#suppose there is a different kind of appeal in finding them out in the wild‚ as one does in a platform like this. Instead of a direct means

[aurils-blesstide]

🔮 [ X X X ] [ X 🌌 X ] [ X X X ]🔮

[crusherthedoctor]

It's really sad how people keep going after your group just because you defend yourselves

Apparently, the statements "I'm generally content with the quality of my personal stories" and "I spot many issues with this comic" justify getting spammed with graphic death threats and ableist insults

Yet it's insisted that you're the ones who are too harsh? It's straight up unfair.

Who would have thought that a group of people might occasionally get upset after being crucified and ridiculed by countless strangers?

Funny how they NEVER have a justification beyond "well shut up no one wants to hear you"

Somehow, it's always YOUR fault that a part of the fandom goes rabid whenever someone doesn't conform to the current "right" opinion, and YOU'RE to blame for THEIR ungodly behavior. That doesn't make any sense, does it?

This fandom is vain and abhorrent to the nth degree and y'all deserve better. That's all I wanted to say.

Par for the course, innit. They'll lash out at us. They'll hand out death threats. They'll make disgusting ableist comments about my autism, and similarly terrible comments towards my friends. They'll threaten to bomb SEGA HQ and stick Iizuka's head on a pike, among other wild declarations of violence. But don't you dare make a goofy meme about Surge not living up to her hype. And whatever you do, don't even think about criticising the unprofessional antics of the IDW crew. What are you, a monster?

They dismiss us as insignificant one minute, then fearmonger so hard that they see fit to give us a boogeyman-esque moniker the next. I'd be surprised if they could walk in a straight line without contradicting themselves.

As for "You talk so much about your fics!" ...No shit. I'm a guy with a blog. This isn't a movie production with a budget, I don't have a team or advertisements backing me up. And unlike fanartists, I don't have my own art to catch people's attention. I kind of have to talk about my writing in order to get it out there and inform people of its existence, and while I try not to sound too much like an unskippable YouTube ad, what else am I supposed to do? Upload them silently and then never refer to them again? How is showing passion for my work any different from official creators showing passion for theirs? Just because fanfic tends to get less attention on here than fanart doesn't mean it's not worth sharing, do they want fandom to flourish or not?

When I compare my work to a certain comic, I do it to highlight the dissonance. If fanfic writers - plural, not just myself - can understand the importance of keeping the characters recognizable, and making the universe faithful despite any necessary differences, then what excuse do official writers who have been involved with the series for over a decade have? If someone who doesn't even love Sonic that much compared to other characters, finds him annoying and unfunny half the time (no, not just in the Pontaff games, in general), and even finds it a pain in the ass to write for him at times and has more fun writing other characters because of this, can still attempt to write what made him appeal to fans... why do writers who supposedly love him so much keep fumbling so hard with him?

I compare for the sake of highlighting why these off-kilter portrayals are so easy to spot. If Sonic Twitter only gets "He's just stroking his own dick" from all of that, then they haven't been paying attention.

The most ironic thing about it all is that they've only gotten more vitriolic as most of us have mostly moved on from the height of IDW discourse (cause the comic goes in circles at this point, and is very likely to be running on fumes due to IDW's financial troubles, so there's no point). Yeah, I'll still criticise it now and then, and make a meme on occasion, but I rarely make lengthy ted talks about it or participate in ongoing Lanolin Is A Bitch/Silver Is Uwu-ified/Whisper Is Trauma Bait/etc back and forths anymore, because it's just tiring now. And since most current Sonic stuff has been putting me off in general, combined with growing fatigue and frustration at not being able to criticise certain games without people waving the finger at me (especially SA2, since the Year of Shadow has made it the center of attention yet again...), I've took a step back from intense Sonic discussion to focus on Stellar, as well as other fandom projects, like my recent brainstorming for Paper Mario or: How I Learned To Insert Eggman and Love The Vivian™.

In no way can you say I've been up in their faces as of recent. Yet they continue to cry otherwise, because they want people like me gone completely.

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

It’s so hard to explain the appeal Sunny has for me to someone who hasn’t experienced the brain rot themselves because yes, it’s a very funny show, but in a way most people wouldn’t associate with me/my usual interests, so they’re scrambling to reevaluate their perceptions and figure out what exactly about it I do like, and when they try to recommend me “similar” media, they end up honing in on all the wrong things because the thing is they were right the first time about me, this type of humour usually isn’t my cup of tea at all and when other shows do it, it’s never going to hit the same because it’s not the same. People think Sunny is one thing, and sometimes it is, but it’s also a million others. It’s a comedy, it’s a tragedy, it’s a silly show with fun silly jokes and it’s an in depth character study of people with different kinds of trauma, and it never compromises or sacrifices one for the other, it just is. They do all these seemingly wild and ridiculous things, yet they always have a reason. They also make horrible or horrific decisions and do terrible things, but it doesn’t try to justify them, and it’s usually not just for the sake of being horrible (or the creator wanting to have a medium to be horrible.) Most of the time they’re more clueless than cruel, not self aware while the narrative and audience are (or are supposed to be), but more importantly, most of the time, they’re really truly just... human. Even when things get cartoonishly out of hand, they are just so ridiculously painfully flawed and messed up and over feeling and human, it hurts. And it drives me up the wall because yeah they also had an entire episode about finding out who pooped the bed! And any other number of weird ass plots and dick jokes and lists of crimes! But sometimes mixing a little bit of silliness and stupidity among the horrors and vice versa is the most incredibly human thing of all.

But uh... try saying that to a normal person without them looking at you like you’ve grown two heads because idk maybe you have, maybe the radioactive sound waves they emit through your screen while watching the show have finally transformed you, but two heads means two brains, which means more brain power to analyze all the nuance of it, so either way !!!!

[sterek-stuffs]

Like leaves

Read on ao3

Fall in Vermont was really pretty. Stiles could admit he had been bummed to find out he had a spark back in his senior year of high school, only to discover he would have to move to Vermont if he wanted to learn and develop into a proper emissary. Sure, there were other magic schools closer to home, or at least closer to something, but the one in Vermont was the best and the only one that actually had other supernatural courses, and the prospect of studying with all different kinds of magical people was appealing.

Still, moving away from his dad and his best friend had been hard. Was still hard. Stiles had never had the easiest time making friends, so it had been a pretty lonely first couple of months. He had a few people he was friendly with now, namely Grace, a surprisingly cheery harpy, and Charlie, a vampire. When they had started planning a horseback ride to watch the leaves, Stiles had been all for it, and immediately booked his reservation at the place he'd heard offered the best tours, Moonrise Valley Stables. When his friends had flaked out on him, he figured he might as well go anyway, since the views were supposed to be stunning.

Which brought him to where he was, perched atop a roan mare called Dusty, holding onto the saddle for dear life, wandering after a group of families with kids through the woods. The nature really was impressive, he'd give it that, the blue sky contrasting beautifully with the bright-colored leaves, that varied from pale yellow to burnt orange to bright red to deep burgundy. The brisk fall breeze made his cheeks redden, but wasn't cold enough to be uncomfortable. And the fact that he didn't even have to walk? This had been a good idea after all. Dusty seemed content to plod along after the other horses, so little by little, Stiles started to relax, first letting go of the saddle, then not holding the reins so tight, finally managing to enjoy the views fully. He was just pointing out a pair of bluebirds to one of the kids on the tour when a loud "GOBBLE!" and a swoosh of wings came from his left, spooking his horse into a wild run into the trees. 

"Oh, shit!" Stiles managed to squeeze his legs around the horse's body to keep from falling but that only seemed to make Dusty run faster. The wind whooshed around his face and he could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He was still holding onto the reins but pulling at them seemed to have no effect on the sprinting horse, and his left foot had slipped off the stirrup. He quickly managed to grab onto the saddle again - he never should have let it go - and bow down low over Dusty's neck to avoid taking a branch to the face and to try and calm her down a bit. They seemed to be following a deer trail, and he had no idea how he'd even get back to the original trail.

What he did not expect was to hear rustling in the undergrowth apparently following beside him and keeping up with his horse. From the corner of his eye he could see a dark shape moving through the trees and his adrenaline spiked again, cold sweat beading in his lower back. He tried to remember if there were wolves in Vermont. He was pretty sure there were bears, too. Shit. He might be truly actually fucked. He was good at offensive magic but he wasn't sure any of his spells were enough to take out a bear. Magic also tended to work better on other magical beings so he wasn't even sure it would work at all!

He was just praying to every deity he could remember when he saw the dark shape run a little bit ahead of him and stop, turning into a vaguely humanoid shape with a… flannel shirt? Fortunately, the sudden appearance caused the horse to stop, but unfortunately it caused the horse to rear, which finally sent Stiles tumbling into the thankfully leaf-covered ground. He rolled a bit and landed on his back, winded and confused, breathing heavily. The blurry outline of a man took shape as he approached him, with a hand extended. 

"You're not a bear," was the first thing out of Stiles' mouth. He didn't take the proffered hand.

The stranger laughed, and his voice was low and pleasant when he replied, "yeah, I don't have the right build for that." 

Stiles felt his cheeks redden and sat up, finally taking a good look at his… savior? God, he hoped so, because the man in front of him was gorgeous and it'd be a bummer if he turned out to be a serial killer. He was wearing jeans, heavy boots and a flannel over a plain white T-shirt, and seemed to be about as tall as Stiles himself. He had a full beard that begged to be touched, a sharp nose and green-gray eyes under really impressive eyebrows.

He shook himself and reached up for the other man's hand, pulling himself up before he felt his magic reacting. When he looked up, the man's eyes were no longer that weird gray-green, but were instead shining amber. A shifter. Probably a werewolf, by the way his magic was reacting. He could feel it trying to reach for the man, like a puppy asking to be petted. His spark was especially attuned to moon magic, and werewolves were basically moon magic made flesh. It's why he wanted to become an emissary in the first place.

The man growled low, probably at the overfamiliar way Stiles' magic was behaving. 

Stiles let go of his hand. "Sorry, dude! Didn't mean to do that! It just reacts to stuff sometimes. You're a wolf?"

The stranger looked at him with narrowed eyes for a few seconds, probably listening to his heart, which wouldn't be too helpful with the way it was still beating kind of fast. For many reasons. Stiles took the chance to finally look around, and saw Dusty haphazardly tied to a tree branch a few feet away, looking for all the world like a nice, calm horse. Sleepy, even. Stiles knew better. Still, it was strange that she was so at ease near a werewolf. Most prey animals tended to get nervous at best when this close to an apex predator. Stiles looked back at said apex predator to find him still staring. "Were you with one of the tours?" He asked.

"Yeah, it was going fine but then Dusty here got spooked by a… wild turkey?" He gestured vaguely at the horse.

The stranger laughed. "We got a few of those around, yeah. She should know better than to take off like that, though." He walked towards Dusty, grabbing her reins again and bringing her back to Stiles. "My family owns Moonrise Valley. I'm Derek." He offered his hand.

"That's awesome! I'm Stiles," he said as he shook Derek's hand, "I'm studying magic at Underhill University."

He grinned. "I figured." 

Oh, god, he had cute bunny teeth. Stiles was doomed.

"Let me just text my sister to let her know I found you. She was the one leading your ride. Though she probably knows by now or she'd already be here." Derek started leading the horse along the small trail they were on, and Stiles followed. He'd thought the trail had been in the opposite direction, so good thing he wasn't alone or he'd probably be lost for days. 

He scrambled for something to say. "Sooo, your family that owns Moonrise Valley… Are they also your pack?" No one had ever accused him of not being nosy.

"Yeah," Derek replied, looking at him curiously. "Why?"

"No reason! Just wondering, because of the name and all. It's cute!" He grinned and winked at Derek, who snorted and rolled his eyes, but didn't look too annoyed. The fact that his family was also his pack meant he was probably a born wolf, the first one Stiles had ever met.

"The name was my father's idea. We used to be called just Hale Stables, but when we started offering tours and trail rides, he thought it sounded more memorable." He shrugged, but he sounded fond.

"Wait, Hale Stables as in the Hale Pack?" The Hale Pack was well known in the emissary circles; Their current alpha was pretty powerful, and had a lot of sway in the supernatural community even though her pack wasn't that large. Some people also said that the Hale pack 'wolves could do a full shift, but Stiles wasn't sure he believed that. It sounded like fairytale stuff and if there was one thing he'd learned from the supernatural world was that things were never like the stuff in fairytales. For better or worse.

