: childhood trauma about the war, physiological trauma about starvation and malnutrition, staunch supremacist and totalitarian upbringing from Crassus and Grandma’am, poverty and scarcity that culminated in some kind of block or impairment in his physical growth and development during his teenage years and that most likely forever altered his metabolic and neurological processes to a significant degree, philosophical and ideological indoctrination from Dr. Gaul, social and economical collapse of his family’s wealth and reputation combined with the need and pressure to keep up appearances, etc. Claiming that Snow’s ultimately sick moral compass cannot derive from any of this is like claiming that nothing we experience in our formative years bears any role in shaping and defining who we become and what kind of choices we end up making.

That of Choice is, in my opinion, one of the most important themes of the book, and we really get a sense of this in the way Snow’s kills progress through the story, and particularly in how every next kill he engages in is the result of less independent variables that find themselves out of Snow’s direct control:

Bobbin; killed in straightforward self-defense after Snow is forced by Gaul to enter the Arena.

Mayfair; killed not in a life-or-death situation, but as a consequence of her threat to have both Lucy Gray and him hanged (so, this time the threat of creating a life-or-death situation is sufficient to provoke the same response).

Sejanus; killed as a result of a variety of fairly complicated variables, with most of them being directly dependent on Snow’s sphere of influence, intentions and interests, and deriving from what he deems as more important or morally correct for himself or what he believes in.

Highbottom; killed in cold-blooded cruelty and premeditation, with the murder being exclusively motivated by a desire to carry out evil without remorse, as Snow has finally reached the same conclusion Dr. Gaul was so eager to instill in him by appealing to his emotional attachment to his past and to his ambitions (which in turn stemmed from the traumas he went through), which is that every human being is actually evil at its core, and that the world is made up of victors who can exert evil with impunity and losers who just become victims of it.

Obviously Collins is not stupid and knows perfectly well that there are predispositions (also, if not mostly, genetically inherited, because at birth we all get handed a deck of cards we don’t choose and just have to learn to handle and master, whether we like it or not) that may make someone more inclined to do good or commit evil (Snow is indeed described from the start with narcissistic traits and sociopathic tendencies, but these seeds of his character get nurtured and watered instead of sublimated and eradicated because of what happens to him and the choices he’s pressured to make or deliberately chooses to carry out as a response to his circumstances), but I absolutely disagree with the kind of interpretation according to which the prequel demonstrates that Snow was always “destined” to be a villain because he was rotten right from his mother’s womb, just because it seems to me that there’s this giant terror in indulging the question “oh my God, what if evil is always a choice?” as it could be seen as an attempt to legitimize or excuse Snow’s behavior as an adult, when in fact, as far as I’m concerned, if would do nothing but condemn him doubly.

Essentially, claiming that Snow is a villain because he has always been evil and could have not been anything different literally provides ground to justify his actions behind the idea that he really didn’t have any other choice, and that everything he did was just the result of his villainous nature. This is exactly the same kind of thinking Dr. Gaul is able to inculcate in him, and that he exploits to be able to sleep at night knowing what he chooses to do during the day. The book obviously states the exact opposite, and in order to do so it has to argue that yes, Snow is a human being with the same moral layers and the same innate capability to be good and virtuous that everybody else has, but he has constantly rejected every chance he had to embark on a different path than the one he ended up travelling. Showing that Snow, the Villain, was made and not born DOESN’T mean that the author is justifying the character or that she’s patronizingly saying to us “oh poor soul, you better weep for him because he was a misunderstood victim of the system, etc” as I’ve seen so many fans argue since the novel was released back in 2020. It actually means that the character gets condemned twice by the narrative because he’s ultimately the conscious product of himself and the way he chose to respond to the world – and yes, that also includes to personal injustices and blinding traumas he experienced as a kid and didn’t deserve, and to circumstances that, as opposed to make him sympathetic to fellow victims who went through similar or comparable experiences, shaped him into someone who denies (or more likely, convinces himself of the impossibility) that human beings can even be genuinely sympathetic to each other in the first place.

