#or if it meant something else in that book's context

[backofthebookshelf]

It's not a controversial take necessarily -- it's just that the particular environment of AO3, where you can see how many times your fic was loaded in a browser window and where the little heart button has a different meaning than it does on every other social media site, is uniquely bad for the human brain.

For the VAST majority of history, both the history of making art generally and the history of writing fanfiction in particular, you did not get to know how many people gave your work a cursory once-over, or how many people checked your book out from the library and never read it, or how many people overheard a line of poetry and thought "huh, neat" and never did anything else. These interactions were, as they should be, completely anonymous and uncountable. Even in the pre-AO3 days of fanfiction, there was an understanding that page hit counters were kind of crap (for one thing, they would count you every time you loaded the page, and you had to load the page to check the counter, so that was incentive not to look at it that much).

Even in other artistic contexts where you do now have page hit counters on everything, they're contextualized through marketing research, not consumed as a raw value. Marketing talks about conversion rate, which is the % of people who saw something who then went on to do the thing you wanted them to do - for a business that's probably buy the thing, for a nonprofit it might be donate or sign up for a volunteer session, for a fanfiction writer it's leave a comment. At work I work with multiple major companies you have definitely heard of who spend half a million dollars and 1-3 full time employees every year on something that increases their conversion rate by 1-2%. They do this because the conversion rate on our emails is 5%, which is INSANELY high.

And yes, leaving a comment doesn't cost money, but it does cost time and energy. Writers overestimate how easy it is for people to write comments--my coworkers are out here using chatgpt to write boilerplate work emails, I can't imagine ANY of them ever leaving a comment on a work of art they enjoyed. Verbally, yes--and "in a friend discord is much closer to verbally than in a comment form--but in writing? Absolutely not.

As for kudos, I can't help but think that the "likes don't do anything, you have to reblog" culture of social media like twitter and tumblr affects that too (and yes, by the latter days of twitter I was seeing people saying that on there, because the algorithm was so broken). Kudos is essentially a like button, and like the like button on twitter that used to be a favorite button before they changed it and some people never stopped treating it like one, it has meanings for people you'll never understand. "It's just a click!" It is a symbol with vague connotations but no specific universally agreed upon meaning; it tells you how many people clicked on that button, and that's all.

So yes, actually, I guess I am saying that as a writer, you are supposed to assume that many more people liked your fic than you will ever hear from or even know about. And that's a good thing! You have the chance to touch someone's life even though they have no idea who you are and don't think of you as a person so much as a semi-mythical figure called "the author". And that's part of the magic, to me, of creating things. You pour yourself into a thing and then you set it loose into the world and you hope it means to someone else as much as it meant to you. Sometimes, very rarely, someone will tell you so, and that's amazing, I'm not going to pretend it's not, but you have to have enough faith in yourself to believe it happens whether you hear about it or not.

I really don't understand how "without getting kudos or comments a fanfiction author is going to assume that people who clicked their fic didn't like it" became a controversial take.

I don't know why some people think an author should imagine, or guess that people who click their fic enjoyed it it when nobody is telling them that.

If you're re-reading a fic constantly, or leaving it up in your tab so that it re-loads every day for a hundred days the author is not going to know that unless you tell them. They'd love to hear it. It would make their day.

And if you don't tell them you liked their fic, there's no reason for them to assume you did.

[howtodrawyourdragon]

A Viking ship called the Valhalla Express, you say?

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Sharing a Bed

SUMMARY: When they built the bungalow, they couldn't make an individual bedroom for each person. Or a bed for each person. So, they'll have to choose the person with whom they will share the room... and the bed. And the boy you're secretly dating ends up paired up with you in one of those beds.

CHARACTERS: Riddle Rosehearts; Ace Trappola; Jack Howl; Azul Ashengrotto; Floyd Leech; Lilia Vanrouge

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Flirting; Kiss; Beginning of Relationship

WARNING: Spoilers from Stitch's Tropical Turbulence (JP: Lost in the Book with Stitch ~Midsummer Sea and Spaceship~)

WORD COUNT: An average of 920 words per character.

COMMENTS: Okay, after reading it a second time, what I think Jack meant was: Since they couldn't make individual rooms for everyone, they made one living room big enough for everyone instead. But that's not what I understood the first time, and the way I understood it was more interesting for me to write something about :3

CONTEXT: You two are at the beginning of your relationship and no one knows. Let's also say that Floyd didn't use the back door for the bonfire.

They couldn't make individual rooms in the Bungalow or single beds. They only got materials to make 3 beds big enough for 2 people to sleep in each. And 3 bedrooms where they placed each of the beds. Which meant that 6 people could sleep in pairs on the beds, Grim and Stitch were small enough to sleep well on the couch/armchairs and 1 person had to sleep in the living room with them, maybe on the couch too. And someone comments about you and Grim being a package deal.

Riddle was the first to say that you shouldn't sleep on the couch just because you usually sleep in the same room as Grim.

You should sleep in a bed and, like the gentleman he is, he offered to sleep on the couch instead, more concerned with your well-being than with the possible jealousy he could feel depending on who you slept next to.

“Objection!” Lilia said playfully. Riddle looked at him in surprise. “I should be the one sleeping on the couch. After all, I can easily sleep in a cave and I'm small enough to fit comfortably on the couch. You guys should have the beds. A good night's sleep is important for growth.” He smiled. Riddle may or may not realize it, but Lilia did this mostly for the two of you.

“So how do we divide ourselves between the beds?” Jack asked.

“Firstly, you shouldn't sleep with people you don't feel comfortable with.” Riddle said. He, Jack, and Ace looked mostly at Floyd, but also at Azul.

“Those looks directed at us after such advice are quite hurtful.” Azul says with his performative sadness. “But, Riddle, can I ask why you said you instead of us?” he asks with a smirk.

Riddle couldn't hide his caught reaction. And he's not the type to make excuses, so he was sincere: “In fact, that slipped from me.” he said, slightly blushing “The truth is, I hoped I could be paired with [Y/N].” he looks at you “If you're comfortable with that too, of course.”

You say that you are, and with two shy smiles directed at each other, your pair is decided. The other pairs were Ace with Jack and Azul with Floyd. Both Jack and Ace didn't want to be with either of the other two and Ace used the excuse that Azul and Floyd had known each other for a long time to justify the pairings.

❤️ Bungalow - Yours and Riddle's Bedroom ❤️

He let you in first and closed the door behind him. When you look at him, you realize that he is thinking about something, something that troubles or bothers him. You ask if everything is okay.

“I... I know I was the one who invited you to share the room with me... but...” You ask sadly if he wanted to exchange with someone else. “No, no, no! It’s not that. I will always choose you. I even did it without thinking... and maybe that was the problem... I...” he blushed a little. “I didn't want you... to sleep with anyone else. Although at first I offered to sleep on the sofa, which would consequently mean that you would have to share the bed with someone other than me. *Sigh* Why can't I think straight?” he whispers to himself. “Sorry, I'm straying from the initial question. What bothers me is... I'm sure I'm breaking a rule.”

You ask what rule. You wonder if it could be any Heartslabyul rule? Or maybe from the Queendom of Roses? Or could it be...?

“I think it would fit into a rule of etiquette. My mother is completely against this. We are no longer mere acquaintances, or just friends. These types of things cannot happen before...”

“Marriage?” You ask. He blushes again.

“I know it's too early and we're too young to talk about this but... yes...” You say that if he feels more comfortable swapping with someone else... “NO! That's out of the question! I'm not going to force you to sleep on a sofa and WHOEVER SLEEPS WITH YOU I WILL HAVE THEIR-!” He stutter, and clear his throat. “I mean... this is the best option.” He's embarrassed for shouting in front of you. “My apologies for that.”

You reassure him that it is okay. He wasn't yelling AT you and you know he's still learning to control his anger. You say that all rules have exceptions, and in cases like these, on a desert island where it is already lucky that there are beds, perhaps they are exceptions to certain rules. Sometimes the rules of survival override the rules of etiquette. Maybe if he thinks he's not breaking a rule, but following its exception.

He thinks for a moment “You are right. If we think about it this way, it is also against the rules of etiquette to eat with your hands, but it is foolish to try to impose it when there are no conditions for it. Yes, you are right, we must prioritize our well-being and health.” There's a cute and awkward pause “Um, do you have a preference for the side?”

If you have a preference, he will sleep on the other side, if not and one side is closer to the door, he will sleep on that side. If you ask why this choice, he will say that the most protective person in the relationship is often on the side closest to the door in order to be able to protect their significant other against intruders.

As soon as you lie down and get ready for bed, you might be surprised by how naturally Riddle kisses you on the cheek. “Good night, my rose.” If you look at him, you will see a sweet smile and caring eyes looking back at you.

If you want to return the kiss you can do it on his cheek as well. Lips are still reserved for special occasions only. And he'll press his forehead to yours, your noses almost touching for a moment before you finally turn over to sleep. And if you open your eyes while he's doing it, you'll see the loving glow in his eyes.

You begin to sleep separately and perhaps even in different directions, but sleep and dreams are revealing. Eventually you will begin to unconsciously move closer to each other, until he has his arms around you and your head is resting close to his chest.

If you wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of one of Gantu's robots outside, Riddle won't even process the fact that you're suddenly so close. He goes straight from sleepy mode to protective mode on instinct. His gaze will be completely focused on the closed window and you will feel his arms moving you closer to him. If you make a sound, he'll put a finger to your mouth and whisper a calm shh.

Only after the robot leaves will he realize how he is hugging you. His face will immediately turn red from the blushing and he will move slightly away from you apologizing.

If you show yourself comfortable being so close to him and even more protected, he will end up giving in and letting you continue sleeping together as you were. You will definitely hear his heart beating fast until he finally manages to relax and fall asleep again.

After that, you will start to get used to sleeping like this. He will always wake up before you and wake you up with a kiss on the forehead. “Good morning~ Did you sleep well?”

“Hey, [Y/N] shouldn't stay on the couch just because Grim is going to be in the living room.” Ace says. “At least it doesn't seem fair to me.” he looks at Riddle hoping he would share the same opinion.

“Surprisingly I have to agree with Ace.” Riddle says.

“See? Wait... what do you mean surprisingly?”

“The person who will sleep on the sofa” Riddle continues, ignoring Ace's observation. “should be chosen taking into account who is least likely to have problems sleeping well on it compared to others. This also includes not having a stature too large to fit.”

Everyone looked at Lilia. Who looked behind him as a joke.

“Kehehe. Of course, I have no problem sleeping on the couch. It even looks quite cozy from my point of view. Furthermore I'm going to have two really fun roommates.” Lilia smiled, Stitch smiled back and Grim said something about him being a great roommate. The others looked at you for a moment when he said that to see your reaction.

“So who will be the pairs for the beds?” Floyd asked. “Hey kingyo-chan~ do you want to stay with me?”

“I'd rather sleep on the floor.” Riddle answers. Floyd laughs because he already predicted that.

“Dibs on pairing with [Y/N]!” Ace hurried to say.

“Aw, koebi-chan was my next choice.” Floyd comments.

Seeing his options, Riddle asks if Jack would mind pairing with him. As Jack respects him a lot, he says he doesn't mind and his tail starts to wag, slightly honored that Riddle shows some trust in him. Azul and Floyd end up paired up with each other.

❤️ Bungalow - Yours and Ace's Bedroom ❤️

As soon as you two enter the room and Ace closes the door, he picks you up playfully. And he even tells you not to make any noise as he laughs softly. He takes a few steps and lays you down on the bed.

“So, do you have a favourite side or do I choose?” You or he chooses sides and you lie down. “Ahh~ Finally something that isn't the floor of a cave to sleep in~” he says next to you.

And then you remember something: It wasn't the first time Ace suggested you two sleep in the same bed. The first time was when the riddle locked a collar around he's neck for the first time and he had to sleep in Ramshackle Dorm. And the second was when Azul got Ramshackle Dorm and you had to find another dorm to sleep in. Before going to Savanaclaw, Ace suggested you sleep with him when they commented that Heartslabyul didn't have extra beds. So you comment that he finally got the sleepover he wanted so much.

“Hmm? What do you mean?” He asks. You remind him about the first time he came to sleep in your dorm. “Well, in that case I just didn't want to sleep on the couch. But you made me sleep in it anyway.” he looks at you with a sulking face, and then a smirk. “You know, now that I think about it, maybe I should have let you sleep on the couch. So we were even.”

Then you ask why he didn't try to do that when you were left without your dorm. That was the second time he suggested sharing a bed. And you caught him by surprise for a second.