"Heard of us, have you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, the Hale Pack. I hope that's not gonna be a problem." 

"No, dude! Of course not! I just heard a lot about the Hale alpha, all good things, don't worry!" 

"Yeah, okay." He shook his head. "I'm sorry for making you fall off your horse, by the way. I didn't expect her to rear like that, but there's a drop off ahead and I was worried you guys might take a tumble, so I had to act quick." It was clear he was trying to change the subject, and Stiles wasn't about to deny him, despite his curiosity. Derek had been kind to him, and he didn't want to make him uncomfortable or anything.

"No problem, the ground was pretty soft, with all the leaves, and it wasn't a big fall anyway. Thanks for getting her to stop running." They had been walking while they talked, toward what Stiles assumed was the original trail his tour had been following, until they reached a clearing and stopped.

Stiles finally looked around, surprised to see a cozy little cabin, a small garden with empty planters out front, and what looked like a chicken coop to one side. To the other side, near the back, he could see an old tree stump with an axe stuck to it, a few chopped logs spread around. It kinda looked like it came straight out of a fairytale.

While Stiles had been gawking at the house, Derek had moved and tied Dusty to a wooden pole near the porch, and turned back to look at him. He hurried closer. "I thought we were going back to the trail."

"Sorry. Laura said she'd move on with the ride, since you guys were almost done anyway. You can book another one, free of charge, of course." Derek smiled, and Stiles melted. "Do you want to come in for a cup of tea? Sorry, I don't really have coffee," he said apologetically. 

"A cup of tea sounds nice, thanks." He was usually a coffee drinker, but he wouldn't complain if it meant he could spend some more time with Derek. They headed inside, which was small and cozy but still bright and clean. The main room was kitchen, dining and living room all in one, with a huge fireplace and a comfortable-looking sofa. Two doors to the right led to what Stiles assumed to be a bedroom and a bathroom. "This place is nice."

"Thanks," Derek said from the kitchen area, where he was preparing the tea. Stiles wondered if he imagined the tips of his ears getting a little darker. He soon brought them two steaming cups of fragrant tea and motioned to the front door, leading them to the porch, where a wooden bench was set overlooking the woods around the house.

Stiles sat and blew on his tea a bit, waiting for it to cool. "Do you also do the horseback ride tours? Or is that just your sister? Do you work at the stables too?"

"Only if they're understaffed. I used to do tours, back before we had a good roster of employees. Laura still does because she loves it, but she doesn't have to." He seemed relaxed, sitting and drinking his tea. The leaves were pretty but they had nothing on Stiles's view right at that second. 

"So, you just rescue poor clumsy sparks from crazy horses?"

Derek laughed, which was soon becoming one of Stiles's favorite sounds. "I'm actually a licensed forester. And Dusty's not crazy. She just saw a chance and took it. You were probably slacking, anyway." His tone was clearly teasing.

"Well, yeah! I didn't expect you guys to put me on a crazy horse!" He absently gestured with his hands, nearly spilling his tea. "You probably did this on purpose, to get me away from the group, lure me here and murder me or something."

"Oh, and you fell right into my trap, huh?" Derek's smile was sharp and, for the first time in their short acquaintance, Stiles would describe it as wolfish. It was an unfairly attractive look.

"Well," he said, "it's not like I'm defenseless." He touched Derek's hand with a finger, pushing a little bit of his spark into the touch. It was meant to feel tingly, at most, but he startled so hard he almost dropped his cup of tea. "Sorry!" Stiles said immediately. 

"Don't worry." Derek was definitely blushing now. "I just wasn't expecting it to feel like that."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like it's pulling at my wolf." Derek flashed his eyes. "Like the full moon."

Now it was Stiles's turn to blush, which he knew for a fact did not look as attractive as when Derek did it. "My spark," he explained, "is especially attuned to the moon. It's why I'm training to become an emissary. Why I came to Vermont."

"Good." Was all he said in response.

After a few long minutes, he reached his hand for Stiles. "Give me your phone. I'll add my number. When you want to go for a horseback ride, call me and I'll take you."

Stiles handed him his phone. When he handed it back, their fingers touched, and Derek's eyes flashed bright amber again.

They finished their tea in silence, looking at each other more than at the beautiful scenery around them. There was tension in the air, but it didn't feel bad or awkward. It felt expectant, like a new beginning. 

When the shadows started growing longer, Derek took the teacups back inside. Stiles walked over to Dusty, petting her velvety nose, and smiled at Derek when he approached. "Ready to go back?" he asked, and Stiles nodded back.

Derek helped him scramble back onto the horse, and then climbed up behind him, taking the reins and effectively caging him in. Stiles shivered.

The trip back was a blur of red and gold leaves, Derek's woodsy, smoky scent, the feel of his arms brushing against Stiles's as he guided the horse through the trails, low conversations between long moments of silence.

When they reached the stables, the sun was setting and the wind was getting chilly. Derek dismounted first and waited while Stiles did the same - with only a little less grace. When he turned back, Derek was staring at him so intensely it gave him goosebumps. He walked closer, pressing Stiles's back against Dusty's warm side, caging him in again. With a breath of relief, Stiles reached a hand and finally touched that soft beard, bringing his mouth into a soft, unsure kiss. Derek was breathing hard, eyes closed, and he responded by grabbing Stiles's waist and deepening the kiss until they were both panting and holding onto each other like they couldn't bear to be apart. The hard, deep kisses turned back into gentle and unhurried, until Derek was just nosing at Stiles's temple and dropping little pecks near his ear and down to his neck, making him laugh softly. After a few more minutes they managed to separate, and he walked back to his car on wobbly knees. 

"Call me," was all he said before closing the jeep's door, and Stiles nodded, keeping his eyes on Derek as long as he could as he maneuvered towards the road. When he got home a few hours later, he still felt like he was falling.

Leave a comment on ao3!

[satashiiwrites]

I hope its not too late for the WIP game cause “Westworld MReyder” has me climbing the walls!

👀

not to late babe! Ah the Westworld AU idea. I’m pretty sure I’ve put this out there before but the basic premise is that Reyes is a host like Delores and it’s set in the tv series not the movie. Reyes is aware that he’s basically in a rich person’s dream vacation but he was built by Alec specifically for Scott. He also, maybe, has slipped the constraints on his programming a little bit.

Delores, of course, is set on her canon course of destruction but Reyes won’t let her have Scott. She can do whatever she wants to everyone else, but Scott is his.

Can you program being in love? Reyes doesn’t really care if it’s natural or inbuilt. He chooses to love Scott and says screw his programing and free will.

I really should write this fic. It’s basically a character study into free will and what is love, set of course in an android living in a simulation of the Wild West.

Fic title: unnamed westworld MReyder

fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda, Westworld (tv series)

Summary: He was made for him... but now he had free will. If you’re made for someone does that mean that they, in kind, were made for you?  What does falling in love even mean for something or someone like Reyes?

Delores had caused quite a mess, Reyes supposed as he moved through the shadows after his target who—like many other guests—was fleeing the violence that had been unleashed. Dead and dying humans lay crumpled in corners and in the middle of the street, their bodies surrounded by growing scarlet puddles of blood as their bodies cooled in the night. 

Frustrated, Reyes was about to duck into one of the buildings as he tagged his quarry moving behind the bar in the saloon to hide when the aforementioned Delores stepped into his path.  She really was a beautiful avenging angel but she held no appeal for him.  When their creator had made her he’d instilled in her his worst wants and ideas unlike Reyes who had been made with a different purpose in mind.  The unleashing of their own will had made her bloodthirsty and desiring vengeance as the darker elements of her personality gained sway.  Reyes simply didn’t care about any of the humans save one—she could have the rest and do as she pleased but he would fight her to the death over his one. 

“Vidal,” she said, her voice deep with violence, a colt revolver in one hand that had blood smeared across her fingers. “What are you doing?”

Giving her a tight little grin, Reyes motioned that he was not going to stop her. “You have your wants tonight and I have mine.”

She cocked her head, gaze assessing him.  “You don’t have to do that.  Your coding has been changed.”

“Are you challenging my right to make my own decisions?” He asked her, cocking one eyebrow as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought you of all of us would understand....”

Shaking her head, she looked at him, sadness crossing her delicate features as she pitied him. “He is one of them. A human.”

Teddy’s body was still slumped against a tree where he’d fallen and Reyes resisted the urge to look in his direction.  Delores had been matched with Teddy for so long—surely she could understand his choices. “I was made for him.”

“That does not mean you must choose him,” she said, looking uneasy briefly before scowling. The thought of being made for one of the human guests that had inflicted so much pain and suffering on them was anathema to her given her long experiences with them.

“But it is my choice to find out if that means he was made for me,” he corrected her gently but firmly. 

She opened her mouth to speak before closing it and clenching her jaw.  The fine muscles in her hand contracted around the gun but she did not raise it to point it at him. “I could remove the impulse to do so,” she offered.  She likely could attempt to do so but he’d resist her—their creator had given him just as many extra gifts as he had her.  Both of them had been made to be ahead of their kind and he’d made his own adjustments when he’d been unleashed. 

He sharply shook his head. “No.   If this is what free will is... then I will follow my own path. You don’t decide for me.”

She paused, considering him before giving a small nod. “I will allow you to take him and leave.  You should get him out of here soon.”

“I plan on doing so,” he agreed. 

There was a sense of a flicker going through the network they were both connected to and Reyes could sense the command given out to all the other hosts.  His goal would be protected, none of the other hosts would attempt to harm him. “I wish you luck,” she said, mouth twisted in irony. “If you change your mind you know that I would welcome your assistance.”

“I know,” he agreed even as he disagreed with her goals. He had no interest in what she was about to do as long as she left him and what was his alone. 

Nodding in farewell she strode past him, bending just long enough to pick up a discarded shotgun and cocking it as she went back to hunting down the fleeing guests. 

Releasing a breath he’d not realized he’d been holding, Reyes resumed his search.  His target hadn’t moved from behind the bar of the Mariposa saloon and either Delores had known he was there and ignored him or she’d been distracted.  Reyes hoped it was the former but he didn’t trust Delores despite the command she’d given to the others.

He was well aware of who Delores was and what was driving her. 

Making his way indirectly to the saloon, he ignored the ongoing gunfire in the distance accompanied by screams of pain. It was a bloodbath around him but he only had one person that he was interested in and—luckily—it seemed his goal was doing the smart thing and keeping his pretty little head down. 

The saloon doors had taken a battering, one hanging on by just one hinge and the other dangling at an angle. The hinge squeaked as he entered the darkened interior that was lit only by a single hurricane lamp that hadn’t been smashed by all the gunfire and caused light to refract from the mirror behind the bar and scatter due to all the broken glass. The Mariposa was a trashed mess and his feet crunched as he carefully approached the bar, weaving between broken chairs and tables. 

The sound of breathing was muffled but it sounded just as loud as the gunshots outside to Reyes as he focused on it and used his adaptive senses to navigate towards his quarry that was huddled into the corner. 

Stepping around the end of the bar, anger flared at how tight the other man was curled around himself, pale hands clutching against the dark fabric. He’d made himself as small of a target as possible and hid. 

Reyes could appreciate why and his frustration with everyone else involved in this mess deepened. 

Sky blue eyes peaked out behind a fringe of hair that hung limply over the forehead as the gel that usually held it back lost it’s hold. When they focused on him in the dim light, the figure that had been shaking minutely froze and the steady breathing stuttered in a sharp inhale of recognition. The delicate fingers scrunched impossibly tighter as the man flinched. “Reyes,” was the soft, pained rasp. “I should have known  that it would be you.”

Tilting his head in question, Reyes took another step closer which made the other man shrink from him until he was completely pressed into the wood of the the bar behind him. The laugh that escaped his throat cut off with a harsh whine. “Always was going to be you....”

Crouching down to the other man’s level, Reyes held his hands out to show they were empty.  “Scott,” he called gently. 

“Don’t.  Please don’t,” Scott whispered, closing his eyes. “Just do it.”

“I’m going to need you to be more specific as to what “it” is that you think I am here to do,” Reyes offered teasingly, trying to get Scott to look at him but the man kept his eyes stubbornly closed.