Moreover, since I’m already on the subject, I’d like to add a little consideration regarding the fact that, if all of this about Snow’s character escaped so many people, then I’m not positive that the full political and philosophical message of the novel has been adequately understood by the fanbase, or that Collins’ brilliant idea underneath it has been adequately appreciated in its genius. The movie more or less manages to give it justice, but not completely. Because the book basically tells you: okay, The Hunger Games are the product of a school project by two drunk students, but they have been set up by a sadist (Dr. Gaul) and kept alive for 75 years by her pupil who she shaped in her likeness (Snow). Both Gaul and Snow argue that The Hunger Games exist to preserve all humanity (the so-called overarching order of things), and the reasoning they provide behind this conviction of theirs is very mechanistic, almost mathematical, stemming from naked economics and scarcity at least as much as, if not more than, existential considerations on the flaws of human nature. Gaul says, and Snow repeats: human beings are instinctively wired to be evil. This is testified by the fact that human beings, much like every other living beings, are dominated by a survival instinct that is capable of turning them into predators in order to avoid or preempt the risk of becoming preys. The possibility to become prey is a realistic prospect that the human being assesses and that, according to Dr. Gaul, demonstrates the inherent distrustful nature of Man (you don’t trust others not to kill you, as soon as you know they have the chance to and have to weigh that chance with the preservation of their own life). So, the notable conditions at the so-called “natural state” (civilization disappears in the Arena because the tributes are purposefully stripped of it) support the Hobbesian “homo homini lupus” view of humankind. Immediate consequence: if the species is to survive in any way, a means to control this primitive impulse towards self-destruction has to be devised (by the way, it’s interesting to me that Katniss herself also concludes that the human species gravitates towards that very thing at the end of Mockingjay, right after both Coin and Snow are dead). This impulse requires, so to speak, to be “parametrized”. So yes, Gaul says, and Snow repeats, that the world is nothing but a battlefield where a constant fight between people who are driven by this self-destructive impulse is carried out, and that whichever artificial construction built upon that impulse can only serve the purpose of obfuscating or hiding it, and therefore making us forget “who we really are”. So, this would apparently be what The Hunger Games are for: to remind us of who we are at the natural state, and therefore of what we need to keep human nature under control. And the movie (more or less) communicates this successfully.

But there’s actually a subtler layer to this. Because in the book Dr. Gaul even argues that, if the world itself is an enlarged Arena, if mankind is instinctively wired to self-destruct, and if peace is impossible, then The Hunger Games are not only a useful solution: they are a noble solution. Because their purpose is not to punish the defeated of a settled war. It’s to contain the scope of a war that hasn’t yet ended, and will never end. Even the conflict between the Capitol and the districts isn’t actually over: it’s just routinely ritualized, televised and sold as entertainment to the masses. And it’s much more convenient for everyone that a war taking place in the real Arena (the world) is contained in its catastrophic effects by periodically absorbing them in a highly supervised representation of a warlike conflict confined to a small, parametrized ground, which is much easier to control and leads to the loss of fewer human lives overall and the waste of fewer resources (let’s always keep in mind that Panem is a post-apocalyptic state). The genius behind the idea of The Hunger Games lies in this: in the ability, from those who have the upper ground, to believably reframe them as a noble management strategy for a problem that is actually without solution, but whose total control is of utmost importance.

All of this obviously applies IF one moves from the idea that human beings are innately evil. But the saga shows countless times, both in the original trilogy and in this prequel, that this is not the case, and therefore that The Hunger Games cannot be justified by any means, and are nothing more than a barbarity. And yet, Collins’ ability to pull you into the thoughts and meanderings of a sadist whose conclusions mostly derive from her own prejudices (which she takes as axiomatic) in order to make you understand why and how The Hunger Games have come into existence and have been gradually accepted by the dominant society is astounding and nothing short of genius. And this is also why I think TBOSAS was a necessary addition to write, as it basically fills a gap left by the original trilogy. You read the trilogy and you are left thinking “okay but Capitol City is beyond unrealistic because only a society made up of psychopaths could tolerate such an inhumane instrument”. Then you read the prologue and you understand that Capitol City’s point of view (deeply sick, but now scarily comprehensible) is that The Hunger Games, in the face of a deeply flawed human nature dominated by survival instinct and self-destructive impulses, are merely a strategic device whose ultimate function is to preserve civilization (by “parametrizing” the scope and development of a never-ending war) and allow the ruling class to maintain enough resources to keep the government afloat (thereby proving successful in contrasting the hegemony of the “natural state”).