“Hmm... well... Do you think the Housewarden would let that happen? I can even imagine myself losing my mind over the audacity of being so rude to a visitor. Or Queen of Hearts knows what dorm rule that would break.”

If you remembered correctly, he suggested sharing a bed AFTER Jack offered to shelter you in Savanaclaw.

“And yet you chose Savanaclaw.” he sulks cutely again. “And slept in Leona's room.” he murmured.

You say something like: “Aw, is this jealousy~?” And he rolls over, facing away from you. You get closer to him, saying that he doesn't need to be jealous, and nothing happened, Leona also only did that because he was forced in a way and you needed a place to stay.

“That's why I slept with Deuce.” He tells you. You exclaim a surprised "WHAT?!" and he turns to grab you and make you lie down clinging to him.

“Got ya!” he laughs. “And keep your voice down, remember?” He whispers. “You really fall for it? Ha ha. You should know me better than this.”

He yawns, which makes you yawn too.

“I'm really tired. We should just sleep. You don't mind if we sleep like this, do you~?”

They complained about the heat outside , but inside the bungalow, at night, it's actually a little cool. So it's kinda comfortable to sleep almost hugging each other. So no, you don't mind. Quite the opposite. He kiss you good night, and you two fall asleep.

In the following nights, there are chances that you two make out a little there before going to sleep, if your not too tired. He will never wake up grumpy, because every time he hears the sound of the waves and sees you lying next to him, he realizes that this is the best vacation ever.

Jack wasted no time in speaking his mind: “I don't think [Y/N] should sleep on the couch just because Grim is staying in the living room.”

“Fufufu... Why? Do you think [Y/N] should sleep with you instead?” Lilia asked with a smirk to tease him.

Jack blushed a lot! “Wha-! NO! That wasn't why-” He put his hand on the back of his head. “I mean, I wouldn't mind, but I was just thinking that it's not fair for them to sleep on the couch just because of Grim. We should take into consideration whether [Y/N] have trouble falling asleep here or not.”

“I agree with Jack” Riddle said. “In fact, we must take into account each person's needs in something as important as rest. I believe you would agree as well, Lilia.”

“Yes, you boys are right.” Lilia said with a smile. “In that case, I volunteer to stay on the couch. From what I saw in the cave, I'm the one who has the least problems sleeping.”

“Mendako-chan could sleep on a battlefield, hehehe.” Floyd comments. Lilia also laughs at this observation.

“So...” Jack turns to you, still slightly blushing. “Now that you don't have to sleep on the couch, would you like to pairing with me?” As soon as you say yes, or whisper something like "of course, silly" his tail starts wagging.

“Well, we already know who the first pair for the beds is.” Lilia comments when he sees Jack's tail moving wildly from side to side. He tries to make it stop and you see his ears lower in embarrassment.

Seeing his options, Riddle asks if Ace would mind pairing with him. And also analyzing his options, Ace says he doesn't mind. They are even from the same dorm, maybe it would even be better to pair up like that, you know? Being in the same dorm, people are more comfortable with each other, right? (They got it, Ace)

💛 Bungalow - Yours and Jack's Bedroom 💛

As soon as the two of you enter the room and Jack closes the door, he will ask if you have a preference for which side of the bed you sleep on. When you look at him, you see that he is still trying to contain the wagging of his tail. You remind him that he doesn't need to do that when it's just the two of you.

“Oh!, Ya, force of habit I guess.” And so he lets his tail wag freely. Fortunately there is no furniture or objects that it can hit.

If you have a preference for the side of the bed you want to sleep on, he will sleep on the other side, if not and one side is closer to the door, he will sleep on that side. If you ask why this choice, he will say that he heard that the most protective person in the relationship is often on the side closest to the door in order to be able to protect their significant other against intruders.

“I feel like the weather gets cooler now at night. That’s good.” Jack comments.

In fact, it's nice to rest with cool nights after spending active days in the heat of the beach, and you tell him something like this.

“Y-ya. That to...” He rubs the back of his neck, and you ask what he was thinking then. “Well, I was thinking... about this wolf thing...” he blushes a little “I think you've already noticed that, like wolves, wolf beastmen couples are also quite affectionate.” He can’t look at you right now because he can feel the way you’re looking at him. And so, looking at you will only make him blush even more. “And there's this thing...” he inhales to gain more courage to speak and sighs. “We like to cuddle and sleep together ok...” This is very difficult to admit for a Tsundere at the beginning of a relationship, especially for someone who is not a beast(wo)man.

You probably laugh at how cute he looks when he's so flustered. You ask if that's why he's happy that it getting colder at night. Because if it was too hot you wouldn't be able to sleep cuddled together. He confirms.

“From your laugh and smile, can I guess that you would like that too?” He smiles confidently, his tail wagging.

You open your arms showing that you do, and he wastes no time in hugging you and laying you down in bed with him. He also doesn't wait to start caressing your face with his nose and giving you soft kisses on your cheeks. He tries to control his tail so it doesn't hit anything and make noise.

The first time he kisses your lips will be to say goodnight, but if he's not tired enough yet, this won't be the only goodnight kiss before you fall asleep in each other's arms.

He will always be the first to wake up and wake you up. You will always wake up with his arms around you and a passionate kiss on your cheek. And with him always trying to convince you to get up and not be tempted to stay in bed late. He wants to spend another day with you, for as long as possible.

“Oh, poor [Y/N]” Azul comments. “Being forced to sleep on the couch just because of their companion. That doesn't seem like a very fair deal to me.” He says with a smirk.

“Despite the tone of moral superiority, Azul is right.” Riddle says. “It's not like Grim needs someone to watch over him at night. Or so I hope.”

“Of course not! I'm not a baby!” Grim complains. “I can sleep in a separate room from [Y/N]. The question is: can my hench-human sleep away from me?”

“Ah, I believe [Y/N] will certainly be in good company.” Azul comments, and before anyone could question what he had just said, he continued. “The person who will sleep on the couch should be chosen taking into account who is least likely to have problems sleeping well on it compared to others. This also includes having a physical size that makes them feel comfortable on a couch.”

Everyone looked at Lilia. Who looked behind him as a joke.

“Kehehe. Of course, I have no problem sleeping on the couch. It even looks quite cozy from my point of view. Furthermore I'm going to have two really fun roommates.” Lilia smiled, Stitch smiled back and Grim said something about him being a great roommate. The others looked at you for a moment when he said that to see your reaction.

“So who will be the pairs for the beds?” Floyd asked. “Hey kingyo-chan~ do you want to stay with me?”

“I'd rather sleep on the floor.” Riddle answers. Floyd laughs because he already predicted that.

“Well, in that case. Koebi-chan~?”

“Sorry Floyd, but I don't think so.” Azul answers, with a smile but a cunning look.

“Oh ya?” Floyd was also smiling with cunning eyes. “And why don't you let Koebi-chan answer for themself?”

“For sure. I was just trying to soften your rejection.” He gives Floyd one last smug smile before turning to you. “Tell me [Y/N], would you like to sleep next to Floyd or next to me?” You reply that you would like to sleep next to Azul.

“He he. I already knew it.” Floyd says with a genuinely amused expression. “I just wanted to see how Azul would react.” And before anyone could question those phrases, he turns to the other three and asks: “So what will the other pairs be?” With a smile knowing that he is creating a fun chaos.

Riddle, Ace and Jack look at each other. One of them will have to share a bed with Floyd.

“Ace!” Riddle says. “You should be the one paired with Floyd.”

“Wha-?! Why me?!”

“Because firstly, the bed wouldn't have much free space if either of you were paired with Jack. And secondly, you and Floyd are basketball teammates, you must get along well enough right?”

“You just don't want to be the one to pair with him and because you're my Housewarden you're ordering-” He stopped when he saw Riddle starting to get angry. “I mean, yes, of course, those are excellent arguments. You're absolutely right, Housewarden!”

Meanwhile, Floyd laughs with amusement.

💜 Bungalow - Yours and Azul's Bedroom 💜

Azul enters after you and closes the door. He sighs when he sees how simple the room is. “If we weren't in these circumstances, I would have found a luxury resort for us.”

You tell him that he has nothing to worry about, that despite everything, the others managed to make the room cozy and pleasant. And what matters most to you is being in it with him. He smiles, puts one hand on your waist and caresses your cheek with the other.

“Always seeing the bright side, my pearl.” He gives you a tender kiss on the lips. “Now, tell me, do you have a preference for the side of the bed where you would like to sleep?”

You lie down side by side.

“I am so glad we get to sleep under a proper roof tonight.”

“Azul...” You ask. “Would you really leave us on the island if none of us made a deal with you?”

“Of course not, darling.” He turns on himself to face you. “But I'm a businessman. And what kind would I be if I didn't take advantage of any business opportunity?”

You make a muffled sound, not liking his response that much. He comes closer to you. “I wouldn't do anything like I used to, I promise. Maybe I'd only have them working at Mostro Lounge for a week or so. And no anemones on their heads to force them to obey me, I swear.” He was smiling slyly saying this.

You look away from him, rolling your eyes. “I repented.” With a gentle finger on your chin he makes you look at him again, he looks into your eyes lovingly. “Seen the light, made a switch. I would never leave you on a desert island. Even if I had to turn you into a merfolk to do so.” He smiled. “I wonder how you would look like.”

“And the others?” You ask.

“Hum? I wasn't thinking about them, but I'm also curious to know what they would be like in mer-form, yes.” He answewrs. You laugh and say no,that that wasn't what you were asking. He sighs. “Fine, fine... I wouldn't leave any of them on a desert island.” He says, partly in admission, partly to make you happy.

But then his smile fades for a moment. He caresses your face again.

“I hope you're not like that with everyone. Not everyone deserves such benevolence. You and your tender disposition will only be taken advantage if you let them.” You could see the concern in his eyes.

You assure him that you know it, and that you're not like that with everyone. They were your friends, it was different and he knew it. He smiles fondly.

“I wonder what kind of deal we made to have someone like you in our lives. And mainly...” He brings his lips closer to yours. “...what I did to have you for myself.” and you kiss.

You will always wake up with his arms around you. You're between him and the window because he's going to use you to hide his face from the light while he's in the process of waking up. But as soon as he's more awake, he'll kiss you good morning and start the day with you.

“Koebi-chan and I pair up to sleep in one of the beds. Now you guys fight to see who gets to stay on the couch.” Floyd decides with an amused smile, completely ignoring any comments about you usually sleeping in the same room as Grim.

“HOLD ON!” Riddle says. “You can't just decide something like that without the other person's consent!”

The truth is that since you were dating, Floyd assumes that you would like to take advantage of that opportunity to share a room with him. But since no one else knows about it yet, he plays along. He also likes that your relationship is still a secret to see the confusion on other people's faces in situations like these.

“Okay~ Hey Koebi-chan, do you want to share the room with me~?”

You say yes, clearly of your own free will, which reassures Riddle and the others. And in that case, they will have to decide the pairs for the beds and who sleeps on the couch.

Ace suggests choosing at random, like whoever draws the shortest straw stays on the couch, and Azul is the first to go against this suggestion. Riddle is the second.

“I volunteer to stay on the couch.” Lilia said with a smile. “From what I saw in the cave, I'm the one who has the least problems sleeping.”

“Mendako-chan could sleep on a battlefield, hehehe.” Floyd comments. Lilia also laughs at this observation.

“Furthermore I'm going to have two really fun roommates.” Lilia smiled at Stitch, who smiled back, and at Grim, who said something about him being a great roommate. The others looked at you for a moment when he said that to see your reaction.

Of all three, Riddle was the least uncomfortable pairing with Azul. So they formed a pair and the other two freshmen formed another.

💜 Bungalow - Yours and Floyd's Bedroom 💜

You two enter the room, Floyd closes the door and goes directly to lie down on the bed. Taking up the whole bed.

“So, what do you think of our room? Pretty cool, han?” In fact, the room was decorated with very beautiful, sparkling seashells. They were all sorts of colors: orange, red, purple, green, pink, white. And they look like painted porcelain.

“So you also like dead shellfish?” He says. “Kingyo-chan and Uni-chan too. They were fawning over these shells when we found this spot. It was fun to see their faces when most of the shells they had collected started moving on their own. They had picked up hermit crabs without realizing it. I told them to leave the pretty spiral ones alone and pick out the flat, practical ones to use them as plates. And when we were working on the bungalow I went to where they had left the shells and used them to decorate the room. Just a warning, don't scream too loud if one of these corpses is still alive and pokes your leg at night~”

He laughs looking at your reaction. “Exciting, isn't it?” You complain, saying you want to sleep peacefully. “Fine, fine, I was just kidding. Do you think I don't know how to tell the difference between seashells?” You say that, precisely for this reason, he could put a hermit crab in your room on purpose. “Hahahaha. You know me too well, Koebi-chan. But nah, that crab could poke me at night and I don't want that either.”