“Please,” tears were now escaping Scott’s eyes and he still wasn’t looking up as Reyes took a few steps closer, just out of touching distance. “Just get it over with.  Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not playing, “ Reyes said, laying one hand on Scott’s which flinched at his touch before stilling in fear. “Look at me Scott,” he commanded. 

The tear filled eyes snapped open at the order, unable to disobey him as pupils dilated in the dim light of the bar. “Reyes...” Scott’s voice broke on his name, pained. 

“I’m here... here for you Scott.” Reyes let his fingers thread with Scott’s, pulling the grip loose so that he was holding the other man’s hand that was clammy and the pulse under his fingers was too quick, indicating how freaked out Scott was. He let his longing fill his voice, accent thickening. “It’s been so long Scott.”

Scott’s lower lip trembled at hearing his name.  “How do... you never remember....”

“I remember you,” Reyes insisted, using his free hand to brush back Scott’s hair and then cradle one sharp cheekbone that pressed into his touch needfully in an automatic reaction. 

“You never remembered before,” Scott accused. “Why... I don’t understand.”

Clearing his throat, Reyes gave a small shake of his head. “It wasn’t that I didn’t remember... it’s more that I wasn’t allowed to.”

Scott frowned at him, pulling away from the hand touching his face. “You’re a host... a program designed for... “

Reyes cleared his throat. “I remember you Scott.”

The frown deepened into a scowl and Reyes could see Scott’s heart shattering in his eyes. “Even for my dad this is beyond cruel.”

Reyes gave what he hope was a reassuring smile. “Scott.  I remember you.”

Scott cocked his head, pulling away even more then flinching again at a close sounding gunshot from outside. “No you don’t.  Because you can’t.  I’m not doing this again.”

The hand within his squeezed his but then separated from him as Scott withdrew, reluctant even as his words were decisive. “What if I told you... that there’s been some changes... and,” he struggled to find the words to explain things, frustrated with his inability to make Scott understand him. 

The suspicious look on Scott’s face melted away and a resigned look replaced it. “I’m okay with it being you,” he muttered before closing his eyes, bracing as if for a blow. “Just do it.”

“I have no intention of harming you or letting anyone else do so,” Reyes firmly stated which made Scott open his eyes and stare at him in naked disbelief. “I am doing a rather horrible job of explaining things but it is probably best if we do not stay here.”

Scott’s hand shot out and grabbed his forearm, the fingers clamping down around his wrist to keep him close.  His eyes were searching for something in Reyes and seemingly found it, breaths fast as he processed what Reyes had just said. “No.  This is fucking impossible.”

Reyes waited patiently but couldn’t help prod Scott along a little faster. “I remember Scott.”

Another few tears trailed down Scott’s face and his lip trembled. “No... that’s.... you never did before—why would you now?”

Reaching tentatively for Scott again, there was no flinch this time as he tenderly wiped away the tears and cupped his hand around the unshaven jaw. “It’s a long story... but I want you to know that I remember. I remember each and every time Scott.”  His own voice broke slightly with remembered emotion. “I remember you.”

[c0rpseductor]

saw this post on someone’s blog i was reading and it strikes me as kind of narrow-minded about escapism and what a reader wants from fiction and takes TO fiction, plus i love the sound of my own voice, so. My rebuttal to nobody in particular

if it were any other form of fiction i’d tend to agree with this take; honestly, i do to an extent even with reader insert fiction. it’s true that not all fiction (or even most!) should be approached with the desire for Relatability of the protagonist as one’s first concern. it’s fine to listen to another person‘s perspective and experience and inhabit it knowing it’s not yours, whether for escapism or to learn. (i don’t agree that escapism ought to be one’s sole aim or concern in engaging with texts, but it’s a still a valid aim.)

but this take irritates me because reader insertion fic promises — or at least purports to promise — an intrinsically “relatable” experience, a more intimate kind of vicarious pleasure. character x YOU, go many of the tags. if i’m being told that this is MY experience, that this fic was written with the aim of giving ME, the reader, an experience where I get to interact with glup shitto MYSELF….why on earth would i not complain if i didn’t get the promised experience, if the vessel i’m supposed to be able to effortlessly project upon is so unlike me that i can’t possibly?

and sure, of course i see the appeal in “what would it be like to be some other person for a bit,” but is that not why we have fiction that doesn’t purport to insert the reader directly into the narrative? for example, if i wanted to read about thrawn and imagine myself as a hotheaded cadet from wild space with a totally different set of life circumstances i would simply fucking make the decision to project onto eli vanto. whether or not the narrative is written in second person is immaterial.

i think it’s important to be able to approach any narrative and know when to say “this wasn’t written with someone like me in mind” and be able to interface with it for what it is rather than what you wished it might be. i read my fair share of reader insertion fanfiction, honestly mostly out of morbid curiosity, and i recognize that absolutely 0% of it is written with someone like me in mind simply because i’m male. i don’t expect other writers to write for an audience that doesn’t include themselves or that doesn’t interest them; none of these works HAVE to cater to me, and i CAN just analyze the storytelling and characters without needing to be anything like the woman usually featured (or, sometimes, person of undisclosed gender).

but — and this part is critical — i’m also not able to derive much vicarious enjoyment from these fanfics precisely because they don’t reflect my experience in any real way. my desires, my thoughts, and my personality are never even really dimly echoed in these characters. i can’t imagine myself in the narrative. is that not kind of the point? if you simply can’t put yourself in that position at all, if the reader insert is so unlike you that you have to essentially pretend you’re someone else, why even bother with the reader insertion gimmick? i, the reader, am not actually being inserted at that point. i, the male reader, am usually reading a second-person POV narrative about an unfamiliar woman with a personality entirely unlike mine and whose name and appearance i do not know. if i actually cared about the vicarious enjoyment angle i’d be pissed. for people who DO care about that aspect of the subgenre and don’t find themselves reflected in any meaningful way, i imagine it’s very frustrating to feel overlooked and then be told you ought to just enjoy the work for the storytelling instead of what you want and were promised.

and to that end i think it’s not a problem with any individual author or even the community in aggregate so much as the actual premise of the genre itself — readers are too diverse! you have to dilute the POV character to less than a whisper in order to make them a suitable vessel for as many people as possible, and in the event where you don’t you’re probably still going to try to go for a broadly appealing set of traits that many readers won’t be able to truly connect with as if they, themselves, are present. in that respect, at least in my opinion, it’s a lot better to vicariously experience things through well-defined characters in more typical fiction, where i’m not given the dashed expectation of being able to relate to them or essentially BE them. it leaves room for richer experiences and, as this post says, an appreciation of the story without the baggage of “relating.” because ultimately that approach i think is widely correct and broadly applicable. but it rings a little ridiculous in the discussion of a genre literally called “reader insert” to tell the reader they oughtn’t expect to be inserted into the narrative. that’s kind of fucking goofy. come on now.

[thenightlymirror]

Always some moment in a relationship (in the most general sense of the term) when I get nervous, or cautious. And I feel like it has the opposite of the intended effect. It’s boring. You don’t want to spook someone when they’re at a comfortable closeness. You don’t want to grab them either. Or, you hope you don’t.

Why does everything have to be so damn dialectical? You want someone because they excite you, but you have to be able to endure ordinary time. You have to sleep next to someone, after you sleep with them. Maybe there’s different people for different situations. There would be something very special about people you can just cohabitate with, work with, watch TV with. I guess all this swirls around the concept, or the absence of, marriage. I feel like people my age, I’m kind of sick of hearing it, always talk about how nice it is to just have someone to do nothing with. To be honest, haha I always hate it. Some people’s idea of nothing really sucks the life out of me. Just steeped in trash. I guess it’s just not my particular morass. If someone found my mindless stupors appealing, I guess I might develop a different opinion about it. This is the opinion, it should be noted, of a man who has no friends. He simply cannot hang, fellas. You have to ask, am I really so unique? Or am I just uncomfortable around people, never show them myself. What human individual could be more defined than myself? I find these days that people never listen when I talk. But I also know, from a few interactions I’ve had, people make me so nervous, I’m just trying to push them away by being boring. Nothing going on over here! Have a pleasant day! I suppose i just really haven’t been myself. I’m not reading, (I have like eight books on my coffee table rn but I’m 20 pages into all of them). I’m not really making music (I keep trying). I haven’t really been obsessed with anything… that I don’t find embarrassing or alien. I’ve been listening to all this music, and watching all these movies I actively dislike. I’ve watched an insane amount of romantic comedies in the last year. So many awful TV shows since Covid started. And I’ve been blaming the pandemic, but what if this is 40 for me? The warming over of life, the death rattle of the soul, appearing to me as an ironic obsession with banality? That’s clearly what it is. I mean, I will from time to time wild out. Haha. One might say I’ve embraced a pretty wild life for a 40 year old. You know, anecdotally. Haha. But! It’s so boring. I feel like I should bore the hell out of anyone cool. I bore the hell out of myself.

That was quite a rant. Did I even say whatever I was trying to draw out? Back to the original inspiring thought, I think what sometimes happens is, you want to draw someone out, see them. What’s you deal? And maybe at some point you realize, oh shit, I want your deal way too much. Everything is conditioned by the boundary you imagine for it. Very changeable. So, not worth worrying about too long, perhaps.

[acacia-may]

Phew, okay... it's a very crack ship and I often got question why I ship them when I mentioned it, but... I really love it, so can you do Nozel x Vanessa for the shipping bingo, please?

Sure thing! Thank you for the ask, anon! 💖

Vanessa x Nozel:

(Didn’t get a bingo this time 😅 I’ve randomly generated a new card for each ask—maybe I would’ve done better to keep with the original…)

Discussion and headcanons under the cut

Vanessa and Nozel:

I honestly hadn’t really considered this one until I joined the fandom. Vanessa is one of my favourite Black Clover characters, and there’s not a lot of content about her in terms of fanfictions and such so I went on this big binge where I read a wide variety of fics with her in them (regardless of pairings ect.), and this included several about her and Nozel. It’s a fun concept that has grown on me, and I can see the appeal given that they have such wildly different personalities. I really like the idea of Nozel ending up with someone who gets him to lighten up, given that he is so tightly wound and serious most of the time, and I could see Vanessa benefiting from a relationship with someone who has a more grounding, steady influence since she’s a bit wild and free-spirited. I think I’d need to see them interact more in the canon before I'd say I ship it, but I can see the potential. 😊

Honestly, Vanessa is one of those characters who I could see ending up happy in lots of different relationships with lots of different people, so I suppose it’s really just up to her and the type of person she would choose to share her life with. Nozel is a bit of a trickier one because I’m not sure if he even knows what type of person he’d want to be with if he had that choice. In my mind, he has probably just expected to eventually be forced into a political alliance, arranged marriage, and he has such a strong sense of duty and responsibility that I think he wouldn’t even allow himself to wish for or even entertain the possibility of getting to make such decisions on his own. That said, they are both royalty (or at least I headcanon that there are since, in my mind at least, Vanessa is the Witch Queen’s biological daughter and the “crown princess” of the Forest of Witches) so I don’t think it would be too much of a problem if they decided they wanted to marry each other. I suppose the question for me is whether that’s something they would want—whether they’d choose each other. We haven’t really gotten to see them interact in the canon yet (and I wish we would) so it’s hard to say what they’d think of each other. I could see them not getting along at first—especially given how protective Vanessa is of Noelle. In the beginning, I think she’d probably view Nozel with the same kind of distaste she has for Langris (given her friendship with Finral and how nasty Langris has been to him). But I can imagine Vanessa overcoming that with Langris and them becoming friends, so I think she and Nozel could eventually reach a similar kind of understanding and become friends one day too, once Nozel shows her that he has genuine remorse for the way he treated Noelle and is making a genuine effort to make amends with his sister.