Now, if I also deeply believed in this worldview and had been convinced since birth of its validity, and I belonged to the winning faction of a post-apocalyptic society that’s been relentlessly torn apart by war, I don’t know if I would see the apparent callousness of The Hunger Games as such an absurd price to pay in order to maintain what, according to what has been taught to me, is the only order capable of assuring the survival of the entire human species. As ugly and uncomfortable as it is, it’s still a political and philosophical dilemma that whoever is in charge of government and is responsible for keeping the whole country of Panem alive and functioning is obligated to face, whether willingly or not. So here we come to the typical leitmotiv of how power inevitably corrupts, but dealt with much more interestingly and thoroughly than how it’s conventionally explored in these kinds of stories.

All of this to say that, if we move from the assumption that to “humanize” Snow is to legitimize his evilness, and that he has engaged in all these monstruous acts purely because he was a monster through and through from the start, then we are playing right into Dr. Gaul’s hands and supporting her own thesis, as we are reducing the human experience to some kind of conflict between victors and losers whose nature is already predisposed and independent from the choices they make, and not only that: we are implicitly supporting the existence of punitive instruments like The Hunger Games. Because, if I take for valid that someone can be born evil and never escape this ontological condition, no matter what he does or doesn’t do, what prevents me from inferring that this may be the case for other people as well (or for everyone, even) and that something about human nature has to be fundamentally wrong? What prevents me from concluding that punitive or corrective methods to keep at least these unredeemable, inherently corrupt individuals under control should be established, and that to do so is a moral good? What prevents me from justifying the validity of barbaric, inhumane strategies detrimental to the fundamental rights of people in order to confront what I perceive to be as morally sound and perfectly justified needs because they are grounded on beliefs I think are true, or I’ve been sold as such?

A lot of still existing ideologies originate from specific beliefs about the intrinsic nature of certain groups of people in order to reach conclusions that appear to be legitimate for whoever embraces them but that in reality are actually horrendous and disgusting, which historically can lead (and in some cases have already led) to the establishment of sociopolitical systems characterized by such a disconcerting inhumanity as to be horrifying. And yet those were and are real people, with a personal moral conscience, that were and are able to do this (and still sleep at night) because so confidently self-assured to be right thinking “yes, those people are inherently subhuman/inferior/defective/violent/uncivilized and that’s because it’s their own nature, so I’m fully justified in the measures I take against them, no matter how dehumanizing they might be”.

Snow wasn’t a monster from the start. He chose to become a monster because he chose to believe Dr. Gaul when she said to him “any and all atrocities you might commit are not actually your own fault, because evil is inherent in all of us and coincides with our natural state, which means we can exploit it to impose what we deem as the most beneficial kind of control and order so as to save humanity from itself”.