You were still standing, looking at him with his arms and legs spread out like a starfish taking up the entire bed.

“Won't you go to lie down with me?” He asks with a smirk.

“Where?” you ask “You're taking up the whole bed.”

“Here!” He attacks you with a hug and forces you to lie down in his arms. He squeezes you affectionately, and without hurting you, of course. He yawns. “And? Where is my reward for making such a pretty room for us~?” He asks with inviting lips very close to yours.

You kiss him and feel him reciprocating lazily, but sweetly.

“And for being one of the people who built the bungalow?” You kiss him again. “And for making such a good dinner?” and again. “And the bonfire was also a good idea, wasn't it?” and again “And didn't ya like my music?” and he will continue to remind you of things for you to pay him back with kisses until he simply gets tired and you two just make out until you fall asleep.

When he wakes up in a good mood and excited about the day, he can pick you up and force you to get up too. If he wakes up feeling sleepy and wants to stay in bed longer, he won't take his arms away from you, forcing you to continue being his bodypillow until he's in the mood to get up.

And that someone who commented about you and Grim being a package deal was none other than Lilia himself. And yes, you were shocked. Was he going to miss an opportunity like this?

And unfortunately for you, everyone agreed. You even fit well on the couch. And during that whole time Lilia had his usual smile as if nothing had happened.

“So who will be the pairs for the beds then?” Floyd asked.

“Why don't the two of us pair up, Floyd?” Lilia suggested “I'm sure it will be fun.”

“Okay~”

Everyone else looks relieved, even Azul. And while the remaining four decided on their pairings, you looked at Lilia for a moment. And, knowing that no one else was looking at you two, his smile became sly, he winked at you and put on his innocent smile back again.

The pairs ended up being Azul and Riddle, and Ace and Jack, since neither of these two wanted to be paired with Azul and, despite everything, Riddle didn't mind.

That night, you lie down on the couch. Both Grim and Stitch curl up to sleep. You curl up to get comfortable and close your eyes to fall asleep.

You had already fallen asleep when you felt something touch your nose and a familiar voice whispering "Boop". You open your eyes and see Lilia lying next to you, smiling. Wait... lying on your side? But the couch doesn't have that much space. Your vision adapts and you see that you are no longer on the couch, but on the bed in one of the rooms.

💚 Bungalow - Yours and Lilia's Bedroom 💚

“Fufufu. Surprised?” He could see that in your face.

You ask him how, what, when...? He laughs.

“I knew that none of them would want to sleep on the sofa, and that the chances of me being chosen to sleep on it, if we got to that point, were too high for I had an easier time sleeping wherever it was.” His look becomes sly, like the one he gave you while the others were deciding the pairings. “But if you were the one sleeping on the couch, I could find a way to get the person I was paired with to switch with you. Octavinelle students love deals and I would have an easier time getting a deal like this with Floyd than with Azul. After making sure he was in a good mood for it of course. Which is also very easy for me. I mean, who would be in a bad mood in the company of someone as adorable and fun as me?” He rests his chin on his hands and gives you his cutest smile to prove his point.

You ask him what deal they made and he smiles slyly again.

“Don't worry, my dear. It takes more than a intelligent teenager with mood swings to outsmart me. And let's say that Azul can be more difficult to convince.” There is a short pause. “I hope you can forgive me for waking you up. You looked so cute sleeping, but I really wanted to surprise you. Did you like it?”

You did! But you still tell him how you felt when you were deciding who slept where.

“You know the saying: All's fair in love and war. Of course I wasn't going to miss an opportunity like this, but I had to make sure we stayed together. And knowing my opponents and who my best allies would be, I knew this would be my best strategy.”

You still seem not completely convinced, or at least you pretend you're not.

“Aww... don't do this to poor old me~” He says dramatically “You can't imagine how hard it was for me to see your disappointed face when you were chosen to sleep on the sofa. My heart sank as much as seeing a companion injured in combat next to me. But we needed to be strong if we want to end up together!”

You laugh to see him act so melodramatically. He holds both of your hands, and looks deeply into your eyes, with a mix of a sweet smile and a smirk.

“And now that we're safe in each other's arms, maybe we can heal our wounded hearts.” And if you allow him, he will kiss your lips.

He will always wake you up with a kiss or by bopping your nose. And if you feel lazy he will force you to get up by being cutely annoying. Even if he has to hold you in his arms to do so. C'mon, the days are beautiful and he can enjoy the beach with you, he wants to enjoy every second before it ends.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[eowynstwin]

professor price

professor price x reader. age gap. older man/younger woman. pining. pre-relationship. jealousy. angst. guilt. voyeurism. mvp alejandro. lightly explicit. - A Christmas gift to my friend @guyfieriii, centered around her own Professor Price au from all the way back in early 2023. I have linked each fic of hers that I reference in this work—highly recommend you check them out.

The first day of class you’re in the front row—center seat.

Old instincts never really retire even if the body leaves the field; a moment’s evaluation opens you like a book. Pencil pouch on your desk, set parallel to the edge. Syllabus in the middle, creased at the stapled corner but otherwise pristine. Water bottle at the corner, solid blue.

You: hair neat. Wearing clean slacks and a knitted sweater like a uniform, ankles crossed, buckled straps of your Mary-Janes intersecting in an obtuse V. Like a flock of birds in formation, flying southwards for the winter. There’s a curated look to you, a careful arrangement of details meant to declare the essence of who you are and what you’re about.

It’s clear immediately; from only a glance.

You’re a good girl.

The eager-to-please kind. The five A-levels kind. The kind who does her bonus assignments because they’re available, not because she needs them. Prim, polished, ironed at the creases.

Straight from a 90s teen drama, or porn of an equal vintage.

You meet his eyes—

And Price knows how it goes.

Boredom and professional stagnancy are the bane of active men. Men with egos. Men who long to fix things. Men who have reached the heights of every achievement now looking for the next peak to summit.

It’s the curse of middle age’s collision with machismo. How does a man prove his masculinity when there’s no proving left to be done? When the panopticon has finally turned its eyes away, satisfied at his self-regulation enough not to constantly surveil it?

Suddenly the performance can end, if he wants it to. Only, if it ends, how does the actor not disappear, when the role is the only identity he’s ever had?

In academia, the answer is—of course—simple:

Fuck a student.

And oh. It’s right there, in those wide, sweet eyes, looking up at him with the reflexive veneration of a star student.

You’re begging to be fucked.

Fucked right. Fucked by someone who knows what he’s doing. Fucked so good that it upends every clean line of you, like breaking furniture, like smashing crystal. Fucked crying, whimpering, groaning beyond recognizable language, sweaty and gross until it’s impossible to tell whether or not his body and yours have begun to fuse.

Fucked the way no snot-nosed twenty-something twat, the age-appropriate kind that sleeps in the back of his lecture hall and then emails him at the end of every semester begging for extra credit to fix his grade, could possibly fuck you.

He holds your gaze for too long. You smile at him, shyly, and he gives you a brusque nod before distracting himself with the papers on his lectern.

You’re too young for him.

Not that it matters.

Price is all about lines. Stark delineations between will and won’t. Before his untimely retirement, the lines had meant everything. They separated the kind of man he was from the kind of man he did not want to be, and they kept those men separate, even when the distance from one to the other narrowed so sharply that the differences between them were a matter of context rather than consequence.

The important one now is the one that splits his lectern off from the rest of the lecture hall. Students are allowed to cross it, of course, or else he would be neglecting his duty to them as their instructor. But they must inevitably leave, and his feet must remain planted squarely on his side of it.

It’s not even a line he drew himself, although he would have if need be. No—professors, at the beginning of their tenure, are warned. Students will construct feelings of intimacy with their teachers, interpreting their passion for academics as passion for the conduit thereof. Close relationships between mentor and mentee, to be sure, can be deeply beneficial for the young scholar’s development—

But they must remain impersonal. The work must be the lens through which student and teacher look at each other. That barrier must never be lifted.

So it doesn’t matter how old you are or aren’t, or that you’re a second-year grad student, or that every time you walk into the classroom Price wants to drag his desk chair over to yours because you’re the only one who seems like she gives a damn about what he teaches.

He may draw his lines, but he never crosses them.

He’s seen it before. Never done it himself. Phillip Graves has a reputation for it.

Of course, as the Americans like to say, innocent until proven guilty, but it’s hard to argue with the pretty girls Graves always seems to have floating around him every semester. Undergrads, even, though to his credit they seem usually to be the older ones.

Price doesn’t think that even Dean Shepherd’s lapdog could get away with fucking freshly legal coeds—mostly because, if Graves tried to pull something like that, Price might actually take matters into his own hands and kill the bastard himself.

As it is, he can’t actually prove that his colleague is sleeping with anyone he shouldn’t be. He’s not in the army anymore; he has no desire to lose sleep over staking out the man’s house.

The only consolation is that no one besides his students and the Dean seem to like Graves—something the man doesn’t seem concerned to rectify, if he even notices. Though Price can’t imagine that he hasn’t noticed. He’s always sitting alone at staff meetings if Shepherd isn’t present, and if he does try to talk to anyone, it’s usually the adjuncts, young women just beginning their careers in higher academia who know the drill by now and merely humor him.

So it shouldn’t surprise Price when, one day, he catches Graves chatting you up.

“Hey, congrats on the election, kid,” he hears him say to you, referencing your recent appointment as president to the student association of his department. Graves smiles, dimpling, all that American charm amped up to the maximum.

And Price sees red.

“Thank you, Professor Graves,” you say politely. You have your arms crossed over your binder, held to your chest, as if a makeshift shield.

“I’d have voted for you if I could’ve,” the other man says. “And hey, I know you Brits like your formalities, but it’s just Phil with me.”

“Erm…”

“There you are,” Price announces from the other end of the hallway.

You turn, and give look you shoot him is so relieved that, almost immediately, it clears the haze from his eyes, like a cool breeze moving through the hottest part of a summer day. Relief of his own floods him, washing the jealousy he’d barely had time to confront completely away.

“Hello, Professor,” you say, “I was just on my way to your office!”

“Good,” says Price, approaching. “Wanted to talk about your last paper. Had some issues with your secondary sources.”

You blanch, and he immediately feels guilty for the lie.

“Ah, go easy on the kid,” says Graves. “I keep telling you, John, no one likes a hardass.”

For some reason, there are two men in the department that Phillip Graves makes a consistent effort to interact with, and Price has the misfortune of being one of them. He’s not sure why—he thinks he’s made his distaste for the man very clear. It’s probably some dick-measuring contest for him; Price’s standing in the department, even despite Shepherd’s favoritism, is secure.

Whether it’s secure enough to withstand this…thing happening between you and him has yet to be seen.

“I hold my students to a higher standard, Graves,” Price says shortly. Then, to you, “Come along, and we’ll talk about it.”

He turns and leaves, and as he hears you hurry after him, an ugly kind of gratification begins purring behind his sternum. The two of you walk for a ways in silence.

“Was it the interviews?” you finally ask him, sounding genuinely upset. “I thought they would be okay, given that they were original transcriptions…”

“Your sources were fine,” Price soothes, unable to take it. “Just needed to give you a good out, didn’t I?”

You falter beside him, but quickly catch up. “Oh no, was I that obvious?”

He looks to you as he walks, catching the anxious expression on your face, and smiles, amused. “Don’t worry, promise you he couldn’t tell.”

Then you laugh. It enter’s Price’s bloodstream and pumps through his veins, all the way to the arteries in his neck. It fills the lobes of his brain, rapidly bringing the world into sharper focus.

“I’ll hold you to that, professor,” you say, and it’s a tether he welcomes, a sting of pleasure as its hook lodges in his ribs.

Price looks over his shoulder, and finds Graves watching the two of you walk away. He doesn’t like the expression on the other man’s face. It’s…knowing. Understanding, in the way of a man having competed for something and lost to the better opponent.

He catches the Graves’ eye, scowling at him; he means for the expression to be disapproving. For Graves to know that Price knows what he’s about, and has no intention of humoring it.

But he knows how it actually comes across.

Back off. She’s mine.