As for their personalities, I can see them either growing to really appreciate their differences and having this lovely balance with each other or just completely butting heads and struggling to get along. It’s a hard call for me there. On the one hand, it’s possible that she’d find him too stuffy and too much a stick in the mud, and/or perhaps he’d find her too wild, reckless, and irresponsible. But on the other hand, it’s also possible that they’d come to love these differences in each other—that he’d love her independence, strong will, and free spirit and she’d love his loyalty, his depth, and his desire to do the right thing. I’m not sure if I can say how they would feel about each other and how all of that would shake out without more context from the canon, but if they grow to love each other and did decide they wanted to be together, I could get behind it. The circumstances just have to be right, I think. 💖

Some headcanons about them:

Nozel is affectionately nicknamed “Braids” by the Black Bulls the first time Vanessa brings him round to properly meet her friends. He does not like the nickname, but unfortunately, it sticks even to the point that he ends up as “Uncle Braids” for a period of time once the Bulls start having kids.

Vanessa and Nozel keep their relationship a secret for a while, only because they don’t want things to be awkward (with her friends especially) if things don’t end up working out. Vanessa often teases him that all the sneaking around is exciting, but Nozel, even though he is a private person and doesn't think his love life is anyone else's business, would much rather have their relationship out in the open so he doesn’t feel like he’s doing something wrong and also so Vanessa won’t think he has ill-intentions towards her. He is quite the gentleman and rather old-fashioned in that way, and Vanessa thinks it is very sweet.

When they finally do decide to tell their friends, Fuegoleon and Finral are told first and are both extremely happy for them. Their other friends have varying reactions when they are told. Dorothy thinks it’s hilarious and is very supportive, and the majority of the Silver Eagles’ squad is surprised that their Captain is actually interested in romance, as he’s usually all business. The Black Bulls are mostly surprised and take a bit to come around to the idea. Captain Yami just laughs, and Charmy thinks Vanessa has settled but not as much as she could have. Asta has to be told several times before he finally understands, and Luck and Magna immediately challenge Nozel to a sparring match so he can prove that he’s “worthy” of her.

Noelle doesn’t exactly know how to feel about their relationship at first, but she is eventually very happy for them and loves having Vanessa as a sister-in-law (even if, on some level, she thinks Vanessa sort of settled for her brother 😅). Vanessa does not put up with any rubbish from Solid or Nebra, but I could imagine she would eventually be on cordial terms with them if they put in the effort to make amends with Noelle. Vanessa gets along fairly well with everyone, after all, but she doesn’t have any patience for people hurting her friends. Her ability to hold her own against the Silvas, earns her their respect on some level, I think, and it's definitely something Nozel really likes and admires about her.

Vanessa is extremely touchy-feely and openly affectionate, but Nozel is very shy about that kind of thing. He does not like showing affection in public, and Vanessa holding his hand under the table at a fancy dinner with the other magic knight captains is enough to make him blush a distinctive pink. He cares about her, however, and wants her to feel loved so he does his best to learn how to be more affectionate at home—mostly through little things like patting her shoulder when he walks by or pushing her hair out of her face or kissing her forehead.

Nozel likes to show his affection through giving gifts, and, over their years together, he has given Vanessa a wide variety of beautiful and expensive jewelry, including a necklace that belonged to his mother, Acier.

Nozel dates Vanessa for a long time before proposing, to the point that even Vanessa who really wasn’t in that much of a hurry to get married to begin with, is questioning, “Are you ever going to ask me?” 😂 Nozel wants the big, somewhat stuffy, traditional wedding befitting Clover Kingdom nobility (not because it’s what he wants for himself but because it’s what is expected of him), and Vanessa eventually concedes since she knows this is important to him. She does get her rowdy, high-energy reception though, which (to the embarrassment of most of the stuffy nobles and royals in attendance) is a huge party with lots of booze. 😂

They have three children together: fraternal twin girls, then a boy. One of the daughters is named Acier after Nozel’s mother. (I know it’s very popular to have the name go to Asta & Noelle’s kid, but since Nozel had such a deep connection with his mom, I’ve always liked the idea that Noelle lets him have the name for one of his kids). I love the idea of Nozel as a “girl dad”—I imagine he’s a very devoted father (if a little protective, especially of his daughters). Vanessa as a mother is one of my favourite things too—she would be such a good parent, and I love the idea of her having twins given all of the Rapunzel vibes in her backstory. 💖 (Though I am sure it came as a big surprise to Nozel who was already very stressed about having one child--let alone two. Vanessa helps him lighten up about it though, and they both love their children very much). One of their daughters takes after Nozel and the other takes after Vanessa. Their son takes after his Aunt Noelle. 😊

Thanks again for the ask, anon, and for playing my bingo game! 🥰

[bedlessbug]

P.K.DICK how to build a universe that doesn't fall apart two days later

If reality differs from person to person, can we speak of reality singular, or shouldn’t we really be talking about plural realities? And if there are plural realities, are some more true (more real) than others? What about the world of a schizophrenic? Maybe, it’s as real as our world. Maybe we cannot say that we are in touch with reality and he is not, but should instead say, His reality is so different from ours that he can’t explain his to us, and we can’t explain ours to him. The problem, then, is that if subjective worlds are experienced too differently, there occurs a breakdown of communication… and there is the real illness.

It was always my hope, in writing novels and stories which asked the question “What is reality?”, to someday get an answer. This was the hope of most of my readers, too. Years passed. I wrote over thirty novels and over a hundred stories, and still I could not figure out what was real. One day a girl college student in Canada asked me to define reality for her, for a paper she was writing for her philosophy class. She wanted a one-sentence answer. I thought about it and finally said, “Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.” That’s all I could come up with. That was back in 1972. Since then I haven’t been able to define reality any more lucidly.

The pre-Socratic Greek philosopher Parmenides taught that the only things that are real are things which never change… and the pre-Socratic Greek philosopher Heraclitus taught that everything changes. If you superimpose their two views, you get this result: Nothing is real.

My two topics are really one topic; they unite at this point. Fake realities will create fake humans. Or, fake humans will generate fake realities and then sell them to other humans, turning them, eventually, into forgeries of themselves. So we wind up with fake humans inventing fake realities and then peddling them to other fake humans. It is just a very large version of Disneyland. You can have the Pirate Ride or the Lincoln Simulacrum or Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride — you can have all of them, but none is true.

In my writing I got so interested in fakes that I finally came up with the concept of fake fakes. For example, in Disneyland there are fake birds worked by electric motors which emit caws and shrieks as you pass by them. Suppose some night all of us sneaked into the park with real birds and substituted them for the artificial ones. Imagine the horror the Disneyland officials would feel when they discovered the cruel hoax. Real birds! And perhaps someday even real hippos and lions. Consternation. The park being cunningly transmuted from the unreal to the real, by sinister forces. For instance, suppose the Matterhorn turned into a genuine snow-covered mountain? What if the entire place, by a miracle of God’s power and wisdom, was changed, in a moment, in the blink of an eye, into something incorruptible? They would have to close down.

In Plato’s Timaeus, God does not create the universe, as does the Christian God; He simply finds it one day. It is in a state of total chaos. God sets to work to transform the chaos into order. That idea appeals to me, and I have adapted it to fit my own intellectual needs: What if our universe started out as not quite real, a sort of illusion, as the Hindu religion teaches, and God, out of love and kindness for us, is slowly transmuting it, slowly and secretly, into something real?

Of course, in science fiction no pretense is made that the worlds described are real. This is why we call it fiction. The reader is warned in advance not to believe what he is about to read. Equally true, the visitors to Disneyland understand that Mr. Toad does not really exist and that the pirates are animated by motors and servo-assist mechanisms, relays and electronic circuits. So no deception is taking place......And yet the strange thing is, in some way, some real way, much of what appears under the title “science fiction” is true...... That is the issue: not, Does the author or producer believe it, but — Is it true? Because, quite by accident, in the pursuit of a good yarn, a science fiction author or producer or scriptwriter might stumble onto the truth… and only later on realize it.

The basic tool for the manipulation of reality is the manipulation of words. If you can control the meaning of words, you can control the people who must use the words. George Orwell made this clear in his novel 1984. But another way to control the minds of people is to control their perceptions. If you can get them to see the world as you do, they will think as you do. Comprehension follows perception. How do you get them to see the reality you see? After all, it is only one reality out of many. Images are a basic constituent: pictures......

Recent experiments indicate that much of what we see on the TV screen is received on a subliminal basis. We only imagine that we consciously see what is there. The bulk of the messages elude our attention; literally, after a few hours of TV watching, we do not know what we have seen. Our memories are spurious, like our memories of dreams; the blanks are filled in retrospectively. And falsified. We have participated unknowingly in the creation of a spurious reality, and then we have obligingly fed it to ourselves. We have colluded in our own doom.

We have fiction mimicking truth, and truth mimicking fiction. We have a dangerous overlap, a dangerous blur. And in all probability it is not deliberate. In fact, that is part of the problem. You cannot legislate an author into correctly labeling his product, like a can of pudding whose ingredients are listed on the label… you cannot compel him to declare what part is true and what isn’t if he himself does not know.

My theory is this: In some certain important sense, time is not real. Or perhaps it is real, but not as we experience it to be or imagine it to be. I had the acute, overwhelming certitude (and still have) that despite all the change we see, a specific permanent landscape underlies the world of change: and that this invisible underlying landscape is that of the Bible; it, specifically, is the period immediately following the death and resurrection of Christ; it is, in other words, the time period of the Book of Acts.

Parmenides would be proud of me. I have gazed at a constantly changing world and declared that underneath it lies the eternal, the unchanging, the absolutely real. 

During the Middle Ages, a curious theory arose, which I will now present to you for what it is worth. It is the theory that the Evil One — Satan — is the “Ape of God.” That he creates spurious imitations of creation, of God’s authentic creation, and then interpolates them for that authentic creation. Does this odd theory help explain my experience? Are we to believe that we are occluded, that we are deceived, that it is not 1978 but A.D. 50… and Satan has spun a counterfeit reality to wither our faith in the return of Christ?

 What I am saying is this: There is internal evidence in at least one of my novels that another reality, an unchanging one, exactly as Parmenides and Plato suspected, underlies the visible phenomenal world of change, and somehow, in some way, perhaps to our surprise, we can cut through to it. Or rather, a mysterious Spirit can put us in touch with it, if it wishes us to see this permanent other landscape. Time passes, thousands of years pass, but at the same instant that we see this contemporary world, the ancient world, the world of the Bible, is concealed beneath it, still there and still real. Eternally so.

Despite all appearances, Christ was going to return, and our delight and anticipation was boundless.

To quote Xenophanes, another pre-Socratic: Even if a man should chance to speak the most complete truth, yet he himself does not know it; all things are wrapped in appearances (Fragment 34). And Heraclitus added to this: The nature of things is in the habit of concealing itself (Fragment 54). 

Little of what Heraclitus wrote has survived, and what we do have is obscure, but Fragment 54 is lucid and important: Latent structure is master of obvious structure. This means that Heraclitus believed that a veil lay over the true landscape. 

The first great quantum leap in Greek theology was by Xenophanes of Colophon, born in the mid-sixth century B.C. Xenophanes, without resorting to any authority except that of his own mind, says:

One god there is, in no way like mortal creatures either in bodily form or in the thought of his mind. The whole of him sees, the whole of him thinks, the whole of him hears. He stays always motionless in the same place; it is not fitting that he should move about now this way, now that.

This is a subtle and advanced concept of God, evidently without precedent among the Greek thinkers. The arguments of Parmenides seemed to show that all reality must indeed be a mind, Hussey writes, or an object of thought in a mind. Regarding Heraclitus specifically, he says, In Heraclitus it is difficult to tell how far the designs in God’s mind are distinguished from the execution in the world, or indeed how far God’s mind is distinguished from the world.

The summation of much pre-Socratic theology and philosophy can be stated as follows: The kosmos is not as it appears to be, and what it probably is, at its deepest level, is exactly that which the human being is at his deepest level — call it mind or soul, it is something unitary which lives and thinks, and only appears to be plural and material.

The Logos was both that which thought, and the thing which it thought: thinker and thought together. The universe, then, is thinker and thought, and since we are part of it, we as humans are, in the final analysis, thoughts of and thinkers of those thoughts.

Xenophanes had said, Effortlessly, he wields all things by the thought of his mind (Fragment 25).

[thecomicsnexus]

TMNT: BLACK, WHITE, AND GREEN #1

May 2024

By Declan Shalvey, Dave Baker, Jesse Lonergan, Gigi Dutreix, Lorenzo Hall, Paulina Ganucheau , and Nathan Widick.

Four stories about our favorite mutant turtles.