And it’s in the climactic scene with Lucy Gray that every thematic knot is finally unraveled and Snow concludes (rather, chooses to conclude) that Dr. Gaul is right. Indeed, as soon as Lucy Gray realizes she’s now the only obstacle in the way separating Snow from gaining back the wealth and prestige of his family’s old name, she chooses to prioritize her own safety to the idea of trusting him or even giving him the benefit of the doubt, and quickly puts herself out of his reach to observe his next course of action from a comfortable distance, minimizing the risk of becoming prey. She fears he intends to kill her, so she grabs a knife and gains the upper ground, placing herself out of his sight. But from Snow’s internal monologue we know that at first his actual intentions are really just to speak with her, and doesn’t seem willing to hurt her at all. It’s the fact that he is still holding the rifle while making these internal considerations that ultimately prompts Lucy Gray to feel threatened, and therefore distrustful of him. So she hides and places a snake under the orange scarf, knowing he would be drown to it. She picks a non-venomous kind, because her intention is NOT to kill him, but to prevent him from killing her, which is what she thinks he is planning to do. She wants to neutralize him, or induce him to give up. And it’s, ironically, that very gesture that finally plants in Snow the idea of killing her, because he believes that she has tried to kill him and therefore that she wants him dead. The entire scene is genial because it’s a small-scale reproduction of a typical Hunger Games edition, where the theme I was talking about before comes to the fore-front: it’s the mere suspect, or the fear of turning into prey that urges someone to become predator. You don’t need to actually be a prey, you just have to believe you might become one. She fears he wants to kill her when he just wants to talk to her, so she sets up a trap for him: he misunderstands the trap as attempted murder, and reframes as self-defense his subsequent decision to try to kill her before she kills him. It’s a downward spiral of madness that Snow falls victim to that finally legitimizes, in his eyes, what Dr. Gaul has been telling him, because he sees that reflected both in his own behavior and in what he thinks is Lucy Gray’s behavior as well here: the survival instinct makes human beings evil at the natural state, so it has to be the role of civilization to keep this tendency towards self-destruction in check by constantly reminding people of what they actually are, bare of all their superficial artifices. Therefore, The Hunger Games are an instrument of civility.

From Snow’s point of view, he just wanted to talk to Lucy Gray in a civilized manner, but she hid in the forest to set a trap for him and tried to kill him with a snake out of the fear that he was going to abandon her and travel back to District 12. From Lucy Gray’s point of view, she sought refuge away from him to save her own skin and tried to neutralize a lethal attack with the hopes that a non-venomous snake bite could prove successful in disincentivizing his intention to shoot at her. Both misunderstood the ally-opponent by listening to their own instincts thus determining in the ally-opponent the kind of response that could justify their own convictions. Lucy Gray’s destiny is left uncertain, but Snow reenters the district borders having gone through some kind of existential epiphany, and the fundamental detail that the snake was non-venomous doesn’t even cross his mind in its implications and doesn’t seem to put at all into question what he has just concluded, because the actual, true realization he experiences in the forest is first and foremost about himself, and the way his own paranoia has completely validated what Dr. Gaul previously told him about human beings, and even about how Lucy Gray (in his own twisted recollection of events) has finally proved to him that they were not any different after all.

So, once he has chosen to believe that Lucy Gray was out to kill him, the circumstantial fact that the snake was non-venomous is quickly dismissed by Snow as non-relevant. But the snake being non-venomous is, incidentally, the defining element that finally allows the reader to properly differentiate Lucy Gray from Coriolanus when it comes to the dichotomy the entire novel rests on and that Collins herself has spent the entire story joyfully playing with (serpent/songbird). Because, confined again to the natural state, despite realistically fearing that he was going to kill her, and despite gaining even the upper ground and a significant chance to effectively anticipate him in the act, she ultimately chooses not to kill him. She merely chooses to try to neutralize him to secure a way out of the situation, or to force him to desist from any bad intention he may have in mind. This is not because Lucy Gray is incorruptibly good and Snow is incurably evil (the author strives for this to be particularly clear by reminding us that Lucy Gray still chose to kill inside the Arena even when she might have decided not to, sometimes with slyness and premeditation, prioritizing in that occasion her self-preservation to her moral integrity), but because in this occasion she chooses not to, in order to demonstrate to him the validity of what she had told him before: which is that human beings are not inherently evil, even when stripped of civilization, but that good and evil are always the products of conscious choices. Snow obviously needs to believe the opposite, because he needs to exonerate himself from the consequences of his own deeds and decisions. And Dr. Gaul gives him exactly that. And it’s within this framework that The Hunger Games become a justifiable instrument for the powerful, and for the society that it’s trained to accept and normalize them.