Price’s colleague and friend Alejandro Vargas is the only other man in the department that Graves cares to know, and, luckily for Price, Alejandro shares his dislike.

“He is too young to be acting the way he does,” he says one evening after work. He and Price share a pint at a pub nearby campus on a regular basis.

“Too young?” Price repeats. “What is he, thirty-five? Forty?”

“Who cares,” Alejandro says. “Anyone chasing after his students the way he does should at least be fifty. That way a midlife crisis can at least be a valid excuse.”

Price’s stomach turns. His forty-sixth birthday has already come and gone.

“So you’re sayin’—”

“Man his age can get his ego boost somewhere else,” Alejandro mutters into his tankard. He has a strange way of looking at things, sometimes; as if he were a much older man himself, and not in his prime at thirty-eight. “Don’t they make apps for that nowadays?”

“No excuse for messing with students,” Price agrees, although he tastes the bitter note of hypocrisy in the back of his throat as he thinks of you, and that rainy afternoon.

Driving you home was a mistake, although he can’t think of anything else he would’ve respected himself for doing. He clings to that excuse like a buoy in the ocean—no matter his feelings for you, leaving you on campus to wait until the storm passed, no umbrella, no coat, would have been unforgivable.

He’d played it off as simply doing a favor for his favorite student. A willingness to go beyond his usual responsibilities to you, since you excel beyond what even his high standards demand of you.

Something the two of you should keep between yourselves, for professionalism’s sake, because he has an obligation to treat every student equally.

I can be discreet, you’d said, the tone of your voice playful and also…not.

The way one says something that they mean, while framing it as a joke, just in case it’s taken the wrong way.

Mitigation.

Something he could’ve brushed off, if your hand hadn’t moved toward his.

Good girl. He’d moved his away. Focused on the line. Accepted your apology with grace, determined not to embarrass you for feelings that are only natural—

That are reciprocated, even though they shouldn’t be.

“That is less the problem to me,” Alejandro muses.

“What?” Price exclaims. “Mate, we have a responsibility to these kids. We can’t go treating classrooms like bloody Love Island.”

“It is about the man,” says his colleague. “If a man shows respect in his relationships, then it is not so important where they happen. Graves, he is not a respectful man.”

“No one his age should be with girls that much younger than him,” Price growls.

Alejandro fixes him with an intense look, a serious expression tightening the sharp lines of his face.

“This is what I mean by respect,” he says evenly. Purposefully. “Knowing who is right and wrong to be with. Girls that young? No. They do not know themselves, and Graves will try to tell them who they are. But not every girl is that young.”

Price shifts uncomfortably on his barstool, remembering one late afternoon—when Alejandro had stopped by his office, to find you sitting on the small couch there, studying, as Price finished grading essays.

Innocent, he’d thought. A mentor and his student, sharing space, making room for scholarship to flow between them.

He realizes now, chagrined, that Alejandro has always been too perceptive to accept what he merely observes.

“Mate,” Price says, measured, “It isn’t like that.”

“No,” Alejandro agrees, “it isn’t. That does not mean it can’t be.”

“Alejandro—”

“You are not your father, hermano,” his colleague says, knowing exactly where to strike. “That is the end of what I will say.”

And he sips his beer while leaving Price to seethe.

You’re seeing one of the twats.

Price convinced himself the first couple of times you walked out with him—Will—that you were taking on a charity case. You’re a student leader, after all. Helping a classmate with their ailing grades falls under your purview. You’ve hosted tutoring sessions before, and the pride of it had nestled glowing in his chest so warmly that he couldn’t help bragging about your academic promise to his colleagues.

Even outside of the ache for you that sits in his gut every time he sees you, Price could not be prouder. The students’ Historical Society’s fundraiser last month had gone off beautifully thanks to you, and everyone who had attended was still talking about it: from the brilliant idea for a fifties dress code, to the truly impressive array of antiques you’d convinced donors to contribute to the silent auction.

You’d looked so beautiful in your little red dress, too. The sharp lines of your burgundy lipstick had made your smile so bright all evening that he’d fallen asleep thinking about it.

His student. His protege, really. Of course you’d notice someone struggling, and make an effort to help.

Except, Price has never been very good at fooling himself. The truth is too valuable an asset for him to disregard.

The first time you leave with Will, he feels it clench around something in his gut. He has to remind himself he has no right to feel anything about it at all.

The second time, it starts burrowing deeper. Gnawing a hole in his stomach. The look on the twat’s face, as he follows you out like a lost puppy, is too smitten to allow Price his illusions.

Then one day, you take that twat’s hand in yours at the end of class, slotting your fingers between his.

It descends again. That film of red over his eyes. He stares at the two of you as you make your way to the door—and you throw Price a look, Price, aimed straight for his center.

You’re his. His.

And what has he done about it?

The accusation is in your eyes. It’s honed by everything he’s done—and hasn’t. The late-night chips after fundraiser planning. The cigars between classes, and the scotch in his office he pours every time you stop by to discuss your thesis.

The cufflinks he wears for every single class you’re in, and the box you wrapped them in sitting open on his beside table. Like a conduit for bringing the warmth of your touch into his home.

The same warmth, in his weakest moments, that he imagines wrapped around his cock. As his fingers find the soft give of your cleft. As his tongue meets yours, and tastes the liquor he now only drinks in your company.

Imagines, but never pursues.

Why had he believed you wouldn’t search for the same elsewhere?

The anniversary comes up faster than Price would have liked, despite the fact that the calendar isn’t missing any days.

He goes to the cemetery alone. Bouquet of English roses clutched in the vice of one hand. It feels like a day it should be raining, but the sky betrays him, the gray covering of clouds thin enough to let the dyed sunlight through.

He buried his mother in the plot she’d bought for herself and his father, Price the elder, according to her wishes. He’d buried his father beside her against Price the younger’s own.

It had happened within a year of each other. The chemotherapy hadn’t worked, after years of fighting it, and the last months of Mrs. Price’s life happened far sooner than it was fair. She hadn’t left any regrets behind, she promised in her will, but young John Price knew it for a lie.

He remembers sitting with her in the mornings as a boy, flipping through old issues of National Geographic. His mum would ooh and aah over exotic pictures of the American west—the Russian steppe—colorful bird’s eye shots of the Taj Mahal or Burj Khalifa.

“We’re gonna go there someday,”she would enthuse, squeezing him around his toddler-belly with one arm as he perched in her lap.

Even then he’d known it was a dream, and not a goal. All he had to do was look around at the yellow tint of their kitchen with its laminate countertops, the scuffs on the corners of its scratch-and-dent fridge, the mismatch of cookware hanging on a smoke-stained wall. Peeling wallpaper they didn’t have the right to tear off, because they needed their deposit back very badly when they moved out.

His father was a tradesman—they could barely afford to visit Wales.

And his mother, at the elder Price’s insistence, did not work.

It’s in a nice place, the grave. Far back away from the entrance, where it can’t be trivialized by passing cars or dog walkers. Price can stand at the end of it and reckon with death without having to think of life going inexorably on right behind him.

Except, it’s the years to the right of the dash that he stares at, not the left. Even as a boy, he’d always noticed the disparity between his mother and father. How, before the younger even turned fourteen, grey streaked Price the elder’s temples, scars of age furrowing deep from the corners of his nostrils— while the decades his mum still had left to face radiated from her so brightly that sometimes people took her for his father’s eldest, and not the baby she bounced on her hip.

Decades she never even got to see.

Price rounds to his mother’s side and lays the bouquet beneath her epitaph—Loving Wife and Mother. He’s almost as old now as she was, in her last year, and he feels the epicenter of it sit somewhere between his heart and lungs. It burns, furious, indignant.

“Got tenured this year, Mum,” he murmurs to her. “Probably pay off the house next.”

He hears birdsong in the tree line beyond the border fence. Tries to feel her fingers running through his hair in the breeze, and fails. It’s just wind.

His father—who he sees in the mirror too often lately—he does not address.

He makes the mistake all men eventually do—

He calls his ex.

“Hallo?” Ada says, after picking up on the second ring. She’s one of the few people he knows to keep a house phone these days. She’d explained she enjoys the novelty, and the surprise on the rare occasions it actually rings.

“Hi, darlin,’” says Price.

“John, hi! How you doin’?”

“I’m alright. How’s the new place?”

He hears a shift in the background, like she’s thrown herself at a haphazard angle into a chair. She’s always been like that; she moves through any space she occupies unafraid of what she might bump into.

“Tidy!” she enthuses. “Got a view of the sea down the hill. And there’s a market on Saturdays! I got the loveliest Gruyère from one of the stalls, says he ages it himself. Can’t wait to put it in a sauce.”

“Sounds nice,” Price says, meaning it.

“Yeah, it is,” Ada replies. He pictures her twirling the cord between her fingers. “Heard about your promotion, by the way, congratulations—you earned it, John.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Have you settled in okay there? Students giving you trouble?”

“Not at all! Bit touch and go at the start of the semester, but you know me,” she laughs. “That’s how I thrive.”

“I know.”

A pause. Long enough for Price’s regret over dialing her to make itself a part of the conversation.

She sounds good. She sounds better than good—she sounds great. Happy with where she is in life, and where she’s going.

Nothing like she did when she lived with him.

“So…” Ada trails. “I know you didn’t just call to chat, John. Not that I don’t appreciate it.”

“That obvious, am I?”

He can hear the sympathetic smile in her voice when she replies, “I can look at a calendar too.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I just—just wanted to hear your voice. Hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah, it’s alright,” she says. “Didn’t stop caring just because I left, you know.”

He hears the unsaid: just because you didn’t follow.

“I know,” he replies. He leaves the me neither unsaid as well. “Ada, do you—do you regret it, at all?”

“Regret…what?” The tone of her voice edges toward the defensive.

“Being with me.”

“What? John, of course not!” She laughs, tension evaporating. “We had some bad times, sure, but we had some good ones too. I’m grateful for all of them.”

“Even the bad times?” he asks, frowning.

“Yeah, John, even those. They showed me who you were. And I liked that person, a lot. If you had—”

She cuts herself off from the what if John knows had been coming. The speculation about what their relationship might have looked like, if he’d made a different decision. It would only hurt both of them more to think about it.

“If you’d been a worse man I’d have left a lot sooner,” she amends. “But like I said. No regrets. It’s over now, and I’m sad about that. But I’m glad it happened.”

Something happens behind Price’s ribs—something hard, trying to claw its way upward, that he has to draw his lips between his teeth and sniff hard to foil its escape.

“Thanks, darlin,’” he says, hearing the tremor in his own voice, and, for once, not hating himself for it with her listening. “I feel the same way too.”

He catches you with the twat in the library. It doesn’t surprise him—he hadn’t expected anything else. You hadn’t even looked at him this time as you’d pulled Will out of the lecture hall, nor had you noticed him following at a remove behind.

So when he opens the door to the sound of smacking flesh, it doesn’t shock him in the slightest.

You’re on a reading table with your skirt flipped upward, underwear dangling from one ankle as you curl your legs around the twat’s hips. The boy’s arse quivers and clenches as he jackhammers into you with neither art nor precision.

The look on your face is one of concentration. Focus. Like whatever pleasure you could derive from this is something you must actively keep hold of, otherwise you’ll lose it.

Your eyes land on him then, and for a split second—a fraction of a heartbeat—you seem relieved. Pleasure radiates from you, and you begin to roll your hips as you hold him in your gaze—and then, suddenly, horror overtakes it. Your eyes widen. You raise a hand to grab Will—

Price shakes his head.

You freeze. Your chest heaves. (The twat is oblivious.)

He stares you down. Leans against the bookshelf with his hands in his pockets, unblinking.

His.

His.

The thing about lines is that they can be redrawn.

You run your tongue along your parted lips, hands coming up to rest on the twat’s back. Price looks down at the place Will’s body hides yours from his gaze, then back up.

He inclines his head. Go on, then.

And again, you move. Right as his command. Pull the body between your legs closer, brows creasing together, undulating into each thrust as you let Price’s eyes cage yours. You draw up higher and higher, the pitch of your breath thinning as your climax stretches taut inside you—you beg him with your eyes—

He nods.

You seize on the desk, throwing your head back, jaw dropping open. No sound escapes you—he sees the muscles in your throat work to contain it.

What will you sound like when he gets his hands on you?

By the look on the twat’s face next class, you’ve ended it. Price hardly cares. His phone is hot in his pocket, a grenade with its pin nearly out.

In case your memory fails when you find yourself thinking of me.

And, in the center of the photo, the exact thing the twat’s hips had been hiding away.