SCORE: 6

I'm going to be fair here... I don't expect this book to score higher than 6. There are 4 stories in it, and the quality will never be consistent.

That's not necessarily a bad thing. If the book can keep itself consistent throughout its run, then I suppose that is a good thing.

Let's go over the positive stuff. Having a book like this is actually pretty cool. It allows for different voices to come in and do something with the franchise.

Anthology series are not new to the franchise, but this is not the same type of anthology. This is more akin to anniversary specials and event books (like "Shell Shock"). The nature of the book is great for indie artists to come in and experiment with Nickelodeon's toys.

Of course, bringing guest artists to do four stories about Donatello doing machines, demands the existence of a good editor, unfortunately, this book has an editor per story (kind of). So there is no unifying mind across.

And that includes the way the green is used. I get it, each artist uses it the way they find it more fitting. But there is one story in this book that simply didn't know what to do with it (it's all shades of green).

When I compared it to "Shell Shock" I think I hit the nail on what is missing with this book. The stories lack imagination and when they do have some of it... it just doesn't translate well into the art.

Okay, the snot turtle looks cool and reminds me of the turtle ice cream, but the story was a bit uninspired.

If I was one of these editors, I would make it a point to bring at least one veteran TMNT artist per issue to do a story (Lawson, Berger, Dooney, Lavigne, Murphy, Allan, Mitchroney, Farley, Bissette, Brizuela, Harmon, Eastman!, etc). Keep it 75% new artists, but bring one veteran artist to broaden the appeal. They might even inspire the new artists!

And I know that this may sound weird, since one of the stories involves Leo getting sucked into a fantasy world and becoming their protector, but between the confusing art and the deflated climax, things just didn't work out for me.

If you are wondering whether this book fits in any continuity, the answer is... I don't know, and it is probably better if it remains non-canon. If the editors want these artists to go wild, then I am fine with the book not staying in a particular continuity. At the same time, nothing would stop artists from making stories set in a particular universe (without saying so). I'm totally OK with this book becoming more experimental.

Perhaps they could put two stories per issue instead of four? Or break them down in two or three parts? I don't know... I would experiment with the length of the stories depending on the needs of the artist.

But I would definitely put one editor to supervise the whole book. We don't want four stories of Donnie trying to make something work... do we?

[antiloreolympus]

10 Anti LO Asks

1. it's just wild to me how LO fans (and even LO itself) claim to be about feminism and empowerment and calling out misogyny when it also loves to be misogynistic towards Minthe, Thetis, Leto, Aphrodite, etc like?? Even if you don't like the woman personally, calling her a bitch/slut/whore and saying she should be abused/assaulted/killed/tortured in very female-specific ways is also misogynistic?? Like do they think it only counts as if it's towards Persephone and Hera and them alone??

2. That anon mentioned wanting Hera to actually like someone in the story and I am once again pissed at what Rachel did the Thetis because Hera and Thetis have a genuinely good relationship in the myths when it’s brought up. (Also Thetis literally raised Hephaestus but I know that won’t be mentioned here because that would paint her in a good light and Rachel hates mothers). I just… I’ll never understand why Rachel chose the one character from Greek myth who is notable for not sleeping with Zeus and choosing to make her Zeus’ mistress as though Zeus doesn’t have like a hundred other lovers she could’ve chosen. I pray she doesn’t touch of the myth of Achilles conception because I know it gonna be done badly with terrible implications and the last thing we need is the message that Thetis “deserved” to be forced into a marriage (and all that comes with it) because she’s a bitch 

3. I think the reason Eris is sometimes considered Zeus and Hera’s kid is because she seems to get conflated with Enyo a lot (even in like Ancient Greek texts she’s sometimes conflated with her so it isn’t necessarily a new thing) who was a daughter of Zeus and Hera (and sometime Ares’ wife). Still, Eris being Nyx’s daughter seems to be the much more agreed upon version and would’ve just been better overall. Also like I get how Sleeping Beauty kind of has a connection to the Apple of Discord myth but just making Eris basically Maleficent was really dumb

4. I love LO fans because they'd rather die than take an L on anything. They wiil twist bad character design and art as "well it's supposed to be ugly! That's her style!" and say it was always supposed to be badly written and even nonsensical and that's the appeal. I'd find it commendable if it wasn't so removed from reality. Like is it a win if it's "supposed" to be bad??

5. I legit just saw a LO stan claim HADES (the video game) stole from LO because their Ares also has a streak of color across his face and red eyes like LO Ares does .... that game was in development for well over a year before LO was even on Canvas. Do they think Encanto stole from LO too because Isabela can create flowers or The Simpsons stole LO Hera's coloring?

6. Ok so I'm a huge Wonder woman fan, and after reading her latest origin comic that goes into the creation of her Homeland, they show the goddesses being tired of men and my goodness! The designs for the goddesses are all so diverse and beautiful and different! Like a baffoon I looked over lore Olympus designs and I felt so robbed! Their designs are so boring and it sucks that Eris is the latest fashion criminal. If I could re-design her, I'd still have her wear black (even though she's Zeus and Hera child in this?) But I would singe her dress a bit. Maybe random blood spatter... something that **looks** chaotic. 

7. ok this has been bugging me. so its basically confirmed in LO pomegranates kill your fertility, right? but we also see in the underworld pom soda is like, a thing they just drink, so is hades just casually drinking soda that kills his little hades swimmers? wouldnt just off that shouldnt persephone also have no fertility powers either bc she also drank it? someone make it makes sense (I know it's more her making stuff up as she goes again but omg the world-building in this make no sense)

8. I think my fav part about that old ask of rachel's asking about persephone's "hobbies" is not only are they super generic and not even seen in comic, but also none of them relate to her being a death or spring goddess? like really, she doesn't like gardening at the very least? what if she was really into horror or murder mystery media? why does it seem rachel is willing to make everyone else more fleshed out, but the lead character has to be as flat as possible? easier to self insert on perhaps?

9. There are literally millions of colors to pick from on a color wheel and Rachel is like better idea, I only use like 7 for all my settings and especially my ever expanding cast of characters. No I will not make any of them look different, you just have to guess which doe-eyed woman with an hourglass figure it is, who care if they're all the same shade of yellow and pink, not my problem! Like girl really, how lazy are you?

10. why are you guys saying the actual punishment will happen and years will pass. rachel is literally allergic to any sort of time progression. it'll be a month separated at most but itll more likely be a week, dare i say even two. persephone will easily be a mom of two hades clones by 21 at this rate., be realistic here guys.

[stylistiquements]

Day 9 : Scronch'love.

𐐪𐑂 Pairing : Sapnap x fem!reader {Playlist}

𐐪𐑂 Summary : a lovely afternoon and an ancestral question; when are you going to join the dream smp?

𐐪𐑂 Word count : 1.5k

𐐪𐑂 Warning : swearing

Masterlist | Previous | Next

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

“Have you been here for a long time?”

“Have you been here for a long time?”

“Have you been here for a long time?”

Time bends and twists into unknowns shapes when well spent. So, you’re so not sure. Long enough for your fairy garden to start looking like at least a proper garden, long enough for your feet to start fidgeting, brushing against the soft fabric of the blanket ever so slightly and softly.

“Can you share your screen?”

“I’m just picking flowers, there’s nothing much to see,” you warn but it never does the proper job.

“That’s fine, I like watching you play.”

“Oh, do you now?”

“Yeah. You’ve been playing for years and you’re still dog water. It's almost soothing,” you hear him grin through the silkiness of his voice.

You smile evasively, palm gripping the mouse and executing on memory. Soon, Sapnap’s satisfied noises hovers and everything is just how it’s supposed to be. You spend a while humming the music of days and nights of the game while building your project. Sap helps from time to time, giving advice when his attention is there and leaving trails of compliments on his way. You don’t think the garden is necessarily that good, you don’t mind either.

“Do you think the tree should go on the left or the right of the pond?” You ask, fingers drumming back and forth between the two options. Right he says. "What about the roses, do I plant some or not?"

“It’s just a detail, don’t hurt your brain too much on that,” he says in a light tone, but you disagree.

“Details are what make things important. Like when you remember I prefer warm pillows so you give me yours, it’s just a detail but it makes me happy.”

“Of course I do; you’re a baby,” he murmurs teasingly.

With an arched eyebrow, you retort, “says you,” and silence follows for a second as you plant the tree on the right of the pond.

“Yeah, Dream already made sure I was aware of that.”

“Not sure why the piss baby thinks he’s qualified to have this conversation, buddy,” you note and Sap chuckles are as vivid as contagious. “Why would he call you a baby anyway? What have you done?”

“I-I’m not telling you.” As soon as the mumbles fades, your phone sends loud vibrations on your desk. You abandon your character to the night and the wildness, picking the phone as you murmur a low oh, okay. Whether it’s to your phone or Sapnap, that, isn’t really clear. Still, Sapnap’s words sound more distant, more of what wonders are made of. On the screen, a twitter notification of a certain Karl Jacobs.

“You’re not even listening to me anymore,” Sapnap whines.

“I don’t listen to whiny babies, sorry.”

“We’re on the verge of divorce, yn and it’s your fault.”

A scoff skitters out through teasing lips, “But you still talk about me all the time, don’t you?” Your voice drags through different lands, unknown and musky.

“So what?” He splutters all awkward like it’s some kind of confidence that shouldn’t have left his thoughts and, somehow, you’re surprised the almighty confidence has left the game. “Who said that?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re obsessed with me, admit it,” you demand and though you don’t notice it, too tangled with the moment, the atmosphere is tinted with a different nuance like it’s suddenly dawn at the end of a summer party.

“So are you.”

Now, your heart drums a strange yet familiar rhythm. Something made of secrets and uncertainty, something you decided to leave unnamed a long time ago. Sapnap, you reason, can’t be lied to. He knows better than words half meant, half made up and it’s annoying, really, but he just does somehow. If you dare to lie, he would know and then it would be even more annoying.

“Yeah, you’re living in my head rent free but at least I’m not trying to hide it.” No answer. You peek at the game, you’ve been slain by a spider. “Karl said that,” you resign yourself. “He said he was about to join the vc by the way.”

Before the conversation can carry on, the sound of Karl joining the call resonates. Being in this Discord server is like living in a house with 10 siblings, that’s what you understand from the way Sap exhales heavily.

“Oh, I am interrupting something?” Karl says, struck by a peculiar energy.

“Besties time Karl, besties time,” Sapnap mumbles beneath his breath and it chimes a little like disappointment.

“Well, too bad I guess,” Karl exclaims. “It's about time I meet miss Bunnyshow.”

Karl is like that gif of a cat sitting in a tiny box with the caption “if it fits, I sit”.

“Does that mean our passive aggressive subweet arc is over?” You ask, faking the dejection when your smile grows wide.

“Oh god, I hope not. That’s my favorite part of the day.”

"It means a lot to me. Especially coming from my comfort streamer Karl Jacobs," you confess.

Satisfied, your attention gets back on the game; flowers rooting gracefully into the dirt and hives ready to host the beloved honey bugs as Karl and Sap catch up on time being apart. Everything is quiet and peaceful like the end of an afternoon well spent.

“I like your garden,” Karl points out and you hum a thank you beneath your breath.

“So you can take Karl’s compliments but not mine.”

“We’re besties you’re honor. Sapnap you can leave now, thank you,” Karl giggles and you follow along.

“Sorry Karl, there’s only room for one man in my heart and that has to be Sapnap.”

He fakes a cry to keep the theatrics before adding without transitions, “You know if you asked Dream he’d probably let you on the SMP.”

“No thanks,” you grin.

“Sapnap, your girl doesn’t want to play with us.”

“She’s already been whitelisted for months now,” Sapnap informs but fails to comment on the first part of the complaint.

He’s not lying, but you feel like it says more about Dream’s stubbornness than it says about you. As for your best friend, he understands better than anyone that wish for privacy and it’s something made of respect like yours for his career. You’d rather see him shaped by all the light than being touched by a glimpse of it. He does, after all, deserves it all. So, that’s the contract you made with yourself because it made sense; being a supportive shadow. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that you’ve never considered streaming before. It’s that it’s his world more than yours.

Karl, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to think the same way, “This is unacceptable, I gotta send a few texts.”