However, Collins’ own thesis is incredibly staunch on this: from Lucy Gray in this very chapter, passing through Reaper refusing Clemensia’s food and slowly dying of starvation to send a message to the Capitol, Lamina mercy-killing Marcus mirroring Cato’s death at the hands of Katniss in the original trilogy, Thresh sparing Katniss’ life as a tribute to Rue, all the rebel victors sacrificing themselves for Katniss and Peeta during the Third Quarter Quell, and arriving to all the oppressed civilians who willingly give up their own life to join forces and sabotage the Capitol’s industries, we are given plenty of demonstrations on how the natural state doesn’t eradicate human’s capability for choice, and how aprioristic thinking on the inherent evilness of our species (or of some subgroups of it) is not only wrong, but also extremely dangerous and easily conducive to the legitimation of barbarity and atrocity.

So no, I don’t agree with the idea that Snow was inevitably destined to be a horrible person because he had actually always been, and I absolutely don’t think Collins’ intention was to tell us this. He starts off the novel showcasing specific predispositions that cause him to oscillate between good and evil several times, and a lot of potential to eventually channel in either direction, but he ultimately makes the choices that he consciously decides to make (sometimes genuinely believing them to be the right or best choices, other times gaslighting himself and us into thinking he thinks that) up until Dr. Gaul offers him on a silver plate the ultimate opportunity to abdicate any and all responsibility on what he has done and what he’s going to do, which by the way stems from the same kind of reasoning behind this interpretation a lot of fans so desperately want to give of Snow (“man is evil by nature, so I’m just acting according to my own nature, and I’m doing it with the goal of safeguarding humanity and for morally positive ends”).

TL; DR: In a nutshell, what I mean is that the entire message of the saga, but especially of this prequel, is that The Hunger Games are an inhumane barbarity because they suppress and deny fundamental human rights behind a false promise to keep humanity safe from a self-derived tendency to devour itself that mankind supposedly strives towards because of its inherent evilness at the natural state. Collins demonstrates that such a promise is false because it’s fallacious, and therefore that The Hunger Games are nothing more than a gratuitous instrument of torture and death, discrediting the Hobbesian hypothesis that human beings descend into evil outside of the borders of civilization. And if that applies to all human beings, then it has to apply to Snow too (or Gaul, or Coin, for what is worth).

[rippersz]

𝒯𝑜 𝒫𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝒲𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃:

(A Larissa Weems x fem!reader fanfic)

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Friday nights were lovely. They were lonely, but lovely. Time often flew on those days, but by the minute you returned home you always felt fulfilled. Well… as fulfilled as one could be when they willingly went out of their way to spend the evening alone. In a subway. Watching strangers.

It was an odd tradition for you. A hobby, almost. Every day after work, you’d take the train to the station closest to home, and then you’d just… sit. Keep your bag tightly held on your lap and sit. You weren’t waiting for anything. You weren’t looking for anything. You just- sat. Sat and observed. Some people, although rare, turned to wave or smile as they recognized you. Others, most, went about their day without sparing a glance. You didn’t blame them, of course. Everyone was busy in a city like that. They had their own lives… and yours just so happened to be a bit more boring than theirs.

Home was a nice place, of course. You loved your apartment. But there was something about seeing people… not having to interact with them but just seeing them, watching the way they existed… it filled your soul. And Fridays, when people rushed to go home and see their loved ones (pets included), well those days were the best ones. Yes, on those days, people spoke a bit louder on the phone; children jumped at their parents' sides a bit more; couples smiled in anticipation for their planned evening. On those days, those nights, those afternoons and mornings, people were at least the tiniest bit happier to go to work and return home. It was an interesting sight to see- the crowd, itself. From the way people walked, to the glances they threw at each other, to the way one would give up their seat for another. It was oddly… humanizing. Comforting. It made you feel a bit more okay about being alone.

And you were fine.

Really, you were fine.

Until…

Well until one particular Friday evening.

It was the middle of January- a new year with new opportunities and new freshly-rested people. They came in their usual hordes, filling the platform and boarding the train and then some time later, the same thing would happen again. It was constant. It was everyday. It was a thing that would most likely never change. And you really liked that. You really liked sitting on the cold metal bench and seeing the way a grandfather held his granddaughter’s hand, or the way a mother spoke to her nanny on the phone- asking about Margaret and how she was doing with homework, or- or!- and possibly these types of scenarios were your favorite- when two people held hands tightly and avoided staring at the other while battling a blush on their own cheeks. It was refreshing to see love thrive, even if it was slow or secret or crossed along the stars.