You’re there, in the front row. Every time his gaze falls on you, you shiver. The same skirt from before leaves the soft expanses of your thighs bare, for him, this time.

His. You know it now, too. It intersects the line, perfect in its perpendicularity.

You have lessons to learn. You’re already a good student; the despondent expression on Will’s face, even now, as he gazes at you like a lovelorn puppy from the back of the hall, proves it.

But you’re not there yet. You’re only just now catching up, after all. And only Price has the duty—the right—to teach you.

You’re too young for him—

Not that it matters.

a/n: If this seems disjointed or missing context, it's because a few things I reference are no longer available on the internet. Ash, I mourn daily what you have withdrawn from us.

Thank you for reading!

[oddyseye]

I'm hardly surprised your Wilson translation omits the "love" part. With all due respect (and I mean very very little due respect) I would never rely on Wilson for serious translation work. It's fine for accessibility, maybe, but it sacrifices so much nuance and, frankly, accuracy for a modern sensibility.

My copy, the one I actually trust and use, is the George Chapman translation. Chapman, bless his heart, gets it right. Let me quote the relevant bit for you:

When she Shall with her long rod strike thee, instantly Draw from thy thigh thy sword, and fly on her As to her slaughter. She, surprised with fear And love, at first, will bid thee to her bed. Nor say the Goddess nay, that welcomed Thou may’st with all respect be, and procure Thy fellows’ freedoms. But before, make sure Her favours to thee ; and the great oath take With which the blessed Gods assurance make Of all they promise ; that no prejudice (By stripping thee of form, and faculties) She may so much as once attempt on thee. George Chapman, Book 10, lines 390-400

"It's amazing how much a translation can alter someone's interpretation of something!" No kidding! It's almost like we should be consulting multiple translations before making sweeping statements about who's in control and who's afraid of whom. It's frustrating when people read one translation and think they've got the whole picture. Chapman isn't the end all be all either, but at least it represents what the text has meant over the years. 

Although many translations do not explicitly mention love, they do mention lust.

Let instant death upon it shine, and she will cower and yield her bed— a pleasure you must not decline, so may her lust and fear bestead you and your friends, and break her spell; but make her swear by heaven and hell no witches’ tricks, or else, your harness shed, you'll be unmanned by her as well. Robert Fitzgerald, Book 10, lines fuck-if-I-know

Now, tell me, does that sound purely like "fear" driving Circe's actions? Look at the phrasing, the very diction Fitzgerald chose. "Yield her bed—/a pleasure you must not decline?" "Lust and fear bestead/you and your friends?" That's not about Circe being terrified into submission; it's about a shift in how she desires to interact with Odysseus. The text literally emphasizes her sexual desire, or lust for him ("Lust and fear bestead"). Yes, "fear" is mentioned. But context matters. The fear is a temporary reaction to Odysseus's defiance of her magic, but Fitzgerald links it directly to her "yielding her bed," to pleasure, to lust.

If it were purely fear, why the emphasis on the bed? Why the insistence on Odysseus "not declin[ing]" the pleasure?

If Circe was just afraid, she would just free the men.

The "pleasure" is a suggestion of lust. It's a transformation of power dynamics, sure, but it's also one where Circe's agency shifts from dominance through magic to something else. Something involving a "bed." My point isn't whether she's madly in love. My point is the dynamic is shifting from her having power over him to it turning to lust, and the "pleasure" of Odysseus that he must not decline.

Odysseus is a very feminine character, now that I think about it...

Alright, let’s get something straight before anyone comes at me with a “bUt tHiS iS gEnDeR eSsEnTiAlIsM” take. I’m not saying Odysseus is literally a woman or that masculinity and femininity are these rigid, unchanging constructs. I’m talking about how the ancient Greeks perceived these traits. This is about Homeric gender coding, not modern gender politics.

Ancient Greek society had clear ideas about what was “masculine” and “feminine.” Men fought, conquered, and sought kleos (glory). Women used cunning, patience, and endurance to survive. Odysseus? He embodies the latter far more than the former. That’s the point. That’s what makes him interesting. I’m not slapping modern labels on him; I’m analyzing how he would’ve been understood in his own time.

Got it? Got it. Then let me explain.

Greek heroism is all about kleos (glory), right? You charge into battle, fight, die gloriously, and get immortalized in song. Odysseus? Not his style. His whole thing is survival. Achilles, the epitome of warrior masculinity, chooses an early death in exchange for undying fame. Odysseus chooses life, no matter what it takes. He hides, deceives, and grovels when necessary...all acts that a traditionally “heroic” warrior wouldn’t be caught dead doing.

Take the Cyclops episode: a classic strongman hero would just fight Polyphemus. Odysseus? He outsmarts him with wordplay, drugs his enemy (like a sneaky witch would), and escapes by disguising himself under sheep. You’re telling me this is masculine? If anything, it aligns him with figures like Circe and Penelope. Women who survive through wit and deception rather than brute strength.

This man’s mouth is his deadliest weapon. He doesn’t win with a spear; he wins with stories, persuasion, and trickery. The word polytropos (πολύτροπος), used to describe him in the very first line of The Odyssey, literally means “many-turned” or “twisting,” evoking the way a woman might spin or weave. The metaphor of weaving is all over his character, and weaving is, of course, the domain of women in Greek thought.

Even his lies are textile-like. He spins tales, unravels them, and reweaves them as necessary. And let’s not ignore that his narrative mirrors Penelope’s: she weaves and unweaves her shroud, delaying the suitors; he spins and unspins his identity to survive. He and Penelope are two sides of the same coin, both manipulating reality to stay in control.

If we take ancient Greek gender norms seriously, dominance in sex = masculinity, and submission = femininity. And Odysseus? The man spends years being kept by women. Calypso and Circe both hold him as a sex slave, reducing him to an object of desire rather than an active agent. That’s not exactly Achilles ravaging Briseïs, is it? He’s literally lying in bed (λέχος) while these women rule over him.

Even in Ithaca, his return isn’t some macho takeover. He sneaks in, disguises himself, and watches before making his move. Unlike Agamemnon, who storms into Mycenae post-Troy and gets murked by his wife, Odysseus waits, gathering intel like a patient, calculating woman.

He also cries...like...a lot.

Masculine heroes go out into the world to conquer (Iliadic energy). Feminine figures are more often concerned with the home. Odysseus’s entire goal? To get back to Ithaca, to his oikos, to his wife. He’s not seeking new conquests or greater glory. He wants stability, family, domesticity. He longs for the space traditionally occupied by women.

Odysseus is basically the Greek epic’s answer to the trickster woman trope. He’s wily, verbal, emotionally expressive, and constantly using the strategies of metis, not brute strength, to survive. While Homeric masculinity typically means fighting, dying, and achieving kleos, Odysseus thrives through deception, patience, and endurance. Traits that the ancient Greeks more often ascribed to women.

[hrizantemy]

I couldn’t help but cry when Feyre arrived at the Summer Court with Rhysand, and he declared, “She’s High Lady, she can do whatever she wishes.” I mean, yes, Feyre is the High Lady, but she’s the High Lady of the Night Court, and here they are in the Summer Court. The weight of his words, while meant to be empowering, just felt a bit misplaced in that context. And then, Feyre had her moment where she tried to be all girlboss, saying something like, “Take care of your injured.” I wanted to scream, “Shut the hell up!” It felt so out of place, like she was trying too hard to command the room without really understanding the situation.

It was infuriating to think about how Feyre and Rhysand walked into the Summer Court, a court they had literally stolen from, acting as if nothing had happened. The tension was palpable. They’d taken the Book of Breathings right from under Tarquin’s nose, deceiving him in the process, and now they had the audacity to stroll in, expecting him to be okay with it all.

What made it worse was how they completely disregarded anything Tarquin said. He wasn’t just some stranger or enemy; he had once welcomed them as allies, offered them friendship, and they betrayed that trust. And yet, here they were, acting like they were above it all. Rhysand’s casual dismissal of Tarquin’s frustration—like his words didn’t matter, like their betrayal could just be swept under the rug—was a blatant show of arrogance. It was as if they expected him to forget everything, to simply move on, because they were the Night Court and they believed their agenda was more important than anyone else’s.

Even Feyre, with her attempts at diplomacy, came off as condescending. They both acted like they could just walk in, ignore the hurt they caused, and play their power games. It was a slap in the face to everything the Summer Court had stood for. Tarquin had every right to be furious.

[tooturtly]

Need to go on a rant about the feudal system (more specifically manorialism) and Gideon the Ninth (spoilers through Harrow the Ninth ahead)

Gideon is very specifically described as living in a feudal system in the Ninth house. She is a Serf. She lives and serves under a ruler, she has specific legal, social, and economic obligations to the House and its ruler as a result of this system.

Feudalism exists within a specific sociopolitical context. It’s not equivalent to slavery, though it can appear that way to a modern audience. Muir wouldn’t have picked the term “serf” to describe Gideon if she didn’t mean it, or if she meant something else (such as slavery or indentured servitude)

Serfdom is not ownership of an individual, like in slavery. It’s more like an intense landlord/employee relationship, if we’re looking for a modern touch point. A serf is bound to the land they live and work on because they are a valuable source of labor. They owe labor, goods, or a payment in equivalency to, the lord who runs the lands they are bound to. If they want to go elsewhere, they have to pay back the lord for what labor/goods they won’t be providing anymore, and the lord could refuse them.

Because this is also a reciprocal relationship, the lord also has certain responsibilities to the serfs, including protection, the maintenance of the law, and maintenance of the lands. The lord runs their holdings as ruler, but also can’t just do whatever they want. This is a social, economic, and political system, if people didn’t like it or benefit from it and had the capability to do so, they would rebel.

(Sorry for this long tangent. It’s important to set context and also discuss this history. Feudalism/Manorialism looked different in different places and times, and originally came from Roman villa systems, but this post is already long enough)

So what does this have to do with the locked tomb?

Gideon is a serf, very explicitly. She is also a ward, which puts her into an interesting spot when it comes to legal and financial responsibilities. This means she owes labor and fealty to the Ninth, essentially in repayment for raising her.

When she tries to head to the Cohort, she would otherwise be allowed to do that as a free citizen of the Ninth House. But, she has prior responsibilities to the House as a serf, so she would need the Lord’s (Harrow’s) permission to do so. Despite these obligations, she is not required to do any particular jobs in the Ninth. She is not forced to be a nun, or to do labor. From what is described, it seems like she’s relatively left to her own devices.

In a system of slavery, Gideon would be forced to enact specific labor, to learn a specific trade, and to generally do whatever the fuck Harrow or the Reverend family wanted. But she’s not.

Again, Gideon can train to join the cohort as much as she wants. She can lock herself in her room and avoid people as much as she wants. She can avoid prayers or choose to go to them. She can do what she wants, but she is not allowed to leave to take her labor elsewhere without authorization, because of her legal and financial obligations in this sociopolitical system.

Ortus puts it very well in Harrow: he must follow her orders and fulfill the responsibilities he socially is obligated to fulfill, but when he lays his head down at night he is allowed to feel however he wants about himself and his actions, he is still a free person. Ortus is in a slightly different situation as his position at birth obligates him to be Harrow’s Cavalier, as opposed to Gideon who is in a lower social position and is the only option left, but he still owes a large amount of loyalty and labor to the Ninth House.

(Sorry again this is so long. I repeat myself quite a bit. But I saw someone say that Gideon is Harrows slave and that is a misconception that brushes over a lot of the complexities of the books. The relationship is complicated and full of social dynamics that we don’t see as modern readers because there are so many layers that require historical context. This is also not a defense of the feudal system or to say that their relationship isn’t toxic. It is. But that’s a different post)

[nowoyas]

Trying to make sense of the Nanowrimo statement to the best of my abilities and fuck, man. It's hard.

It's hard because it seems to me that, first and foremost, the organization itself has forgotten the fucking point.

Nanowrimo was never about the words themselves. It was never about having fifty thousand marketable words to sell to publishing companies and then to the masses. It was a challenge, and it was hard, and it is hard, and it's supposed to be. The point is that it's hard. It's hard to sit down and carve out time and create a world and create characters and turn these things into a coherent plot with themes and emotional impact and an ending that's satisfying. It's hard to go back and make changes and edit those into something likable, something that feels worth reading. It's hard to find a beautifully-written scene in your document and have to make the decision that it's beautiful but it doesn't work in the broader context. It's fucking hard.