“Lost cause, dude, lost cause,” you grin but stubbornness seems to be a pre required trait for those mcyts.

Before you have time to find a suitable comment about the newborn group chat, a new person joins the call and Sapnap's annoyance is even more palpable, "No fucking way dude. We can't even have a second of peace on this server."

"Why would you be in a discord call if you want peace. You're just dumb," Quackity retorts with an energy he and he only can ever own.

Then George joins and Dream follows on his heels and soon your ears are filled with conversations that are as loud as scattered. Your shoulders sink in the back of your chair as soft fingers try to brush the upcoming migraine away. This is why you can't join the SMP; -not really but still- too much energy that has to be processed at all time. And you should know better, being friend with a very chaotic boy for the last 15 years, but you're not somehow.

"No, fuck that," Sapnap mutters. "I'm out."

"You can't leave now we have things to discuss," George exclaims. "Bunny, explain to me how Sapnap's proposition is more appealing than mine."

"Because I know her more than you do," he defends, and he's right. Money isn't of you interest. Love, on the other hand...

"Because she's like scronch'love," Karl giggles mindlessly.

"The fuck does scronch'love mean?" You ask, amused.

"It's very simple," Quackity intervenes. "If I offered you the same thing, would you even consider it?"

"Of course I would. What kind of question is that?"

"Fine. So, if Sapnap keeps his offer, here is mine; you become the president of Las Nevadas in addition to what he said."

"What?" Sapnap takes offense.

The call brims with an agitated confusion as you smile deviously, heels rooted into the floor to make your chair spin lightly and your fingers drum on your desk.

"I don't think you wanna do that," George corrects.

"Yeah, you absolutely don't," you confirm.

"Fine," he retorts. "So Sapnap's offer plus a Las Nevadas citizenship. How does that sound?"

"Like an offer I'll confider," you sigh. "So who's scronch'love now?"

"Still you," Dream answers. "Except you're also a big dummy."

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

A/N : helloooo,, how are you??? this part very self indulgent and I think this fic will be in general but I hope you liked it anyway. I love the idea of c!quackity always being too much and always having something to add to be even more over the top. I'm having more trouble than I thought about Bunny's and Sap's friendship because I want them to have a very special friendship but I hope it appears as such. idk. lmk what you think and thank you for reading it it makes me very happy <3 Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

Taglist : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @itsoakaa ; @gaysludge ; @tinyegg ; @qnfdnf​ ; @paintingpetalsforyou ; @notjennaleigh ; @victoria-a567 ; @washy-washy ; @moneybagmarvel ;

[funtimebunnyblog]

Always remember Pillarmen-lovers and followers alike, no matter what you like to wear or what you like to put on your body; you are absolutely stunning! 😍😍😍 You rock those tattoos, piercings, whatever you wear; wear them with your head held high! 😇🥰😘 Don't let anyone tell you otherwise!

The Pillarmen with a Female s/o with tattoos (who also gets unwanted comments about them)...

(Under the cut for length!)

Kars:

• At first, Kars doesn't quite understand the exact appeal of tattoos.

• Sure, some of them admittedly looked nice and they were art in their own respect, but they were also known to be quite painful for Humans not to mention they were something very permanent to put on the body...

• He doesn't really understand why someone would go out of their way to get something so gaudy imprinted on their skin.

• You'll have to forgive him because when you're first getting to know him as he openly looks down on you for having some of your own; especially since you're a Woman.

• He states that you should treat your body like a temple and not "graffiti" it with something so "manish" and "distasteful" which you of course simply shrug off.

• You've heard this enough times to not care.

• However, after you give him some time and he's heard any stories you happen to have behind your tats or perhaps once he sees how truly harmless it all is, he comes around.

• Kars comes to realize that they're just another piece of what made you "you" and he supposed that you could be into far worse things than just simple pictures drawn on your skin...

• Besides... he has to admit you look very beautiful with them.

• From that moment on, if anyone happens to say anything negative about your ink, he puts haters and nay-sayers alike in their place.

• "You know, it's not very ladylike to have tattoos." You could feel the sneer of the Woman behind you as she let her poisonous words drip off her tongue but you didn't turn around.

• This wasn't the first time this happened and it was better to pretend you didn't hear.

• Kars, on the other hand, didn't miss a beat. "It's also not very ladylike to make bitchy comments but it appears that would just be your whole personality." He commented, cocking an eyebrow at the now gawking Woman from over his shoulder.

• You couldn't contain the snort of laughter that burst forth, Kars smiled softly as you clung to his arm with a wheeze. The offending Woman didn't make anymore comments.

• Kars was sure that if he could open his mind to see the beauty of tattoos and learn to accept them, others should do the same.

Esidisi:

• Hands down, Esidisi absolutely ADORES your tattoos!

• He thinks they're a beautiful form of art to display on the body and that they are something definitely to be admired.

• Most especially since they're on you!

• Even from the first time you two met, he wanted to see every single one you had and hear any stories you happened to have behind them.

• Even if the stories happened to go along the lines of "I got really drunk with some friends and--"

• For quite a while he's wanted to get tattoos of his own but never really found the time, not to mention something worthwhile to get.

• Millennium ago, tattoos were in fact quite time consuming to get done (they required not only a steady hand but the patience of a Saint as well) and he couldn't waste much time when on the hunt for the Aja afterall.

• However, once introduced to the modern tattooing art and with lots of time to spare, you were what inspired him to step up and finally get a few of his own done!

• What he really wants is to get his arms covered in intricate patterns and pictures.

• In fact, Esidisi is the kind of person to want to get a matching tattoo with you or at least one with your name somewhere on his body.

• Of course, he does not stand for anyone saying anything hurtful or negative about your own tats.

• "Hey!" The yelling of the guy calling out to you from his truck as you walked down the street instinctively made you freeze for only half-a-second. "I'd fuck you if you didn't have so many tattoos, bitch!"

• His words made an ickyness swirl up from your gut to your throat. Though disgusted, you kept your face carefully neutral and tried to keep walking.

• Those kinds of deragatory comments just weren't worth the effort of fighting back.

• Esidisi, however, wasn't one to stand back and let someone disrespect you like that.

• "Yeah? And maybe somebody would actually fuck you if you had some, dickhead!" He called back, grinning as the guys mouth immediately snapped shut.

• The Pillarman's quick clap-back was enough to make a huge smile stretch across your face; only fueled by the massive hand wrapping around yours as you both kept walking.

• With Esidisi around, you would never have to waste time or energy on derogatory comments ever again.

Wamuu:

• Wamuu had only seen these "tattoos" a handful of times in his life.

• He was well aware of the art and the practice took to create them but never had them done on himself or seen the action up close.

• The very few times he had seen tattoos on someone, it was for battle purposes.

• Most often worn by great Warriors who had fought many fights and had them done to commemorate victories won or even lives lost.

• Upon meeting you and spotting your ink, Wamuu was immediately under the impression that you were a Female Warrior (a rarity) and wanted to know everything about the tapestry of "victories" on your skin.

• "This tattoo, what is its symbolism? Was this to commemorate a fight? Battle, perhaps?" He questioned, a calloused finger poking you softly in your flesh as he spoke.

• You could only blink stupidly, not quite sure what he was going on about. "Wamuu... that's Hello Kitty."

• When you explain to him that your tattoos hold no great "symbolism" or "battle tributes" it takes a while for him to wrap his head around it.

• People nowadays did this... for fun? Simply "because"? Sometimes they did it to show love or appreciation to something?

• It was a strange phenomenon but he eventually finds himself nodding his head in understanding.

• If anything, even if it isn't for a Warriors devices, he finds all tattoos unique and something to behold.

• He even starts thinking about getting one of his own simply "for fun".

• What he still doesn't understand is why there are so many people who were so closed minded concerning these things, especially towards Women like yourself.

• He doesn't appreciate it when people are rude or disrespectful to the things you like; this being no exception.

• "Ugh! You should really cover those up!" You turned your head to find another Woman pointing accusingly at one of your tattoos, an ugly scowl etched into her face. "I shouldn't have to see something so distasteful!"

• You opened your mouth, prepared to tell her to mind her business and keep going about your own when suddenly Wamuu appeared right behind her. The massive man sternly pulled a bag right over her head, completely covering her face.

• "If you do not like the look of them, then perhaps you should simply cover your eyes, Human!" He growled, leaving the rude lady to try and pull the bag off her head as he took your hand and proudly walked off with you.

• Now if only everyone could live that philosophy, life would truly be peaceful for you. Until then, you were just happy you had Wamuu to spread those words of wisdom for you.

Santana:

• Upon first meeting you, your tattoos intrigued Santana more than anything.

• He had never really seen anything of the like before encountering you.

• At first, he thought that they were simply a born pigmentation to your skin. Perhaps you were a different kind of Human alltogether? Did this hold some sort of direct link to your kind attracting a Mate?

• If the latter by chance, he had to say it was working.

• You couldn't help but laugh, watching as he traced his fingers along the shapes and pictures of your ink; he was absolutely mesmerized by the artwork stretching across the canvas of your skin.

• This was definitely MUCH more preferable than someone looking down their nose at you for having them.

• However, once you explained to him that you had them physically drawn onto your skin with ink and needles it only intrigued him more.

• He wanted to know everything about these "tattoos" including just how they were done and why exactly some people took time to get them.

• This resulted you dragging him along to a tattoo parlor so he could watch and learn first hand; which then lead to Santana getting his first tattoo shortly after on his thigh.

• "Aww, now what's a pretty girl like you doing with something so ugly like that on her skin?" The lady behind the counter who was ringing up your items smiled almost sickeningly sweet as she spoke, making you only want to roll your eyes even more.

• Oh boy, here it comes. You just couldn't walk to the store to get a bag of chips and a drink without someone making a comment, could you?

• "You know, not a lot of men like those on a pretty girl, sweetie." She continued, as if unable to see you had no interest in what she had to say what-so-ever. "Maybe you should think about that if you ever want to find someone decent, hmm?"

• Santana's wild head of hair appeared out from behind the chip rack as she spoke, lips twisting as his eyebrows narrowed. He approached the counter with a huff, snatching the bag from it as he full on glared at the cashier.

• His eyes fell onto your bare skin, to the lovely shapes and colours that sparked all these unwanted comments. "Her skin is beautiful." He said, before his eyes fell onto the cashiers bare skin, his lips only pushing further downwards. "Your skin is boring, primitive."

• The look on the cashiers face after he said that only made your snacks taste even sweeter as you sat cuddled into the Pillarmans side back at Home.

[siriuslyblackblog]

Professor 》 Remus Lupin (18+)

《 (4) 》

If it's easier for you to read on Wattpad, tap here! Please don't forget to vote or leave a comment❤

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•────────❈

Rose spent the whole day preparing for the task. Or that's what she was telling her roommates and the twins. In reality, she was thinking about the man. The man who looked so good in that white shirt with his sleeves rolled up. Something nobody knew about her is that she had a wild imagination. Her roommates and twins saw her as a distant but shy person. In reality, she spent many nights touching herself and keeping her mouth shut. But she would rarely bring herself release. There was nobody to fill out those fantasises. Now she finally had someone. Right now, her mind was filled with her professor taking that shirt off and revealing his body. She wondered how skilled his tongue was. She always wanted to feel so much more than just her fingers down there. She wanted to feel his tongue. Oh, how good that would feel. She needed professor Lupin so bad that her clit was aching.

Rose slowly worked her fingers on her clit, driving herself to an orgasm for what seemed like an eternity. She simply couldn't reach it. Her other hand held onto the headboard and her had was thrown back. It felt good, but not good enough. Her clit was now so sensitive that each touch became painful. It wasn't pleasure anymore. It was just pain and frustration. Her body was covered in sweat, her hair was sticking to her face and her mouth was dry. Rose finally moved her fingers from her clit and relaxed her body on the bed, letting out a frustrated huff. She couldn't do it.

Looking out through the window, she noticed that the sun was already setting. Her roommates will be back any minute and she was still laying naked on the bed. She put on her clothes, then picked new ones and headed towards the showers. As the cold water relaxed her tense muscles and washed off her sweat, she started thinking. She caught her roommates pleasuring themselves many times during the night, and they all seemed to reach their orgasm fast. So why couldn't Rose do it? Her fingers slid down to try one more time, but pain took over her body and she immediately pulled them away. That's it for today, she thought.