Yes, it was sublime. And it didn’t hurt your heart. Not at all. Some people were just born to be alone; whether it was a matter of circumstance or due to the fact that humans were just not a certain person’s ‘thing’. You could be grouped into the former category, as it just happened that there was no one you connected with. Yes, plenty of people were beautiful to you. You were an artist, after all; but that didn’t mean any of them would be good life partners. And those who did seem good- who did seem as though they could turn your world on its head for the better- well you never got the chance to talk to them. No, those people you sort of distanced yourself from. Conversing with others was hard, but talking to someone who you thought was attractive? Oh forget it. You were all stutters and looking everywhere but in their eyes and trying to hide the shake of your hands behind your back. If you were forced, then you could hold a conversation relatively well, but it wouldn’t be too long after the talk’s beginning that your mind would start to wander.

Natural curiosity, although cute and intriguing all on its own, was not the best trait to have. Questions filled your head constantly and the urge to receive an answer was often overwhelming. That’s one reason why you kept your phone close and avoided talking to many people. The questions you had for them, regarding their lives, were just ones you’d have to keep to yourself and ponder forever. Not everything deserves an answer, your father once said. And he was right. You couldn’t know everything about everyone, no matter how desperately you wanted to; so forgetting your questions and carrying on with your life was the best course of action.

And you would have continued to do exactly that if it weren’t for the woman who sat opposite you on that one Friday evening in January.

You weren’t paying attention at first. Your eyes were preoccupied, carefully watching a budding fight between two coworkers. Judging by the poorly concealed presses of lipstick to his neck and the hushed angry tone of the woman he spoke to, you guessed they were sleeping together and had reached a divide. Perhaps his wife had found out and he broke off the workplace relationship after ‘one last time’. Or maybe the woman didn’t want to continue loving in the shadows. Well whatever it was, you kept your face impassive and allowed your interest to dwindle as they boarded the train. Within your head, you wished them luck before turning to seek out any other people that could catch your eye.

At first glance, there was no one new. You simply watched the way the train doors closed and let yourself smirk at the knee jerk reaction all humans seemed to have when standing too close to automatic doors- the few who stood near the edge shuffled back a bit for fear of getting their feet caught. It was always small things like that that renewed your belief in humanity’s unity. The doors close, the feet move back like a machine. The doors open, most hesitate for just a second until they’re open all the way before walking out. It was classic.

And as you followed the train while it began chugging along, your mind found something else that seemed classic too.

Instantly caught like a fish on a hook, your gaze glued itself to the figure that sat across from you on the other side of the platform. She was sitting on a similar metal bench, although it couldn’t have been that comfortable as she was wearing a skirt and her legs were only covered by thin cream-colored stockings. The first thing you noticed about her was her hair. Snowy white and sculpted perfectly into a refined updo- the amount of hours it would take an inexperienced person to create that was something you couldn’t begin to gage. It swooped dramatically to the side, resting across her pale forehead. The style itself complimented the silvery-white aesthetic of her matching skirt, blouse, and long coat; although the eye-catching thing was not the purity in the neat color… it was the golden pendant on her breast. It was beautiful; shining beneath the flickering LED lights of the train station and casting the perfect shadow to show off the accessorie’s shape. A pair of lips. You turned your head, observing it with searching eyes. What did it mean to her? Who gave it to her? Did she buy it herself? Was it real gold? She looked quite expensive. Like she could afford it. Even though over the years you had learned the lesson of not ‘judging a book by its cover’, it was all you had to go off of. A person’s appearance. And she looked like a million dollars personified.

So really, who could blame you if you couldn’t bring yourself to look away?

She was unlike anyone you had seen before. Tall, with posture like a ruler, hands covered by soft gloves and eyes like… like…

Wait.

Eyes?