Writing and editing are skills. You build them and you hone them. Writing the way the challenge initially encouraged--don't listen to that voice in your head that's nitpicking every word on the page, put off the criticism for a later date, for now just let go and get your thoughts out--is even a different skill from writing in general. Some people don't particularly care about refining that skill to some end goal or another, and simply want to play. Some people sit down and try to improve and improve and improve because that is meaningful to them. Some are in a weird in-between where they don't really know what they want, and some have always liked the idea of writing and wanted a place to start. The challenge was a good place for this--sit down, put your butt in a chair, open a blank document, and by the end of the month, try to put fifty thousand words in that document.

How does it make you feel to try? Your wrists ache and you don't feel like any of the words were any good, but didn't you learn something about the process? Re-reading it, don't you think it sounds better if you swap these two sentences, if you replace this word, if you take out this comma? Maybe you didn't hit 50k words. Maybe you only wrote 10k. But isn't it cool, that you wrote ten thousand words? Doesn't it feel nice that you did something? We can try again. We can keep getting better, or just throwing ourselves into it for fun or whatever, and we can do it again and again.

I guess I don't completely know where I'm going with this post. If you've followed me or many tumblr users for any amount of time, you've probably already heard a thousand times about how generative AI hurts the environment so many of us have been so desperately trying to save, about how generative AI is again and again used to exploit big authors, little authors, up-and-coming authors, first time authors, people posting on Ao3 as a hobby, people self-publishing e-books on Amazon, traditionally published authors, and everyone in between. You've probably seen the statements from developers of these "tools", things like how being required to obtain permission for everything in the database used to train the language model would destroy the tool entirely. You've seen posts about new AI tools scraping Ao3 so they can make money off someone else's hobby and putting the legality of the site itself at risk. For an organization that used to dedicate itself to making writing more accessible for people and for creating a community of writers, Nanowrimo has spent the past several years systematically cracking that community to bits, and now, it's made an official statement claiming that the exploitation of writers in its community is okay, because otherwise, someone might find it too hard to complete a challenge that's meant to be hard to begin with.

I couldn't thank Nanowrimo enough for what it did for me when I started out. I don't know how to find community in the same way. But you can bet that I've deleted my account, and I'll be finding my own path forward without it. Thanks for the fucking memories, I guess.

[noegrets]

...but on the other hand, english is a battle-royale-free-for-all kind of language: if you want to write it like lightswitch or waterbottle, who exactly is going to stop you? it's still perfectly communicative, the result is perfectly understandable. you can make YOUR words frot on purpose :)

On a slightly more serious note: I write a lot in english, which is a language I learned later in life. My wife beta-reads for me, english being her mother tongue. We find lots of words where she informs me that this word is not usually hyphenated like this, or compound like that: so we look up the way I wrote it vs. all the other variations (google n-gram viewer used to be good for this) and, almost always, we learn that the way I wrote it has plenty recorded uses overall, but is currently uncommon. And so I say - sure, why can't I use the uncommon one if I like it that way? It's still perfectly understandable, and language is made by those who use it.

We won't have any prescriptivism in this house: my words may fuck as they please.

one thing i hate about english is your open compound words. what do you mean it's a light switch and not a lightswitch or a water bottle instead of a waterbottle. get real

[shanastoryteller]

Congrats on finishing See Something Say Something!! I checked the notification of the first AO3 email sent out and you initially planned on five chapters.

Would you say that the ending changed considerably since you started in October? Or has that stayed the same?

thank you!

it stayed the same lol. while my fics getting wildly out of control and becoming way longer than i anticipated is pretty common, i'm pretty much never changing overarching plot when this happens. the story that i become interested in telling is typically the story then i end up telling

almost every story can be made shorter or longer. it's less about what happens and more about how that information is conveyed. things that really tend to affect writing length are perspective and breathing room

the shortest fic i have on ao3 that's not part of a series is You Were (Not) Meant For Me (posted 11 years ago, jesus T_T). the premise is that claudia was a witch who intended trained stiles to be a witch and she arranged his marriage to laura hale, the future hale alpha. this is a traditional pairing as talia's husband was also a witch married to talia in service of the pact. except claudia died before she could train stiles or tell him about the engagement. stiles starts learning magic after scott is turned. derek falls for stiles and feels like he's betraying his sister by loving him, betraying stiles by not being the alpha he deserves and not telling him about the arrangement claudia made, and hates himself the entire time, but not enough to stop himself

that's a 100k fic easy

it's 1,696 words

it's extremely limited perspective (derek's) and it's made up only of limited snapshots of moments with very little context. there's no seeing what's happening, only told, which i think would quickly grow boring if it was longer and if the real point of the story wasn't derek's self hatred and how he fails to deal with it. that's the part of the story that isn't told, really - derek does think explicitly that he hates himself, but we're also seeing it in the way he talks and thinks about himself and the people around him

by contrast we have survival is a talent, which is obviously my longest fic. we're over 500k and we've got quite a bit to go

perspective doesn't just refer to character pov, but audience pov - are you being told a story, or are you experiencing the story? this is also tied into breathing room. there's no wrong way, i've done both and will do both, but one certainly requires more words than the other in my experience

siat is told only through draco and harry's perspective, but it's all happening in real time. the audience is being taken along for this story. the thing is that that things in real life don't all come tumbling one after another, not all questions have immediate answers. when depicting character growth and a plot unfurling, i think it's really important to include breathing room to give the audience time to feel that growth and change. i'm stricter about this with siat than anything else i've written, probably sometimes to its detriment. i want you and the characters to have time to feel the effects of emotional revelations and plot hints. i want you to have the time to question and wonder about things the same way the characters do

one time a friend criticized the good place for including the portion where they were alive again on earth because it wasn't as interesting as being in hell, but i disagree. we needed that breathing room both to live with the effects of character growth of going through hell and to have time for the effects of their actions on the plot to settle before they moved forward again. i stopped watching agents of shield because we weren't given enough breathing room - there was never a chance to see the characters not in crisis, the world was always ending, ect. the alchemyst book series has the first like 3 books taking place over a day and a half. i got tired of it after that. there's no breathing room

a story where i gave up on the concept of breathing room was build your wings on the way down. i liked that fic, but i wanted it finished, and to do it with i think optimal pacing would have made it twice as long as it was. so i said screw it, avalanche time, everything is happening all at once right now. there's very little breathing room there, which i think doesn't work too terribly in part because everything is so urgent and everyone is stressed so not being able to catch you breath sort of fits

See Something Say Something did not need to be 215k, although i'm not at all complaining. i feel very happy with how i told this story. but the basic premise - sam getting his powers early, getting involved in the large hunter world secretly from his family, and dean feeling misplaced and worried about how much sam needs/wants him - could have been told a hundred different ways and all would have pulled it off, so to speak

i considered doing the the entire fic from dean's pov (as a sam girl i love his pov because all he thinks about is sam and he's so insane about it) which would have effectively cut out basically the first five chapters. i thought exploring the slow realization of what's going on purely from dean's pov, with the audience having not insight would have been really interesting, just like what I did in dumb luck or good ghost with dean slowly figuring out that sam didn't die in the crash. another thing is the inclusion of all the side characters which i did to make the world feel rich and real, but we didn't need all these outsider povs to get the basic point across. very rarely is something vital being conveyed by an outsider pov, but it reinforced and adds to the main characters. i also initially didn't have wincest, which obviously added a ton of words. i loved exploring dean's self hatred and fear and sam's obliviousness, but bringing them to a place of ignorance to acceptance to happiness is a lot longer of a journey than just dealing with dean's propriety love as an unhinged co-dependent older brother. again, i'm sticking by all these choices, i made them because i thought it was the best way to the tell the story i was most interesting in telling, but my point is that you didn't need them to tell this particular story

it was also how i told the story. we spend a lot of time wallowing in character's emotions, especially dean's and sam's, but the others as well. part of this fic is convincing you that these two brothers should fuck, actually, and doing that effectively is going to take some time, especially at this point in their lives when things are pretty normal. comparatively, fucking your brother after starting the apocalypse is pretty small potatoes. i wanted you to understand these people, to feel what they were feeling, to not feel that it was inconceivable that jess would be willing to share her boyfriend with his brother, to buy all their relationships with each other in a way that isn't purely based on convenience

part of the reason i wrote dumb luck or good ghost before see something say something was that i felt i needed a firmer grasp on who the characters are before getting into who they were and who they could be - especially john, who i feel is exceptionally difficult to write without over excusing his actions or over villainizing them. the reason john doesn't get a single pov in see something say something is that while he's a motivating and underlying factor in much of the story, the story isn't about him. it's about the effect he has on those around him, and i didn't want to sully the pureness of that effect by introducing his internal dialogue, regardless of how persecutionary or absolving it would be. it's just not about him. it's how he responds to others and how they respond to him in turn

anyway! this is another example of something ending up longer than expected, but yeah. the plot of see something say something didn't change much from posting of the first chapter and my stories rarely do - i have plot points in siat that have been there since i posted the first chapter that are still relevant and happening. "harry and draco just. cut dumbledore's fucking hand off" my beloved

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Amy Rose, Blaze The Cat and Sonic (separate) X Reader in:

where the characters are in the other room doing whatever until they suddenly hear the reader in another room saying stuff that sounds rather suggestive, so when they come over to check what the heck is he doing, turns out he is doing something mundane and not doing anything suggestive despite how it sounds out of context.

A/n: I couldn't think of like a name to put for this

TW: SUGGESTIVE

Amy:

Amy was reading a magazine, she was at your house currently in your living room, you being just the room over. She enjoys your company, even if you two didnt even really interact, you being in the vicinity was enough for her.

"Bleh, why is it so hard?"

Amys ears perked up. What? No. Thats bad, she shouldnt assume things just by one small thing heard.

"Im surprised it got so big"

W h a t.

She didn't see you walk into your room with you, what was happening? Seriously what?? Maybe its a coincidence, maybe right? After all, who would do that while someown is iver. No one right?

"This is so hard, can I even like eat this?"

...

She sat horrified for a moment. Gross! Seriously? SERIOUSLY?? How dare you, WHILE, shes over nonetheless??

She took a firm grip on her hammer, flustered as her ears pinned to her head. She stood up, marching over to your door.

She reached for the handle, hesitating amoment before shaking off said hesitantions and grabbing the knob and swinging it open.

"now just WHAT is going on here-..."

You looked up at her, crouched down, bowl in hand and a rice spoon in the other. A rice cooker was sat tight infront of you.

"..."

"..."

Amy lowered her hammer, taking a deep breath, still recovering.

"Y/n, what are you doing?"

You looked down to the rice cooker than up at her a few times.

"Making rice... I uh.. Got a new rice cooke-"

"I can see that" Amy sighed as she put a hand to her head. "What was with all that stuff earlier?"

"Oh, well, i messed the rice up, didnt add enough water, and now its all hard, im surprised it managed to rise at all because of how hard it is."

"..."

"Amy... You.. Okay?"

"Forget it."

Blaze:

She was over at your house, it was rare she visited your dimension, but when she did, she always wished to make a pit stop at uour house, she enjoyed your company.

When she stopped at your house, you gave brewed her tea, after all, shes a princess, and uh, princesses like tea right? While the tea you served her wasnt nearly as high quality as the one she usually drinks, she appreciated the effort.

Really, you were a very enjoyable person to be around. When you finished giving her tea, you excused yourself somewhere else, she nodded, understanding. Currently she was reading a book, while taking sips of her cup here and there.

"Gh- so... Tight.."

Your voice cracked through the air, it was breathy and light.

Immediately her ears twitched as she paused mid sip, wide eyed.

She hadn't meant to eaves drop, but now she is concerned.

No. It couldn't possibly.

"I cant, get. It. Out."

...

Blaze sat up, beelining toward the room you were in, whirling around the corner to see what in the world you were up to.

She saw you with a remote and screwdriver attempting to unscrew it to no avail.

She stood in silence for a couple moments before you glanced up.

"Oh, hi blaze, i was just trying to switch these batteries, ao we could watch a movie"

Blaze was silent for a moment before extending her hand. "Give it to me, I'll do it"

"You sure? I mean, its like really in there-"

"Im sure"

Sonic:

You’re in your room, trying to set up something that, to your misfortune, had proven way more complicated than expected. It’s a lazy day at home, and Sonic’s taken up a spot on your couch, sprawling out like he owns the place. He’s flipping through channels on the TV, a little bored but content to just chill in your company.

It’s peaceful until you let out an exasperated groan from the other room.

"Theres too much of it..."