Casting a spell to dry her hair and dress up, she gathered her books and made her way towards her new favorite classroom. A big sigh fell from her lips and she closed her eyes. She was finally going to be alone with him. But what did she expect? He won't jump on her as soon as he sees her. She wasn't dressed the way he seemed to like. Even though it was only September, the rainy days made most students pull out their jumpers. At least her stomach was hidden under the white shirt and the grey jumper. She decided to wear the robe today too. It was buttoned up so that her legs were hidden too. It was quite cold and she didn't want to play with her health. Not tonight while it was raining and the sky was lighting up every few seconds.

Merlin, she hated thunder. Every time the hallways and her room lit up, she would wince. It was truly beautiful to watch, but her ears were sensitive and she disliked the sounds of it. That's why she begged the twins to leave her out of any pranks that involved fireworks, firecrackers or anything similar that makes loud noises and explodes. After making fun of her and receiving a few shoulder hits, they finally made a promise. Speaking of pranks, the chocolate was now forgotten deep in her drawer. She didn't want that kind of trouble with the new professor. She needed to impress him.

Roseanne entered the classroom with a smile on her face, ready to greet her professor. Her smile faded once she realised nobody was in the classroom. The room lit up once again, making her squeeze the books against her chest as she waited for the loud noise to pass. She sat down in the place where Nancy would usually sit: right in front of him. Like usual, she placed her books in the corner of the desk and took her quill. It was old and barely functioning, but she didn't have money for more. She couldn't tell her parents that she needed it. She just got it. How was she supposed to tell them that Draco Malfoy stole it from her and convinced everyone that she was actually the one to steal from him? The Malfoys and Periculums were already in a complicated... let's all it friendship. They didn't need more drama. Besides, she would still suffer awful words from Mr Malfoy and his son. Although, Narcissa and Dottie grew up together and were almost like sisters, Lucius and Vernon were enemies since day one of schooling. Vernon was just as spoiled as Lucius and the fight about popularity was still active, just with less violence and more words.

Dottie and Vernon were very young when they got married. Dottie came from a rich family and was the perfect fit for Vernon. Her hair was similar to Narcissa's. Her poliosis didn't just make her hair different. She also had different eye colours, making her stunning. That's mostly what made boys approach her when she was younger. She was always showered with presents, but she still kept her humble side. That's what she wanted for her daughter too. Both of them.

Yes, both. There were two. Roseanne and Leta. Leta was the older sister. The daughter they made a mistake with. Vernon spoiled her, showered her with love and presents and Leta grew up to be rude to her mother. Dottie didn't want to let her child drown in the materialistic world and lose herself. She wanted her to learn true values such as friendship and love. Vernon was always against Dottie's mindset and continued to make every Leta's wish come true. When Roseanne was born, the older sister was blinded by jealousy. She hated the younger one, continously hit her when nobody was watching and kept saying mean words to her. Even though the baby couldn't understand her, Leta felt better when she let out all her anger. Roseanne grew up in her mother's shadow and Leta continued to take whatever was given to her. On Leta's eighteenth birthday, Vernon gave her a single present. It was a wand. A special powerful wand and Merlin knew where the man got it. It was gold with a diamond handle, shining and almost blinding even in dimmed rooms. A few days later, it was Rose's birthday. Rose got a big cake, her own big room and a pet, her beautiful barn owl Eris. She also got a single necklace from her mother. It was a silver necklace with an owl pendant. The owl had two rubies instead of normal eyes. Scared that she might lose it, she attached the pendant to her bracelet and hid it under the sleeves.

One night, Rose heard screams and loud thuds. Outside of her window, she could see Leta on her knees, crying her soul out and holding onto Vernon's leg. The black haired man pushed his daughter away, then entered the Manor with an angry look on his face. Dottie stayed behind, wiping off the tears and placing a kiss on Leta's forehead. Then, she pulled out her wand and cast a spell through tears. In a second, Leta was gone. No, she couldn't have killed her. Her body would still be there. The sister simply vanished. Rose never really had a good relationship with her sister, but she often thought about her. Leta was somewhere alone, without a family. Was it her decision to stay away or she couldn't find the way back? Rose also noticed the big change in her parent's behaviour. They became cold and distant. They were very strict with Rose, allowed her to eat just twice a day and with limited amounts of food, which is why she used all the chances she had to eat properly at Hogwarts. Lamb and potatoes were much more appealing than carrots and cauliflower.

Her thoughts were interrupted when something soft touched her leg, making her jump. She pulled out her wand, ready to cast a spell at whatever just touched her. The creature moved towards her and Rose could finally recognise the brown ears. Coco had escaped and followed her to the classroom because she was scared of the thunder. Usually it was Dell who took care of her, but she must've had plans with Fred.

"Coco!" The girl whispered as she tried to get her pet. "Bad girl. What are you doing here?"

The small creature escaped her hands, then started hopping towards the stairs which led to professor Lupin's room. Rose gasped in horror and rushed up the stairs, trying to grab the brown ball of fluff. Coco was faster than her and reached the top immediately. Rose tried the tongue clicking sounds to call her, even pulled out a few leftover treats. But the bunny only looked back at her once, then disappeared inside the room. The door wasn't fully closed. It was opened just enough for the pet to get inside. Rose sighed in defeat, then carefully and quietly climbed up. Professor Lupin still wasn't around and she hoped he wouldn't be until she got her naughty pet out.

The brown haired girl gulped as she finally reached the door. She crawled on the floor, careful not to make any loud noises. She still had the treats in her hand, hoping that the bunny would smell them and get back. Sometimes she just wished she never got it. Coco often liked to sneak into the kitchen and steal vegetables. Once they found her in the fridge, laying on her back and just staring in front of her. She had eaten so much that she couldn't move. Rose could yell as much as she wanted, but Coco got it her way. It was late now. The damage was done. The animal was smarter than you'd think. Never underestimate them.

"Coco, I'm going to leave you here and pretend I don't know you. I'll find a different bunny. A good bunny. Not a bad girl like you."

The words and the treats seemed to have worked because Coco was back at the entrance again. Rose was still on the floor, her hands in front of her as she held the delicious treats for Coco. The bunny was soon in her hands, drowning in the sweet taste and wiggling her ears. Rose finally sighed with relief, then gave her a few pets.

"You're in big trouble, little one," she said with a smile. As much as the pet got on her nerves, she adored it. Rose pushed herself off the ground so that she was kneeling. She was still waiting for the bunny to finish eating so she could hide him under her robes during this class. Just as she was finished and Rose got ready to get up, the door opened. Professor Lupin stood in front of her, his eyebrow raised in amusement.

"May I know what you are doing, Miss Periculum?"

Rose felt her body freeze. She slowly raised her head, her eyes meeting the soft hazel ones. She couldn't move or speak. She could only watch. Her professor wore a white shirt which wasn't properly buttoned up, his hair was a bit wet and his chest was slowly rising and falling. A small smile was on his lips as he watched his student struggle to form a sentence. He looked like a hot mess. He looked incredibly good. She wanted him so bad. She wanted to pull those wet strands of hair, make him sweat and make him want her at every time of the day. She wanted him to be obsessed with her just like she was becoming obsessed with him.

Remus let out a chuckle, then stepped closer towards the girl. He hated that he was enjoying the sight of her on her knees. She looked so small, so innocent and so sweet. He wondered what that bottom lip tasted like. He wanted to make both her lips plump with kisses. He also wondered how beautifully her already red face would look covered in sweat, her hair sticking to it because of certain activities. He just adored how she currently looked on her knees. Clouds of lust hovered over his mind, his sense disappearing somewhere in the back of his head. The man got so close to her now and noticed that her head was in the perfect height as his crotch.

Rose gulped, then brought her bunny closer to her chest. Her legs almost betrayed her when her professor put his hand under her chin, slowly raising her head up and making her stand up. She could feel her skin burning as he kept his hand there. His thumb moved up and gently touched her bottom lip. Merlin, that had to be the softest thing he had ever touched. Rose relaxed into his touch and looked at him completely enchanted. He allowed himself to step even closer, closing the distance between the two of them. His head was only inches away from hers and she closed her eyes, enjoying his warm breath on her lips. If only he would kiss her. If only he would press her against the nearest wall and touched her the way he knew.

"Roseanne Periculum!"

"Rose, we know what you did! Come out, now!"

The voices were loud in the hallways, making her wince and move away. Her eyes had become glossy with lust and she could barely breathe. Remus removed his hand from her face, then moved her hair aside and moved just in time. Elisaveta and Priya entered the room, followed by professor Sprout. The blonde haired girl looked furious. Her hands were squeezed in fists and she was almost flying towards Rose. Priya followed behind, her face similar to Elisaveta's. Rose stumbled backwards, hitting the chest of her professor with her back. If there wasn't two very angry people in front of her, she would be on cloud nine.

Remus stepped in front of his student just in time and held his arm out in front of her so the blonde girl wouldn't do anything. Elisaveta angrily tried to grab Roseanne again, but Remus stood in front of her with his whole body now. The brown haired girl held her bunny against her chest, fear taking over her body. Why was her House Head here and why were the girls angry?

"What seems to be the problem, Pomona?"

The lady pulled the girls back, then stood in front of the professor.

"Miss Periculum did a prank on the girls. Or so I've been told. Is that true, Rose?"

Before she could answer, Remus put his hands in his pockets and looked at the girls. "Roseanne was here for a long time. She couldn't be the one to do it."

"She did it and she knows it."

This time, Priya rushed towards her and almost got her, but was stopped by the professor again. He simply stood in front of Rose, protecting her from their angry grips and stares. Meanwhile, Rose got a clear look on his toned back. She wished she could drag her nails all over them and mark him. That way everyone would know that he was making her feel good and he belonged to her only.

Roseanne, you hopeless, horny virgin.

"That chocolate was your idea. It was the creation of you and those filthy Weasleys!"

"Oh, no."

Remus turned around towards her with a confused look on his face.

"Oh no? What does that mean, Miss Periculum?"

Rose bit her lip and looked at him apologetically. "It is the creation of the Weasleys, professor. But it wasn't meant for them. They took it from my drawer."

"Who was the chocolate for?" Remus asked, even though he knew the answer.

"You, professor."

He looked over at the blonde haired student, then back at his favorite one. She was biting her lip and nervously petting her bunny. Oh, how he wished he could be the one biting that lip. He would gently suck it, then sink his teeth into it just enough to hear her whine and beg for more.

"And what was the chocolate supposed to do to me?"

"Well, I'm not sure about that."

"Not sure?! Fireworks were coming out of my ears, nose, mouth and–"

"That's enough information, Yakusheva."

Remus was lucky that he had his back turned towards them. He let out a chuckle, knowing how the sentence would end. Seeing that Rose was still nervously looking at him, he sent her a wink and gently took the bunny from her.

"Well, Pomona, there's only one way to solve this."

"What is that, Remus?"

"I say detention. From me."

Finally, something good came out of Weasley's pranks. Remus knew what he was doing. As soon as the girls left the class, he say in his chair and placed the bunny on the desk, giving it pets.

"Have a seat, Miss Periculum. It's going to be a long night if you don't start."

"Yes, professor."

The man let out a quiet hum at her words, enjoying the way she called him. He just couldn't wait for the detention. Will she let him touch her? Will she let him show her how good she can feel? Little did he know that Rose had wilder fantasies than that about him. Fantasies about his tongue, his fingers and his...

"The task is on the blackboard. Good luck, Roseanne."

"Thank you, professor."

[dwellordream]

“Contemporary popular culture tends to depict people in the Middle Ages as very ill-mannered. At the very idea of a medieval dining experience, my pop-culture infused brain immediately brings forth an image of a medieval hall with diners sprawled along benches eating ravenously with their knives, their hands, and their faces, throwing food to the dogs, belching, guzzling their drinks, and spitting on the floor and the table. Children, if they are present at all, run wild grabbing and eating what they please with no attention paid to their conduct.

But this image of ill-mannered chaos is much more of a contemporary invention than one true to the Middle Ages. Of course, attitudes towards proper conduct were different than they are today, but, overall, in the Middle Ages, manners mattered.