You blinked, doing a double take of sorts, and nearly jumped out of your seat as you made eye contact with the stranger. It wasn’t very often that someone looked back at you- mainly because you were usually sitting behind them or because you knew when to glance away- but something about that woman… Goodness, her gaze was enchanting. Dark lashes cast a shadow across the kind of eyes that would probably put a glistening ocean to shame. The brief thought of wanting to see them in the proper light ran right through your brain before falling onto the bench next to you; and when it was gone, it was gone with the woman’s eyes. Yes, they were peering down at a phone in her lap, and suddenly you felt oddly bereft. Did she not find you as intriguing as you found her? Did she not think you were worthy of being stared at? At being wondered over?

You frowned… and then frowned harder when you felt yourself frowning.

Then you looked back up because really, you weren’t going to waste the opportunity to commit the woman to memory for even just a second more. And you weren’t disappointed. She was glancing at passerbyers as well, though you had a feeling she didn’t usually do what you did in ‘people watching’. No, she was probably just waiting for her train. And you didn’t have anywhere to be- so what else were you to do besides watch her?

Her, who clearly had an entire life somewhere else behind that crystal façade. Her, whose red lipstick and blue eyes were the most beautiful color combination you’d ever seen. Her, who had the most interesting aura even from across a subway train platform. Her, who managed to glance at you for just a second and made it feel like a good 20 minutes. Her, who had an entire name and age and height- tall, definitely- and who had likes and dislikes and interests and this and that and the other. Her, who wore high heels and gloves and held a purse by her side and probably smelled like heaven and who pressed gold jewelry to her skin and made it look so- so- right. Her, who was definitely a person of importance and certainly held a position of power somehow somewhere.

Her… oh her who was so clearly uninterested and didn’t even look back to glance at you as she stood up and walked away. Phone in hand, purse in the crook of her elbow, head held high and back straight; feet naturally pointed out, hips swaying, legs as long as the stairway to Heaven. And eyes pointed forward. Not at you. Never at you.

The train came and went. You watched it go, losing sight of the stranger, and decided suddenly to just return home. Friday night had become boring… and you were tired.

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(Part 1)

Sorry for formatting issues. Let me know about a Part 2? I’ll probably post it anyway.

- Ripley

[burningvelvet]

will never get over the fact that mr. heathcliff and mr. arthur huntington are canonically more attractive than mr. rochester.

aside from the fact that they're both described as being handsome, and mr. rochester is described as being not handsome, we can see this play out in the text. while it's a point that mr. rochester's love interests only want him for his money/status, with arthur and heathcliff that's not entirely the case (you could argue that isabella is partly concerned with heathcliff's newfound wealth, but imo if he wasn't handsome as well, she probably wouldn't bother).

like helen I Love My Bible graham sees arthur and immediately starts drawing and painting him to sublimate her very very obvious attraction that everyone (including him) is aware of. even though she's told he's horrible, she says I CAN FIX HIM!!!! JUST LOOK AT HIM!!! and annabella just openly cheats on her husband with him for years. like helen, isabella linton is told that heathcliff is horrible but she's like BUT HOW CAN THAT BE TRUE WHEN HANDSOME? HAVE YOU SEEN HIM? and as soon as mr. lockwood meets heathcliff in the very beginning he becomes obsessed with him. even after heathcliff lets him be attacked by his vicious dogs, mr. lockwood refuses to leave him alone. not to mention that even the initially biased and usually critical nelly agrees that he's handsome, and cathy literally dying because she regrets not marrying him

— although cathy/heathcliff's bond is much more than skin deep / isn't about looks or regular forms of attraction (bc they have an almost twin-like, spiritual bond) i feel like seeing him healthy and handsome and "glowed up" really hurt cathy 10x more than she was hurt before his return, bc back then she could maybe try to delude herself out of missing him as much by remembering him when he was in his slovenly servant role & embarrassing her infront of the lintons — but seeing proof of his potential & that he always did have it in him to accrue & maintain wealth/education/fashion (and yes, good looks too), & that he could've/would've done so if he'd married her, is really what helped to kill her (aside from... y'know, the whole childbirth thing of course - but the narrative does heavily imply that the drama from heathcliff's return decreased her chances of surviving childbirth, so when i refer to her death, i'm looking at the more internal/emotional causes)