Sonic’s ears twitch, but he doesn’t move. It’s not unusual for you to talk to yourself, and he’s gotten used to tuning it out. "What are they even doing in there?" he mutters to himself, shaking his head.

A beat passes, and then he hears your voice again.

"Why is it so sticky?"

The remote slips from Sonic’s hand, clattering onto the floor. His eyes widen as his brain processes what he just heard. Okay, that sounded… not great. He leans forward slightly, his spines bristling.

Another moment of silence. Sonic tells himself not to jump to conclusions, but his curiosity is getting the better of him.

Then you add, "Ugh, it’s getting everywhere!"

Sonic bolts upright, his mind running a mile a minute. What the heck is going on in there? He rubs the back of his neck, trying to play it cool even though his face is heating up. Surely you wouldn’t be- no, there’s no way. Right? But still, those noises and your weird comments are enough to make him suspicious.

"Y/N?" he calls out, his voice a little higher-pitched than usual. XEverything okay in there?"

You don’t respond immediately, too focused on whatever you’re doing, and Sonic’s imagination starts to spiral. The possibilities bounce around in his head, none of them remotely innocent. It’s driving him nuts. Finally, he can’t take it anymore.

"Alright, I’m coming in!" he announces, standing and darting toward your room before you can protest.

He skids to a stop at your doorframe, blue blur coming to an abrupt halt as he takes in the scene.

There you are, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a jar of honey, large bowl, and other small jars and bottles close to you. A spoon was in your hand. There was honey all over the jar

You glance up at him, blinking in confusion at his sudden entrance. "Hey, Sonic. What’s up?"

Sonic just stares at you, his brain trying to catch up.

"...Honey?" he finally asks, his voice flat.

"Yeah." You hold up the sticky jar. "I was trying to make this skincare mask i saw inline, so i bought honey for it, but when i brought it here, i severely underestimated how stucky it is, its just getting on everything"

There’s a long pause. Sonic presses his palm to his forehead, dragging it down his face as he exhales loudly.

"Seriously, Y/N?" he groans. "You had me thinking- ugh, never mind. Forget it."

You tilt your head, utterly baffled. "Thinking what?"

"Nothing! Forget I said anything!"

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

So for new year cards...

Jack SSR is actually so cool; I like it. Malleus SSR is beautiful and all, but he really reminds me of a bride in forced marriage tropes. 😭

[Referencing the Twst JP Jan 2025 schedule!]

Finally, some good fucking food for Jack stans 😭 Port Fest feels like so long ago… fbjssbdjjs I feel like I can’t appreciate his design as much as others can. I’m not into the skintight undershirt on a character as buff as Jack is, and I'm confused as to why his gloves are... like that??? But!! I do like his fluffly little boa thing and how enthusiastic his pose is. You can tell he’s really putting his all into the New Year Sale~!

Malleus got another new hairstyle (any hairstyle that's different than his default one is a win in my book www)!! I think it's a well-liked look among his fans; I already saw so many people commenting that he looks like a love interest in a reborn as a villainess isekai or something to that effect.

I also saw some chatter around the thin fabric that Malleus seems to have over himself. A common joke is that it's a "wedding veil", but given the traditional Japanese clothes everyone is wearing for the new year, it's more likely also a Japanese article of clothing. A friend theorized that it's a 被衣 (kazuki/katsugi), a garment worn over the head that fully covers the body. These are mostly donned by noblewomen to cover their faces when they go out--and that sort of makes sense, given that Malleus himself is a noble. How demure and mindful... I thought the veil could also be a frost blanket (you know, to protect the budding flowers from the cold)?? But I'm not entirely sure right now; maybe the vignettes will give us more context!

A friend and I were speculating as to what flowers might be featured in the initial card art and the conclusion we came to was ume (plum) blossoms. The color and shape are similar, and they're a classic flower in winter anime. Something else I noticed was that the same flowers seem to appear in Sebek's New Year Attire from two years ago! If you compare Malleus and Sebek, you'll notice that the lighting is much warmer in Sebek's too. In fact, all previous SSR cards are pretty much like that, save for maybe Trey but at least Trey is shown to be in front of the shop. It really makes Malleus's card "stick out", since he's the only one that appears to be in a lonely and isolated location, just him and the plum blossoms.

On the subject of clothing worn by Japanese women! The same friend and I talked about Jamil's New Year Attire too. (Figured I'd throw this in here since I'm already talking about the other three 2025 New Year boys. Don't wanna leave him out, y'know??)

You can see that he has his hood up in the initial card artwork; my friend joked that Jamil's a newlywed. Why? Brides that choose to dress traditionally for their wedding days wear a wide white headdress/hood called a 角隠し (tsunokakushi), which covers an elaborate hairstyle like Jamils'/j. The "tsuno" (horns, as I'm sure you're all familiar with) in the name refers to the "horns of jealousy"; the tsunokakushi is meant to blanket the jealousy so she can enter her new married life at peace.

Of course, the shape, color, and context of the tsunokakushi is very different than what Jamil's got going on and the Twst team most likely did not intend for this comparison to be drawn, but I thought that this was interesting to share ^^ (*feeds Jamuil yumes this delulu cultural trivia*)

Aaaand let's close out with Floyd! The answer to his question is simple, actually. To put one's arm inside the kimono is just a very casual or relaxed way to pose. It suits Floyd and his attitude, doesn't it?

[antheshewro]

Levi Ackerman headcanon — (My) analysis on his intimacy

Each time I wander around Tumblr and I read about how AOT fans picture Levi in a sexual context, I see a lot of fanfictions of him being a dom and a master of sex—very dominant, rough, knows every single position in bed. Given that I respect people's personal headcanons when it comes to characters since those aren't absolutely hurtful to anyone, I felt like sharing my own headcanons on his sexuality.

If we read the manga and analyze Levi's background, there's nothing that tells us that he's a virgin or not. Unless Isayama would say he is (I don't think he specified it, correct me if I'm wrong), there's a big question mark on that matter. What I do believe is that Levi knows about sex. He is, to me, like Sheldon Cooper from The Big bang theory: he knows the basics. The media shows him as a bookworm, which leads me to think that some of his knowledge on that subject came from books that he read during his life. I do picture him as one that he began to read to fight against the picture he had about himself, as an Underground resident; later in life, he began to read because he enjoyed it and it relaxed him.

That being said, just like Sheldon Cooper approached the topic of sex, flirting and dating, Levi knows how men and women would flirt and the purpose behind it for example. He mostly sees it from his comrades and the people in the Underground, but even though he recognizes a certain flirty comment or attitude, it's just that. It's like he would talk about it like he's reading from a manual. That doesn't mean he lacks affection, he's one that always showed that he cares in his own way.

Here it comes the topic of sex. I previously stated that we don't know if Levi is a virgin or not unless Isayama makes it canon. In my honest opinion, he is. During all his life and since he was a kid living and growing up in the Underground, he mostly focused on surviving, filling his stomach and not getting physically abused (just like in the Bad Boy chapter). An important detail, however, is that his mother Kuchel was a prostitute. Now, houses in the Underground were surely cramped and small; think about when Kenny found little Levi, that house was surely small. Or even the scene in Bad Boy where he makes tea; that house most likely had a bedroom, kitchen and living room altogether. If it had other rooms, those were as small as ever. A kitchen that if two people fit inside would get stuck, or a bathroom that was a stall.

When Kuchel had her clients inside her house, I firmly believe she tried to protect her son by letting him hide somewhere. Little Levi learned to recognize the moments where his mother had to work, hiding in a spot where the men she "welcomed" there wouldn't see him or else, they'd leave and that meant no money. No lunch nor dinner. Or worse, some sick men would try to have his way with him (remember in Bad Boy when those men talked about him having the same "skills" as his mother and wanted to sell him? Also, he didn't seem to be unaware about what they were talking about. That means Levi knew about what his mom's job was).

Kuchel would teach little Levi to hide, cover his ears and wait until she was done. But sometimes, as we know, men are brutal with prostitutes. She got some violent ones, and as much as she tried to keep quiet, Levi would hear her. And when he would see how those men were doing to poor Kuchel, he got traumatized. He heard their lewd words, their slurs and curses, and that got Levi permanently traumatized. From that moment on, he would see sex as violence, pain, something hurtful. No matter if he would educate himself on the matter, the wounds would always be fresh. He got so sick of that scenery, that it was like something switched in him. With him joining the Scouts and everything he went through while being a soldier, he – of course – focused on his job and the people he unfortunately lost up until the final battle.

In terms of approach to his own sexual desires, I see him being conflicted. He's a man, a human being; he got aroused at least once, to me. But that would be it. He knows what his body is trying to tell him, but indulging in self pleasure would be just because he feels too overwhelmed by it. As if he feels itchy and needs to scratch.

He surely had women flirting and throwing themselves at him. Just like he said to Zeke, he had a few successes with ladies. But that didn't mean he slept with them; again, he could recognize he was popular and some shamelessly drooled after him. He knows what dates are (he said, somewhere in the manga, "hot titan date" which if we want to be obnoxiously meticulous, that means he knows what a date is. Oh well).

This is just a little rant and random headcanon I wanted to share after quite a long time of pondering if it was a good idea or not. Once more: that's just my personal headcanon on Levi. Feel free to agree, disagree or share your own if you want 🩵

[sunsetsover]

you know, i think the reason people fall into the 'kant doesn't care about bison at all, none of what he's doing or saying is real' thing so easily is because he's so good at compartmentalising. it's one of the most consistent parts of his character. we get shown in damn near every single scene he's in: kant constantly sets his own feelings/opinions/wants aside in favour of getting done whatever it is he needs to get done. and if you aren't paying attention it gives off the impression that he doesn't care, but that isn't the truth at all.

i know i talk about kant's role as a big brother a lot, but i genuinely believe that's where it stems from. from the moment his parents died, he had to tuck his own grief away in favour of tending to babe's needs, both emotional and physical. and in ep 6 babe refers to kant as the one who raised him, so babe really must have been quite young when their parents passed - young enough that kant is the one he considers to have raised him, not them. and i know i already talked about it in this post but it's worth reiterating that that wouldn't have come without sacrifice for kant. from context clues it seems as though he went from a student just like any other to basically a single father to a young, grieving child overnight. and kant loves babe. he clearly prioritises his wellbeing - in every sense - above his own. and that means kant's own feelings and wants and desires and even his needs getting thrown aside over and over and over again in favour of babe's. this is a pattern that must have gone on for years atp. kant probably no longer knows any other way to be: he always becomes what other people need him to be. who he is and how he feels get smothered in favour of that every time. and please understand that him doing that isn't an act of manipulation, but likely started as him adapting to the circumstances he found himself in as a teenager and became so ingrained in who he is that he doesn't even realise he's doing it anymore. (besides you can see when kant is manipulating someone. it's completely different. he's not great at it.)

because i mean really, do you honestly think kant was never scared going out stealing cars? do you think he wasn't petrified when he was caught? do you think he never wished for something else for his brother, for himself? do you think he never walked through the streets at night looking for cars to steal, wishing he could just go home? wanting his mum and dad? wanting to someone to take care of him for once?

of course he did. of course he was scared. of course he was upset. he's not a sociopath, nor is he some kind of professional criminal. he's just a guy who's been doing whatever he has to to get by, and sometimes that meant doing bad things, but he still has feelings and wants and wishes beyond that.

but the thing is, as it always has been, is that above kant's wants or needs or feelings sits babe. babe's wants and needs and feelings. his wishes. his dreams. and so kant pushes his own feelings to the side so that he could do what he needed to do - first out of necessity, then because he had no choice. but that doesn't mean those feelings aren't still there. it doesn't mean he doesn't still feel them.

but what place is there for kant's feelings? what use are they? babe needs feeding. he needs education. he needs school uniforms and books and new shoes. he needs someone there, on the outside. kant is of no use to babe in a prison cell. so what good does kant's fear do? where do his desire and his wants and his feelings get him? nowhere. dreams don't put food on the table. so he tucks them away, time and time again. he's scared, but he gets on with it because there's no other option. he wants, but he has babe to think about, so what use is it wanting anything? wanting to go somewhere, to do something, to be with someone - what's the point when he can't have any of it. he has a child to take care of, and that child's needs must always come first. that's the sacrifice any good parental figure must always make. so that's what kant has done. he's spent half of his life pushing his feelings away in favour of making sure babe is good.

why, then, would love be any different?

style can love fadel. he can want him, and he can voice it, and he can show it, because style doesn't have to think about anyone other than himself. there's no one relying on him, not the way babe relies on kant. and so if he acts stupid and reckless and falls in love with an assassin, the consequences of that will be his and his alone to deal with.