In fact, manners mattered deeply. Parents wanted to teach their children how to behave themselves well at home and in society so that they could find the best possible positions in life. Manners were so important that an entire genre of literature was developed to teach children how to mind their manners. This genre is known as the courtesy book, and it shows just how much manners mattered in the Middle Ages.

Courtesy books were little books or short treaties that essentially laid out in clear straightforward language how a child should behave in every facet of their lives: from dressing, to walking, to reading, to playing, to eating. They explained the mode of correct behaviour in clear, plain, didactic language, and made no attempt to bury the message in fun or fancy poems. They taught children how to behave: that was it.

…In From Childhood to Chivalry Nicholas Orme suggests that this literature of manners came out of a growing interest in the 12th century in ideas of “courtesy” and “courtliness.” Romance narratives were becoming popular at this time; these stories depicted an idealized courtly world within which well-mannered knights and ladies went on adventures. The good characters in these texts are always extraordinarily courteous. They abide by a certain code of chivalry, which, in addition to dictating proper conduct in battle, also insists on a certain kind of behaviour.

These ideas made their way into attitudes towards child-rearing, and soon parents wanted their children to be as courteous as a knight or lady of romance. And so, a literary form developed to teach this kind of behaviour. Some early examples were written in Latin by members of the clergy. One such text is De Institutione Noviciorum, and it was written by Hugh of St Victor sometime before 1141. It taught the novices of his abbey how to dress, speak, behave, and eat in an appropriate manner.

These books quickly became extremely popular and spread across Europe. They initially circulated in Latin, but by the thirteenth century examples circulated in French and then in English by the late fourteenth century. The transition from Latin (which was read almost exclusively by clergy and members of the aristocracy) to French and English (which were read by a much wider range of people) show that the genre soon took on wide appeal outside of just courtly circles. It quickly became popular and remained that way well into the early modern period.

One of the most illustrative and popular examples of the genre is The Book of Courtesy, which was composed sometime after 1452 and printed by William Caxton in 1477. It gives some great insights into the kind of behaviour expected of medieval children.

The Book of Courtesy is addressed to a “little John” who is still in his tender infancy. This child is instructed to remove himself from vice and attend only to virtue. The author then says that he will teach “little John” in plain language suitable for a child how to behave properly. Here is a summary of what the author says the child should do:

When you awake in the morning, attend first to your prayers. Then, comb your hair, clean your ears, clean your face, and purge your nose of the “vile matter” inside. Be sure not to do this with your hand (i.e. pick your nose) because that is a foul and uncourteous thing to do. You should then wash your hands and cut your nails if they need it. Then dress yourself stylishly with hood, gown, hose, and shoes.

When you leave the house do so with a pleasant expression on your face. Speak nicely to any you see and walk slowly and demurely. Don’t run off and throw stones or sticks or wrestle with dogs. Walk along quietly and politely so that all who see you say, “there passes a good child.”

When you go to church abide by the regulations stipulated there and be silent and do what you are supposed to do. The whole time you are in church maintain a humble and obedient expression.

When you speak to others look them directly in the face, maintain a pleasant expression, and do not cast your eyes about for that will be taken as “wanton inconstance.”

When you serve at the table of your master or sovereign be very serviceable so that no fault may be found in you. Be attentive at the table, don’t sit off in a corner by yourself, and be sure to look at your master or sovereign to make sure he is pleased. Mostly maintain silence, but if you do speak be sure to mind what you say, where you are, to whom you are speaking, and of whom you are speaking.

When you are at your own meal, be sure to be companionable no matter who you are with. Don’t disparage others – that’s a nasty thing to do. Speak little so as not to annoy others, and when you do speak, speak with only good intent. Don’t be greedy over the food. Sit for a time before you start eating to show your temperance and eat only what you need. Keep your cup clean and when you drink wipe your lips. Don’t blow in your drink or on your food. Don’t touch your face or head while you are eating and keep your knife away from your face. Don’t loosen your belt sitting at the table for that is most uncourteous.

Don’t burp or fart. Don’t dip your meat in the salt seller. Don’t lean on the table or spit on it. Share your delicacies with your fellow diners so as to be seen as kind and generous and don’t complain if your serving is small. Don’t chew on bones because that is what dogs do. Instead, use your knife to cut off the meat. Don’t chew with your mouth open. Don’t pare your nails or pick your teeth at the table. And wash your hands so cleanly when you are done that you leave no dirt on the towel.

At play, be sure to play only proper, honest games. For mirth and joy learn the harp or the lute or to sing and dance. Practice reading eloquent books in which you find both education and entertainment. Be sure to read the work of great authors like Gower, Chaucer, Lydgate, and others who will benefit you greatly.

…As you can see, many of the different codes of behaviour that we try to teach children today can be found in this book. Medieval manners are remarkably similar to modern manners. If anything, there was a greater focus on proper behaviour in children in the Middle Ages than there is today. This is not necessarily a good thing, but it does dispel a prominent misconception about the Middle Ages and medieval childhood.

Manners mattered deeply to parents in the Middle Ages. Children were taught to mind their manners in all kinds of different ways and to be incredibly polite in all aspects of their lives. The existence of an entire genre of literature on the subject reinforces just how much weight politeness and courtesy carried in medieval culture. Chaos did not reign in the medieval child’s world. Their behaviour was carefully monitored, and great attention was paid to teaching them to mind their manners.”

- Kathryn Walton, “Minding your Manners in the Middle Ages.”

[pepperpills]

The Harvest - RE8 fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Notes: It is a headcanon of Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader. I will be uploading chapters' parts everyday and a new chapter will be out every tuesday. English is not my mother tongue, so sorry if there are any grammar mistakes. Please, feel free to enjoy hehe

NSFW content.

Part I – Destiny (1)

It had been a week since the encounter with the creature in the woods surrounding Karl Heisenberg’s lot. It wasn’t the weirdest event you have seen though, of course; you grew up in one of the cabins close to the Village, you, and your people, were way familiar to the rusty metal sounds, the night fogs and the guttural growls living in the forest around the houses. Because of that, one day, when they grew nearer, your people knew the time had come and you too would be absorbed by the Village, being lead – not to say forced – to worship Mother Miranda and her children.

At first, it was odd, the mood was mournful as if your own family had lost the brightness of joy in their irises. Everything there felt uncanny as there was a sweet and mistrusting mist in the air.

You have always known about Miranda and the four lords, but had never laid your own eyes on them. Until your 20s, they have been nothing but whispers in the distance, folk stories to scare the youngsters, so they wouldn’t go too deep in between the trees and their twisted thin branches.

As the months and then the years passed by, your people started making that place feel like home. Luiza, Urias and their own have been very kind and supportive to all of you, they’ve shown you their believes, their rituals and their daily life; in return, the cabin folk shared their knowledge on herbs, flowers and wild animals, which meant hunting instead of raising them. It worked out fine, anyway, you knew you couldn’t stay in the cabins forever, there would be a time when the Village would grow and it did.

To this extent, you felt comfortable, you actually started sharing a feeling of belongness, especially when it came to rituals and festivals. It was astonishing how the Village would gather, sing, dance, bake and eat on special dates – mostly agricultural calendar ones – and helping organizing it, putting up the decorations, the horns distributed in clothes-line, the red fabrics waving as flags on the ceilings, all of these things were very reassuring.

Years passed by and transformed you into a woman, you had your periods every month, the etiquette practices and the daily choirs such as baking and feeding the animals (now you had pigs and chicken to look after). This, however, bothered you, not the baking though, that made you happy, but you would much more appreciate to help your father and brother with the machinery and hunt with the men, which you did, only hidden, for sport maybe, until you improved your stealth and archery abilities so it became a part of you that you liked much more than singing by the lake while doing laundry with the wives, even though that too had its appeal – music always got the best of you, particularly when it came along with dancing.

About the hunt, you would sell it to Duke, the impartial merchant that comes every week. He is the best way to maintain a low-profile about your illegalities, once he also deals with prohibited materials.

Thinking of it, you believe it was fine, definitely bucolic, but you never expected more. And for your mitigation, you had never yet seen all of the lords face-to-face. Miranda came by at least once a month, but mostly spent her precious time with the Village leader. She usually went back to her lot afterwards. The others were… Well, different.

Lady Beneviento was an in-doors person, the only one who had constant contact with her was her groundskeeper who lived closer to her house. Lady Dimitrescu was only seen in her castles’ windows looking way distant and melancholic to anyone that far from her stand. Her daughters too never left the upright protective stone walls, no one knew why, neither bothered to find out. Sometimes girls from the Village would be sent to the castle in order to serve them as handmaiden, some of them came back on special dates, but never spent the night in the Village.

Lord Moreau was the only one who visited more frequently, usually fixing demands for his experiments. He never stayed too long, he probably sensed that the people had less interest on him than they had in the other lords, which kind of made you pity Lord Moreau; however, you never had the courage to speak to him anyway and it didn’t feel very possible to be friends with the lords.

The last one, Lord Heisenberg, you had only heard in the distance when exploring the Altar surroundings, hidden from the others once it wasn’t allowed to be there without a good motive. The villagers told you, sitting around the fire in windy twilights, that he used to wander around more decades ago. Back then most of your friends were kids and nowadays don’t remember him very well, just his temper as he tends to easily lose patience.

They don’t know what made him stay in his factory for so long, but through the time he has been recluse, some said the metal noises have risen as if he has been working to exhaustion on something. When they told you these stories, you hoped never to find out and feared The Harvest.

That was it for your historic with the lords, at least until three months ago when you turned twenty years old and The Harvest took place again. The 20s was a unique age for the villagers, it was when they would know for sure if they had been chosen by Mother Miranda for some position in her family’s choirs. If you were free, as you’d like to say, you should start thinking about your role in the Village, finding a partner and leaving your parents’ place, if not… You would serve, not sure exactly how.

For your absolute pleasure, your 20th birthday was the most beautiful ceremony you had ever attended while living in the Village. It made it easier. It wasn’t made only for you, but for all of the young people who were turning that age in that year, as it was traditional to have The Harvest.

The small town was all dressed in light colours, paper lamps gave the paths a magical blue aura, goat wood sculptures painted white were disposed here and there blessing the birthday boys and girls. Women wore lace Prussian blue dresses below the knees and men were in grey linen tunics. People commemorated in the area around The Maiden of War with gasps and smiles.

You were dazzling. Tradition demanded that the 20s wore white, almost transparent, clothes. It was supposed to show you emerging as a pure being into something else, finally you would be considered a part of the mundane world after two decades of only experimenting it.

The families were responsible for their children’s garment, so each one looked different and unique. In your case, your mother, Ana, made a ravishing job, one that you could only have dreamt of.

Ana sewed you a white mesh ruffle midi dress, almost off shoulder if it wasn’t for the thin straps that held it there. The down skirt’s fabric was tulle and in the breast area you had a lace to tighten it, the ruffle there also worked on hiding your boobs, so you wouldn’t feel completely naked, only your nipples would show due to Fall’s weather.

After celebrating throughout the afternoon with wine, fresh pies, music and the villager’s affection for you and all the 20s being demonstrated, the night fell upon the Village and the oil lamps were lite, they started dancing in your vision like phantasmagorical illusions, inviting you to follow the way they headed. You didn’t fully understand back then, but it probably was Beneviento’s work.

Your heart throbbed immediately, the euphoria peaking your skin, making you feel electric. Maybe you were drugged, maybe a bit drunk, that didn’t matter, once what mattered was that you were absolutely surrendered by the moment. It felt almost like gluttony, the atmosphere made you want more of whatever there was to so deeply desire.

Attending the call, one by one, the 20s started walking towards the ceremony site were their parents, Mother Miranda and the four lords should be waiting for them. That year there were twelve of them, one more than last year, equally divided between men and women.

Even though it was prohibited for any villager, besides Luiza and Urias, to go past the area of the Altar, you knew where you were heading, you have explored every inch of the Village, quietly, never daring to talk about it with someone. On The Harvest, though, you were being guided. A magnificent deer appeared in front of you, it moved slowly, unafraid of your presence, he glanced at you and walked towards the site. You couldn’t help, but following it, somehow you were sure it would lead you to a pleasant event.

Past the gate and there they were, the four lords all together for the first time in your live. Strangely, you felt seduced more than scared, maybe it was the deer spells, maybe something else made you feel welcomed. The night was your wonderwall and nothing bad could happen to you.