kant doesn't have that luxury - the luxury of loving bison. he never has. he has babe to think about. and on top of that, kant can't allow himself to want anything because to him, wanting is useless. it's pointless. he never gets to have what he wants. and he especially can't allow himself to want bison, not when bison is literally his get out of jail free card. kant can't go to prison because he has to look after babe. and it's the same pattern all over again: babe comes first. what kant actually wants doesn't matter.

so he locks it away. he compartmentalises it. we've seen it over and over and over: he gets angry at christ and he swallows it because he can't afford to made him mad. he gets scared and he grits his teeth and smiles. he starts to feel something real for bison, starts to see him as something other than his ticket to freedom, and in the next breath he's reminding himself (or style) that he can't. that they just need to get the job done, asap. if the captain just arrests them, then it'll be over and kant will be free and he can tuck those feelings and those wants back in their fucking boxes and he can move on. over and over and over you see him trying to convince himself of that, because that's probably what has worked before: just one more car, just one more job, just one more time.

but the problem is it's not that simple. being in such close proximity to bison and pretending to love him has shaken the walls he's put up around himself, and they've started to crumble from the foundation up. the feelings that were supposed to be fake, that were supposed to be kept on the outside of the wall have started leaking in to where the real kant is. his walls haven't fallen down, not yet, but they've been breached. and now he's knee deep in these feelings that he shouldn't be having. now, no matter how hard he tries to resist it, he wants.

i think that's what makes the scene in the bowling alley so heartbreaking for me. when i saw the preview i thought that kant was doing it for bison's benefit, to make sure he has one last good night before he's locked away. which he definitely was. but i also think for the first time in the whole show we really get to see kant - no games, no agendas, no angles. even their first meeting wasn't entirely innocent like that - kant was putting on a persona to get bison into bed. but in that bowling alley, when they're all alone and no one's looking and there's a very real chance they'll never see each other again, kant just lets himself be. he lets bison see him, even the ugly parts, the parts that have him breaking into places and cutting off the cctv and stealing from the drinks fridge. because bison told him, didn't he? that he loves every story on his body, even the fucked up ones? so in that bowling alley kant is no longer trying to be some perfect version of himself, the one with no history or flaws, the one trying so desperately to win bison over. he's not trying to be christ's informant. he's not even trying to be babe's big brother for once. he lets himself just be kant.

kant, who wants to be alone with bison in the place where they first met. kant, who laughs so hard his body can't even hold him up. kant, who sets up a fucking projector to project the northern lights all over the walls because he saw the pictures on bison's wall and knew how much he loved them. bison never told him that. but kant is thoughtful, and kant pays attention, and kant is romantic, and none of it is an act. all of it is him, loving bison despite himself. wanting him to be happy. wanting to give and give and give because that's how kant loves: by giving until there's nothing left of him. by putting himself second and the person he loves first. it's what he did for babe, isn't it?

and it's the real kant who, for just a moment, lets himself be reckless and stupid like style gets to be, like kant never gets to be, when he looks down at bison's face and says should we just get in the car and run? and means it. he poses it like a joke, but he means it. he wants it. and it's the real kant who sits in the middle of a bowling lane and plans a trip with bison, who lets himself truly want something for the first time since he was a child, probably: 15 days, kant will drive, bison will run the playlist. they'll see the northern lights and the puffins and the waterfalls. and maybe it's the freedom of knowing he'll never get to have it that makes it so much easier to allow himself to want it, but isn't that so much worse? knowing the only way he's allowed to want anything is if there's guardrails up, keeping him in line? stopping him from making the mistake of actually thinking he ever gets to have what he wants?

none of that scene was an act. none of it. in fact imo the only person he actually puts a front up with in ep 6 was style, trying to convince him to just let them go. that it doesn't matter. bc that was all bullshit and he knew it. and you can think what you want about kant's actions and his feelings up until now, but if after watching episode 6 you still genuinely don't see that kant is head over heels for bison, then you're either not paying close enough attention, or you've let your bias/dislike of his character cloud your ability to be objective about what you're seeing, and i mean that. he is so obvious.

just because kant isn't expressing his conflict or his discomfort or his feelings the way style is doesn't mean he doesn't feel any of it. he does. his words are lies. we've already established that about him. but his conflict and his love are written all over him, all over his face, all over in his actions. the love he feels for bison is delicate and it's fragile but it's undeniably there. and if you don't see that then i genuinely feel sorry for you because you're not only missing out on half the plot, but you're also missing out on something so genuinely beautiful it makes my bones ache.

[copperbadge]

How did you find the doctor(s) who assessed you for ADHD? Im looking into the process of getting diagnosed because (although ive suspected I might have adhd for years now) I've been struggling a lot more lately and i want to try medication to see if it helps at all. Im trying to search for psychiatrists through my health insurance portal but the the results im getting are all for child/adolescent psychiatry specialists, and I dont think that'll be much help for an adult adhd assessment? Did you have an established therapist to refer you for your assessment or were you able to find a psychiatrist independently?

I actually just kind of had to freeform it, but that does mean I have some tips to share!

I will say, I have never once used a health insurance portal to find someone to treat me for anything. Often their search engine is fucked up and the information is sometimes out of date. I almost always either ask someone who I know has had similar issues if they have a recommendation, ask my treating physician if I have one, or just google until I find someone reputable-looking; any qualified medical center or professional will list what insurance they take anyway, and you can always ask when you make the appointment.

So here's the process for how to do that!

When I was first considering it, I asked a friend who'd had an evaluation that came back not-ADHD, which I liked because it meant we knew it wasn't like, a weird Adderall pill mill or something. I really wanted to have a professional and thorough evaluation because I knew myself and knew I was capable of gaming a questionnaire. The place she had her evaluation was unfortunately having some staffing issues; part of the reason it took me so long is that I played phone tag with them for ages -- I'd call, and regardless of what time of day I called, their scheduler would be "out", so I'd leave a message and never get a call back. Ultimately I said "I really need to talk to a human, because your scheduler has not returned any of my numerous calls" and they said they could transfer me to another office outside of Chicago (in the burbs). That was not going to be accessible to me, so I told them thanks but I'll go somewhere else. Then COVID hit and I was not going to go anywhere near a medical center unless I had to for about two years.

So, when I was making my second serious run at getting evaluated, I did what might be expected of me by longtime readers of this blog: I made a spreadsheet.

I want to caveat this up top with REALLY IMPORTANT CONTEXT: I did not do all of this in a single day. The process from starting research to making an evaluation appointment took about a month, and probably would have taken longer if I wasn't getting somewhat desperate. Do not push yourself to do this as a single act. Research alone is a multi-day process; some days I looked at the open tabs and only entered one tab's worth of information. It took me quite a bit of time to write the form email I sent inquiring about an assessment. It took me time to call the clinic back when they asked me to call to book the appointment. This is a series of steps, not a single leap.

So!

I was looking for a clinic rather than an individual, in part because I'd heard a couple of horror stories about people who went to a psychiatrist and just got argued with for an hour instead of actually getting evaluated. So I googled, and here are some key terms for you, chicago adult adhd assessment. Chicago obviously for the region, but "adult adhd" (putting it in quotes will help) is the important term that will help you filter out a lot of child psych stuff. A lot of what I looked at did included family or child assessment/therapy but were clear that they also evaluated adults.

Then I went through every legit-looking search result and noted down, in my spreadsheet, the name of the clinic/company, the contact phone and email, the URL, the physical location (I needed to be able to get to it fairly easily) and whether they took my insurance. Even if they didn't take my insurance (all but one did) I still put them into the spreadsheet so that if I found them again I could check the sheet and know I didn't need to investigate further. I also tended to bump more legitimate and friendly-looking places to the top of the sheet. And if I were going to do it again I would also look for one specific thing, which is an assessment guide of some kind.

The assessment guide may be something they only give you after you speak with them, so it's not a no-go if they don't have one on their website, but it basically tells you what generally will go on during the assessment, how long it will take, and what you should bring. A full assessment like I had is estimated to take 4-6 hours and they recommended I wear layers so I wouldn't be overly cold/warm in their office, and to bring a snack. That's the kind of information you want, duration of the assessment and what they recommend for you, to ensure that you're working with people who are thorough and care about your comfort.

So, I have this spreadsheet now of places to reach out to, which I know take my insurance and do adult assessment. In the spreadsheet I also had columns for what date I contacted them and whether they'd responded. I started reaching out via email, one per day, with the form email I'd written.

The form email basically said "I'm 42 with no previous diagnosis but I have a family history of autism and dyslexia. I've been told I should get assessed for ADHD, so I'm looking for a clinic that will do the assessment and takes (my insurance). I prefer to be contacted by email but if need be, my phone number is (phone number). Please let me know if you have any open appointments and what information you will need from me to book an evaluation with you." (You can always ask for more information about the actual evaluation process once they respond.)

If I didn't get a response within 24 hours, I moved on to the next, but I only greyed out the text in that line of the spreadsheet; I didn't disqualify/remove the nonresponsive ones because again, I wanted to make sure I kept that information in case they eventually did respond. I did this with about ten clinics, because I figured I must be able to find at least one in ten who could do the eval, and I could go back and research more if necessary.

I think the third or fourth one I reached out to was the first to respond, and I ended up going with them; I had a very positive experience in the assessment itself but it was a real pain in the ass getting the documentation from them -- they took about a month to go through the evaluation data (this is not abnormal but is rather longer than usual according to my psychiatrist) and they gave me an in-person-by-zoom report once it was ready. That said, it took another four months and the threat of reporting them to the state to get them to send me the text of the eval (in part because the evaluator left the clinic unexpectedly with my formal report not yet written). But that's something that's truly impossible to know until you're working with them, and highly unusual, so don't let concerns about that deter you. If you end up in that situation come hit me up and I'll tell you how I dealt with that.

My eval recommended an executive function coach, but if I haven't been able to func it by now I never will, so I thanked them for the recommendation and went looking for a psychiatrist unaffiliated with the clinic to prescribe me meds. There, the key words you're going to be looking for are again "adult adhd" but also "adult disability" and if you want medication that's less likely to be a huge fucking hassle, "medication management". My psychiatrist and I meet every two months to reup my prescription, but he doesn't require me to take a regular drug test or meet him in person in order to get a new scrip, as some people have encountered. We meet in person once or twice a year (I can't remember, it's due to a legal requirement in Illinois) but otherwise it's over zoom.

So yeah -- it's a process, but there are ways to streamline and manage it, and a few tripwires in place to make sure you don't end up screwed by the system. Definitely feel free to ask if you have questions, either here or if you want a more indepth conversation you can email me at copperbadge@gmail.com. GOOD LUCK!

[triangular-static]

look i understand if people just don't like the idea of billford, i think we have a different internal concept of what shipping means (they're not good for each other at all but i need to dissect their dynamic like a bug. you understand. it's fun) but it's fine to avoid things you don't like, good for you genuinely

however people saying they like. don't see it. like. i'm not saying there's no platonic way to read it, i'm aroace spec myself i'm all for reading things in different ways. but i do think saying they weren't partners in any queer sense at all is trying too hard to go against what the narrative is trying to say, or missing it. somehow

anyway media literacy time if a character makes a joke like this

and the previous context of that joke within the show is that it's about an ex wife. what connection do you think the text is trying to get you to make.

and that's just from a writing point of view. not even noting that from an in universe perspective ford likely knows the joke from the same source as stan. and is therefore. placing himself in that role of the joke are you seeing where i'm coming from

(not to mention bill's side of this text which is. extremely manipulative but also does not read very platonic. again, it can technically be read as platonic! bill literally can manipulate ford's feelings. but the specific wording used is very much meant to look like possessive ex partner wording whether the character means it that way or not. it's coding. look again i'm not saying it was good for them i'm just saying there was something there.)

and then there's also the divorce/break up/rock bottom input on the website. like. how else is that supposed to be read. and the corresponding page in the book itself.

the language being used here. like yes he's saying it in a joking way but then there's the other side that isn't joking which is him crying at the bar. it's the both sides (the very coded language on top of the very genuine emotions and dynamic beneath)

i know most of us are on the same page with this i've just seen a couple people saying they don't see it when this is some of the most clear cut coding i've ever seen. and these are just the things that explicitly reference a relationship off the top of my head i'm not even including the general vibes of Everything

tl;dr it's barely even subtext anymore it's all but straight up text. what's not clicking have we forgotten what coding is (lighthearted i just enjoy the phrase what's not clicking. what's not clicking)